Page 116 of Steal My Heart
Remi pauses the video at the part where the mayor hands over the ceremonial key to the former king and queen. “I’ve lost count. Tomorrow, I need to be standing directly behind the mayor when I make my grab, so I’ll be hidden by the podium; otherwise, I risk getting busted by the news camera. How is the court lined up?”
I call Maks in the room, and he joins us.
“Boss?”
“We’re discussing strategy for tomorrow. Remi, as to your question, attendants are lined up in alphabetical order; you’ll be near the front of the pack.” I pull up the list of attendant names from the email, being careful not to jostle Nola, who’s now asleep on my lap.
“But I need to be in the back of the group,” Remi argues.
“You’ll just have to improvise. We’re playing jazz here, remember?” I use her words against her, and she sticks out her tongue at me.
“Where does the mayor go after he hands over the key to the city?” Remi asks.
“He’ll view the Lundi Gras pre-celebration from his private box,” Maks answers.
“Where?” Remi presses.
Maks rolls open a map of the riverfront park. “Boat will be docked here, where you will exit.” He marks the spot with a permanent marker. “Stage for the key ceremony here.” He draws a rectangle. “Concert stage across the park, here.” Another mark. “And the mayor’s private viewing booth here.” He draws a box. “Elevated stadium seating; one access point in the rear controlled by his security team.”
“So realistically, my one shot is during the key ceremony.” Remi closes her eyes.
“What is she doing?” Maks asks after about a minute of silence, with Remi’s eyes remaining closed.
“I haven’t a clue,” I muse.
“I’m ready for tomorrow,” Remi announces, opening her eyes.
“Good girl.” I steal a quick kiss from my little pickpocket. And yes, I will have to come up with a more fitting nickname come tomorrow. “I have business, unrelated to our project?—”
“So in other words, get out,” Remi says dryly.
I flick her nose playfully. “If you want to put it bluntly.”
“Come on, Nola.”
Nola opens an eye, giving Remi anot a chancelook, and closes it.
“That’s fine; you can fill me in later,” Remi tells Nola. Smiling ruefully at me, she gives my beard a tickle before walking to the door.
“Stop,” I call, and she pauses, looking the picture of innocence. “I need my phone.”
Remi reaches into her pocket, producing Maks’ phone.
He pats his pockets and curses, and I try to hold in my laughter. “Do not touch my phone ever again,” Maks tells her sternly, snatching his phone.
“Touchy,” Remi teases, sauntering out.
I’m so in love with this woman, I can’t fucking see straight.
Giving Nola another scratch behind her ears, I ask Maks, “What do we know about this ‘Cornbread’ cellmate of Fabien’s?”
Maks produces a folder, handing it to me. “Kirksey Willis.”
“Never heard of him.” Opening the file, I examine the man’s mugshot. A weathered face and hard eyes, he gazes directly into the camera with a subtle smirk.
“Not surprising. Thirty-four-year-old thug from Gulfport, Mississippi. Owns a couple of strip clubs and a seedy motel. Busted for a prostitution ring.”
Reminds me of why I shut down our own ring.
