Page 5 of The Pretender

Adrenaline pulsed through every vein as he used the thin blade in his slim black toolkit to cut a hole in the glass. Despite working with some speed, he was careful not to rattle the window. Then came the slow ease of the piece of metal he held in front of the sensor at just the right speed, just the right time, to trick it into thinking the seal hadn’t been broken.

It was tedious work, especially as he balanced twenty-five feet in the air with neighboring backyards facing him. He could be seen at any time, but that only added to the thrill.

With the sensor covered, he reached up through the window and unlocked it. Sliding it high enough to fit through the open space, he slipped inside the impressive house.

His feet touched the hardwood floor with only the barest tap. He untied the safety rope from his waist and headed for the bar set up at the far end of the room. The glass jangled as he picked up the decanter and lifted the topper for a quick sniff. Whiskey, just as he expected.

After pouring a glass, he walked over and sat down at the dining room table. He removed his gloves and set them down next to a stretch of rope he’d used to anchor his weight on the climb.

And then he waited.

Less than a minute later the light at the top of the curving stairway flipped on. He didn’t see or hear anyone. Another light under the oven hood cast a soft glow on the nearby kitchen and bounced off the expansive marble countertops, highlighting the fact he was alone.

He leaned back in the chair, wincing when the wood groaned under him. The sharp noise filled the otherwise silent floor, but still no one ran downstairs. The alarm didn’t whirl to life. Not that he thought he’d hear it anyway. This place definitely would have a silent alarm.

“Tick tock.” He whispered the words as he swirled the liquor around in the heavy crystal glass. He had no intention of drinking it, but holding it fit the mood.

He had barely counted to three when a face peeked around the corner of the wall. The light from upstairs cast her part in shadow and part not. He could make out the shoulder-length brown hair. Definitely a she, a very prettyshewith big eyes and a round face.

Her eyes widened then she popped back out of sight. Didn’t make a sound but the phone started ringing.

“What the hell?” Racing footsteps followed the male voice. He came down and rounded the corner holding a gun. Stopped as if he’d been hit with a brick.

Yeah, Levi Wren was home and very much awake.

Well, he was now.

Harris waved. “Hello.”

“Damn it, Harris.” Wren lowered the gun. He marched over to the alarm panel and typed in a series of numbers. Then he lifted his cell and mumbled a word that didn’t make much sense before turning on Harris again. “You’ve got to be kidding with that entrance.”

“What’s going on?” The woman came into view again.

Wren looked at her this time. “Next time, wake me up. Don’t just run downstairs to check out a burglar.”

Not wanting to start a household dispute, Harris jumped in. “Technically, I don’t intend to take anything.”

“Shut up.” Wren responded to Harris without breaking eye contact with her.

“I set off the alarm as soon as I saw him.” She shrugged. “And I only came down in the first place because I figured it was Garrett.”

They both stood on the bottom step talking about Wren’s right-hand man in his business, Garrett McGrath. Wren had tucked the woman slightly behind his shoulder. They looked at each other and at Harris. There was a lot of gawking and frowning.

She wore a man’s white cotton shirt, which dropped to her upper thighs but not much farther. Wren wore boxer briefs, a gray T-shirt and a scowl that could melt steel.

Harris was enjoying every second of his surprise visit so far.

“This is Harrison Tate.” Wren made the introduction as he ushered the woman into the room. “You can call him Harris or dumbass. Both fit.”

“You actually know the guy breaking into the house?” Before anyone could answer, she rolled her eyes. “Forget that. Of course you do.”

It was a typical Wren response. Harris couldn’t help but smile when he heard it come from her.

Harris and Wren had been friends for years, long enough for Harris to know Wren’s real name, which was not Levi Wren and not something most people knew. He was a professional fixer. He negotiated deals and made problems disappear. Most people considered himthe fixer, the only person the wealthy and connected contacted when a life-threatening event occurred.

He went by an alias. The guy had a birth name and an alias and a fake name he’d chosen for himself. It was all pretty convoluted, but Harris played along. The few who did know about the fixer job and his life referred to him by the last name he’d taken long ago—Wren. But a handful of people, most of them now men around the same age who all met in their late teens and early twenties, knew his first name as Levi but still called him Wren.

They’d lived together, ran together, fought together, all under the careful watch of their mentor, a man named Quint who’d taken them all in and saved them from an inevitable life choice of death or prison. Back then there were five of them. Quint taught them about privacy and subterfuge. He gave them purpose and tried to redirect their criminal tendencies. That worked to varying degrees, depending on which member of the group you talked to.

---