Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline 1)

As for Fox, he tried not to think of Addison but everything reminded him of her. The desert road brought back memories of when he’d first kissed her. Even the smell of the car reminded him of her. Fuck. If he didn’t get his head in the game soon, he was going to land all of their asses in jail.

As he turned onto the residential street, he pushed her from his mind and set his focus entirely on his task. He drove by the house with a Lincoln Navigator, according to DMV records. Atlas, sitting in the passenger seat, searched for the car while Fox kept his eyes on the road. He didn’t slow down in case anyone was watching. Neighborhoods like this were suspicious of any car they didn’t recognize and quick to report anything odd. But it was late enough that most people were probably in bed.

“It’s there,” Atlas said, his voice a rumble in the gloom.

Fox turned the corner then stopped and let his brother out. Luke handed him what looked like a briefcase. Idiot thieves dressed in black sweatpants and ski masks. They weren’t fucking ninjas and looking like that would get you killed in the places they stole from.

Atlas was wearing black, yes, but in the form of a sharp business suit. That way, if anyone happened to peek outside their window, they’d see a man coming home late from work. Not a thug on the wrong side of town.

As his brother strode confidently around the corner, back toward the target, Fox didn’t linger. He drove away, trusting he’d see Atlas shortly at the drop-off.

Luke’s target was next. His cousin fiddled with one of the keyless entry duplicators Addison had built. They were headed into the city to scout the casino garages. A Porsche was flashy and men often took them into the city to impress people at the expensive nightclubs. It shouldn’t be hard to find one.

Instead of a business suit, Luke was dressed in designer jeans and a trendy button-down shirt. With his hair slicked back and his charming smile, he looked like he was headed to the casino.

Fox drove downtown, cursing the traffic. He kept his eye on the clock, which seemed to move faster than the traffic.

“Pull down there,” Luke said, pointing to an alley between buildings.

“It’s a dead end.”

“No, it comes out at the valet pull-up for Crimson.”

Fox arched a brow. “Crimson?”

“It’s a new place. Supposedly run by vampires. I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a joke or not but ever since one of the Denver Broncos was spotted there, it’s been packed with wannabe social climbers.”

He sighed but pulled down the side street Luke had indicated.

The dark alley looked like it led to the seedier parts of the city, but just when he was about to question his cousin, they emerged on the other side and right across the street from a short, dark-bricked building, with CRIMSON spelled out in a subdued gothic font next to the door.

A valet handed tickets to the line of cars out front.

“Follow the valet,” Luke said. “Let’s see where he parks the cars.”

Fox had already been thinking the same thing. He pulled out behind a Prius and followed it two blocks to a large lot. Luke studied the cars as Fox slowed to a snail’s pace. In the city, they weren’t as obvious because most people drove slowly when looking for a parking spot.

“Jackpot,” Luke murmured. “Drop me off around the corner. If I don’t find a Porsche fast, I’ll text you.”

“The Audi’s next on the list.” Fox pulled up alongside a curb to let Luke out.

“Got it.” He grabbed his satchel and left the car.

Fox drove away without a backward glance. Instead of heading to the drop-off right away, he circled downtown twice, waiting to hear from Luke.

Just before the highway on-ramp, his phone buzzed. It was Luke.

Car is finished at the shop. Meet you in thirty.

It was code in case they were ever investigated, or they lost their phones or something. Pleased, Fox pulled onto the highway and headed toward the drop-off point near the airport. He battled with himself over whether to try calling Addison again. It wasn’t the time for that, not by a long shot, but he missed her.

The drop-off for the Porsche and the BMW went without a hitch. It only took one lap downtown to find a Rolls-Royce and a little longer to grab the Mustang. Only two more to go. He headed back toward the airport.

Lights too close to his bumper caught his attention. He glanced at his rearview, annoyed someone was tailgating him. A sleek black sedan was riding his ass. Too close for comfort. He sped up but the car stayed on his tail. He didn’t need to see a face to know who it was.

Marcel.

Or one of his idiot henchmen.