Page 39 of Remote Access

When Lane boosted himself through the second story window, Quincy smirked at himself and walked to the back door. It was like he'd entered an alternate dimension. He was a cop. Breaking into a home. And falling for a gifted thief.

One who hadn't chosen the life, but in a court of law, he would no doubt be found guilty for never seeking help. And a part of Quincy agreed. But the bigger part saw that the extenuating circumstances had more branches than the tree Lane had just scaled like a monkey.

And Lane had suffered for ten years because he'd been too young to look at his situation logically—had loved his mother too much to risk her. Fear had driven every move he'd made, but so had love.

He was a good guy. A really, really good guy.

The door opened, Lane’s cheeky smile bright in the moonlight, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He may have been forced into being a thief, but the crazy kid got off on it.

The hardest part of all of this to swallow was that excitement burned inside Quincy as well. He'd always gotten a thrill on the job—had lived for it. The fact that he felt the familiar rush here was something to think about.

"Tip?" Lane whispered. "The key to a successful lift?" He leaned out the door and grabbed Quincy's sleeve. "Speed."

Quincy followed him inside the dark house that smelled inexplicably of roses and cookies like his grandmother had sneaked inside to hide those scented pillow ratchets she’d stored all over her house before baking a batch of snickerdoodles. He grimaced and looked around for whatever was offending his nose.

“We may have a problem,” Lane whispered, pointing to the half-full plate of cookies on the kitchen island. “I didn’t see anyone upstairs, but I’ll admit to not looking around enough down here.” He stepped close and whispered. “I’m guessing elderly lady from the flowery smell, so it’s possible we can quietly sneak through without waking her. I’m going to go see if I can find her first. The last thing I want to do is scare another little old lady.”

“Who you calling little and old, fucker?”

Quincy jerked and grabbed Lane to shove him behind him when he saw the girl with the shotgun aimed their way. She didn’t even stand five feet tall, so thelittlefit, but she couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

“I’m the worst thief ever now,” Lane muttered behind him. “Over two hundred successes and I’ve bumbled this twice in a row. I blame you and your stupid body. It’s too distracting.”

The girl’s blond eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Thieves?” Chuckles fell from her lips, ones that turned quickly to loud laughter. “You’re robbing a thief’s house. Do you know who my father is?”

“Morris Jakes.” Lane tried to come around him, but Quincy reached back to hold him close. He made more grumbling noises. He wasn’t about to explain the protective cop instincts again…though that had little to do why he wanted no harm to come to a hair on Lane’s beautiful head.

“If you know who he is, then you must be here for something specific,” the girl said. “What?”

She wasn’t scared. She just stood in front of them, her gun not even shaking. She waved it up and down his body.

“You’re no thief. You a cop?”

Did he havelaw enforcementtattooed on his face or something? “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve grown up around thieves and around men who study cops. I know exactly what they’re like. The one behind you? Not much of a thief either because he walked right past me sleeping on the couch.” She grinned. “He’s cute though.”

Lane’s head popped out and Quincy rolled his eyes.

“Listen,” he said, putting as much calm as possible in his voice. “We are not going to hurt you.”

“Of course you’re not. I’m the one with the gun, you dumbass.” She cracked another grin.

“Why aren’t you scared?” Lane asked.

“You grow up around scum, you tend to develop a thick skin. Let me guess…” she peeked around Quincy. “He likes Precious Moments?”

Lane snorted. “I like her.”

“Your father steals Precious Moments?” Quincy couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Are they even worth that much?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? He steals the ridiculous things for me and I can’t stand them. You guys are more than welcome to take as many as you can off my hands.” She leaned against the door jamb, the gun not wavering. “If you’re here for something a little more precious, you’ll have to tell me what.”

“You are awfully blasé for someone with two strangers breaking into your house.”

“Again, I’m the one with the gun. Thing is, I came here to divest my father of a couple of things myself. I don’t really give a shit what you take. He’s an asshole.”

“An asshole who gets you childish collectibles.”

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