Authors: Karin Shah
“Our friend, Jaden did that. He’d been almost as tall as Ethan at that age and he knew what it was like to have people judge you for something that wasn’t your fault. Still, the placement with Jaden and me was no bed of roses. We got out of there as soon as we were legal. Ethan was three years younger, but he joined the Navy with us.”
“At fifteen? How?”
“Fourteen. The Navy will take you at seventeen.” He took a gulp of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He was as tall as he is now. Hell, the recruiter went over my real documents with a fine-toothed comb. He hardly looked at Ethan’s fake ones.”
“At least my height had some advantage.” Ethan stopped at the table and threw down a couple twenties. “It was good to see you, Joe, but we’re on a deadline.” He held Devon’s gaze for a moment when he said “deadline,” as if reminding her there were lives at stake. Not that it was necessary. Meeting Joe had been his idea, after all, and it wasn’t like she could forget why they were really here.
She’d just checked her phone. Eighteen hours, seventeen minutes, and counting. She slid out of the booth as he shook his friend’s hand and said goodbye, leaving Joe to finish his beer.
Back on the street, Ethan put a hand under her elbow. He didn’t say anything about what Joe had said, but she could tell the conversation had gotten under his skin. He didn’t speak as they walked and she was too busy fighting the butterflies doing bombing runs in her stomach to push him. All too soon they stood at the door to Laird’s building.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Devon swallowed. “No, but as you pointed out, we are on a deadline.”
She hefted the large purse holding her supplies, straightened her black skirt suit, and patted her hair in its neat French twist. Who’d have thought she’d be back in her city uniform so soon?
Ethan planted a kiss on her cheek, then gazed into her eyes. “You look perfect.”
Though the sweet kiss made her want to drag him into an alley for something a little more satisfying, his words didn’t soothe her butterflies, and she covered with a flippant, “Great. I want to look good for my mug shot.”
Before he could reply, or she had a chance to lose her nerve, she grasped the door and yanked it open, leaving him on the street.
The journey up to the twentieth floor either took two years or two seconds, she couldn’t say which, engrossed as she was wrestling her tumbling nerves. As the reflective elevator doors opened, she could see a trace of gold glowing in her eyes and had to pretend to study a landscape on the wall until she could collect her wits, indulging in a some self-talk.
You can do this, Devon
.
The plan had all seemed so simple when she’d outlined it. Step one. Meet with Laird. They’d already made sure he was in today.
No surprise, there was a secretary on duty at a sleek glass desk. Devon smiled at the haughty-looking blonde and recited her spiel, hoping her throbbing pulse wasn’t visible. “I’m Devon Daughtry. I represent a client who’s extremely eager to purchase one of Mr. Laird’s collection. Could you ask him if I could have a few minutes of his time?”
The blonde raised eyebrows pruned within an inch of their life and Devon leaned toward her.
“I’m sorry to drop in, but I’m only in New York for a few hours before I have to be out of country.”
The secretary made a quick call and after a few minutes or hours of waiting, ushered Devon through a pair of heavy wooden doors. A glass case under a spotlight graced the left-hand wall. Her breath hitched in her throat.
The ticket to Beth’s well-being.
The man behind the desk, heavyset, with wiry, black hair shot through with gray and a pugnacious set to his jaw, stood up as she entered.
Showtime.
Devon reached into her bag and brought out the rare wine she’d carried inside, wrapping her slippery fingers around the paper label. She shoved it into his outstretched hand. “Mr. Laird, a little token from my client for the impromptu nature of my visit. As I told your secretary, he’s very keen to purchase part of your collection.” She reached out to shake his hand.
God, don’t let my fingers tremble.
Laird fumbled with the bottle for a moment, then set it down and shook her hand. “I understand. Business isn’t always predictable.” He waved a square-fingered hand toward one of the modern glass and metal chairs in front of his very traditional desk. “Please have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Devon started to sit, then paused as if her eye were caught by something outside the window. “I hope you’ll excuse me. I’ve never been in this building. Look at that view.”
She skirted the desk and steamed to the window, then slid as far as she could to the right as if trying to see something on the far left. “What a pity. I thought you might be able to see the Empire State Building.”
He joined her at the window and craned his neck to the left. “No, not quite.”
Heart knocking like the engine of the old beater she’d driven in college, she grasped the replica of the seal Kyle had had made by God knows who, and tucked it on the bookcase beside the window under a trailing branch of fake English Ivy, praying it was out of sight and moved back to the desk, perching in the hard chair, but not without a furtive glance at the shelf.
Could she see the gleam of faux gold under the plant?
“Miss Daughtry?”
