Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Yes, that’s probably best,” he mutters as he shuts himself behind the bathroom door. Once I hear him throwing up again, I pull my dress up and snag the thin burner phone from the garter belt around my thigh.
I dial the number as I head into the bedroom. James is still loudly vomiting.
Moving around the bed, I approach the Renoir just as Saint answers. “You’re on,” I say before disconnecting.
I quickly scan the room, peeking behind curtains and picking up some of the knickknacks on various shelves, making sure there are no hidden cameras and using the extra time to be vigilant.
“Melanie,” James calls from the bathroom.
I hurry over there. The bathroom door is still closed.
“Are you okay, James?” I ask.
His response is weak and slightly muffled. “Not really. My stomach is hurting. Maybe it’s my appendix.”
“Well, I’ve called an ambulance,” I say. “Should I go down to meet them?”
“No,” he replies, then I hear more dry heaving. “If you don’t mind staying close by just in case.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I assure him. “You’re safe with me.”
CHAPTER 9
Saint
We pull up to the front of Dennison’s building with the lights on, but the siren is silent. Still, it’s enough to bring the armed security guard from inside the lobby out to greet us.
“We’ve had a call from James Dennison’s apartment,” I inform the guard in my best fake French accent as soon as I hop out of the passenger side. I’ve used one on and off over the years while working heists in Europe, so I’ve gotten adept at it.
I move to the rear to meet Neal. We pull out the gurney, which is stacked with two black equipment bags.
William had to have been planning this heist for a while since he had a fully functioning ambulance stocked with legitimate equipment we’ll never use. I’m impressed, to say the least.
The doorman opens the door as we wheel the gurney in and the security guard jogs toward the elevator, motioning with this arm. “Right this way.”
I’m sure this is the most exciting thing to have happened here in a long time.
He enters the code to the private elevator entrance. When the doors open, I play dumb as we move inside. “Do you need to come up with us to let us in?”
The guard shakes his head. “This elevator opens right into his apartment, and I have to stay down here. But if you need anything, call. There’s a service phone right beside the elevator door when you get upstairs.”
“Merci,” I say with a nod before the door closes.
I pull out my phone to text Sin. “On our way up.”
She meets us at the elevator and I have to say I’m struck a bit dumb at the sight of her in that sexy red dress. It fits her body like a glove, the neckline plunging between her breasts. The skirt portion comes to mid-shin, but there’s a slit up to mid-thigh that shows her long expanse of smooth legs when she walks.
“He’s in the master bath,” she murmurs, voice pitched low so it doesn’t carry. Turning, she guides us that way. I grab one of the bags, and Neal grabs the other. We leave the gurney by the elevator entrance since we won’t need it.
Sin knocks gently on the water closet door where I assume our mark is holed up. He groans in response.
“James,” she calls. “The paramedics are here. Can you open the door?”
When he groans again, Sin calls. “James?”
“Um… can you be a love and wait in the bedroom? I don’t want you to see me like this,” he says. I don’t need to see his face to know how embarrassed he is to have brought a gorgeous, sexy woman to his apartment with the belief he was going to get a night of hot, sweaty sex and being stuck on the toilet instead.
“Of course,” Sin soothingly says. She winks at me. Our plan was never for her to stay in the bathroom with him.
When I hold my arm out, she takes the black duffel from me, then heads into the bedroom. Neal drops his bag on the floor, rifling through to pull out a stethoscope and a portable heart monitor. Today, William had given us some basic instructions. We’d role-played various scenarios on how to handle this situation.
Neal knocks on the door. With a fake French accent, which is surprisingly good, he calls, “Mr. Dennison? I’m one of the paramedics. Can I open the door?”
“Is Melanie gone?” Dennison piteously asks.
“Yes, she is,” Neal responds, his lips curved maliciously. He seems to be enjoying the man’s suffering.
“Okay,” Dennison replies, and Neal opens the door. The smell is not pleasant and I’m glad Neal is pulling point on this. I didn’t hand out the assignments—those came from William—and Neal hadn’t argued. He’d left me free to assist Sin, probably so he could judge if I knocked the rust off my skills.