Chapter Forty-Nine

Beaufort, South Carolina

October 28

T hree days until the heist.

The Bishop Security conference room was depressingly silent. Clara had to admit, stealing this painting was impossible. In the past, her greatest weapon was the element of surprise. Her targets were entitled, unsuspecting fatcats. Sure, they had security, often elaborate systems, but alone, and with time, she could defeat even the most sophisticated alarm. Clara had openly thrown down the gauntlet and told Lucien Kite her intentions. Staring blankly at the floor plan of his Connecticut mansion, she couldn’t see a way to back up her bold words.

Steady Lockhart, the most laid-back one in the group, rolled his chair to the corner and crossed his booted feet. On his lap were aerial photos of the property. He was subtle about it, but every so often, he would glance past whatever he was working on to check on Very. And if she caught him, her expression would soften. It was a subtle thing, a moment between the two, but it conveyed so much love it made Clara’s heart hurt. What would it be like to feel so…complete?

Steady interrupted her thoughts. “You’d have to be nuttier than squirrel shit to try to rob this guy. Short of building an exact duplicate of the house, drugging him, and putting him and all his people in it while you rob the real one, it ain’t happening.”

Finn, the scarred one, agreed. “Even with the interior alarms turned off for the party prep and the event, Kite has almost as many guards as guests. Twitch sent a dummy email to several of the guards. One of them opened the malware link so we can access their internal communication. Two men are stationed outside of Kite’s office at all times unless Kite’s in there. And these guys know the consequences if the painting is stolen on their watch.”

Clara’s stomach dropped. It had never occurred to her that others might pay the price for her actions. The people she stole from were thieves themselves; they deserved to be stripped of their ill-gotten gains. But the unsuspecting doormen she slipped past and the security guards she duped?

Miles read her thoughts. “Clara, these people understand how things work. You’re not responsible for their life choices.”

Emily tugged on Miles’s sleeve. “Look at this.” She nodded in the direction of her twin sons, Jack and Charlie. “This is how I picture you and Tox at this age. Watch what they do.”

Miles peered discreetly over his laptop screen as Charlie inched over to a sideboard that held a carafe of ice water and a bowl of cut fruit. He pulled the tablecloth toward him with a tug, toppling the food and drink to the floor with a crash. The child then began to wail.

Miles stood to assist, but Emily stopped him and cocked her head to Charlie’s brother. With the stealth of a seasoned spy, Jack slid to the plate of cookies on the opposite side of the room and filled his pockets.

“Those brilliant little deviants.” Miles shook his head, laughing. “And yes, that’s exactly the sort of thing Miller and I would do.”

Finn kissed Twitch on the cheek. “I’ll run these two down to the daycare room. They can entertain Trev and Charlotte.”

Emily mouthed thank you as Finn took the boys’ hands and led them out.

Clara’s small hand gripped his forearm, and Miles turned to face her. “That’s how we steal the painting.”

“Kite will surely be expecting a distraction.”

“But what if we make him think the painting is the distraction?”

“You mean lead Lucien Kite to believe we are really trying to steal something else?”

“He said himself that he doesn’t understand the allure of the painting. Kite said the treasure hunt was a myth and the painting was ugly. It wouldn’t be a huge leap to convince him we’re not trying to steal it at all. ”

“The question then becomes, what does Lucien Kite have in that house that we might be after?”

“I think I can help with that.” Nathan stood in the doorway of the conference room. Behind him was a well-built man, an inch or two shorter than Nathan’s 6’2” frame, with a brutal-looking crescent-shaped scar visible above and below his black sunglasses.

Miles’s curiosity quickly turned to inexplicable hatred for the mystery guest when Clara leapt to her feet and threw herself into his arms. Their rapid-fire French was so overlapping and intimate that Miles, despite being fluent, couldn’t make out what they were saying. That and the low-grade siren sounding in his ears as a red haze descended over him. Before he knew what he was doing, Miles was on his feet, preparing to pry the pair apart. A hand on his shoulder stayed him.

“Easy tiger.” Emily soothed. “She’s greeting an old friend.”

