Page 117 of Brazen Deceits

I sigh, staring at the white stones in front of me. I wish they’d made it more of a challenge. All these fancy arches and columns and stuff? I’ll be up the side and onto the roof in no time.

Sure enough, excitement bumps my heart rate up, not exertion, by the time I pull myself onto the roof. I’m dressed in light khakis like an old man, a tan jacket stretched over my back. None of that slick black stuff for me. Nope. I’ve got to blend in with a white building full of bright white rooms.

Whipping off my coat, I brush out my footprints in the snow with it, my arms immediately covered by goosebumps as the snow-laden wind cuts through my white dress shirt.

I hear Trips bark something, but I ignore him. “I was never here,” I tell myself, squatting down in front of the maintenance door, the AC units quiet under a layer of white. “Am I good to open the door, RJ?”

While I wait, my body buzzing, I shove my arms back into my coat, holding my frozen hands between my thighs. The wind ripples across the roof, further blurring my footprints. “Poof. Like magic. Gone.”

One other voice I’ll gladly listen to whispers down the line, and I can see her teasing grin in my mind. “Gone, but not forgotten.”

I huff out a soft laugh. God, I love this girl. So much, it’s taking all I can not to blurt it out every time I’m in the same room with her. She’s not ready yet, though, and I don’t want to freak her out. She’s only just jumped headfirst into my life, our lives, and I’m sure everything is topsy-turvy for her.

So I’ve kept my mouth shut, despite the difficulty. She’s worth it. To us.

To me.

RJ’s voice busts into my thoughts. “Alarms are down. You have thirty seconds before they recycle.”

My lock picks feel practically hungry in my fingers, and with a level of grace only my dad could have appreciated, I’m in, standing on a platform at the top of a staircase no casual visitor would ever stumble upon.

I shake off my coat and pull it back on, not wanting to leave drips on the gallery floors, before slinking down the stairs, following the map in my head.

So far, so easy.

RJ is looping footage from where I am, but not looping the entire system, so we don’t end up with the mess we had at Jasmine’s grandpa’s. We need to know what’s coming for us.

Three guards. Hourly rounds. A cakewalk.

Using employee hallways and staircases, I make my way to the ground floor, waiting at every entrance for RJ to give me the go-ahead.

Finally, it’s time to enter the visitor area.

Based on the schematics, this is the highest security section of the museum. Taking a deep breath, I wait.

“Double-checking guards. Okay, all three are still at the station. Go in three, two, one.” RJ’s calm baritone balances the electricity under my skin, the thrill making me giddy and lightheaded.

I slip through the door, closing it gently behind me, jogging toward the prints and drawing room, my soft-soled shoes silent on the parquet floors.

Rounding the corner, the Rubens visible just ahead, I swing the case with Walker’s fake around to my front, pulling the fine gloves from my waist pack. “Wait, Jansen.” The panic in RJ’s voice is tangible even in my hopped-up state, jagged red lines in my mind. “Back. Get back to the staff area.”

I say nothing, twisting around and racing for the door I just left. RJ unlocks it as I reach it, a horrific crashing sound coming from the front of the building, followed by the blaring of alarms.

The door’s mechanismclick-clicks, trying to lock it shut, and as I yank the door behind me, the lock engages.

I’m stuck.

Again.

Damn it.

Chapter 52

Trips

The fucking gall. The absolute fucking gall.

I watch, stunned, as the same goon that tackled Clara two weeks ago runs up to the front of the museum. Then he fucking throws what looks like a rock—but based on the way the glass shatters, it obviously fucking isn’t—at the museum, the front door changing to jagged glass teeth on the monitor.

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