Page 14 of Save Me
My gaze flits across the room, taking in the paintings and sculptures that are worth more than I can even fathom. They’re beautiful, haunting almost, in the way they seem to watch us intruders with frozen eyes. But I can’t get lost in admiration; there’s a job to do.
Thayer moves with a predator’s grace, every motion calculated and deliberate as he approaches the first piece. Meanwhile, I stand watch, my senses razor-sharp for any sign of movement or noise that doesn’t belong. The soft hum of the climate control system is the only sound that fills the air, a backdrop to the silent heist unfolding before me. Every cell in my body is awake, alive with the thrill and fear of what we’re doing. It’s a high I’ve never felt before, and it’s intoxicating.
Thayer’s hands are steady as he lifts the first painting from its frame, a masterful touch that doesn’t even ripple the air. He works quickly, deftly unhooking the wire, tilting the canvas withprecision. My job is to watch and wait, a coiled spring, ready to sound the alarm or stab someone if need be. I can’t afford a slip-up—not tonight. Remembering the knife, I grip it tightly.
My gaze darts from shadow to shadow, every statue and darkened corner a potential hiding spot for guards we’ve bypassed. I’m listening too—straining my ears for footsteps, the tell-tale sign of someone coming when they shouldn’t.
Thayer rolls the masterpiece into a cylinder with expert care and slips it into a tube that looks innocuous, nothing like what you’d expect for transporting stolen goods.
“Let’s go,” he murmurs, and we turn around, slinking back the way we came.
We slip out the back door of the museum, the night air cool against my skin. Thayer’s grip on the tube is tight, knuckles white even in the dim light. My pulse races, not just from the thrill of what we’ve done but also from the anticipation of what’s to come.
As we walk away, Thayer flicks the jammer, and the CCTV goes active again.
“What now?” I whisper.
“We hand it off to my contact.” He ducks across the street, and I follow him to the SUV.
“There,” Thayer says. “It’s a simple handoff, no talking.”
I nod, seeing the man who can’t seem to stand still. He checks his watch, turns around, peeks into the darkness—a nervous twitch here, a jerky movement there. It’s like he’s itching to bolt. Something about him sets off alarms in my head.
I don’t like this. But what do I know?
When we reach him, Thayer hands over the case. But the second it leaves his grasp, the guy snatches it and spins on his heel, walking away fast—too fast.
Thayer and I exchange a look, and his face goes dark before he pulls out his knife. I’ve got mine, shoved up my hoodie sleeve, but run after Thayer as he takes off after the man.
Thayer lunges after him, but the contact draws a blade that catches the light menacingly.
My heart lurches into action. There’s no time to think, only to react, so I move forward as well.
But I’m already too late. Thayer is fast—really fast. He swings, and the guy drops like a sack of bricks, sprawled across the grimy pavement, the knife skittering away into darkness. I’m frozen for a split second, adrenaline buzzing through my veins before I rush to Thayer’s side.
He glares down at me. This is Thayer in his element—cold, calculated. He presses something into my hand, and I look down at the van keys. “Go and get the car. Bring it right here.”
I nod and head off instantly, running over the pavement as it starts to rain. Unlocking the SUV, I leap into it and fire up the engine, lurching forward as I crawl down the road and stop next to Thayer and the guy he has hauled up to his feet, his arm wrapped around him like he’s helping a drunken buddy get a taxi.
He opens the back door and shoves the unconscious guy in before climbing in behind him and slamming the door closed.
“Go,” he snaps, and I go.
Where to… I don’t have a fucking clue.
Thayer throws the art onto the front seat next to me as I try to drive without drawing too much attention to ourselves, but fuck. That’s not easy. How do you do that when you’re hauling around an unconscious man and stolen artwork?
Thayer pulls out his phone and dials. His voice is low, almost a growl, as he speaks to whoever’s on the other end.
“Head towards the back of campus,” he instructs, and I nod, having no words.
“Are you good?” Thayer breaks the silence after a minute, his voice rough like gravel.
“Fine,” I lie, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. We don’t speak again, the tension between us thick enough to slice through.
We roll into Crestmont, and everything is quiet. The usual buzz of student life is long gone at this hour. I navigate the SUV around to the back of the campus as ordered.
I don’t need to ask where to pull up. It becomes obvious.
