Page 87 of Brazen Deceits

I push him for real, and he lets me, snickering as he slides off the stool, moving to dish himself up some French toast. He seems weirdly buoyant today. Walker sets the last batch onto the center of the island. “About last night. Clara’s here permanently.”

RJ and Trips look from Walker to me. I shrug. “Family stuff.” I rub my arm, my mom’s scratches already scabbed over.

The motion doesn’t go unnoticed, and Trips snags my arm, pushing up the sleeve of my sweatshirt. He curses under his breath, his big fingers tracing the edges of the red welts, gentle, soothing. I wait for the questions, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he swallows, pulls my sleeve back down, and laces his fingers with mine, dragging me around the island, handing me a plate before going back to his.

“What about Jansen?” I ask.

All three guys laugh. “I said we’d meet at one, so when he rolls in at three, we aren’t too late getting out of here,” Trips says.

“Any reason I wasn’t on the summons?” I ask.

All eyes drift to me as we spread around the island, for once having the right number of chairs for people. I slide in between Trips and RJ, Walker on the other side of Trips.

Trips runs his hand through his hair. “It’s the start of the heist, Clara, not just breakfast.”

“And I’m not invited.”

He half-frowns. “You know the terms. Probation, then the possibility of being voted in.”

I peek at Walker, and he’s looking from me to Trips, his face curious instead of morose. “I believe the contract term you offered was forever, right?” A grin spreads across my face as I look between the two of them.

“You make it sound weirder than it is,” Trips answers, Walker’s eyes bright with laughter, our own forever already agreed to.

I have a bite of French toast, and my God—Walker can cook for me whenever he damn well pleases. I swear, he could make me pickled pig’s feet, and I’d be drooling on my plate in anticipation.

Reaching for my other contribution, a pot of coffee, I ask a question I probably should have thought of last week. “How long is this probationary period?”

Trips chokes on his coffee. “Really? You think you want to be a fucking criminal, Clara?”

I throw my hands up, annoyed. “You’re the one who asked me, you lunatic!”

RJ chuckles, his hand sliding to the small of my back, yet another reminder that this is turning into what will—hopefully—be something more beautiful than mess.

Trips coughs into a napkin, Walker slapping his back significantly harder than necessary for some coffee down the wrong pipe. I giggle, and Walker bursts out laughing too, thelightness like floating after weeks mired in anxiety and dread. Jansen was right, I just had to get Walker talking.

Trips recovers, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d miss it, but I was, and it was definitely there.

“So?” I prompt, taking another amazing bite of French toast.

He shakes his head. “I guess it would have to be a certain number of jobs. I don’t know, how many, guys? Five? Seven?”

Walker stabs a sausage. “I’d say this weekend and New Year’s, max. She’s already proven herself with getting you out of jail, blackmailing her ex, being my cover, and acting as our liaison with NightAntiques, er, Jasmine.”

RJ snags an orange slice. “I say probation until she’s ready to decide. All of us had years running up to this. No need to rush into forever.”

Walker cuts in. “I change my vote to RJ’s idea.”

I laugh. “That’s a really long leash there, guys.”

RJ shrugs. “I’m not worried.”

Trips finishes chewing. “I have a feeling Jansen will go with that plan too. Fuck.” He picks up his coffee, staring into its bitter depths. “I guess, then, if that’s what you all want, I won’t stop it. But you’ll need to sign an NDA, Clara.”

“Which is totally inadmissible in court as we’re conspiring to break the law.”

Trips raises an eyebrow, his eyes a brighter blue than usual. “It’s the principle of the thing, Clara. Thereishonor among thieves. We don’t have a whole lot else to back us up.”

“Besides piles of money in dozens of hidden offshore accounts,” RJ teases, bumping my shoulder.

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