Page 1 of Sweet Revenge
ChapterOne
Stealing was getting boring. Something she considered both annoying and inconvenient, considering she was on her way to another job. This one in—she checked the file she’d been sent on her tablet—Atlanta.
She’d been tasked with stealing a small, hideous gold statue. It didn’t look like much as she swiped through the photos, but who was she to say what rich people with too much money and not enough sense should want? Especially if they were willing to pay her to acquire it for them.
As the private jet descended toward the runway, she turned her tablet off with a click, sliding it into her bag. This would be a quick trip. The plan was to be in and out during the house party her unwitting mark was throwing tomorrow evening with the statue carefully tucked into her handbag and no one the wiser.
Maybe that was the problem—this one was too simple. It had been almost a year since she’d had an assignment that really excited her. She’d taken it too easy since that close call with the cops in Morocco, and now she was bored.
It was her own fault, really. Morocco had shaken her confidence, made her wonder if she’d lost her edge. As a result, she’d laid low, taken simple jobs here and there to keep her feet wet. Staying out of the game too long made it hard to get back in. No matter how good she was at what she did, it didn’t take much to be replaced by someone newer and younger.
Once this job was done and the money securely in her account, she’d put some feelers out for something a little more high stakes. Something to shake this restless feeling that had settled into her bones in the last few months.
The plane taxied to a small hangar where a black town car waited, and she climbed into the back of the vehicle, tossing her bag on the seat beside her. They drove out of the airport and wound their way to a hotel downtown, the steel and glass spearing up into the inky black of the starless sky.
The hum of conversation drifted into the lobby from the bar at the other end as her heels clicked across the polished marble floor to the front desk. To any casual observer, she might be a businesswoman coming into town for work.
She made eye contact with the concierge, a man in his early twenties who took a moment to look her up and down before locking his eyes on her face, smiling wide.
“Checking in?”
“Yes. The King’s Suite.”
His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Carolyn Walsh?”
For today, anyway. “That’s what they tell me.”
He tapped a few more keys, then turned to grab her keycard. “Do you need any help with your bags?”
She flashed him a flirtatious smile. “I think I can manage. Thank you.” Her eyes dropped to his name tag. “Charles.”
As she walked toward the elevator, she felt his eyes following her and grinned. Men made such easy targets. Distract them with thoughts of sex, and they’d never notice you lifting something out of their pockets.
She let herself into the hotel room with a mechanical whir of the automatic door lock. Bypassing the bedroom with its luxurious king-sized bed and jetted tub, she dropped her bag onto the coffee table and pushed open the sliding door to the balcony.
The noise of traffic drifted up from the street, and she leaned against the balcony’s railing, eyes drifting closed as the breeze teased her curls off her face. She’d lived in eight different countries in eight years. Visited so many more on jobs or just to travel that she’d lost count.
Early in her career, she’d loved the freedom to pack up and move on whenever she wanted a change. To go wherever the wind blew her, knowing she had no one to answer to. It had thrilled her once, that freedom. Now it was just lonely.
She hadn’t intended to come back to the states after spending so much time in Europe, but when she packed up in Prague and headed to the airport, she booked a one-way ticket to New York without thinking. Being back in the states and so close to home had stirred up something else inside her. Longing. For what she wasn’t sure, but the pang of it was getting harder to ignore.
The money currently sitting in her bank account was enough to live on for ten lifetimes. She had everything she could ever want or need, the ability to live anywhere in the world, to be anyone she wanted to be, and still, it felt like something was missing.
On a sigh, she pushed away from the balcony and stepped back into the suite, closing the door behind her with a soft thud. Might as well unpack and test out that jetted tub. She had a busy day tomorrow. She was going back to her roots and charming her way into a country club so she could snag a last-minute invite to that party.
* * *
“I swear I dropped it in here this morning.” She rifled through her oversized handbag, some of the contents spilling out on the glass-topped reception desk.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Walsh, I can’t let you in without ID.”
She pressed her fingers to her eyelids, waiting until tears formed before looking up again. “Of course. I understand.” She began shoving things back into her bag, hands shaking. “It’s just that we had an issue with our luggage, and I still can’t find half of my things. But”—she waved a hand in the air—“none of that is your fault.”
“Is everything all right here, honey?”
She peeked over her shoulder at the petite blonde standing behind her, wrapped tightly in a deep purple sheath dress. Bingo. Right on time. “I’m sorry, I’m getting out of your way.” Dragging her bag off the counter, she knocked over a stack of business cards and watched them flutter to the ground, mortified.
“Oh God, I’m so clumsy.” She stooped to pick up the scattered cards as the blonde and the receptionist hurried to help her. “We’re supposed to be on vacation, and now my husband is away on business, and he swore he bought me a week-long pass, and now I can’t even get in for a mimosa and some pampering and—” She blew out a shaky breath. “You don’t care about all that.”