Miles hated the man instantly.

Clara turned to the group. “Everyone, this is Raphael Garza. We’re from the same neighborhood in Paris.”

“Born on the trash heap of Saint-Denis,” Garza said.

Clara’s English was accented, an indication that she was emotional. “I lived with Raphael’s family. We’d wait together in alleys for the cooks to dump the trash. Oh! Remember begging in the Gare de Leon?”

“I remember stealing in the Gare de Leon.”

They fell back into French, chattering away as if they had a happy, normal childhood.

“ De la misére á la richesse . Rags to riches as you say,” Garza said as they laughed.

Miles looked past the intruder to see Finn standing in the doorway just behind where Clara was fawning over Garza. The pair was in profile. Finn took one look at Garza and, with the grace of the seasoned spy that he was, continued down the hall.

Twitch glanced at her vibrating phone a moment later, read a text, then tapped something on her keyboard as she rotated her laptop in Garza’s direction.

Nathan cleared his throat. “Clara’s father, Reynard, arranged this meeting. Mr. Garza does some freelance work for Lucien Kite.”

Miles pinned Garza with a stare. “What kind of freelance work?”

Garza was unphased. “Tracking, mostly.” He shrugged. “Hunting down people or objects.”

“Hunting people?” Miles pressed.

Garza fired back, “I don’t shoot them and mount them on a wall, but yes, I locate people. After he discovered the video of Clara from the restoration house, Kite hired me to find The Lynx.”

“You saw the video?” Miles asked as the demons inside him rattled their cages.

Garza smirked, “If it’s any consolation, it’s very low quality. You can barely see her.”

This asshole had seen the video of Clara. Naked. It took every ounce of self-restraint Miles possessed not to dive across the table and choke the life out of Garza. Miles was the only person who got to see her naked.

Miles balled his fists. “It’s not.”

“Not what?”

“Any consolation.”

Garza turned to Clara. “Judging from his reaction, I’d guess someone caught the live show.”

Clara socked her friend playfully in the arm.

Miles shot to his feet.

Calliope did the same. “Miles, walk me to the kitchen. I need some tea.”

His sister-in-law continued to drag him until they were halfway up the stairs leading to the third-floor kitchen.

“That arm is attached.”

She released him. “I needed to get those people clear of the blast radius.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

They walked into the kitchen, and Calliope filled the kettle. “You looked like you were about to throw an innocent man through a plate glass window.”

Miles fetched a mug from the cupboard. “It’s fine. It’s just I’ve known Clara most of my life, and I’ve never even heard of this joker.”

“Clearly, he’s a friend. I mean, you know Clara has great instincts. She certainly wouldn’t have greeted someone she didn’t trust with so much enthusiasm.”

He turned away.

“Did you just growl?” she asked.

“What? No.”

“Yes, you did. Your brother makes the same sound when another man looks at me.”

“I’m fine, okay? Seeing an unfamiliar person with her like that threw me off for a second.”

“You do realize you’ve used the word fine three times in the last thirty seconds.”

“Leave it, Calliope. I’m fi—” Miles stopped himself before he added another “fine” to her tally. “I’m just… This whole situation has got me on edge.” He was preparing to unburden himself and ask her advice, but when Miles turned back, Calliope was clutching the counter, her face pinched.

“Are you okay?”

Miles hurried to her side and pried one hand free, taking it in his.

“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “I called my O.B. about it last week.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s Braxton-Hicks. These pseudo contractions that feel really fucking real.” Straightening as if nothing had happened, Calliope returned to preparing her tea. “Last time it happened, Tox was ready to call an ambulance.”

“I know he’s overprotective, but I think I might have done the same.”

With the steaming mug in her hand, his sister-in-law gave him a warm smile. “It’s nice having you around, Miles.”

He looked at Calliope for a moment—tall and lean with a basketball-sized bump. Her black hair fell over her shoulders, and her pale blue eyes sparkled. She looked like a portrait, one Miles would title Contentment .

Unbidden, a thought flashed; Miles wondered what Clara would look like, full with his child. An image of Clara smiling and round sent a strange sensation down his spine.