She ripped her gaze away and smiled. God willing, he’d think she was still occupied with the view, and shook her head. “Sorry to be such a tourist. Now, I’m told you have the Queen’s Seal of Ochoa? Is that true?”
Laird grasped his lapels, crinkling the fine gray wool, and stuck out his beefy chest. “It’s the jewel of my collection. Would you like to see it?”
“Absolutely.” She let him guide her to the case. It appeared to be made of glass, but the biometric lock said whatever the material was, it was not going to give way to a simple smash and grab, if that had been their plan.
She leaned forward to give the tiny camera she wore in her buttonhole—another mysterious acquisition of Kyle’s—a close-up view of the mechanism.
“It’s fabulous.” She ghosted a fingertip over the glass. “I can see why my client wants it.”
Laird stiffened. “Your client wants the seal? I’m sorry. Everything else in my collection has a price, but not the seal. You have no idea what I went through to get that particular treasure.”
Damn it. There goes my last hope we’re not going to have to steal it.
She straightened her suit, drying her palms. With that option gone, she’d better sell her final bit of acting. “But Mr. Wade—”
“Ethan Wade sent you? That bastard knows full well I won’t sell!” Laird’s face was purpling, the veins in his temples bulging.
“Well, I’m sure—” Devon groped for words.
“
I’m
sure you can tell your client, that not only can he not have the seal, but if he comes near me I will take out a restraining order against him!”
She huffed. “Mr. Laird, I had no idea there was bad blood between you. There’s no need for strong language.” She raised her chin. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” With those words, she marched to the desk, snatched up the bottle of wine, and sailed out the door, hardly daring to look back or breathe until she was on the street.
Ethan met her around the corner. Towering over the rushing crowd, he moved with the lion’s easy glide. The throng of people curved around him, giving him space, as if he were a magnet with the same polarity. The sight of him slowed the rapid-fire beating of her heart.
“How’d it go?”
She patted her bag with the bottle nestled within, pumped at completing her part. “Oh, it went.”
They had to get the bottle back to the loft, but they could spare five minutes. Time to celebrate. She surveyed the street and spotting an out of the way corner, took his hand and towed him to it.
“Where are we going?”
“You didn’t think I was satisfied by the tiny peck you gave me earlier, did you?” She clasped the edges of his open jacket, hauling him down to savor his firm lips.
“Devon?”
The voice saying her name froze her in place before Ethan’s mouth could do more than brush hers.
She wheeled to face her old boss. Darn it, of all the people to run into.
His golden hair swept with just the right rakish flair over his high forehead, his dimpled chin, sky-blue eyes, and the thousand-dollar suit tailored to his buff frame, were the epitome of Manhattan perfection. What had she ever seen in him?
She didn’t bother to smile. Thankfully, he no longer had any power over her. “Mordechai. What are the odds?”
He clasped his hands behind his back, a king overlooking his kingdom. “Pretty good actually, since M and N has a client in this building.”
Ethan had been in the shadows behind her, but now he stepped out. “Who’s this, Devon?”
Mordechai took him in the way a beachcomber eyes an approaching tsunami, then recovered himself, shooting his cuffs. “I’m her boss.” He threw back his shoulders. “Devon, about our conversation.” He took a step toward her. “I hope you took it to heart.”
Ethan straightened, displaying his full height. “Ex-boss the way I heard it.” He slid around Devon and stood toe-to-toe with the smaller man. “and what conversation might that be?”
Devon hid a smile at the expression on Mordechai’s face as he realized he was outside his weight class. On every level.
She put a hand on Ethan’s sleeve.
I’ve got this. “
You made yourself very clear. Now, if you don’t mind, we have a cab to catch.”
Devon hailed a taxi. Ethan opened the door and helped her in, then slid in himself.
“What was that about?”
She looked at him from under her eyelashes and tutted. “Now, now. I have some questions for you. Answer them and I’ll tell you all about that rat, Mordechai.”
“Tit for tat, is it?”
Devon crossed her arms. “You got it.”
He studied her for a long minute. “All right then.”
Devon settled back against the worn vinyl of the cab seat. “I want to know why you send money to the Seegers.”
He looked out the window and shrugged. “It’s not like it means something to me. I find coins all the time. A dragon thing, I guess. Sometimes, I even find gemstones.”
“Hmm. But—”
“Ah, ah, ah. Tit for tat, remember? My turn. Who’s Mordechai?, and don’t tell me he used to be your boss.”
Devon blew out a giant breath. “Fine. We dated.”
“And?”
“And it’s my turn. You just give money to the Seegers because you have it? That’s it?”
