Page 13 of Save Me
He helps me into a SUV I’ve never seen before and we set off, driving towards the city as the night closes in around us.
We pull up a bit away from the museum, a monolith of shadows against the city’s skyline.
“Here’s the deal,” he says, his voice barely a ripple in the quiet as he turns to me. “I take the lead on disarming the system. You’re on watch. Eyes sharp, Vogue. We can’t afford slip-ups.”
“Look out. Got it,” I reply, my heart thumping in a steady rhythm. This is the moment where everything I want will filter through to me, and it’s up to me what I do with it.
“Remember, it’s all about timing,” he continues, his tone serious. “When I give the signal, we move. Not a second before. Understand?” Thayer slips on a pair of gloves, and I mimic him with the pair he hands me, slipping them over trembling fingers.
“Understand.” The word feels solid, heavy with promise. I’m not just Vogue Jameson anymore. I’m Vogue Jameson McGowan. I’m someone who matters in this game of shadows and stolen beauty.
“Good.” He nods once, a brief dip of his head that somehow says more than any pep talk ever could. “Let’s go make some history.”
“Or become history,” I murmur, and he chuckles darkly.
“Let’s try not to let that happen.”
As we slip out of the car and into the night, we head down an alley, some way from the museum, sticking close to the wall. I follow Thayer as he slips through the shadows like a ninja.
Me? I’m not so graceful and trip over the remnants of a sad-looking cardboard box before nearly stepping in something that appears to be vomit.
“God,” I mutter. “I thought this was going to be glamorous.”
Thayer presses his lips together as he lets out a muffled guffaw. “Sorry, baby girl. Nothing glam about skulking down an alleyway. Maybe one day you’ll get in on a heist from the inside.”
I grab his arm, pulling him to a stop. “That’s an option?”
“Not tonight. This is too time sensitive. But yeah, one day.”
“Soon,” I grit out, knowing fancy dresses and canapes is a world-a-fucking-way from soggy boxes and vom.
We slide through the night, him like a shadow, me like Bambi, but eventually, he stops and indicates the back entrance to the museum. He pulls something out of his black pants and flicks it on.
“Jammer,” he murmurs, pointing to the CCTV up above the door.
I nod knowingly but am secretly impressed.
“The Guards are at the front. They won’t patrol for another thirty minutes.”
Then we are in front of the door, and Thayer’s fingers move like he’s playing some high-stakes piano, tapping away at the keypad with a finesse that has me holding my breath. He pulls another device from his pocket, sleek and ominous, and hooks it onto the panel. The small screen on it lights up, running numbers and codes in a sequence too fast for me to follow.
“Don’t watch me,” he murmurs without looking at me, his attention never wavers from the task at hand.
“Oh, shit, yeah.” I grimace and turn to play lookout.
Each beep from the device seems to echo in my ears, syncing with the rapid tempo of my pulse.
Finally, Thayer removes the device, tucking it back into his pocket. “Done,” he mutters. The door handle turns, and we’reinside, plunged into darkness lit only by a thousand lasers crisscrossing our path.
“Fuck. What now?”
He grins and crosses over to a panel on the wall as the door closes behind us silently.
A few swift movements, and the lasers flicker before dying altogether. “I’ve disabled the main security grid,” he whispers. “But we’ve got minimal time before backup systems kick in. Let’s move.”
We dart through the corridors until we reach the gallery housing our target.
The door to the exhibit room opens with a soft click that resonates louder in my ears than any alarm. As Thayer steps inside, I trail behind him, each step measured and silent. The room sprawls before us, a cavern of shadows and light where the artworks command their space, their colours muted yet vibrant under the spotlights.
