Page 22 of Nest of Thieves
We’re around an hour from home if I go the speed limit. My nickname isn’t Vette for no reason. Once we get out of the inner city, I press the pedal down and tear down the freeway, driving the minivan like it’s a brand-new Corvette.
I’ll get us home in thirty minutes.
Mac whoops from the back and leans his head against the headrest, closing his eyes and trusting me with his safety. I may be going fast, but that doesn’t mean I’m being reckless. Lark puts on our dark electronic playlist and works on his laptop using his hotspot.
“Finances?”
He nods. “I’m checking over the accounts. Things are good. The investment accounts are flourishing.”
“The shop?” I scan the night for any sign of cops. They’ll be hard to spot in the dark, but I still keep a lookout.
“Busy as ever. Jay kept things running smooth while we were gone.”
“How many new cars?”
“Four. They’ve already disassembled a Mustang and a Beamer.”
Our chop shop is our bread and butter. Damien entrusted us with the business five years ago, and we’ve been running it ever since. We’ve even increased output and brought in more income.
Both of which are good reasons for him to give us a break on the missing money.
The job was meant to be simple. We came to Philly because the Atlantic City banks are hot right now. Too much risk of getting caught, and Damien needed an influx of cash to pay off a politician on his payroll. I thought I had planned for everything but that was before Jo came into the picture. She was an unforeseen complication.
“Think she’ll come after us?”
Lark stays silent.
“What?” I grumble.
“Do you like her?”
I scowl. “No.”
Never mind that I had been admiring her skills from afar. She took down Edmund without a second thought. She’s ruthless. Smart. Respectable.
“Uh-huh. What did you tell Mac? Forget about her.” Lark looks out his window.
“I’m not thinking about her.” I grip the wheel a little tighter.
“I don’t blame you. That dress.” Lark releases a low whistle. “I’ve never seen a woman look so tempting.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She’s in the past.”
And hopefully that’s where she’ll stay.
We don’t need trouble like her. No matter how much I want it.
seven
JO
I hot-wire an old Buick and drive it to the dorms. Knowing I’m on borrowed time, I sprint inside and pack as fast as I can. Two suitcases for my things. One full of weapons, gear, and other equipment. One filled with clothes and scent suppressant pills. And then the duffel bags full of money. I dump the contents of the smaller bags into the big one and toss them aside. Hefting the strap of the cash bag over my shoulder, I grab the smartphone I bought using a fake identity. The plan is paid out for three months. I’ll have another device under another name before then. I glance around the dorm.
I have my knives, guns, bullets, sheaths, holsters, clothes, money, and the diamond. I can sell the gem for a hefty bag of cash.
What am I missing?
Atticus chooses that moment to slither out from the corner of his cage.
