Chapter 29

Once again attired as a sheriff's officer, Benji pounded on the door to the house containing their newest target. "Anyone home?"

Nothing happened.

"I think they're gone," Devin said. He was in a uniform, too.

"What about the light?"

A light that had been shining in a second-story window had suddenly gone out twenty minutes earlier.

"Probably on a timer."

Benji frowned, unsure.

This was the problem with doing a rush job: no time to prep. By the time they'd arrived on-site yesterday, it had been one a.m. and the house had been dark. So they were winging it instead of taking their usual few days to discover any patterns.

Benji had even called Simon that morning to beg for extra time, but his brother had insisted, "You will get it tonight and come back. There's another job I need you for." He hung up without letting Benji say anything else.

The house sat on ten acres of scattered groves of ponderosa pines and meadows of long brown grass. From the front stoop, Benji could see the glow of flames in the meadow from the fire Sticks had set off. It seemed larger than it should have been at this point, and he was getting nervous they might not have as much time as planned.

"Screw it," Benji said as he stepped aside. "Open it."

Devin swung a handheld battering ram into the door. The second the door swung open, the shrill of an alarm filled the air. It didn't matter. By the time anyone showed up they'd be gone, and the house would be burning.

"I got this floor, you take upstairs," Benji said.

He made a mad dash through the ground floor, searching for the Matilda Stone painting that was supposed to be there. It was the second Stone in a row they were snatching, which seemed kind of odd. But who was Benji to question his brother's whims?

He found the painting in the library and was about to let Devin know over their walkie app when Devin's voice came over his earbud. "We have a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Who the fuck are you?" The voice that came over the radio was not Devin's.

Someone else was in the house.

"Shit," Benji hissed.

He retrieved his pistol and ran up to the second level.

Devin was standing in the doorway to the master bedroom, while a few feet inside stood a man in his fifties or sixties. He was tall and wore only a pair of red-and-black-checked boxers, which left his significant paunch on full display.

"I said, who the fuck are you?" he slurred. His hair was disheveled, and he was weaving slightly.

"We're with the sheriff's department," Devin said. "There's a fire heading toward your house. We're here to evacuate you."

"Fire? Nobody told me about any fire."

He started walking toward a window and within two steps tripped over his own feet. When he tried to right himself, he ended up backpedaling into a dresser and toppling onto the floor.

He lay there, unmoving.

"Is he dead?" Devin asked.

"I hope not," Benji said. No one had suffered more than a few scrapes and bruises in connection with any of their previous heists. "Check him."

Devin knelt next to the body, put a hand on the man's neck, then gave Benji a thumbs-up. "Still alive."

Benji grimaced. While that was a good sign, they still had a problem. "Help me get him downstairs."

"We're taking him with us?"

"We can't leave him here."

"Why not?"

"The fire?"

Devin's eyes widened. "Oh, shit, right. The fire."

They propped him up between them and moved him into the hallway.

"Jeez, he's even heavier than he looks," Devin complained.

"Just keep moving."

They had to switch tactics at the stairs, Devin taking the guy's feet and going down first, Benji grabbing him under the arms.

They had just reached the ground floor and laid the guy on the carpet, so they could readjust, when Sticks threw the front door open and hurried in.

"What's the holdup? Fire's almost here."

Benji twisted around. "What do you mean it's almost here?"

"A fire's gonna do what a fire's gonna do." Sticks noticed the unconscious man. "Who's he?"

"Don't worry about him," Benji said. "Worry about getting your devices set up in here."

"I'm not sure we're gonna need them."

"We're not taking any chances."

Sticks glanced at the open front door, then grimaced. "Fine."

"Devin, with me," Benji said.

Benji and Devin collected the painting, then returned to the foyer to find Sticks standing exactly where he'd been before.

"I told you to get everything set," Benji said.

"I did."

Benji nodded at the man on the floor. "Then help Devin carry him to the car."

"No way. You're not paying me to carry bodies."

"He's not dead."

"I don't care."

"Fine. Then take this." He held out the Matilda Stone.

"You don't pay me to—"

"Just take it, dammit!" Benji shoved the painting into Sticks's chest.

Sticks grumbled but took it and headed outside.

Benji and Devin picked up the man and exited the house.

"Oh, my God!" Devin said, his gaze locked on the meadow behind the home.

Benji looked over his shoulder and sucked in a breath. The blaze couldn't have been more than twenty yards behind the house and moving fast in their direction.

"Move it," Benji said.

They piled into their fake sheriff's car, Devin in back with their extra passenger, and Benji sped away as fast as possible.

Half a mile later, they left the guy from the house next to several dumpsters behind a closed restaurant, then made a beeline for the freeway, to put as many miles between them and the scene of the crime as possible.

It wasn't until they'd been driving for a couple of hours that Benji realized he'd forgotten to call 911 to report the fire.