Page 19 of Brazen Deceits

His face is grim. “I was up thinking about that last night. I can’t totally remove us from the internet or tag us as being at some other university. We are who we are, where we are,at least for now. The average police department wouldn’t find us because they wouldn’t know where to look. NightAntiques knows enough about us to point a hacker in the right direction. They would have to be good, but not hacking-the-Pentagon good.”

“Huh. Then that might have been another way for her to feel in control, like hovering over us, or making you escort her to the door, Walker,” I say. “I think that’s what was up with her freakishly perfect hair, nails, and makeup. It was all about control. She wants it, and right now, she can’t have it.”

The guys are still watching me, and I pull at the hem of my shirt, not sure if the looks are a good thing or not.

Jansen reaches over and tugs on one of my curls. “Good eye, Clara,” he says, eyes twinkling, his tea cradled in his other hand.

I smile at him as Walker gives my knee a squeeze. Looking over, he’s still entranced by his feet. If I hadn’t felt Walker’s assurance, I would’ve assumed he’s mad at me.

RJ has his tablet out, working with the information I gleaned. Trips just stares at me, not saying anything, but I think he’s impressed. Maybe.

The stare down reinforces my need to kick his butt on our business law midterm Monday. Maybe then I’ll get a grudging smile or something. I doubt that would get me another “good job” from him, but I’ll yank every ounce of respect from him in whatever way I am able. Because he’s mine, too. I’m turning into a greedy bitch for my merry band of thieves.

I break eye contact, and Trips shifts his weight. “Walker, when will we know more about this bullshit trial we have to go through?” he asks.

Walker sinks into his corner of the couch, somehow farther away than he was a moment ago. “She said she’d send details this morning.”

Taking another gulp of his coffee, Trips glares at the space between Walker and me. RJ sets down his tablet and slides it toward us, a hint of a grin on his face. “Is this her?”

There she is, mock glaring at the camera, wearing what has to be the creamiest, silkiest shirt I’ve ever seen. The woman has taste and the money to make it a reality. “Yup,” I say as Walker nods.

RJ snags the tablet back, swipes a few more times, then looks up. “Okay. Her full name is Jasmine Cadieux. Twenty-five years old, originally from Chicago. Her family is crazy wealthy. She went to a boarding school in Switzerland for high school, attended King’s College London for university, and likes to spend her winters on the French Riviera. She’s not all over socials, but she posts just enough to look like an ordinary rich girl, which is the same plan we have. Basically, she’s about what I would have imagined for a top-of-the-line fence.”

Jansen sets down his cup. “Then why the smash and grab? That’s classless, and based on what you just read, Jasmine is all class.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think this is her choice.”

Walker catches my hand as it goes to tug on my shirt again. “What specifically did you see?”

I wish I had a logical answer. Closing my eyes, I try to remember when I picked up on it. “I think it was when she dropped the smash and grab option. Her nostrils flared and her lips got all tight, and she flicked her braid. It looked likeshe was mad but trying to hide it.” I open my eyes and find all four guys staring at me. Again.

Walker’s phone buzzes. I glance at the time as he pulls it out of his pocket—exactly 9:00 a.m.

Some communication I don’t understand passes between the guys, and RJ hands over his tablet without asking. Walker types something into a weird browser before a bunch of files pop up. “We’ve got our tryout info,” he says, opening a few documents and glancing through them before all the guys’ phones ping, the same details now on each of their devices.

They fall silent, pulled into reading the assignment. Would you call it an assignment? A gig? A mission brief? I really need to get this lingo figured out.

Either way, Walker didn’t forward it to me, so I get to watch them stare at their phones. I’m not going to lie; it hurts being excluded. I hope it’s not a sign that he’s freaking out about last night.

This is all so new. Prior to this fall, the only laws I’d broken involved underage drinking and speeding. Oh! And I smoked pot once. My relationships weren’t any more adventurous—a high school boyfriend that lasted six months, and then Bryce. Unfortunately, if there were an ad campaign for “good girl,” I’d be right there front and center. Or at least, I would have been a few months ago.

Now? I mean, I blackmailed my stalker ex to get Trips out of jail, then sent that pedo, secret-sex-tape-selling jerk to prison by manipulating a legal wiretap. I’m also sleeping with one, and if Jansen’s promise holds true, soon two, of my roommates. Oh, and I have serious crushes on the other two as well, which is about three guys more than a good girl oughtto be involved with. But I’m still not a huge pot fan, so I guess that hasn’t changed.

I sit waiting, drumming my fingers on my thigh again, my hand still hidden in my sleeve. I want to know what they know, but no one is including me. Should I ask? Am I even supposed to be here? Will they kick me out when they realize I’m still sitting on the couch?

Jansen answers that last thought by tugging me so I’m bracketed between his legs, my head tucked next to his. He sets down his tea and takes my cup, both settled on coasters, before moving his phone in front of us both, his other arm wrapped around my side and fiddling with my hair. After a long second, Walker pulls my feet into his lap, but he’s practically vibrating with bottled energy.

The first thing on the to-do list after this criminal conclave (which is totally the best name) will be to sit down and have a talk with Walker. I need to figure out what’s wrong.

And if he thinks that last night was a mistake?

My breath stutters with that thought. It can’t be that. Because if it is? I don’t know if my bruised heart could survive yet another blow.

Chapter 10

Walker

Clara’s legs, warm against my thighs, should make me feel better. She’s so full of affection, wanting to touch and be touched, to be cradled, cherished like she always should have been.

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