“Okay.” He shook his head, his eyes narrowed as if the memory gave him pain. “I guess the truth is it’s my way of saying, ‘If it’s all about money, here it is. Suck it.’ Is that better? Or maybe, I want them to know what they threw away. Rub their faces in it. Whatever. I don’t know. I just do it.”
Devon took his hand and fiddled with Ethan’s long fingers. God damn them for hurting him. “Okay. Mordechai is the senior lawyer at the firm I worked for. He’s also an accountant, so he handled M and N’s books. I found out he was skimming. I confronted him, but since we had a relationship, he was able to transfer the money he’d stolen into my account. It appeared like I was the one embezzling from the company. He told me to keep quiet. I refused. They fired me.”
“Jesus.” Ethan’s eyes went gold and his voice roughened. “You could have been arrested. I’m going to back there and tear out his liver.” He started to signal to the driver, but she caught his hand and kissed his knuckles.
“Down, boy. I handled it. I returned the money to the company, in exchange for freedom from prosecution.”
“What about—?” Ethan started, the back of his hand slick with scales.
She put a finger on his lips. “He rakes it in as a lawyer, but not enough to support his movie-star lifestyle. He’s suffering without his extra income, don’t worry. I heard he had to sell his condo in TriBeCa. Believe me, living in the Bronx is suffering for a man like that.”
He settled for a growl, and she buried her smile in his chest, then rested her chin on his muscular shoulder. “No more worrying about the past.” She exhaled and peeked at the time. Seventeen hours. It was the future they should be worried about.
Step one might be over, but step two was a doozy.
Chapter 31
Ethan watched Jake finish ripping the fingerprints off the smooth, black neck of the wine bottle. The sleek chrome pendant lights over Ky’s kitchen island provided the good light required for the procedure. Ky, Devon, and Anjali sat next to Ethan, no one daring to breathe as Jake transferred the prints. Several other supplies were spread over the wide, granite surface.
Ethan ran his gaze over the index cards, tape, disposable plastic trays and tweezers. “How do you know how to do this?”
Jake, head still lowered, raised his eyes from his work. His mouth quirked. “The Internet.”
He photographed the latent prints with his phone and downloaded the pictures to a tablet. Once they were printed, Jake laid them in a series of molds. Anjali handed him the gelatin she’d been mixing and he slowly poured it into the molds.
After the molds had been put in the fridge to cool, everyone started breathing again.
Jake’s latex gloves snapped as he stripped them off. “Now let’s hope those firm up in time.”
He lifted the tablet and they crowded around him to run through the video Devon had taken. “This model needs a four digit pin. I should be able to smell which numbers he used. Then I just have to figure out the order.”
Ethan’s gut rolled at the idea of putting the others in harm’s way. He laid a hand on Jake’s shoulder. “Look, I took on risky missions all the time as a SEAL. I appreciate all this, but I’m going to be the one inside.”
His younger brother glanced up, his steady blue gaze resolute. “When we need someone to storm in and rescue a hostage, you’re our guy. Sneaking in and stealing objects under the owner’s nose? That’s in my wheelhouse. Besides, you’ll have your hands full with the video feeds.”
It was all too much. What if something went wrong and Jake were captured or killed? He hadn’t had a chance to play the older brother when they were growing up, but the least he could was keep Jake out of the direct line of fire.
“No.” Ethan stalked away a pace and then back. “I’m the one who spent three months disembodied. No way you’re going endanger yourself this way.”
Jake stared at the ground. “Can you get into the case in under five minutes?” A topaz eye peeked through his hair as he slid his gaze back in Ethan’s direction.
He gritted his teeth, his lion side raging against its containment. “Probably not,” he admitted.
“And I’ve never used a thermic lance. We all have our parts.” Jake’s voice was adamant. “If the theft is discovered, you’re the prime suspect. You can’t be anywhere near the scene.”
Fuck.
Jake was right, but still, the whole thing felt wrong. He wanted to punch a wall in frustration. Short of being a total asshole and knocking his brothers out, this was going down with Jake on point.
Devon leaned into Ethan, he could feel the soft curve of her breast against his ribs. The touch calmed him, but awakened other urges. Damn Harvey. He had far more interesting things to do tonight than break through a wall.
She gazed up into his face. “We decided this yesterday. Stop trying to change the plan.” She kissed the tip of his nose, a move that settled his protesting lion and melted his heart. “We need you on the video feeds. You have the traffic cam and ATM map. Make sure no one sees you. Now, let’s get ready.”
Yes, dear
. The words rang no less sarcastically for being telepathic.
She turned to him, eyebrows raised and winked.
