Jeremy’s Fleet Heating and Air van comes into view as he flies down the gravel parking lot and lines up next to where Tyler is parked. Hopping out, he searches for and spots the camera. Clicking on his earpiece, he flips me the company mascot between each word. “Testing. Testing.”
“You’re an idiot,” I utter, unable to help my grin.
“Afternoon, Princess,” he coos, chin lifted to the camera. “How’s that cushy chair treating your ass?”
“Keeping my balls nice and cool, bro,” I quip as Russell jumps out of the passenger side, opening the van doors behind him. “Maybe if you had done your math homework just once in your lifetime, you wouldn’t be the man with calloused hands for more reasons than one.”
“Don’t flirt with me right now, Dom. This is serious business we’re conducting. But tell me something, and be honest,” he turns and thrusts his ass out toward the camera. “Do these uniform khakis make my ass look fat?”
Russell shakes his head with a chuckle as he studies the warehouse and speaks up. “So, who found this one?”
Jeremy supplies the answer. “Tyler. It wasn’t listed in the douchebag’s company assets, but he found the address hidden in some of Spencer’s ancient paperwork.”
Tyler speaks up, already inside the warehouse. “Safe to say we can hear you, dipshit. Clear the line of bullshit. We’re on the clock.”
“What’s your status?” I ask Tyler, eyeing said clock on my monitor.
“Already at the door,” Tyler grunts. “Like I suspected, this is a pull-up ground lock, not padded, so if we don’t take anything, he’ll never know we were here. The lock is giving me hell to dislodge. Give me a minute.”
“You don’t have much more than that,” I warn.
Russell pulls on his gloves before retrieving two crowbars and handing one to Jeremy as Jeremy scopes the isolated building in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, which sits just inside our county line. It’s the warehouse’s location that lured us in. That, and the fact that after more digging, we found out that Roman sold the land and warehouse to Spencer when he was offloading worthless property years ago, back when they were still doing business together. The question is why Spencer kept it and why it’s titled as a personal asset. Jeremy speaks up, echoing my thoughts. “So, what’s in this one?”
“That’s what you’re there to find out, imbecile,” I grit out.
Jeremy turns to Russell. “He’s so bitchy lately.”
Russell stares at Jeremy as he always does, like he’s a lab experiment that went awry, as Jeremy continues his rant. “I get it, Dom. We all could use a day off. In fact,” he glances around, “we’re missing a bird today. Bet Sean’s tied up at the moment . . . ooh, maybe Cecelia gets down like that . . . it’s always the quiet ones.”
Just as Jeremy says it, my burner rattles with an incoming text from Sean.
S: Five minutes out. Got the gate code.
I don’t need a play-by-play, and we have that already. Get me something useful and look for my signal.
“Gotta agree, she is hot as fuck,” Russell adds as Cecelia appears on the poolside camera in a bikini, looking utterly fucking perfect in the sun, long chestnut hair blowing around her flawless face, her build that of a wet dream. The mere sight of her gnaws at me as she studies the surface of the pool, seemingly lost in thought. Jeremy latches on to Russell’s assessment, breaking up my own. “As off limits as she may be, if I were the one tied up, I would probably let her do some really drastic shit to me . . . feathers, oil . . . maybe even leather.”
Jeremy slowly gyrates on Russell to emphasize his point, and Russell shoves him away. “Get the fuck off me, freak.”
“Playtime is over,” I bark, pulling my eyes away from Cecelia, knowing the second Sean sees her, he’s going to fail to give us anything useful—despite the assurances he gave Tyler last night. The second Sean hit the top of the stairs after driving Cecelia home, Tyler ambushed him, catching him and reaming him out in the hall just outside of my bedroom door. I didn’t bother weighing in or taking part in the argument. After relaying things would be ‘business as usual’ at the garage to those in on our secret, I made peace with the fact that Cecelia’s nothing but an obstruction we have to work around. Sean eyed me apprehensively just before I kicked my door closed on their argument and went back to work.
When Sean tested the water at the coffee pot this morning, I made it clear I wasn’t interested as he tried in vain to give me some of the ‘advantage’ spiel he did Tyler last night before I tuned them out.
Ignoring the gradually brewing resentment for Sean and dragging my eyes away from Cecelia for a second time, I clear my head for the bird’s fate currently resting in my hands.
“Thirteen minutes until deputy dipshit comes through,” I remind everyone on the line as I scan the warehouse entrance. “Van three, where the fuck are you?”
Peter speaks up. “About to pull up now, man. Denny and I got stuck behind a fucking tractor.”
Checking the camera attached to Layla’s F150, I spot her leaning against her open tailgate—dressed provocatively as requested—in case we need her as a last-minute distraction for the security guard who checks the warehouse like clockwork.
“How’s it going, lady bird?” I ask Layla, whose focus is on the direction of security’s routine approach.
“All clear,” she says, wasting no time in an effort to keep the line clear, especially with her fiancé in on this secret.
Just after, I catch sight of the third van as they pull into the driveway, flying in from the opposite direction of where Layla waits. Skidding to a stop next to the first two vans, Denny and Peter jump out and burst into motion, opening the back doors before pulling gloves on.
“Got it,” Tyler says, opening the bay door. Within seconds, they collectively disappear inside.
For a solid minute, I hear nothing but bickering and grumbling. “It’s dark as fuck in here,” Jeremy gripes as a small crash sounds. “We should have brought flashlights.”
“In case you idiots forgot,” I snap, “There are no interior cameras. I’m flying blind.”
Denny speaks up first. “We’ve got a dozen stacked crates and a few boxes. We’ll need to grab the dollies if we want to clear it.”
Jeremy chimes in. “Pry one open, man, and see what’s up. We don’t want Spencer’s ancient comic book collection.”
“He’s not going to have security checking the building every forty or so minutes for a comic collection, jackass,” Tyler snaps. “Pry the top crates open . . . gently.”
“Twelve minutes,” I warn.
“We need more crowbars,” Tyler barks, “Russell, back of my van.”
“On it.” Russell flies into my line of sight, grabs a black duffle, and disappears back into the warehouse as Jeremy speaks up.
“I got the first crate open . . . What the fuck? Tyler, over here.”
“Eleven minutes. Tyler, talk to me.”
More shuffling ensues, the sounds of the crates being pried open coming through my speakers as Sean appears poolside on Roman’s camera as Cecelia emerges from doing laps. Denny speaks up, stealing my focus. “Got another one . . . fuck, these can’t be real.”