Page 71 of Steal My Heart
“I won’t say she has a point, but…” Maks trails off.
I can’t believe the words are coming out of my mouth, but I say, “You can come, to observe only.”
She nods excitedly, hurrying out.
“We still need a runner,” Maks reminds me.
“Let’s call in Nic,” I decide. “Pass him off as my private security.”
“And if that’s a no-go? Our contact won’t be working the guest entrance,” Maks reminds me.
I drag my hand down my face. “Then we’re improvising.”
“?? ????”Who are you?
I still don’t fucking know.
Chapter Twenty-One
Remi
“Damn, Remi.” Alessandra whistles. “It’s giving revenge dress.”
“You think?” Checking myself out in the mirror, I run my hands along the fitted gold sequin gown.Extremelyfitted, especially around the bust. While it’s technically my size, the tag is European, and I’m guessing there’s a difference. But that’s not why I chose it; the dress has pockets, a necessity for tonight’s grab.
“Bet. And love the gold with the purple wig. Oooh, and your mask. It reminds me of a butterfly.”
“Thanks, it was my mawmaw’s.”One last grab, and then I’m out of the pickpocketing game, I promise her.
Maks appears at the door, knocking. “Remi. Are you ready to get set up?”
His word choice has a wave of unease pressing down on my chest, but I shake off the feeling. “I’m ready.” I grab the mask and give Nola a scratch on her head. She opens one eye, annoyed, before closing it. “Love you too.”
We meet Maks in the living room, who has a table of gadgets laid out. He hands me a Fleur-de-Lis pendant. “Camera.”
With the help of a decorative wall mirror, I get the necklace hooked around my neck.
“Earpiece.” He produces a tiny electronic device, holding it up with tweezers. “May I help with this one?”
“Please.” I lean closer as he inserts the device inside my right ear.
“Test. Test.” He calls through a walkie-talkie-looking thing.
“I hear you.”
“Good deal. Tonight, you are filling in for the pianist named Devon.” Maks hands me a Louisiana driver’s license with my photo and Devon’s name.
I raise an eyebrow in confusion. “How?”
“It’s a fake. Good enough to fool an officer at a casual glance, but if they run the information through their database, they’ll realize you aren’t a fifty-year-old, three-hundred-pound male like the real Devon. So I suggest flashing it only at the door to gain entrance.”
“And if the person working the door knows the real Devon?” I press.
“They won’t,” he says.
“I need more than your assurance.”
“They won’t.” Angelo appears, looking far too handsome formyown good. His intense eyes roam over my body, lingering over my cleavage.
