Page 114 of Nest of Thieves
Lark: I am.
Jo: Part three?
Lark: No. We’re on surveillance.
Jo: So watch those people, not me.
Lark: But you’re so much prettier :)
I grin.
Jo: Don’t try to flatter me. I’m still mad about the cameras.
Lark: You can turn them off if it really bothers you. All the equipment is in my room.
Lark: I have to go, they’re on the move. Shut the cameras off if you want. I’ll unlock my door.
I start to ask whotheyare but think better of it and tuck my phone back in my pocket. The guys haven’t shared much more of the business with me, and the plan is to get them to slip up in front of me, not ask them directly. They have to be comfortable enough to trust me. A knife twists in my gut knowing I’m actively deceiving them, but technically, I did warn them that I wouldn’t give up the ring. I don’t know if a technicality will make my betrayal hurt any less when they find out why I stayed. Don’t get me wrong; I really like them. But my main motivation is keeping Tori and her baby safe.
Granted, things have changed between us since they took my money and we decided to live as though the odds aren’t stacked against us. The past few days have been wonderful. The guys treat me like a princess and, aside from almost dying, the relationship I have with the three of them is good.
The microwave beeps. Coming out of my reverie, I grab the bag and head upstairs, setting the popcorn on the coffee table in the game room. I eye Lark’s door, then glance at where the camera in the game room is placed.
How long did he watch me struggle? Has he been watching me all along?
Intent on shutting down his spying capabilities, I head into his room, more than a little shocked that he unlocked the fancy lock for me. I’ll have to get one for myself someday. It must be nice to be able to lock and unlock the door from an app on your phone. A big desk full of more monitors than I could ever need sits next to the bed. I drop into the black leather chair and press the spacebar. The computer wakes up and the lock screen appears. I frown. My phone pings.
Lark: Nunez89$5#
Jo: How many cameras do you have in this house?
Lark: I’ll never tell.
Jo: Stalker.
My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I type in the password, instantly gaining access. He’s either really dumb or has a lot of faith in me to only turn off the cameras. I open the security application and a screen appears, showing twelve camera feeds. The bottom corner says this is just twelve of the forty-eight he has linked to this program. My mouth drops open, and I click to the next screen, scanning through all the camera angles. Almost every room in the house. The exterior has a dozen cameras. The garage has a few. The gym and pool have a few. And the last one...
That motherfucker.
The very last feed shows my unmade bed. The camera is placed so my bed fills up the entire feed.
Has he been watching me sleep?
Is nothing sacred?
Growling, I shut down the cameras and close the program, moving on to the file folders. I shift through them, a little disappointed to find there’s nothing useful for me in there. There’s plenty of information—like spreadsheets listing business assets, the chop shop schedule, an in-depth procedure manual for running the shop, and other documents that would make a detective jizz in his pants.
Since I have absolutely no desire to call the cops—hello, I’m not a snitch—I close the windows and lock the computer. I dig through the desk drawers. Papers. Equipment. Devices I don’t know the name of. A small box. I grab that and open it, eyeing the cameras. They’re the same ones he had placed around my room. Probably the same as the one above my bed.
An idea sparks, and my lips curl back in an almost feral manner. I take one camera and hold it between my thumb and forefinger, eyeing the tiny device.
“Let’s see how he likes being spied on.” I swing my gaze around.
The headboard would be too obvious. The vent is my best bet, and even though he’s put cameras in vents, I doubt he’d expect me to do the same. I scoot the chair to the vent and use the fancy locking mechanism to keep it from spinning or rocking. Once I’m sure I won’t fall on my ass, I step up and secure the camera in the vent, checking it from every angle to make sure it isn’t too obvious. I hop down and sit in front of the computer again, opening the software.
“Privacy settings,” I mutter, clicking on the little gear button in the top right-hand corner of the main screen. There are a few tabs of settings, but I find what I’m looking for and remove his phone from the approved list of devices with access. Then I change the password and fire up all the cameras. I flip to the last screen again, and triumph blooms in my chest.
“See how you like being spied on,” I whisper, grabbing my phone and downloading the app. I log in and check that it’s working before shutting down Lark’s computer. He knows I shut the cameras down, so I’m betting on him not checking them for a while.
