There was precious little, though. My birth mum had come in under a fake name, although the nurses believed she was biracial because her skin color was lighter and she had light-colored eyes—a hazel-green—which I also have.
But who knows about those things? I read somewhere that skin, eye, and hair color can lay dormant for generations only to pop up when least expected.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Despite a hormonal meltdown when I was thirteen, which had more to do with me getting my period and less with my ethnic identity crisis, I grew up in a relatively secure and loving household where the circumstance of my birth didn’t matter.
Just as they don’t matter here.
I shut the door behind Neal, not bothering to ask again why he’s so late. He’d probably give me gory details about what he and Otto did, and I can do without those images.
“Have any problems?” he asks as he plops on his back on my bed. Glad I won’t be sleeping there anymore.
“Just over eight minutes,” I say proudly. Not my best time, but definitely nowhere near my worst.
Walking over to my purse, I pull out the black velvet bag I stored the loot in. Pulling it out, I hold up the massive oval sapphire-and-diamond ring. The Sri Lankan sapphire weighs in at a little over sixty-nine carats. While a little too gaudy for my tastes, the fact it will fetch a few million on the black market makes it palatable to me.
“You put the fake in its place?” he asks, and I roll my eyes.
“No, I decided to leave him the real one after I did all that work of cracking the combo.”
Laughing, Neal rolls off my bed. Heading to the door, he says, “I’m going to go take a shower. I got extra dirty last night, if you know what I mean.”
I do… and I don’t want to think about it. Poor Otto.
“Can you hurry it up?” I ask as he exits my room. “I’d like to get out of here.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even bother shutting the door.
Growling, I stomp across my room and slam the door shut. Nabbing my phone off the small desk, I avoid the bed and flop in the chair instead. I dial my dad, immediately feeling my anxiety lift when he answers.
“Sindaria,” he exclaims when he answers, rocking the cockney accent. It makes me smile. “How’s Havana?”
“Hot. I miss London,” I say. “Heading out tonight.”
“I miss you too,” he says gruffly, which means he translated my words into ‘I miss you’.
“Any problems while you were there?”
He’s asking whether I had any problems cracking the safe. It’s important to him because my dad passed his skills along to me. George Westin was a master lock manipulator and thief extraordinaire. While I’m sure my mum would have liked to have me go into a different profession, that ended up being moot as she died when I was seven. It made me closer to my dad than ever, and I proudly followed in his footsteps.
“Wasn’t a great time,” I say, disappointment filling me. “Over eight minutes.”
My dad chuckles. “Sindaria… you can do something only a handful of people in the world can. And you’re upset with eight minutes?”
“Well, no,” I admit with a huff. “But… well, I’m tired. Plus, Neal is an asshole—”
“Wish you wouldn’t work with that guy,” my dad cuts in. He knows Neal. In this line of work, people tend to know the same players, and he can’t stand him either.
“I know,” I say softly, but that’s about all I can.
My dad has no clue I don’t have a choice but to work with Neal. That I’m an indentured servant right now until I fulfill a certain job quota with the current crew I’m on.
I’m stuck with no wiggle room to escape.
But I can’t tell my dad. The pickle I’ve gotten myself into would kill him.
Especially since he’s the reason I’m stuck.
CHAPTER 3
Saint
Things are moving faster than I imagined they would. I’ve been in Paris less than thirty-six hours, but I’m on track to meet the unnamed kingpin whom the insurance companies believe is planning a major heist.
Frankly, it’s not something I had expected. When I’d reached out to William Mears, inquiring if he was interested in my services because I wanted to return to the business, I expected I’d have to work hard to prove my worth.
But William seemed absolutely delighted I’d contacted him, especially with my assurance I was in possession of new technology that would make modern-day security systems seem like tinker toys. Thank God for Bebe and her massively ginormous techie brain. She loaded me up with all kinds of goodies before I left for the airport.
When I touched down in Paris, I checked into a hotel under my travel alias. It’s something all thieves do. While the insurance consortium is paying my bills, I do have to account for my expenditures. Still, I’d told them I needed to stay somewhere fairly posh as my ability to get into this ring was going to be my portrayal as a still-relevant player.
I’d just gotten out of prison, so I don’t want them to consider me ‘down on my luck’. I want to paint the impression I have many options, which means I don’t have to take whatever they decide to offer me. Luckily, the consortium didn’t balk at my request. I have a nice per diem that will let me put on the necessary airs I’ll need to sell my game.
I had dinner with William last night. He and I worked a few crews together in my early days, before I ventured out as an independent contractor. He’s the type who buckles down and gets serious on a job, but who can kick back with a pint after.
When I’d gone off on my own, William moved more into a managerial/planning role with a crime lord. He’d put his considerable experience with heisting into devising perfect plans and managing to pull off numerous high tech and expensive robberies.
Oh, the vault is on the sixty-third floor and protected by armed guards and lasers? No worries… William would come up with some elaborate scheme to scale that fucking building, then cut a hole through the side while suspended from cables.
He was bat-shit crazy, but it worked.
Or so I’ve heard.
At dinner, William had asked, “You ready to go straight into the big leagues or do you need some time to acclimate?”
“What do you have planned?” I’d asked, hoping he’d spill the beans about what I needed. If he did, I could head home with my mission accomplished.
It could never be that easy, though. All he’d said was, “Something bigger than anything that has ever been done. But I have to clear you with the boss.”
At the mention of the boss, a thrill went through me, but that could mean anything.
William and I made small talk. He’d asked what I’d been up to since getting out of prison, and I’d flat out lied. Told him I’d tried some odd jobs, but nothing had stuck. If he were on to me, then there was nothing I could do. I’d deal with it if I had to, but I feel pretty secure he wouldn’t introduce me to someone above his pay grade if he thought I was undercover.
We left after he gave me a business card for a Julian Mercier with instructions to be at the address listed at nine AM.
So, here I am.
The restaurant—Margeaux—has a menu posted in a glass case beside the door, which indicates it’s only open for dinner. When I try the handle, I find it unlocked.