Page 54 of Broken Rules
Chapter Sixteen
Damien’s breath felthot and damp against the inside of his balaclava as he moved silently through Joe’s house. His night-vision glasses painted everything in the luxury beach house green. Passing through the kitchen, he headed straight for the formal dining area where he knew Joe had hung his newest so-called heirloom. And there it was...centered on the wall above the mantle. Damien crossed to stand in front of the Dutch painter’s work. Typical Vermeer, the piece featured a lady writing a letter at her desk with her maid looking on. Even cast in green light, Damien admired the artist’s realistic figures and his use of shadow to create an atmosphere of mystery. Leaning the slim case he carried against the wall, he reached for the painting.
“Who the fuck are you?”
Damien froze, feeling the barrel of a gun against his temple.
~ * ~
“IT’S SLAMMING TONIGHT,” Roger said, crossing behind Savannah who was pouring a pint of stout.
“Thanks again for coming in.” She set the pint down to settle before she topped off the thick brew. “I know you must have put aside a mountain of work to be here on a week day.”
“I detected a note of desperation in your voice when you called to ask me to come in.” Roger smiled. “I think you just missed me. Anyway, look at this,” he said, holding a fifty dollar bill between his two hands. “She told me to keep the change. So, whatever is going on that you don’t want to talk about, I think your luck is changing.”
Savannah forced a smile to her lips. “I love bartending with you—those big brown eyes and megawatt smile are going to earn me the down payment on a sailboat tonight.” She squeezed his hand. “Thanks for coming in. Just having you here makes me feel better.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s bothering you?”
What would she tell him? My new boyfriend is robbing our boss tonight so that scary, murderous thugs don’t rob him instead.
“I’m just having an off day. Really,” she said when he cocked a skeptical brow at her. “Take a hint, Roger and change the subject.”
His face softened. “So...speaking of sailboats, when is the next world cup race?”
She smiled. “The end of next month, but I’m counting the days.” Turning, she placed the full pint of stout on the bar in front of a guy with glossy curls and a muscle-hugging T-shirt. “Can I get you anything else?”
A deliberately slow smile lifted one side of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll take a tall glass of you.”
“Not on the menu, asshole,” she snapped, then whirled away.
“Less bitch, more charm,” Joe barked as he ducked beneath the bar. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I was just asking her that,” Roger chimed in.
“Nothing,” she said too quickly. Unlike Roger, Joe didn’t try to gently coax the truth out into the open. He couldn’t care less about her troubles—even though, unbeknownst to him, he was at the heart of it all.
“Good,” Joe said dismissively. “Then get it together and start making some drinks before the girls come back here and strangle you.”
She looked over at the far side of the bar where five servers waited, Brandi and Esme in the lead, both looking at her with unconcealed desperation.
“Sorry!” She rushed to the service side of the bar and seized the line of paper orders from the computer that was so long it nearly hit the floor.
“I love you, Savvy, but you’re killing me,” Brandi groaned.
Savannah straightened her shoulders and got to work, forcing the reality of what was happening at her boss’s house out of her mind.
