to be able to be manually opened from the inside when the security system went down.”
“So what do we do? There’s no way the bolt cutters can get through metal that thick.”
Fin peers at the door for a moment. “Pray for a miracle?”
I throw my hands in the air. “Pray? Criminal masterminds don’t rely on a supreme being to get them out of tight spots! They go to plan B!” I pause. “What’s plan B?”
At least she has the decency to look sheepish. “We don’t have one.”
I groan. “No backup plan again? We’re terrible at this!”
She says defensively, “We’re not that bad.” Then, under her breath: “At least I know how to hotwire a vehicle.”
I stare at the door in frustration for several seconds, then pronounce, “Oh, screw it. We’ll improvise.”
She hoots. “Improvise? The last time you used that word, I ended up dangling from a sixth story hotel window.”
“You lived.”
“You do recall that the building was engulfed in flames at the time? And I was naked?”
I ignore her. “Just floor it. Petal to the metal. We’ll probably be able to smash through.”
She turns to me with arched brows. “Probably?”
I try to make my nod look firm and convincing. “This is a class seven rig with almost five hundred horse power. She’ll get it done.” I think for a moment. “Or we’ll die in a fiery explosion. Either way, it’ll be awesome.”
Fin stares at me like I’ve got horns growing out of my head. Then she grins. “And this is why we’re best friends, Thelma.”
I grin back. “I love you, too, Louise.”
She stomps her foot onto the gas pedal.
The truck lurches forward, diesel engine bellowing, tires pluming smoke.
We scream in unison at the top of our lungs as we rocket toward the metal roll up door.
2
Killian
Fascinated, I watch the security video on my computer’s screen over and over, replaying it so many times that Declan starts to fidget in impatience.
I glance up at him, standing beside the desk, six-plus feet of killing power with linebacker’s shoulders and eyes the color of a frozen artic lake that never thaws.
“Diapers.”
“Aye.” He shrugs, like he can’t understand it, either.
“What kind of thief steals a truck full of diapers and leaves the safe with three hundred grand in cash in it untouched?”
“One with a death wish, apparently.”
I rewind the video again, shaking my head in disbelief as the truck plows through the steel door at top speed.
It’s like a scene from an action movie.
There’s no sound, but I can imagine the deafening racket it must’ve made as metal met metal. First, the massive door bows in the middle, warping out of shape. Then it rips clean off from the building at the top, slamming forward onto the ground with a billowing cloud of dust and sparks.
The bottom of the door stays bolted to the cement, forcing the truck to fly into the air as it careens over a pile of crumpled metal.
As it lands, the truck swerves wildly. It appears about to topple over onto its side, but the driver regains control, straightens the vehicle, and speeds off through the empty parking lot, vanishing from the camera’s sight.
“The cameras at the warehouse were disabled, but I got this from the clothing manufacturer across the street. We tapped into their security system to see if they caught anything, and Bob’s your uncle. Unfortunately, this is the only angle that caught our diaper pincher on film.”
“Any prints at the scene?”
“No. They must’ve worn gloves.”
I sit back into the large captain’s chair, wondering which of my many enemies is both dumb and suicidal enough to have attempted this bizarre theft.
Diapers. What the bloody hell?
We’re in the office in Liam’s penthouse. No—my penthouse. Even after a year of living here, it doesn’t feel like mine. Probably because my twin brother’s taste in interior décor would make Count Dracula feel right at home.
Everything is black. Glossy, cold, and black. It’s like living inside a very modern coffin.
Unfortunately, when you’re impersonating someone, you need to leave their uninspired choices in clothing, art, and furniture alone.
Bypassing the question of why the hell my brother owns a diaper factory, I say, “How much is a truckload of diapers worth?”
Declan lifts a muscular shoulder. “Maybe ninety grand.”
“That’s hardly worth the effort.”
“Agreed.”
“Especially considering there isn’t exactly a hot market for stolen nappies. How is this thief planning to get his money from the take? Garage sales? eBay?”
“Maybe he’s got a lot of kids.”
I have to admit, I enjoy Declan’s dry sense of humor.