“You always do.”
Chapter Sixteen
“We’re just walking in?” She tugged on the hem of her dress. A dress that felt way too short and had come courtesy of the hotel. Or rather, a delivery from the hotel, from the expensive shop on the first floor. Black and tight, the dress hugged every inch of her body.
After she’d put it—and fancy new black pumps—on, she’d hurried out of the bathroom to find Remy. He’d stared at her a moment, not saying a word. When she’d prompted him, he’d finally told her, “I wish I could paint you.”
From Remy, she knew that was high praise indeed, but she still felt uncomfortable as hell in the dress. Not her normal style at all. Remy, meanwhile, wore loose jeans, a tight t-shirt, a black jacket, and boots. “Tell me again,” she said as the limo slowed near the intersection of Canal and Bourbon, “why I’m wearing this, and you get to be all comfortable.”
“Because when you look as hot as you do, no one will expect you to be a threat. Any guards will be too distracted to think you might be dangerous.”
Dangerous. That was a new way to describe her.
“You sure you don’t need any tools for the job?” Remy murmured.
The job would be safe cracking, and she was trying ever so hard to play it cool. “Not like we can do any drilling.” Her grandfather had always hated drilling into the weak points of a safe. He’d called the work sloppy. “A blow torch is definitely not an option.” Another method not favored by her grandfather.Too dangerous. Don’t want to burn yourself, do you?“And scoping is out.”
He lifted a brow.
“That goes with drilling.” Though she suspected Remy probably knew this. But she was nervous, and when she was nervous, she rambled. They had reached their location, but she couldn’t quite manage to slide toward the door and get out of the limo. “With scoping, that’s when you drill a small hole into the safe, and you insert a borescope. It lets you see inside.”
“We already know what’s inside.”
Scoping let you look at the mechanisms of the lock, too, but, again, scoping wasn’t an option. Not if they were right about her grandfather booby trapping this safe. “It’s going to be old-school lock manipulation.” Just like the other two safes she’d opened for Preston. Her hand fluttered in the air. “It’s all about fingers, eyes, and ears. Not so much hearing, though, as feeling.” Her grandfather had been so big onfeelingthe lock. Sensing the vibrations.
“Why didn’t Preston use an auto-dialer?” Remy wanted to know.
Ah, so hedidknow his safecracking terms. “Those can take twenty-four hours or more.” The computerized auto-dialers were used by the newer safecrackers, and her grandfather had scoffed at them. Said they were ruining the craft. “He always told me he could block an auto-dialer any day of the week. I suspect Preston tried them on this safe, and they didn’t work.”
“Probably scared to try too hard because he didn’t want to damage the prize inside. Once he realized he had the legendary safe from Fingers Fabian, the man couldn’t take chances.”
Yes. The prize.Twenty million.“What happens once we get the money? Do we turn it over to the CIA? The Feds? And how are we going to stop Preston? He’ll just come after us.” With a vengeance.
“I like to worry about one problem at a time. Right now, we just need to get in the safe.” He leaned forward and reached for the door. “You ready?”
Nope. But they were still doing this. “Constantine is close by, watching?”
“He has his orders.” Remy smiled at her. “Don’t worry, you will be safe.”
But I want you safe, too.“We’llbothbe safe.”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Remy opened the door. After he stepped out, he reached back with his hand for her.
Her fingers closed around his. “No, that’s not what you said.”
“I’m sure it’s what I meant.” Remy pulled her closer. Turned toward Bourbon. She could already hear the laughter and the voices ringing out in the air.
Even though she lived in New Orleans, she didn’t visit Bourbon Street very often. She’d actually only crept onto the party street once or twice with a few friends. But Remy strolled forward as if he came there every night. Confidence oozed from him, and his arm looped over her shoulders in a gesture that felt both protective and possessive.
“I did put a present or two in your bag,” he said, voice soft. “Just because I wanted you to be prepared.”
The little black bag that had arrived with her dress. She paused, fumbled inside, and saw…
A screwdriver.
She started to smile.
“A woman should always have her trusty screwdriver at her side,” he murmured. “I also included a few things frommylock-picking set. Doubt they’ll be of any help, but I figured they couldn’t hurt.”