“Thanks,” he replied.

“And for the record, that man? Garza? He’s just a friend.”

Miles took the mug to carry it back to the conference room for her. “How can you tell?”

Calliope slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. “She has striking blue eyes.”

“I’m aware.”

She stared straight ahead with a smirk and said, “And they are always looking at you.”

B ack in the conference room, Raphael Garza had taken the chair next to Clara. Sensing his resurfacing jealousy, Calliope squeezed Miles’s hand and led him to the seat beside his brother. Clearly, the group had filled this complete stranger in on the plan.

“The distraction plan is definitely your best bet. There is something in that house you might want to get your hands on.”

“What?” Clara asked.

Miles scanned the room, his gaze settling on Nathan Bishop, who listened intently. Finn McIntyre still hadn’t returned.

Garza continued, “As you know, Kite cut a deal with the feds in exchange for his damning testimony exposing the Zorba Fund Ponzi scheme. As a result, the head of Zorba Fund killed himself, and the government was able to recover ninety percent of the money and reimburse investors.”

Ren seemed to guess where this was going. “The fund was valued at forty-eight billion dollars. Ninety percent of forty-eight billion dollars is about forty-three billion.”

“Forty-three point two, give or take,” Garza corrected.

Tox blew out a breath. “Hard to imagine two hundred million dollars after the decimal point.”

Steady agreed, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Garza continued, “The Feds estimated, with Kite’s help, that Zorba himself had blown through two billion over the ten years of the fund’s existence. Then, there were salaries, undocumented bonuses, and business expenses. At the end of the day, the government was more than happy with the result. They didn’t put their star witness under a microscope. But if they had, they would have seen that Lucien Kite had been skimming money from day one. Kite’s estimates of Zorba’s personal spending and the firm’s expenses were grossly overestimated. What the government assumed was about two hundred million in unaccounted-for cash—that they think Zorba hid in some offshore account—is actually three times that amount siphoned off by Kite.”

“Someone had to have been on the take. Even the most incompetent bean counter would have to notice the numbers didn’t add up.”

“Possibly. But remember, Kite started out as a bookie in the Bronx, running numbers for the local mob. The guy cut his teeth laundering money and cooking books, and the most important lesson he learned was not to leave a paper trail. Or to update, not to leave an electronic footprint. Every transaction Kite made was in person, every deposit in cash. No crypto, no emails, no wire transfers. He keeps handwritten records of every account in a little black book in his bedroom wall safe.”

“That’s pretty genius,” Tox said.

“How the fuck do you know all this?” Miles leaned forward in challenge.

Garza shrugged. “Some of it I dug up on my own, but that was just to confirm.”

“Confirm what?”

“What Kite told me.”

“He told you?”

“Not just me. Kite can’t resist spouting off. He thinks he’s untouchable.”

Miles tapped the table. “We need to reshuffle our playlist.”

Nathan pointed at him in agreement. “If the painting is the distraction?”

Miles leaned forward and laced his fingers on the table. “Then Clara can steal the little black book.”

A fter saying goodbye to Raphael and promising to keep in touch, Garza left, and Clara wandered out to the hallway. She was frustrated at the pivot their plan had taken. She loved her dear friend, but Raphael Garza had upended everything with the information about Kite’s secret accounts.

Miles hovered in the doorway. “Where’s your friend?”

“Don’t, Miles. I’m not in the mood for you right now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I don’t care about Kite’s money. I care about that painting. Papa is sick, Miles. I don’t know how long he has, and he asked me to retrieve Somewhere . I don’t see how that’s going to happen.”

“Clara—”

“I get it. I do. Bringing down Kite is the right thing to do. It’s the greater good.”

“But?” he asked.

“Reynard has never asked me for anything, Miles. Oh sure, occasionally, he’ll have me track down a painting or create a forgery, but this? This means something to him.”

“Clara—”

“You should have heard him, Miles. This painting is important to him. I don’t know why, but I want to return it.”

Miles walked over and enveloped Clara in his arms. Shocked by the display of affection and lost in his clean scent, she nearly forgot her distress.

