Page 15 of How to Steal a Galaxy

“So, you’re going to commit a crime now?”

“Why can’t I just be here for the history?”

“You’re the one who brought up your lurid life of crime.”

“You’re the one who attached the wordlurid.” I pause so abruptly that Rian has to catch himself to avoid crashing into me. Nothing about this stairwell makes logical sense. The steps are wide but shallow, forcing a slow, meandering pace. They curve when they don’t need to; I suppose for the drama of it—at this exact spot, I can see neither the floor where we left nor the floor above. Although we can still hear the tinkling of wineglasses and boorish laughter above an undercurrent of polite chatter, we’re basically alone.

I sit down, letting my legs drape over the steps, and motion for Rian to copy me. He takes his seat cautiously, no longer bothering to quiz me.

“Did you know,” I say softly, “this is one of the few spots in the entire museum where there are no visible security cameras?”

From the twist in his lips, I can tell Rian knew. And guessed that I did as well. Of course, drones could buzz up here and interrupt this cozy moment, but they won’t. Not right now.

“Not much to steal in the stairwell,” Rian comments.

“I don’t know about that,” I say, making a point to rake my eyes over his body. He’s right, though—this little hidden alcove in the steps hides us, but nothing else. All the auction items are below, along with most of the guests. And above us are the permanent displays in the museum. Priceless, of course, but also highly secured, even more so than the stuff below.

Rian opens his mouth—so impatient, this one. I press my finger to his lips, lingering a moment too long on the warmth of him, the feel of his breath. I lean in closer, dropping my hand to the cold stone step. “For just a moment,” I say, my voice low, “let’s pretend that I’m only here for you.”

Emotion flickers over his face, too fast for me to pin down what he’s really thinking. All he says is, “And I’m only here for you?”

“Aren’t you, though?” I don’t hide the wry twist of my lips.

“Maybe.” His eyes remain razor-sharp, but there’s a gruffness to his voice, a raggedy edge I want to further unravel.

I know that he means he’s here for me in order to stop me from stealing whatever he thinks I’m going to steal, but I let myself pretend he’s here because of me for entirely different motives. And in that impossible moment, I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. I scoot closer to him, my hands grabbing the back of his head, fingers lacing through his hair. He’s tense, a solid block of shock as stiff as the stone beneath us, but only for a second, only until his arms go around my waist, pulling me practically into his lap, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that’s not hungry.

It’s starving.

7

Oh, excuse me!” The woman in red, right on time, according to the schedule my contact got me alongside the tickets into this shindig. Well, I didn’t know it would be her specifically, but I was betting that it would be someone from Rian’s team. I break away from Rian, whose skin is flushed, eyes glassy.

And then he sees the woman who interrupted us. She has radiant dark skin, the perfect complement to the bright dress, and she wears her hair in braids that have been done up into two big, black buns atop her head, woven through with strands of lights that shift yellow-orange-red, like tiny licks of flame.

She fits in with the elite, but she’s not one of them.

She’s one of his.

They’resosubtle, it’s adorable, but I absolutely notice the way Rian’s shoulders straighten, the way the woman bites the inside of her cheeks. She turns on her heel, heading back downstairs despite the way she had been going up before she caught us.

“What’s her name?” I ask in a low voice. The way the woman’s heels stop clicking for a microsecond on the steps tells me she heard, despite my best efforts.

“Phoebe,” Rian allows, sighing.

Phoebe did not come up these out-of-the-way stairs because she was following Rian—he doesn’t need a tail. And she wasn’t following me, either, because that’s Rian’s job. Rian’s my babysitter; Phoebe is someone else’s.

I supposetechnicallyI could be wrong. It’s a guess that the person Phoebe’s keeping an eye on happens to be my personal target on my little side mission today. But I got Rian on these steps on purpose. Okay, so, testing the no-cams theory was an added perk of that purpose, and I’m almost upset that Phoebe interrupted us, but Rian’s not the only one who checked the guest list. If there’s someone at the gala who needs an assigned person from the intergalactic security team checking up on him, it’ll be the person I’m pretty confident is upstairs right now. Not because he’s a security threat. He’s the opposite.

He’s an ideal target for someone like me.

Rian may think he’s spent the better part of this evening watching me scout locations, but I was just acting on the information I’d gathered weeks ago, the information that told me I had time to kill.

The fact that Phoebe left without going all the way up the steps says that she’s leaving the task of fetching my target to Rian. Not that either of them know my sights are zeroed in on their guest of honor. I’m pretty sure my meandering around the gala has thrown Rian off at least a little.

This is the one part of my plan that relies on chance. No, that’s a lie. Alotof this plan relies on chance, which is why I don’t like it. But this was a big chunk, and Phoebe, bless her, just tipped me off.

There’s a man at the top of the stairs who has no idea I’m going to ruin him.

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