It was lackluster at best. So not worth the hassle of getting caught.
Milo snapped his fingers, and one of the jaguar’s pounced on her, pitching her to the ground.
Having a two hundred pound big cat on top of her had not been how she had wanted to spend her day. She was supposed to be halfway out of town with Mia right about then. At least her best friend was far away by now, safely away from Milo and his kitties. Mia wasn’t like her; she was human.
Josie had an unfair advantage, being a witch. Even if her powers were itty bitty bits of nothing since her witchy relatives had an obsession with making babies with human lads. She had some control over the earth element.
Not that it was much of an advantage when she was being pinned down by a jaguar. There were no potted plants anywhere that she could use as a weapon.
Seriously, would it have killed the shifter to have at least a cactus? Didn’t he know snake plants existed? It would have been right up his alley.
“Your associate made off with a very rare Johannes Galileo, though I suspect you know just how much that painting is worth. You’ll bring it back to me.”
“Unlikely,” she snapped back, her voice breathy. You try breathing with a jerky jaguar crushing your lungs. “That thing belongs in a museum.” Listen to her! Not only had she used the cliched bathroom line, but she was straight up quoting a certain sexy archaeologist. If only she had a whip like he did, she’d whip the kitties straight off a high cliff.
Milo laughed at her as she struggled.
“Think you could give me a ball of yarn so the cat leaves me alone?”
The animal in question growled at her, his foul breath assaulting her nose.
“Off,” Milo commanded, sending the shifter away.
Not far, though. The shifters all sat on their haunches, watching her carefully as she stood up. At least her legs were stable and secure. She didn’t want to be shaking in her boots because of these idiots.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Josie Essa of Buffalo, New York. I’m going to let you go. In return for my generosity, you’re going to return the Galileo, and you will steal something for me.”
Josie scowled at him. “I don’t work for free.”
“It’s not for free, Josie. I’m letting you live if you do this.”
This was exactly why Josie hadn’t wanted to take this job. It was one thing to steal jewels. Art was a whole other ballgame. Arts people were complete whack jobs. She had only taken the heist because Mia had promised her it would be an easy in-and-out thing where they could make a cool two million each.
It had been silly to think that it would have been that simple.
“If I say no?” Josie asked her captor.
Milo laughed. Did the jerk really think that made him cool? It really didn’t. He sounded like a wheezing old man. “You can’t say no, Josie Essa. I know who you are, and I know who you work for. If you don’t retrieve the vase for me by next week, I will splash your identity on every newspaper, magazine, and website. You’ll never be able to work again, and your family’s little shop will be closed forever.” He snapped his fingers again as if he had remembered something. Maybe he’d forgotten how douchey he looked, and he was about to have a come to Jesus moment and let Josie go.
Ha.
Not likely.
“If you don’t do this, I’ll track you and your little friend down, and my guys will have kill orders. I’ve got no use for a human, and a witch with barely any powers. I might just have them kill your grandmother, too. Just as an added incentive for your continued cooperation.”
For the first time since the alarm had started blaring, Josie was scared. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She wouldn’t have cared if she died, not really, anyway. She couldn’t let that happen, because her death would kill her Gammy. That wasn’t a metaphor. The sweet old lady needed her. Josie couldn’t have that. And she couldn’t let anything happen to Mia.
At the very least, keeping her day job, and her family’s antique shop open and doing one heist for Mr. Snake was better than death-by-jaguar.
“One job,” she warned. “Then we’re even.”
“Of course,” he slithered.
That mother fucker was lying.
“What’s the job?” she asked. She’d deal with one problem at a time.
“I want you to break into Warwick Bank.”
Fuck.
She was going to die.
Chapter Two
York
York Warwick was sitting at his desk, head bowed low to glare at his computer screen. He’d read the same line of numbers forty times already, and yet still, the information wasn’t getting into his brain. He dug his fingers into the dark, shining surface of his mahogany desk before tapping out a rhythm against the wood.
Focus, he told himself.
He read the line over, finally understanding what the hell he was seeing. The projections for the next quarter’s earnings, that he could deal with in his sleep. Or at least, he would if he ever did sleep.
“Hello, son.”
York startled but quickly regained his composure. Only his mother could manage to bypass his shifter senses to sneak up on him. He hadn’t even heard her coming into his office. He’d have to remind his assistant Samantha—or was it, Louise? No, he had fired her. It was definitely Tanya. He’d have to remind the woman that no one was allowed to barge into his office.
Not even his mother.
Especially not his mother!
If he was being honest with himself, he had been expecting this visit. Especially since his brother London had threatened to sic their mother on him.
“Mother,” he said, not looking up from his computer screen, “you’re looking well.” York didn’t actually have to look up to see his mother to know that she did look just fine. Johanna York had always been a beauty. There was a reason she was still very much involved in fashion. Not only was she beautiful, but she had an eye for taste and style. She’d be dressed to the nines with her silvery hair done up to perfection.
As York continued typing away, he could feel his mother’s keen green eyes observing him. He had the unsettling feeling that his mother was peering into his soul. Her quiet scrutiny was usually followed by some serious mom truths, and York didn’t know if he was in the mood for that.
Actually, he knew he was in no mood for it.
“You look terrible,” she finally said. “When was the last time you slept? A full eight hours, I mean. Or better yet, when was the last time you shifted? I can almost see your beast begging to be let out for a nice, rejuvenating flight.”
York had to think about it for a second. Had it really been all that long since he flew? Since he slept a restful night?
Yes, it had been.
It’s not like he had time for silly things like sleeping and flying. He had a whack load of international banks to run. There were more pressing things than letting his dragon roam free. A full eight hours of sleep was ridiculous. There was no way he had that much time to sacrifice to rest.
He huffed out his displeasure in response to the thought. When you let me out next time, I won’t let you shift back into your human shape for a week, you ass. York sighed but ignored his dragon. Having a fight with himself while his mother watched on would only cause him more grief.