Page 7 of Fire in Stone

Two

AMBER

The warehouse guy looked at the paperwork I’d handed to him.

“Is this from Madame Tan’s stuff?” He’d switched to a heavily accented English when I’d told him I didn’t speak German. “Freakshow, yes?”

“Themenagerie, I believe it’s called,” I corrected softly, hiding my face under the visor of my ball cap.

He gave me a once-over, making my skin prickle with unease. I’d tucked my bright red hair under the cap, which also partially hid my undershave, and I’d taken my nose piercing out to look as “normal” and inconspicuous as possible. But the uniform I’d stolen from a trucking company was at least two sizes too big, which I desperately hoped he wouldn’t notice. I preferred for this man to remember absolutely nothing about me.

“Right…” he focused on the paperwork again.

I couldn’t let him stare at it too closely, either, lest he realize it was fake. I was good at forgery, but not perfect.

“One of those, maybe?” I pointed at the random pile of crates in the distance to force his attention elsewhere. My fingers trembled slightly, and I quickly balled my hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

“Nah, those are spare parts for an auto garage.” He shook his head. “The freakshow stuff is that way.”

It took him a few more minutes to locate what I’d come to Munich for, a large wooden crate with the wordsMadame Tan’s Menagerieprinted on its side. In a smaller font underneath, one more word was added—gargoyle.

I tried not to fidget with my hands impatiently or to look over my shoulder every few seconds.

Just that morning, Chris had casually informed me in a text message that I wouldn’t be the only one trying to steal the statue. The money the rich French client offered for it apparently attracted some rather dangerous people to steal it too. A local criminal organization, the Miller Brothers, was very interested in getting their hands on the prize before me. That was the reason I’d moved my heist from tomorrow morning to tonight—to beat them at beating me.

Rubbing my sweaty hands over the pants of my uniform, I stole a glance at the yard’s entrance gate, watching for any suspicious vehicles entering the grounds. Being caught with the fake paperwork might get me arrested. But if the Miller Brothers found me here, trying to steal the statue from under their noses, I wouldn’t go to jail. I’d be dead.

“Is it justonecrate that Madame wants to transfer?” the man asked, moving so infuriatingly slow.

“I guess.” I shrugged as casually as possible. My heart thundered wildly in my chest, and cold sweat trickled down my spine.

The enormity of the job I’d undertaken all on my own weighed heavily on me. I’d been good at not getting caught. Not once had I been arrested or even questioned by the police. Now would be the worst time for that to happen. I was so close to leaving all of this behind me for good.

With bated breath, I watched the crate being loaded into my rented truck with the fake decals of the same transportation company as the logo on my uniform.

“All good and ready to go.” The man signed the paperwork, then handed it back to me.

My hands shook when I climbed behind the wheel of the truck. I kept expecting the man to realize his mistake and yell after me. At the same time, I kept an eye on the gate to the grounds, watching for the Miller Brothers who might come after my statue any minute too.

Gripping the wheel with my sweaty hands, I steered the truck out of the yard and drove it to the outskirts of the city where I had a tiny apartment rented in the converted public storage unit.

It was evening by the time I made it to the one-story building with roll-up doors. Using a dolly, I unloaded the crate that turned out to be much heavier than I’d anticipated. Huffing and puffing, I was drenched in sweat despite the evening chill by the time I’d dragged the dolly through the gravel and into the apartment.

Once inside, I took off the uniform, pulled on my jeans and t-shirt, and put my nose piercing back in, feeling more like myself once again.

Locking the crate in the apartment, I peeled off the fake decals from the truck and returned it to the place where I’d rented it that morning.

When I came back to the apartment, I rolled the door down and locked it with a padlock for the night. Only then was I able to unclench my jaw and let some of the tension drain from my shoulders. All I had to do now was to wait for the buyer or his people to collect the crate tomorrow as Chris had arranged. Then, I’d get the money and be on my way.

I made it. I could hardly believe I was almost done with it.

This trip had eaten up nearly all the money Chris had given me for travel expenses. The airfare, the apartment, the truck rental—it had added up. As it stood right now, I didn’t even have enough for the ticket back home. To return to the States, I needed to get paid. I had to make the deal happen tomorrow morning. There was no way out of it. Which might’ve been Chris’s plan all along.

The job wasn’t done until the goods had been exchanged and the payment made. But for tonight, my work was finished. The stress of the day receded, leaving me exhausted.

For dinner, I ate the sandwich I’d bought at the train station and washed it down with some water. I set the bottle down on a rickety side table next to the cot by the wall. The apartment had been advertised as furnished, but these were the only furnishings here, not counting the shower curtain in the corner. Not that I cared either way. With any luck, I’d be out of here in the morning.

The air inside the windowless apartment felt stifling. Wincing from the sweat plastering my clothes to my skin, I took off my hoodie, then peeled off my t-shirt and jeans and headed to my duffel bag in the corner for some toiletries.

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