Page 12 of The Eagle's Vault

Edoardo placed his thumb against a fingerprint reader by a door at the back. It hummed and the door slid open with a whisper of well-oiled efficiency. I catalogued everything—the sensor placements, the cameras’ blind spots, the way Edoardo’s thumbprint glowed blue on the scanner after he lifted his hand.

“At the vault, we use facial recognition with a 99.99% rate of accuracy instead of thumb, plus a dual-key system,” Edoardo said, pride lacing his words. “Standard security, but the keys are a marvel.”

“How so?” I asked.

Edoardo winked at me over his shoulder. “Not yet.”

He already had my professional curiosity—that just made it personal. He pushed open the door, revealing a long, well-lit hallway, devoid of any decoration. The air tasted different here, sterile and cold. The second layer of defense contrasted dramatically with the cushy entryway.

I glanced at Jayce, my fingers twitching subtly. A coded language we’d been speaking for years. She nodded, her eyes darting to a ventilation grate near the ceiling.Potential point of entry?

“Too small,” she signed back.

Facial recognition could be a bitch to get past. I tapped my thumb against my leg twice, then raised my eyebrows at Jayce.Manipulate the biometrics?

Her hand twitched.Maybe.

I gave her two near-identical twists of my fingers.Brie and Will?Our hacker and gadget guy would get through the system if we couldn’t. No doubt after their failure last week, they’d have enhanced their analysis programs.

Jayce wrinkled her nose and nodded. A reluctantYes.

Turning back to Edoardo, I asked, “What happens if the scanner can’t identify someone?”

The confident Italian paused, his smile turning wolfish. “Then, my friend, they don’t get in.”

He continued his marketing spiel, but I barely listened. My brain was running through scenarios, playing out different ways to conquer his precious Cassaforte.

Next came the interview area. It was again plush, with a thick Oriental rug and a heavy mahogany desk, walls adorned with high-end art. The kind of place that put clients at ease, but not a room I cared about. It was off the hallway from our way to the vault, had no ingress points, and no access to the ventilation system, even to run a camera.

Leigh strayed from the group, drawn to a painting on the wall of a man in a black hat and suit. Early Renaissance Italian. She looked more at home here among the art than she did amidst the coldness of the hallway, despite the memory of her with the goggles and blowtorch.

“Interested in the painting?” Edoardo asked, following her gaze.

Leigh turned, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Just admiring the brushwork.”

Fuck, she was beautiful. The way her dark hair fell over her shoulders, not up in the ponytail for once, the openness in her eyes as she admired the painting. Her baggy jeans hid what I was certain were some very fine curves, while her backpack screamed tourist.

“Declan?” Jayce snapped me to reality.

“Right.” I pushed away the distraction. I was here for a job, not to daydream about a woman. Especially not one I irritated so much. Although if she got to know me—

A sharp elbow jabbed into my side. Jayce whispered, “Edoardo’s still talking, ogler.”

“Shut up,” I signed to her.

Edoardo led us to the private viewing rooms next. It was an intimate space, more suited for savoring a fine whiskey than inspecting safe deposit boxes. There was a gentle glow from the dimmed lights, and each had a locking door. Everything breathed luxury.

“Owners can purchase a secure video feed,” Edoardo said, holding up his phone to show what I assumed was a live feed of one of his safe deposit boxes. “Complete control, complete privacy.”

Leigh’s eyebrows shot up, and for the first time, she expressed interest. She scanned the room as if she’d finally joined us. “Interesting.”

“Where’s the vault?” Isaac, who’d faded into the background since I’d shut down his earlier small talk, pointed out of the viewing room and in the direction we’d been heading.

“This way.” Edoardo backed out of the room and gestured toward the end of the hallway. The closer we got, the more charged the air felt. The vault door was a behemoth, a testament to human engineering and paranoia.

I drank in the details. She was a beauty, all polished steel and burnished brass for decoration. That was her surface, though. What was in between the layers? There’d be concrete surrounding her, but the door was my target. “What’s she made of?”

“That part you’ll need to discover on your own.” Edoardo leaned toward the facial recognition scanner, entered silent numbers on a near-hidden keypad, and spun the five-spoke handle to disengage the locks.

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