Code Name Heist (Jameson Force Security 3)

He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even bother shutting the door.

Growling, I stomp across my room and slam the door shut. Nabbing my phone off the small desk, I avoid the bed and flop in the chair instead. I dial my dad, immediately feeling my anxiety lift when he answers.

“Sindaria,” he exclaims when he answers, rocking the cockney accent. It makes me smile. “How’s Havana?”

“Hot. I miss London,” I say. “Heading out tonight.”

“I miss you too,” he says gruffly, which means he translated my words into ‘I miss you’.

“Any problems while you were there?”

He’s asking whether I had any problems cracking the safe. It’s important to him because my dad passed his skills along to me. George Westin was a master lock manipulator and thief extraordinaire. While I’m sure my mum would have liked to have me go into a different profession, that ended up being moot as she died when I was seven. It made me closer to my dad than ever, and I proudly followed in his footsteps.

“Wasn’t a great time,” I say, disappointment filling me. “Over eight minutes.”

My dad chuckles. “Sindaria… you can do something only a handful of people in the world can. And you’re upset with eight minutes?”

“Well, no,” I admit with a huff. “But… well, I’m tired. Plus, Neal is an asshole—”

“Wish you wouldn’t work with that guy,” my dad cuts in. He knows Neal. In this line of work, people tend to know the same players, and he can’t stand him either.

“I know,” I say softly, but that’s about all I can.

My dad has no clue I don’t have a choice but to work with Neal. That I’m an indentured servant right now until I fulfill a certain job quota with the current crew I’m on.

I’m stuck with no wiggle room to escape.

But I can’t tell my dad. The pickle I’ve gotten myself into would kill him.

Especially since he’s the reason I’m stuck.CHAPTER 3SaintThings are moving faster than I imagined they would. I’ve been in Paris less than thirty-six hours, but I’m on track to meet the unnamed kingpin whom the insurance companies believe is planning a major heist.

Frankly, it’s not something I had expected. When I’d reached out to William Mears, inquiring if he was interested in my services because I wanted to return to the business, I expected I’d have to work hard to prove my worth.

But William seemed absolutely delighted I’d contacted him, especially with my assurance I was in possession of new technology that would make modern-day security systems seem like tinker toys. Thank God for Bebe and her massively ginormous techie brain. She loaded me up with all kinds of goodies before I left for the airport.

When I touched down in Paris, I checked into a hotel under my travel alias. It’s something all thieves do. While the insurance consortium is paying my bills, I do have to account for my expenditures. Still, I’d told them I needed to stay somewhere fairly posh as my ability to get into this ring was going to be my portrayal as a still-relevant player.

I’d just gotten out of prison, so I don’t want them to consider me ‘down on my luck’. I want to paint the impression I have many options, which means I don’t have to take whatever they decide to offer me. Luckily, the consortium didn’t balk at my request. I have a nice per diem that will let me put on the necessary airs I’ll need to sell my game.

I had dinner with William last night. He and I worked a few crews together in my early days, before I ventured out as an independent contractor. He’s the type who buckles down and gets serious on a job, but who can kick back with a pint after.

When I’d gone off on my own, William moved more into a managerial/planning role with a crime lord. He’d put his considerable experience with heisting into devising perfect plans and managing to pull off numerous high tech and expensive robberies.

Oh, the vault is on the sixty-third floor and protected by armed guards and lasers? No worries… William would come up with some elaborate scheme to scale that fucking building, then cut a hole through the side while suspended from cables.

He was bat-shit crazy, but it worked.

Or so I’ve heard.

At dinner, William had asked, “You ready to go straight into the big leagues or do you need some time to acclimate?”

“What do you have planned?” I’d asked, hoping he’d spill the beans about what I needed. If he did, I could head home with my mission accomplished.

It could never be that easy, though. All he’d said was, “Something bigger than anything that has ever been done. But I have to clear you with the boss.”

At the mention of the boss, a thrill went through me, but that could mean anything.