I keep track of all of the cameras, making sure no one is going to come inside as they take the painting out of the frame and place it in the case that West is wearing on his back.
“Shit!” Seb curses. “There ain’t no way we’re getting it up there.”
I stiffen. Fuck. Why the hell didn’t any of us think about how to get it out? We were so hung up on getting in and not being caught that we didn’t even think about the size of the thing.
My fingers fly over the keys, trying to work out another way out as I unfold my makeshift fan and find another route. Once I’ve found one I think we can work with, I shut my laptop, jumping down through the trapdoor.
I unfold the blueprint, placing it on the top of a cabinet. “We can go out this way,” I tell them, pointing to the way I’ve found.
“That’s the service entrance,” Seb says, shaking his head. “There’s no way we will get out without being seen, we’ll have to pass through part of the main gallery.”
I worry my lip, hearing footsteps outside of the door and panicking. “We need to get out of here now, there’s no other option, I’ve run them all. We’ll be seen but no one will think about it because we’re wearing these things.” I screw up my face, pulling the scratchy material away from my chest.
“He’s right,” West says, grabbing the back of his neck and rubbing it. “We have no choice, the longer we’re here the more likely we are to get caught.”
“But—”
“If we get caught then we’ll blow our cover, we have no choice.”
Seb huffs long and slow, his head turning toward the main door and then back to West and me. “Can you unlock it?” he asks.
I scoff, opening my laptop and then working my magic before the click of the door sounds. West puts his arms through the strap of the bag as I lead the way down the back hallway before stopping to make sure that no one is at the end. I shuffle back, holding a closed fist up to silently tell them to wait a minute.
Once the lady has passed us, I wave my arm to tell them it’s all clear before stepping forward and sticking my chest out so that I don’t look suspicious.
We pass several paintings and sculptures, people staring at them as well as a school field trip. My stomach drops when I see them, and I send a silent prayer that we can get out without causing any commotion.
We’re nearly in the clear having made it to the other side of the gallery, the door to the exit in sight before several sets of footsteps are coming toward us and then we’re being surrounded by what looks like a SWAT team, rifles pointed at us.
I hold my hands up on the air, the laptop clutched in them as they start to shout orders at us.
“Put the painting down!” the one in front shouts.
West reaches back, only hesitating briefly before he hands it to the man who is holding a rifle on him.
Everyone in the gallery stops and stares, gasps and murmurs surrounding us as another one of the men puts us under arrest, reading our rights and taking the laptop out of my hands. I tilt my head to the side as they cuff me with subpar handcuffs—handcuffs that I can get out of in two seconds flat.
I frown as I watch all four of them, taking everything in. How did they know that we had a painting? How were they warned? We didn’t trip anything, I know we didn’t. So, how do they know what we were doing?
Two officers walk away with the painting while two of them stay behind and I study all of their movements, hyper aware of the way that they move around with the weapons and the way they hold themselves.
“Listen, officer, let me explain—”
“No,” I cut Seb off.
His eyes meet mine, flashing in warning but I don’t adhere to it. “Don’t say a word.”
“What? Don’t be stupid.” He turns back to them. “I’m special agent—”
Fuck!
“We know who you are,” the one in front says, pulling his mask off his face and revealing his face, the same dickface who pushed me into the van. “Darrell knew who you were all along.”
Seb frowns, his gaze cutting to mine as he finally figures out that this man isn’t a policeman: he’s one of the four guys that brought us here.
“He knows who you all are.” He throws a folder at us before laughing and spinning around, walking out of there and reassuring the people in the gallery that all is well.
West picks the folder up the best way that he can with the cuffs on, opens it and spits out a string of curses. “Motherfucker! We’ve been played!”