Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
For all his riches, Descamps has gotten lax when it comes to security. My property’s heavily guarded, with video surveillance. We don’t have so much as a squirrel that crosses the perimeter of my home without our knowledge. Descamps, however, is either lazy or stupid.
The gate leads to the back of his property, everything so overgrown here there’s not a chance security would see anything even if they had cameras positioned here. No guard dogs, no armed men. Nothing.
“Wow,” Violet says. “Bet you’re about to burst a blood vessel imagining how shitty his security is.”
I snort. “I’d burst a blood vessel if it were my home so easily compromised. With him, I’m more than happy to make myself at home.”
“Agreed.”
It’s difficult to walk quietly through a wooded area in the fall, as crunchy leaves and branches snap with every step we take. But the wind rustles the leaves, masking the noise we make, and by the time we get to a clearing, thunder rolls overhead.
“What do you see?” I ask her. I’m your man for brute force, but when it comes to hawk-eye vision and strategy, Violet’s unparalleled.
“He’s got a barn to the right that looks neglected. Roof’s seen better days, hay bales sloppy and unkempt. That’s where the pool used to be, and a… hot tub? There’s a pool house, too.”
“Any entrances from the back?”
“Lots. Looks like there’s a door by the pool house which leads to a back entrance, as well as a bulkhead, and there’s an actual open door on the property as well.”
“Let’s try the pool house.” It’s chilly enough this time of year, that part of the house likely doesn’t get much use.
“Let’s do it.”
We move as one, silently and quickly, as several yards of bare ground before us leaves us uncovered and more likely to be seen. In less than a minute, we’ve made it past the pool house and to the door that leads us into his home.
“Locked?”
Violet frowns at the digital lock on the door while I ring Henri.
“Boss?”
I quickly whisper what I need and send him a picture of the lock. He has data on how to unlock everything from a padlock to a jammed door, and quickly finds not only the year, make, and model of this lock, but succinct directions on how to disable it.
“Let me do it?” Violet asks.
I nod and step back. She’s small and lithe, so she easily maneuvers her way into situations just like this.
“Told you it’d come in handy having someone small like me on your staff.”
“You did.”
“And was I right?”
I hold her slender hips with my hands. “You were. I could pick you right up and tuck you into my pocket.”
“Cain. Your timing sucks.” Then she quickly nods her head. “I know, I know, I agreed. Now please, let me focus before I lose my concentration here. You and I could take the six security men he’s got that I counted, but I’d rather not break a sweat while we’re here.” She frowns. “I don’t want to have to wash my hair again.” It’s adorable what crosses her mind sometimes.
“Alright, alright,” I concede, as the lock clicks open. “But I go in first.” I’m happy to let her work her magic with a damn lock, but there’s no telling what waits for us on the other side.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Violet
God how I love working with Cain. I love the way his brilliant mind works. I love the way his eyes narrow, sharp and determined, when we need to do something that requires concentration. He unravels mysteries with a fearless resolve that makes me goddamn wet.
It’s dangerous, sometimes, how deeply he affects me.
“Go on,” he says in a low voice, his hand on my lower back. It took me a while to get used to his protective nature around me, but I’m getting there. I’m so used to taking care of myself, I had to remind myself at first that it’s okay to let a guy touch you, it’s okay to let a guy want to lift heavy things for you, it’s okay to let someone… take care of me for once.
Not sure I’d let anyone but Cain do such things, though.
“Jesus,” he mutters. “Not a single person in sight.”
I shouldn’t be surprised there’s no one here. Nothing but an empty hall and the dank smell of an abandoned basement.
“It’s almost as if he wants someone to break in,” I say, shaking my head. “Why hire all that security only to have it be so easy to get in?” I lower my voice and retrieve my knife. It’s quieter at times like these. “Unless…”
“It’s intentionally too easy.”
“Right.”
It’s likely Descamps’ security’s absolute shit.
And it’s just as likely we’ve been set up, and they’re only biding their time before an ambush.
We walk, weapons ready, to the doorway that leads to the basement hallway. Old houses like this on the North Shore were solidly built, some at the turn of the century, with large, roomy basements for both storage and safety in the event of a hurricane or storm. The ceilings are low, but the walls tight, not a draft or wisp of cold air escapes even on the coldest of days.