Page 43 of Undeniably

We watch her slip out of the house and down the driveway to the car. She comes around to the driver’s side and knocks on the window.

I roll down the window. “Yes?”

“If I’m your getaway driver, wouldn’t it make sense for me to drive us to where we’re going? That way I don’t have to get out of the car at all until we’re done.”

I look over at Finley, and he shrugs. Sighing, I open the door and slide out, waiting for Morgan to get in before I shut it. I walk around to the passenger door and wait for Finley to get out. He points over his shoulder towards the back seat. I shoot him a glare.

“Riding in the back seat of my own fucking car,” I mumble as I slide in.

“Get over it. Where are we going?” Morgan asks as she adjusts the rearview mirror.

“It’s in the GPS already.” Finley points at the screen on the dash.

Ten minutes later, Morgan’s driving right by our target.

“That’s a huge house. You going to TP the whole thing?” Morgan slows as she passes, stopping at the end of the street.

“As much as we can without getting caught,” I reply, checking my bag for the fifth time.

“I see. What’s the plan then?”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I glance out the side window. “Fuck. I don’t like this.”

“What if, down there on the corner, you guys jump out? Then I’ll drive down a couple blocks and make a loop so you guys can jump in while I’m still moving? I’ll drive slow and plan to be coming back by in about five minutes?”

“Make it fifteen minutes,” I grumble.

“Works for me,” Finley chirps.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I say on a sigh, meeting her eyes in the mirror before grabbing my bag and looping it over my shoulder.

Morgan comes to a stop at the corner and turns towards me. “Good luck!”

As we both jump out of the car, Morgan continues her slow descent down the street. Thank fucking God we brought the Bentley. At least she won’t look like she’s casing the neighborhood.

“Come on, man.” Finley runs towards the house.

“This was all you, Fin. What’s your plan?”

He smirks. “I’ll get the back; you get the front.”

He turns to head off, but I grab his sweater. “You’re going to have to scale a fucking fence. That’s not part of the plan.”

He shrugs. “I got this, man. You go do you.”

Shaking my head, I watch as he heads off. He’s been doing a lot of riskier things recently. He’s starting to worry me.

I set to doing my part out front and let out a sigh of relief when Finley runs towards me. Almost fifteen minutes later on the dot, we both dive into the back seat as Morgan drives by.

“Looks good for a two-man job,” she tells us as she takes a picture out the driver's side window with her phone.

“Thanks,” we say in unison.

“Whose house is it anyways?”

“Principal Harris’s house.” Finley admits.

“You just TP’d the principal’s house?” Morgan screeches while stepping on the gas to get us out of there.

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