Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“Oh crap. Not this.” Mimic shot up from the couch, pulling everyone’s attention as she read the message she’d just received. Mustang rose with her, eyebrows knitting together, reassuring hand moving to her elbow.
“What? What is it?” Roman could tell this was bad, whatever this was, he just wasn’t sure how bad.
“I just got a message from one of my connects. Security’s been made aware of a possible man and woman thief pair coming in as fake husband and wife. Fuck.”
Roman reared back as if he’d been struck. “How? This shit should have been airtight.”
Mimic offered no answers in her shocked expression. Roman looked around the gathered group, weighing them all in a slightly different light. Was there a leak in the Rainbow’s Seven? Were they all playing for the same team, or was something rotten in the group?
He took a deep breath, unable to crack that question right now. He had to focus on the job instead: getting into the party and taking that page.
“Fine,” Roman said, eyes settling on a confused-looking Wyatt. “Then let them expect a husband and wife. We’ll just go in as husband and husband instead.”
Chapter 12
Wyatt Hernandez
Wyatt couldn’t help but walk down the cobblestone path with his back a little straighter than usual, his chin a little higher, the expensive suit forming to his body like something a Power Ranger would wear to go fight a city-razing monster. He was used to wearing the museum uniform (a pair of khakis and three gray polos that were desperately needing to be replaced) and switching into a pair of gym shorts and some old graphic tees, his uniform for lounging at home.
Yet here he was, about to be brushing elbows with the Spanish elite, wearing an outfit that cost more than the down payment on a tiny condo.
It not only helped him feel more confident but also helped ease some of the nerves that came with this last-minute change in plans. He had been mentally preparing to hang out with Doc in the room, watching surveillance cameras and eating way too many sour jelly beans for anyone’s own good, washing them down with way too much champagne.
Instead, Wyatt was standing at the ivy-draped entrance to Alcázar of Segovia, a castle about an hour’s drive from Madrid, perched on top of a rocky crag and flanked by two rivers, the Guadarrama mountains rising behind it as if made to watch over the ancient fortress. They had to cross over a moat and make it past a security checkpoint in the front courtyard, their fake invites created by Mimic passing the test and granting them access. The guards didn’t look twice at the handsome gay couple there to attend their distant niece’s extravagant birthday party.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” Roman said, leaning in close to Wyatt and whispering in his ear, his breath creating a ripple of tingles that dripped down his spine. “Giovanni should be wearing a navy blue suit with a pink rose pinned to the lapel.”
“Got it,” Wyatt replied, smiling at the attendant.
“Bienvenidos, chicos,” the woman said, holding out a program with the schedule for the evening. Roman looked to Wyatt, who was fluent in Spanish even though his Cuban accent would give him away as a non-native. It was better than Roman fumbling for words and getting lost in translation, so they decided Wyatt would take point in most conversations.
“Alright,” Wyatt said, walking up to Roman, who waited for him next to a marble statue of a dancing woman, her stone silk skirts flowing as if in actual motion. “She said the main party is happening in the Hall of the Galley, with these four rooms set up as smaller party rooms playing different kinds of music. In three hours, everyone’s supposed to gather for a dance in the Hall of Kings, featuring the birthday girl and a court of her closest friends and family, so we might have the best chance of bumping into Giovanni then.”
“He’ll be surrounded by people,” Roman said, smiling and nodding at a couple walking by with their two starry-eyed daughters in tow. “We need another window. Are there any restricted areas to the castle?”
“Oh, tons. Everything on this map marked with an X. She told me they’d be roped off, too.”
“Perfect, we’ll have to lure him into one of those areas.” Roman tapped his earpiece, activating the mic. “Bang Bang, Phantom, how’s the kitchen looking?”
Bang Bang’s voice buzzed into Wyatt’s skull. “A fucking mess. No one here even knows how to cook a proper scallop. Shit’s like rubber, broki.”
“Forget about the food. What about Giovanni? He’s a VIP—he should have someone catering to his meals. Find them, and then follow them.”
“We’re looking,” Bang Bang said through his loud chewing.
Wyatt pointed down the long hallway, ornate tapestries made with rich wool and silk lining the length of the sun-washed hall. “Should we start looking, too?” Music could be heard drifting from a set of open double doors, partygoers milling about a snacks table before entering. There was a mix of people, mostly rich and spoiled children, having the time of their lives, doing their best Downton Abbey impressions. Their parents formed loose social bubbles that floated from group to group, mother and fathers chatting about upcoming vacations, political trends, weather updates.