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If there was one thing that thieves all hated, it was cheats.
I’d worked hard in my life to perfect the art of blending with backgrounds, of not standing out to anyone, despite being six foot five and built like a Marine. There was a shitload of psychology involved, and I’d worked with some of the best masters of deception, but the effort was worth it.
Carol had five children, but only two gave her wrinkles. They were my two favorite Atwoods.
I sure as shit couldn’t put Hermes—my underworld codename—on my passport, could I?
I waved, she flipped me the bird. Cute. That was becoming our thing.
As much as I’d like to pretend this was just another job, far from my first and not even the hardest one I’d pulled off…something felt different. She made it different.
Of course, she didn’t know about the priceless pink diamond I stole from her grandson’s wife a few years ago. That one had been a personal challenge and one I was particularly proud of.
There’s only one student that I plan to fraternize with, and I’m confident she won’t be making any complaints.”
So I contented myself with simply helping her push it aside, to take up all the real estate in her consciousness and let her heal through redirection of emotion.
The best cover story is just one step away from the truth. Isn’t that what you’re doing, too?”
Kissing John while drunk had ripped the tourniquet off, and now this thing between us was gushing out like blood from a severed artery.
“Tristian,” I murmured, carrying her across the parking lot in the direction of the staff cottages, “You could be capable of flying and I’d still be carrying you.”
Tristian’s idea of just pretending nothing had happened worried me more than I cared to admit, and for some reason I just couldn’t let it go. Fuck, did that make me Ana to Tristian’s Elsa?