Now, that’s more like it.
Less than an hour later, Ethan slung his bulky pack over his shoulder and headed into the kitchen, throwing on the brakes as he came face-to-face with his youngest brother. Jake wore skin-tight black spandex pants and a black nylon jersey like a cyclist. He looked at Ethan from under lowered brows as if daring him to comment.
Ky entered at almost the same moment from his office. He stood there for a second, then a broad, white smile slashed across his face, and he burst out laughing. Rusty laughter shook his whole body. He rolled and pounded the bookcase divider with his fist.
Seeing his tormented, oldest brother lost in a moment of pure mirth lightened the worry weighting Ethan’s shoulders and he hid a chuckle.
Ky sobered a little, but kept the smile. It suited him. “You look like a bike messenger.”
Jake glowered at his brother, eyes glinting just a bit yellow and Anjali came up, her outfit chiming softly, and put her hand around her mate’s lean waist, looking like a tiny East Indian figurine in her rich sari, covered from head to toe in jewelry, her hair and makeup elaborately done, like a Bollywood princess. “Excuse me? He looks like a
badass
bike messenger.”
Ethan couldn’t deny that. Especially with that expression on his brother’s face. He set his bag on the island. “I didn’t know we were disguising ourselves as couriers.”
Jake threw him a dirty look.
Anjali answered for her mate. “It was my idea. I thought if there was no space between the skin and your clothing, you might be able to shift without ending up naked. Unless you like being bare-assed in October, in New York.”
Ethan allowed himself a private chuckle as he remembered last night, but didn’t answer.
Ky raised his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay.” He dropped his arms. “Have you tried it?”
Anjali’s smile almost took over her pretty face. “Uh-huh.”
Ky shared a ironic glance with Ethan.
I don’t know whether to be glad or depressed.
Jake held out his arm to Anjali and she pulled out a syringe.
“Whoa!” Ethan stuck out his hand. “What’s that?”
Anjali waved the hypodermic in the air like a shopkeeper hawking necklaces in a bazaar. “This is the drug we talked about. Jake’s captor developed it. In large doses it stops us from shifting. The tiny amount I’m going to give Jake will allow him to stay disembodied. The trick is to give him enough to facilitate staying between forms for the time we need, but not giving him enough to knock him out.”
Ethan crossed his arms, his throat working, but he didn’t protest no matter how much he wanted to. He was willing to risk his own life going it alone, but Devon was right, the lone man scenario’s chances of success blowed, putting Devon and the baby, not to mention Beth and Matt’s lives on the line.
This plan was the best they had. No matter how much he fucking hated it. No use beating a dead horse.
Devon walked in. Her part in the plan over, she hadn’t changed since she’d shed her suit, still looking good enough to eat in a simple long-sleeved V-neck sweater and jeans. “Everybody ready?”
No one answered. They just gathered their supplies and went to the elevator.
Alone in an abandoned subway spur, Ethan set up shop, extracting his tools and lining them up in the order he planned to use them, then he checked in.
Devon.
He reached out telepathically to where she waited in Ky’s Infiniti SUV. He’d been surprised his wealthy brother didn’t own a Range Rover or a Mercedes, but as he came to know Ky, he’d realized everything his brother owned he’d bought with his missing family in mind.
Devon had gone with Jake and Anjali in Ky’s Infiniti, while Ethan had taken a cab. Devon hadn’t needed to come for this part at all, but no amount of smooth talking or bluster had convinced his God-damn, stubborn-ass mate to stay home where it was safe when the rest of them risked their lives.
Can you hear me?
Clear as crystal.
He sighed with relief, closing his eyes. Radios and phones would never have worked through this much steel and concrete.
Are you in place?
Yep, go on my end.
Ky?
Go.
Jake?
Go.
Anjali?
Go, I guess.
All right, about to start cutting now.
He picked up the thermic lance, but before he lit the torch, he reached out with his dragon senses, seeking the pull of the metal in the wall and found the pipe, but not where he’d expected it.
Shit
.
What is it?
Ky asked.
The fucking plans are wrong. They must have reinforced the wall sometime after they were made. I don’t have enough rods to complete the job.
Are you a dragon or a drouse?
Ky’s mental voice was dry.
Huff and puff and blow that bad-boy down
.
The thermal lance burns at around 4,000 degrees. How hot is dragonfire?
Not hot enough to burn through concrete, but a good scorch should make it easier to knock it out with a hammer.
Ethan nodded.
Should work.
He measured the tunnel with his gaze
. Damn, I hope I fit.
Ky gave the telepathic equivalent of a snort.
Hurry it up.
