Fueling His Hunger (Masters of Adrenaline 2)

“Deal.”

They shook on it, and Luke got out of the car, then grabbed his go bag and took off down the road. The dry desert air blew his longish Mohawk into his eyes, and he wished he had a baseball cap, or even a hair tie. At least he was wearing black.

He crossed the road and followed the brick wall, trying to get a sense of the security system the place used. There were cameras and sensors everywhere. Really, he should have turned back at that point, but losing the bet to Carlos after having his skills questioned would hurt like a bastard.

Near the wide gate he waited in silence, hoping his face wouldn’t glow like an extra moon in the beam of passing headlights. Other than the thumping of music coming from the house, the night was still. After about ten minutes, the gate mechanism whirred. An Escalade cruised into the opening and paused to check for traffic. Luke slipped into the compound, keeping the vehicle between him and the gate guard, then melted into the shadows beyond. No partygoers lingered in the long, curved driveway.

There was a buffet of cars to choose from, but for tonight, he had to pick something that wasn’t too close to the house or the gate, and had some cooperative lighting near the driver’s-side door. Ferrari, tricked out Austin Mini, Hummer. Near the end of the line there was a pristine Mercedes G500 in lime green. Flashy and immaculate, it had obviously never seen rough terrain. Normally, he wouldn’t have given the thing a second look, since he preferred a sports car, but he’d never driven a G500 before.

As he sidled up to it, he noticed the window was open a crack. Jackpot.

He felt like a bit of a challenge tonight so he decided to try an old-school method instead of using his hacking gadgets like he might have another time. After wedging his fingers in the window opening, he rocked it back and forth until the window slid out of the track and he could force it down far enough to fit his arm through the space. He unlocked the driver’s-side door and slid into the car.

Luke braced himself for the piercing alarm as he looked for the wire under the steering wheel to cut it. To his surprise, the car was silent.

No alarm. Weird.

He shrugged and began his search for the spare keys. Chances were good there was a spare set stashed in the car somewhere, or at least a valet key in the car kit most drivers didn’t even know about.

Visor and console turned up empty. He grabbed the user manual from the glove compartment and shuffled through it until he found the valet key.

Bingo.

He grinned, enjoying the fact that he still, after all these years, got a rush from his job.

When he turned on the engine, the stereo tried to start, and his hand shot out to shut it off before it blared to life. The display read RUSH, “FLY BY NIGHT,” and for a moment he felt bad for stealing from someone who had impeccable taste in music.

As he rolled up to the gate, his heart accelerated. Hopefully the guard didn’t know the owner too well.

When the gate didn’t open automatically, Luke shifted his gaze over toward the guard while trying to keep the guy from getting a good look at his face. Rather than peering suspiciously into the vehicle, the guy was playing on his phone. Luke could hear the theme music to Angry Birds. He fumble

d for the gate button, hitting it without giving Luke more than a cursory glance.

God bless lazy guards.

He rolled out onto the road and headed right, passing the overlook. Atlas had to be pissing himself laughing at what Luke had taken. Usually they aimed for sports cars, not flashy green SUVs.

Luke adjusted the rearview mirror, and watched as Atlas started his car. He’d head back in the other direction now, probably to drop off their drunk friends, and they’d rendezvous later, back at the house, after he got a ride home. Luke would claim Carlos’s twenty bucks tomorrow at the shop.

Hell, the guys had been so tanked, the smell of their alcoholic breath still lingered in his sinuses.

He headed toward the drop point, knowing their buyer would take it even though there were no G500s currently on the order docket. There had been a classic Mustang in the driveway too, which was on the list, but it’d been parked right out front, in direct view of the house.

A tiny sound from the backseat set his teeth on edge and every hair on the back of his neck went up.

Fuck.

Had someone left their little dog—or worse yet, their kid—in the back of the car? Why hadn’t he fucking checked? Stupid, noob mistake, and one of his old, recurring nightmares.

Not a kid at this time of night, right? Unless the parents were really irresponsible and couldn’t find a sitter . . . but these were rich people . . . there were nannies and shit. Had to be a dog.

He glanced in the rearview, but the mirror was angled wrong. Just as he lifted his hand to adjust it, a police cruiser turned out of a driveway and moved up behind him. Luke abandoned the motion and focused on his driving, trying to ignore several more quiet sounds as he played good, law-abiding driver for the nice member of law enforcement. In town, he stopped at a light, his body vibrating with tension. In the side mirror, he caught a glimpse of the cruiser changing lanes and pulling up beside him. He forced himself to pretend he hadn’t noticed the cop, brushing his hair back from his eyes as though he was relaxed and in no hurry.

The light turned green, and the cop’s siren wailed. His heart stopped. The cruiser peeled away, disappearing down the street.

Fucking fuck!

His heart thudded painfully as it found its rhythm again.