Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Justin always had been one to play dirty.
But the one thing that had him wondering if he should linger in London another night or two was the sexy man who’d winked at him. Could he find him again?
No, that was ridiculous.
It was a shame. He could have been a hell of a lot of fun.
Chapter 2
Nothing.
How could he have heard nothing from his buyer in two days?
Soren placed his phone on the bar surface and picked up his drink. He tipped it back, swallowing the final shot of gin and tonic. Sadly, there wasn’t enough gin in all the world to wash away the bad taste left in his mouth from this job.
The heat had been on almost from the moment he’d gotten the hard drive into his hands.
How was he supposed to know that a hit had been placed on that Ukrainian fuck’s head?
Of course, he hadn’t heard about Gabor Kalman’s death until the next day. That unexpected news had sent him running out of London. The city was too hot. It was one thing to get caught for a bit of larceny; he was not going to get pinned with murder.
Paris was an obvious first choice. Close for him to easily dip into London to make the final drop and get paid. Not to mention, it was crowded enough for him to get utterly lost in. Throw in the wine, good food, the occasional pleasant companion, and this was nearly a vacation.
Except vacations cost money, and Paris wasn’t a cheap city. This side trip was already eating into his profits.
He didn’t know whether he wanted to strangle the asshole who’d put the hit on Gabor or the assassin who’d finished the fat bastard off. Maybe both.
But murder wasn’t to Soren’s tastes. He didn’t kill people. Most cat burglars didn’t. It was a dying art favored by adrenaline junkies and people who might have been dragons in past lives. It was all about stealing the impossible shiny object right out from under the person’s nose. The more impossible the job, the higher the adrenaline rush, and usually the better the payday.
Raiding Gabor Kalman’s town house had not been a particularly hard job. Not when the idiot had thrown a massive house party and hadn’t bothered to keep an eye on his guest list. Not only had the moron allowed in a thief, but apparently he’d let in his own murderer.
While the assassin had likely been haunting Gabor, Soren had ghosted to the third-floor office and deftly cracked the floor safe that held close to a million dollars and a tiny portable hard drive. He’d grabbed the hard drive and left the money—money was ordinary and everywhere. If he wanted money, he’d knock over banks. No, it was about the shiny, rare, and hard to obtain.
Considering he was getting paid ten million to steal and deliver this hard drive, he could only assume there was something rare on it. He hadn’t bothered to plug it into his laptop. He wasn’t paid to dig into things that weren’t any of his business, and it was usually better if he didn’t know what he was handling.
Of course, he didn’t go into jobs completely blind. He didn’t steal or handle live people. Just pretty, shiny objects. Jewels. Gold. Rare art and artifacts.
The hard drive felt boring and mundane. The only thing saving it was the fact that it had been owned by an arms dealer. The dead man probably had all kinds of interesting information on it.
But that knowledge did nothing to help his restless boredom now. Boredom was bad. It also didn’t help that he was in Paris, a city with a ridiculously high concentration of museums and galleries. If he didn’t find something to occupy himself soon, he was going to do something desperate like break into the Louvre after hours simply to see if he could do it.
Not that he’d take anything.
Well, probably not.
Er…there was a small exhibit of French crown jewels. Maybe one of those pretty little baubles wouldn’t be so bad. It was more the excitement of breaking into the world-renowned Louvre.
When the bartender wandered to his end of the bar and smiled at him, Soren pointed at his empty glass. Another drink was much smarter than planning to break into the Louvre.
Why the hell had the buyer not come through yet? Gabor’s murder had to be fucking up this deal.
The bartender returned with his drink as Soren promised himself to wait another couple of days. If the contract went cold, he’d dig into the hard drive and see what he had on his hands. There had to be a possible buyer out there.
As he lifted the drink to his lips, he froze when his eyes locked on the same hot guy he’d spied at Gabor’s party. The man was pure sin and sex with pouty lips, large dark eyes, and a wicked smile that went straight to his dick.