Page 18 of Thief

“Of course that’s what I want, but all I can tell you is I handed the key to a guy I know as Carlos, but I can’t see how that’s going to help, because I don’t know where he is and I don’t I have any way of contacting him.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “You’d better tell me what you do know.”

Kat’s body was still but her mind raced. If only she’d known there was a stash of diamonds in the boot. She could have stopped on her way to the handover. Hunted them out and popped them in her purse. No one would have been any the wiser and she would have been rich. Never again would she have to worry about having a financially secure future or panic about what would happen if her work dried up with Carlos. She was haunted with memories of being poor and hungry, of having absolutely no one to turn to. The diamonds could have been her ticket away from those nightmares. Perhaps they still could be.

“What’s in it for me?” she heard herself saying.

John frowned. “Un-bloody-believable!”

She shrugged, put her hand on her hip and took a sip of her drink.

His voice lowered. “You’ve got more attitude than is safe to be chucking around in front of me tonight, Pussy Cat.”

“If I help you, I’m entitled to a cut.” She pouted. “Fair’s fair.”

“Five hundred. You can have five hundred thousand if you help me get them back.” He smirked and a snort came down his nose. “Then you won’t have to work for this Carlos guy anymore. Imagine it, no more spreading your legs to steal cars.”

A wave of intense irritation washed through her. She hated him for what he’d just said, even though it was true. She couldn’t deny it, but she didn’t like to hear it said aloud…especially by him. But instead of hitting him with a comeback about thinking with his dick, she mulled over her options. She did want a share of the diamonds. Perhaps she could help him, and maybe if she was careful, real careful, Carlos would never find out they even existed. “One million,” she said. “I want one million if I help you.”

John smiled. “What thief doesn’t always want more?” he said. “Okay, deal. One million it is; that’s exactly half.” He swung his legs to the floor and sat forward. “Tell me everything, right from the very beginning. I need to know all about this Carlos guy. Starting with when you’re going to see him next.”

Kat perched at the far end of the leather sofa. Acutely aware of her lack of underwear, she kept her knees squeezed together. “I won’t see Carlos until next Thursday or Friday. He’ll post the details of the hit, and I’ll see him when I hand over the keys later that night.”

“You can’t be serious!” John groaned. “Next week! Damn it!”

“I only do hits at the end of the week and usually only one. Two this weekend has been busy for me.”

“Lucky me to be your overtime.”

She shrugged.

He looked at her with a puzzled frown. “Why doesn’t he just hotwire cars like the good old days, why does he need you?”

“Elite, sporty cars—the ones he takes orders for—are well beyond hotwiring. Without the key there’s no way you can get into them, let alone start them.”

“He doesn’t look beyond roughing someone up to get their keys.”

Kat laughed without humour. “He’s not, but he prefers the cars reported stolen the next day, that gives him longer to hide them and start transforming them for their new owners.”

John nodded slowly. “But I presume you get paid. How do you get your share if you don’t see Carlos until the following week?”

“Bank transfer. I’ve got an offshore account he wires my percentage to each Monday morning.”

“And you trust him to be fair about your percentage?”

“I’m hardly going to argue with twenty stone of brute strength, am I?” She huffed.

“Well you sure as hell tried with me.” He took another mouthful of whisky and furrowed his brow. “There’s only one thing we can do. I’ll follow you out on your next ‘hit’, watch you take a car from some, poor, unsuspecting guy and then trail Carlos. With a bit of luck, he’ll lead me to my Porsche.”

She nodded slowly.

“It’s risky.” He frowned. “We’ll have to pray a week isn’t leaving it too long and hope no one else finds the diamonds.”

“What are they just in a bag or something?”

“No, they’re tucked in the lining of the trunk, well out of sight of inquisitive customs officers at Dover or Calais.”

“Should be okay then.”

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