“Something feels off.”
He punches me in the arm, and I groan, holding my bicep. “Hey! That hurt.”
“Quit your whining, we need to come up with a plan,” Seb barks.
“Plan?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “There is no plan. We have no idea where we’re going or what we’re doing. All of my equipment is in my car.”
“Shit!”
“Yep.” I lean back against the side of the van, resting my head on it as I pull my cell out. “They’re blocking the signal.” I push it back into my pocket, knowing that I won’t be able to get word to Ty. “There’s nothing we can do but wait it out.”
I sound calm to my own ears but inside I’m a raging bull, hating that I’m not in control of what’s happening here.
They both turn silent as the van rocks side to side. It must be a good fifteen minutes before it comes to a stop and the door is sliding open again and we’re being pulled out of the van. The sunlight burns my eyes and it takes me several seconds to adjust to the brightness before I see Darrell standing a few feet in front of us, a case hanging from his hand at his side.
“Gentlemen,” he says, a grin on his face. “Sorry about all the secrecy but I’m sure you’ll understand that it’s needed.”
I don’t. I don’t understand one bit why he needed all of the secrecy but I keep my mouth shut, knowing that I need to listen and not talk.
“What’s going on?” Seb asks, taking the lead, widening his stance so that his feet are hip width apart.
“Today is the job.” Darrell holds his arms out wide. “Today you steal me my painting.”
I raise a brow, coughing. “Steal a painting?” Knowing exactly what he’s talking about but playing dumb.
“Yep.” He nods. “These fine gentlemen will take you to the gallery, and you’ll retrieve this piece for me.”
He clicks his fingers and the same woman that is always with him steps forward, holding her arms out and allowing him to place the case on her forearms. He flips the buttons on the side, lifting the top and pulling something out before holding it out to us.
Seb takes it, looking down and then holding it out to me. I pull it from his grip, staring down at the picture that is on there. I can’t help but whistle because the painting—âme perdue—he wants is worth at least one hundred million dollars, but I already knew that.
“This?” I ask, stepping forward. “This is going to need some serious planning and equipment that I don’t have—”
“You have two hours to get a plan together and leave. You’ll find all of the equipment you need in there.” He points to a building behind him. “Reconvene here in four hours.” He pauses. “With my painting.”
He doesn’t say another word as he spins around and gets back into his SUV, the woman following him before they spin out of the lot.
We watch him go, aware of the eyes and ears that are around us before walking into the building and finding the place packed to the brim with everything we’ll need. Surveillance tapes, blueprints of the building, information on shifts and where the painting is being kept.
We put together a plan, all the while the four men watch us, never leaving us alone to talk. I desperately want to tell them that this doesn’t feel right, that we should get out while we can. My gut is churning, telling me that something is going to go down—I always listen to my gut. But the fact that the four men have weapons at their waists that they seem to be showing off tells me that they’re not afraid to use them.
I try to push back my unease, try to stem the overwhelming feeling that is consuming me as we leave the building and are put back into the van.
We’re all silent on the way to the gallery, and I have a feeling that they can feel something is off as well. The van is coming to a stop all too soon and I hand both Seb and West an earpiece, pushing my own in and grabbing the laptop that was in the building before pushing out and looking left and right.
We keep our wits about us as the back door opens—another thing that doesn’t feel right. If he has four men taking us and then a way to get in, why does he need us to do it?
The four guys stay behind in the van, and once we’re inside, we’re handed uniforms.
“You know the way?” the sweaty security guard asks, his eyes flitting all about the place but not connecting with any of ours.
“Yeah,” Seb answers.
We all get changed into the blue uniforms before Seb tilts his head at us and pushes through the door that leads to the overhead system that we’ll be climbing through to get to the room the painting is being held in.
Seb climbs up first, West second, and then me last, my laptop still clutched under my arm. The small enclosed space has my pulse racing, memories of being in the hole flashing in my mind. I take a second, trying to compose myself before crawling behind Seb and West. My breaths turn into pants, a bead of sweat forming on my forehead and dripping down my cheek.
“It’s too freaking hot,” I moan, stopping for a second when we get to the trap door that will let us into the room. I sit up, crossing my legs and opening my laptop before pulling the blueprint out. I fold it back and forth, making a makeshift fan and waving it in front of my face, cooling myself down as I breach the security system and turn the lock off in the room. Once it’s done, Seb and West drop through the trapdoor, their boots smacking off the floor as they land inside.