Dangerous Notes (Dark Pen)

Jewel encrusted purse…fake.

Jimmy Cho heels…imitations.

Three-carat square-cut diamond ring…moissanite.

Tear-drop pearl earrings and necklace…synthetic substitutions.

Hell, even the crystal vase holding the fresh-cut flowers came from a discount store.

One day it will all be real. I need to stay focused on just how far I’ve come instead of falling back into the old insecurities I’ve spent years trying to shed. I’ve worked hard. I’ve earned my seat at the table. It wasn’t given to me on a silver platter like Atlas Giannopoulos.

The second his name registers, I reject it. He’s already taken up too much space in my head in the past. The fact we’ve started bumping into each other on jobs just proves I’m doing something right. I’ve finally broken into the right social circles.

Now I just need to stay one step ahead of him. While it thrills me to know I beat him to the painting last week, I’m not naive enough to think my win really hurt him. If anything, it’s probably just angered him enough to up his game.

“You’re going to be late.”

Mia’s voice makes me jump. Even knowing she was going to be here any minute, I hadn’t heard the smallest sound to warn me of her arrival—just one of the dangers of working with a professional thief.

“Just putting on the finishing touches,” I answer after adding lipstick, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Mia and I may work together, and may even be friends, but there is always a low-level game of tug-o-war going between us. It’s inevitable considering we are both more than capable of running our own gigs. We only team up when the mark is big enough to warrant it, and tonight’s haul more than qualified.

Considering how crazy the uptown Friday evening traffic is going to be, we probably should already be in the car, but I can’t leave. Not yet. Not until we run through the plan one more time.

“You have any problems with the car?” I ask, kicking off the review.

“Downstairs and ready to go. We just need to have it back to the dealership lot before eleven when the night-shift security team arrives,” she confirms.

Looking over her all-black uniform, I see she’s dressed the part of chauffeur perfectly.

Grabbing the jeweled purse I’ll be taking in with me, I open the clasp and start lifting items out carefully. “I’ve got the forged invitation to the ball,” I say before returning it to the purse and taking out the next item. “My latex gloves are hidden in my lipstick case. I’ve already got my earbud in,” I say, tapping my left ear. “The Bluetooth stethoscope is already paired and before you ask, yes… I confirmed it has fresh batteries.”

“I love working with a professional.” Mia grins.

Her compliment helps to take the edge off my normal pre-game anxiety.

“Did you bring the brooch?”

Mia hands over an ornate piece of jewelry with a hidden camera inside. I bite back my complaint. The gaudy bauble isn’t even remotely my style, but the important thing is to make sure it works.

“Let’s give it a test,” I say as I pin it onto the bodice of my gown, appreciating how it will draw the attention of any warm-blooded man I meet to admire my impressive bust line, preferring they remember my boobs and not my face.

Mia picks up her iPad and clicks open the app that will let her keep tabs of my every movement while I’m inside the Swedish ambassador’s opulent uptown brownstone. If all goes well, I’ll be in and out in less than an hour. The camera adds a layer of insurance, just in case something goes wrong.

“Check. Working,” Mia adds, short and to the point before adding. “You’ve studied the floor plan?”

I don’t know why she asks since she knows memorizing every inch of a target property is almost an obsession of mine.

My “Always,” reminds her of that before I add, “you’ve reconfirmed there won’t be any metal detectors, right?” The last thing I need is to have security find the sheathed fixed blade knife I have strapped to my inner thigh.

“I told you, everything about this gig is old school, which is why I still think it’s a mistake not to have an escort. A single woman arriving without a date is going to stick out like a sore thumb at this kind of event,” Mia complains for the umpteenth time since we started planning this job.

“And I told you, there is no one I trust enough to go in with.”

“And I told you, the guy could be a patsy. Just some eye candy that will draw attention away from you. Your contact list is full of eligible candidates. I don’t know what’s changed. You never used to balk at taking a distraction boy-toy on your jobs. And let’s face it, the between-the-sheets benefits at the end of the night aren’t bad either.” Mia waggles her eyebrow conspiratorially.