Chapter 1
Markus
“Wolverine, you hear me?”
Ryder’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie clipped to Markus’ belt. Shaking his head, Markus jiggled the sliding door’s lock one last time. He was rewarded with a satisfying click.
He was in.
Smirking to himself, he slipped into the quiet living room.
“Wolverine,” Ryder said again.
Markus lifted the walkie-talkie to his face. He’d forgotten all about his teammate. “Here… Fawn.”
“That’s not my code name. It’s Tiger.”
Markus shook his head, unable to contain his laughter. Why Ryder had insisted on code names was beyond him. They never did their jobs in public areas, and they had made absolutely sure the house’s owner would be out of town before hitting it up.
Could be that Ryder was getting bored of the same old, same old and wanted to spice things up a little.
Bad idea. Once you allowed yourself to get bored, you invariably became sloppy, and sloppiness in their profession was highly associated with death.
Even though the house was empty, with Ryder watching the exterior from across the street, Markus was still cautious creeping down the hallway. At the far end, he found the master bedroom.
King-sized bed. Silk sheets. Hot tub in the adjoining bathroom.
It was the home of someone who liked to throw money around, but also someone who, when it came down to it, had no respect for things. The bed was unmade, magazines, ashtrays, and to-go soda cups littering the floor. The bathroom was the same, except mostly towels and clothes created the clutter there.
In the walk-in closet, he found what he’d come for. Two wooden boxes stacked with stolen, designer watches.
And who would keep stolen goods in their house?
Bobby Arnett. Jacksonville, Florida drug dealer.
Since Bobby practically begged to be stolen from, Markus had no qualms about doing exactly that. Luckily, the job matched up perfectly with his moral code.
In one sentence: only take from other criminals.
As long as Markus stuck to that rule, all he was really doing was taking advantage of a system already set in place. No good people were ever harmed by his hand. It was like a Robin Hood operation.
The walkie-talkie came to life. “Markus.”
“No Wolverine?” He tucked the boxes under his arms.
“A car pulled in, man. I think it’s Bobby. He has two guys with him.”
The news was like an electric shock. Markus froze in place, too surprised to move. But only for a second.
An exhale later, he was out of the closet and across the bedroom floor. The sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the house.
Cursing through tight teeth, Markus unlocked a window. It was a long way down, but if he made the four-foot leap to the lower pitched roof over the front entry, then he could jump the ten or so feet down from there.
Heights. He freaking hated heights.
“Yo, Bobby!” a man’s voice called from downstairs. “The back door is open!”
You know what? Heights weren’t that bad after all.
“On my way,” Markus said to the walkie-talkie. “Pick me up at the west-end curb.”
With the boxes under one arm, he made the leap. His sneakers hit the roof tile and he flattened himself against them. One more jump to go.
And he had to make it fast. The silence in the house meant Bobby was looking for an intruder.
Taking a deep breath, he went for it. The impact with the ground traveled up his legs and to his skull, but he tucked and rolled, gaining distance while distributing the shock. The instant he came to his feet, he started running.
“Hey!” an angry voice boomed across the yard.
Markus didn’t stop. Not even when the grass a foot from him exploded from the impact of a bullet. He zigged and zagged, ducking around the edge of a bush.
Ryder waited at the corner, car idling. As Markus approached, he reached over and threw open the passenger’s door.
“Go, go!” Markus threw himself into the car.
Before he even got the door closed, the car was off, tires squealing.
“Shit,” Ryder hissed. “You okay?”
Markus checked the boxes. They hadn’t been hit.
“Yeah,” he said, his heart pounding.
“Did they see you?”
“I don’t think they saw my face.”
Closing his eyes, he dropped his head back and waited for his heart to slow down.
There hadn’t been a close call like that in a long time. Twenty years in the biz, stealing exclusively from other crooks, and you’d think there would have been more slipups.
But Markus had been lucky. So far.
Who knew how much longer that luck would last.
They drove down random streets for a while, crossing highways and blending into the busier spots. Both of them knew Jacksonville like the backs of their hands. There could be no getting lost.
Still, they had to be careful. Neither of them knew Bobby personally, but Jacksonville’s crime network wasn’t giant. Using a burner phone, Markus called their seller and set up a new location to meet.
In an apartment complex’s parking lot, they made the trade. Sixty thousand for the two boxes of designer watches.
As Markus pocketed his half, he wondered how worth it this had all been.
“Cheer up.” Ryder pulled into the mall parking lot, where Markus’ car waited. “It was a job well done.”
“Right. You weren’t the one dodging bullets.”
Ryder’s face pinched. “You sure you’re okay?”
Physically? Yep.
“I need to get out of this shit.” Markus opened the car door.
“You’ve been saying that for the last three years.”
“And now, I really mean it.” He swiped his hand over his face with a sigh. “I’ll see you later.”
“Hey, you don’t want to get a drink? Unwind some?”
“I have dinner with my mom.”
“Right.” Ryder winked. “Tell Tracey hi for me.”
“Not a chance.”
With a wave, he jumped from Ryder’s car and into his own.
Set right next to the beach, the little two-bedroom cottage he’d bought his mom five years back was about a fifteen-minute drive away. Pulling his regular cell phone from the glove compartment, Markus placed a call into their favorite restaurant for two orders of shrimp and grits.
A drink sure did sound good, just… in a little bit.
With the order ready right as he got to the restaurant, Markus grabbed the plastic bag and cruised down the street to the white house with pink shutters.
His mom’s biggest dream had always been to live right by the ocean. The day he’d been able to make that dream come true had been the proudest of his life.
Pride was something that didn’t take up much space in his brain. It still felt good every time he pulled up to the house, knowing he’d made the woman who’d done everything for him happy. If one positive thing had come from the path he’d chosen, it was that.
Dinner in hand, he opened the gate in the little white picket fence and went inside without knocking. Lively Latin music floated from the kitchen in the back of the house.
As could be easily predicted, his mom sat in the shade of the house, between the sliding back door and the pool, tapping away on her tablet.