“Bluebird?”

“Yes?”

“We’re stealing that painting.”

Nathan and Steady joined them, and Miles moved away.

Steady gave Miles a good-natured shove and spoke to her. “You didn’t think we were gonna forget the skills of The Lynx, did you?”

Clara blushed. “Well, you all seem determined to get Kite’s book.”

Nathan said, “Clara, we want to bring Kite down, but as Miles said, we’re going to help you reacquire Somewhere . If anything, Garza’s information makes the job easier. The key here is keeping Kite off balance.”

Steady gave her shoulder a pat. “The painting is the ice cream, sweetheart. The little black book is the cherry on top.”

Clara blew out a relieved breath, and Miles couldn’t stop himself from resting his hands on her shoulders. “We just need a plan.”

Nathan waved them back into the conference room. “Now, Clara, tell us everything you remember from when you were in Kite’s house.”

Clara recounted everything, from the placement of security cameras to alarm panels and guard positions. She detailed Kite’s office and the position of the painting.

“Kite knew my tactic of casing locations by requesting a tour for my doctoral research. He’s so convinced I can’t pull it off, or so confident in his security, he actually suggested I do that.”

Nathan said, “Then do. The more information you can gather, the better.”

Miles placed a hand on her thigh. “Anything out of the ordinary? Workers doing repairs? Outside maintenance people on the property?”

Her eyes widened at the memory. “Oh, there was a leak.”

“In the roof?” Finn asked. He had returned to the room shortly after Garza departed.

“No. Internal. I think it was a recurring issue with an upstairs pipe. As I was leaving, I noticed the house manager staring at a water stain on the ceiling. He said something that made me think it wasn’t the first time. I think it was coming from the bathroom next to Kite’s office.”

“Is there a connecting door?” Miles asked. “Can we get into the office that way?”

“No bathroom door,” Chat said. “And the main door is a bear: electronic locks, biometric scanners, and we know there are two guards stationed outside.”

Steady tipped back on two chair legs. “Windows? Ducts? Can she slide down the chimney like Santa?”

Clara had stopped listening halfway through Chat’s description of the door security, an idea forming in her mind. She ran a finger over the rim of her water glass. “Actually, I have a thought.”

S ix hours later, the plan was in place. Half con, half heist; it was the perfect combination of Miles and Clara. She would do what she did best; he would provide the smoke and mirrors. Twitch would work her magic with the security cameras and tech, and the rest of the team would be hidden in plain sight, keeping watch and providing backup.

Before he left, Raphael Garza agreed to help. As part of Lucien Kite’s inner circle, Garza could come and go unquestioned. Miles hated to admit it, but Garza was essential to pulling this off. Miles scanned the room, taking in the laughter and high-fives as they all agreed they had come up with a particularly devious and elegant way to separate Lucien Kite from his possessions. Tomorrow, they would head to New York.

This collaborative energy was a foreign feeling for Miles. He had gone into it with trepidation, not because he thought he couldn’t work with a team but because he knew he would love it. He and Tox had built on each other’s suggestions. Clara had finished his sentences. It was an incredible feeling that filled him with dread.

He’d had that love and security once, and it was ripped away. That fact left Miles waiting for the other shoe to drop.

T he sun was setting as Miles helped Clara into the borrowed pickup in the Bishop Security lot. He was coming around the tailgate when Finn McIntyre stopped him.

“Hey, where’d you disappear to?” Miles asked.

“I need to talk to you. About Garza.”

Miles couldn’t help but be pleased someone else seemed to dislike Clara’s friend . “What’s up?”

“Not here. Can you meet me for a beer tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Come to The Sand Bar at nine,” Finn said.

“Okay.”

Finn jogged off, and Miles climbed in the driver’s seat.

“What did Finn want?” Clara asked.

“Oh, nothing. He just wanted to see if I could grab a beer later.”

“Calliope told me Finn used to be a real jerk. Hard to believe. He’s so warm and friendly.”

Miles had the feeling Finn’s past was extremely complicated. And he was eager to hear what the former CIA officer had to say about Raphael Garza.