Jake’s voice was sharp.
Our window is closing.
Ethan checked his timer. Jake was right. Time was ticking away until the guard was due to make his rounds. They had already wasted twenty minutes and Anjali had estimated the drug would last no more than forty-five.
Ethan stripped and closed his eyes, calling his dragon. When he opened them, he found himself with damn few inches to spare between himself and the side of the tunnel.
Shit
. Thank God, he wasn’t claustrophobic.
He wriggled into position and reached for his fire. Ky said it was like spitting. You just thought about it and it happened. Too bad he hadn’t had the time to practice. Not to mention the difficulty of finding a safe place to do so. A fire-breathing dragon in NYC might draw a bit of attention. He opened his mouth and blew. Nothing.
His frustrated growl bounced back at him with startling volume.
Great
. That better not have been audible on the street. The last thing he needed was some enterprising soul deciding to investigate.
He tried again. A stream of smoke barreled from his throat. Awesome, he’d probably asphyxiate himself long before he did any damage to the concrete.
He took a deep breath and focused. A flare lit the dark tunnel, flames blackened the dingy gray concrete. He blew fire for as long as he dared, stopping to check the effect on the concrete, conscious not only of the diminishing minutes until the guard made his rounds and Jake’s drug wore off, but the loss of oxygen in the tunnel. He felt the wall.
Damn, not warm enough.
With a groan that echoed in his ears he tried again. Fire blew back in his scaled face. Thankfully, it didn’t burn him, but the flame made it difficult to see. Smoke seared his nostrils. His head swam. He blew again and again, pushing past the rushing in his ears and the pain in his chest.
Finally, he had no choice but to turn human. Fresh air flowed into the void. Chest puffing, too exhausted to flash, he dragged on his clothes and eyed the concrete. The surface was definitely singed. He wiped his sweat-slicked hands and hefted the sledge hammer he’d brought, taking a wide swing.
The heavy metal head landed with a
thwack
. The concrete he’d burned came away in a layer.
Thank God.
The alarm on his phone beeped.
Fuck. Fifteen minutes.
He didn’t have time to rest or feel relief.
He swung again, and again, until he had an aperture as deep as his arm. The pipe was maybe a foot further, but he didn’t dare take another swing. If he damaged the cables the whole damn heist was over before it began. He went to work with a small hammer and chisel and soon exposed the heavy pipe.
After yanking on his coveralls and goggles, he gripped the acetylene torch and started to light it.
Progress
? Jake sounded tense. Not surprising since he had the riskiest part of the plan.
Ethan lit the torch.
I’m at the pipe. A minute to cut through and another to splice into the cable feed.
Gotcha
.
Two minutes later, Ethan studied the monitor of his laptop.
I’m looking at their camera feeds right now. Everybody set
?
One by one, the group confirmed.
He checked his phone.
Okay. Twelve minutes.
They were cutting it damn close.
On the screen, Ethan watched Anjali bang on the glass doors of the building, her sari sparkling with each movement, and held his breath. If she couldn’t convince the guard to get up, they were dead in the water. Devon had originally suggested she do this part, since she’d been in earlier in the day, but Ethan thought Laird might get suspicious. If the Navy held a competition in suspicion, Laird could qualify as an expert.
The guard, a trim older man whose closed expression and world-weary bearing screamed “retired cop” went to the door.
Ethan switched the feeds, making the hallway cameras on Laird’s floor and the stairway cameras from Laird’s to the roof, show lower floors with identical layouts, then checked on Anjali.
“Open up,” Ethan said under his breath as the guard studied Anjali through the glass. “Come on. Open the god damn door!”
The guard paused for a minute, then his hand went to his keys and unlocked the door.
Ethan pumped his fist in front of his chest.
Yes!
Now, she only had to convince him to let her in.
The cameras didn’t have sound, but Ethan knew the story she spun for the guard. She was on her way to her engagement party and she’d lost a bracelet her soon-to-be in-laws had given her. She thought it might have fallen from her purse earlier in the day, when she’d answered a phone call in the ladies’ room. Had they found it, or could she look for it?
Anjali pleaded through the door with her beautiful liquid eyes and, as they’d hoped, the guard swung the door open, leaning out to let her in.
Jake, who’d entered earlier moving incorporeally, was already in place in Laird’s office. Thankfully, the cheap bastard had never bothered to put in a RFID system or motion detector, relying on the building’s security system and his glorified display case to protect millions of dollars worth of gold. Idiot. Thank God.
The numbers are 2,3,4,5. He couldn’t have been that stupid, could he?
The pitch of Jake’s mental voice rose with disbelief.