front of her and began to lick her outstretched hands.
"Hello there, big fella, how's your night going? Your asshole daddy playing poker, I hope?"
The dogs kept licking away, drenching her fingers in slobber until she reached into her pocket and pulled out two, meaty rib bones.
"Have fun," she whispered and tossed them a few feet away. Her fair-weather friends followed the food and she jogged unimpeded the rest of the way to the house.
She wiped her hands on her pants, and donned a pair of black gloves, the only real nod to her profession. The rest of her was frumped out in a servant’s shapeless housecoat with padding underneath for effect and her powdered hair in a bun. On quick inspection, she could pass for forty-five and definitely looked like she was carrying an extra thirty pounds around the middle. As much as she loved the freedom of movement and the way a stretchy pair of black pants and a fitted top made her feel like a stealth ninja, this was far safer. If Alistair happened to catch her in the house, she was screwed either way, but at least if one of his guests bumped into her when they left the poker room, they likely wouldn't look twice at her.
She lowered her bag onto the ground, sidling up to the kitchen window. It was far enough from the poker room that she wouldn't be heard if she made a little noise, which was precisely why she’d picked it. She rooted through her bag and pulled out several tools: Glass cutter, wire cutters and a suction cup. She pressed her finger to her ear again, using her headphones to amplify any area ambient noise, but heard nothing alarming. If the dogs had gotten Alistair’s attention with their initial barking, there was no indication of it.
She flipped on the glass cutter and settled it against the window. With breath suspended, she began to cut. This was always the scariest part. She knew she hadn't forgotten anything, knew that it should go off without a hitch, but every time she breached the exterior of a house --whether by using a duplicate key or through a window or balcony-- she couldn't help but flinch and wait for the alarms to blare.
All was silent, though, as she worked slowly and meticulously, cutting a perfect, tennis ball-sized circle into the glass. When there was only an inch between the end of one line and the beginning of the other, she paused and laid the suction cup against the circle, pressing softly until it held. A moment later, she completed the circle and set down the cutting tool.
Again, she paused to check her watch, relieved to find she’d only used up three minutes. She was making great time. At this rate, she'd be home and counting her money by midnight. Maybe she'd even have a glass of wine before bed to celebrate.
She re-focused on the task, holding a hand to the window before giving the suction cup a sharp, steady tug.
It came free without incident and she couldn't help a little fist pump of adulation. Next came the wire cutters, and she palmed them in one expert hand as she reached through the hold and felt for the wires she knew were there. It took some doing, but she finally located the one she needed and held her breath as she clipped it.
Again, silence reigned.
All good. Time to get in and then, hopefully, get out. She packed everything she'd used back into her bag, and then hitched it back onto her shoulder. She pushed open the window with a mighty shove, pausing to take a steadying breath.
You got this, kid.
She rubbed her gloved hands together and grabbed hold of the sill, using it to hoist herself into the window and onto the marble countertop. The place looked like a freaking showroom, bypassing warmth with straight up glam. All white, from the gleaming travertine floors to the cabinets, the only color was the bottom of the high-shine copper pots hanging from a rack that circled above the granite island.
She shimmied to the edge of the countertop and dropped lightly to her feet. Then, she pulled a large stone from her bag
"Hello there, big fella, how's your night going? Your asshole daddy playing poker, I hope?"
The dogs kept licking away, drenching her fingers in slobber until she reached into her pocket and pulled out two, meaty rib bones.
"Have fun," she whispered and tossed them a few feet away. Her fair-weather friends followed the food and she jogged unimpeded the rest of the way to the house.
She wiped her hands on her pants, and donned a pair of black gloves, the only real nod to her profession. The rest of her was frumped out in a servant’s shapeless housecoat with padding underneath for effect and her powdered hair in a bun. On quick inspection, she could pass for forty-five and definitely looked like she was carrying an extra thirty pounds around the middle. As much as she loved the freedom of movement and the way a stretchy pair of black pants and a fitted top made her feel like a stealth ninja, this was far safer. If Alistair happened to catch her in the house, she was screwed either way, but at least if one of his guests bumped into her when they left the poker room, they likely wouldn't look twice at her.
She lowered her bag onto the ground, sidling up to the kitchen window. It was far enough from the poker room that she wouldn't be heard if she made a little noise, which was precisely why she’d picked it. She rooted through her bag and pulled out several tools: Glass cutter, wire cutters and a suction cup. She pressed her finger to her ear again, using her headphones to amplify any area ambient noise, but heard nothing alarming. If the dogs had gotten Alistair’s attention with their initial barking, there was no indication of it.
She flipped on the glass cutter and settled it against the window. With breath suspended, she began to cut. This was always the scariest part. She knew she hadn't forgotten anything, knew that it should go off without a hitch, but every time she breached the exterior of a house --whether by using a duplicate key or through a window or balcony-- she couldn't help but flinch and wait for the alarms to blare.
All was silent, though, as she worked slowly and meticulously, cutting a perfect, tennis ball-sized circle into the glass. When there was only an inch between the end of one line and the beginning of the other, she paused and laid the suction cup against the circle, pressing softly until it held. A moment later, she completed the circle and set down the cutting tool.
Again, she paused to check her watch, relieved to find she’d only used up three minutes. She was making great time. At this rate, she'd be home and counting her money by midnight. Maybe she'd even have a glass of wine before bed to celebrate.
She re-focused on the task, holding a hand to the window before giving the suction cup a sharp, steady tug.
It came free without incident and she couldn't help a little fist pump of adulation. Next came the wire cutters, and she palmed them in one expert hand as she reached through the hold and felt for the wires she knew were there. It took some doing, but she finally located the one she needed and held her breath as she clipped it.
Again, silence reigned.
All good. Time to get in and then, hopefully, get out. She packed everything she'd used back into her bag, and then hitched it back onto her shoulder. She pushed open the window with a mighty shove, pausing to take a steadying breath.
You got this, kid.
She rubbed her gloved hands together and grabbed hold of the sill, using it to hoist herself into the window and onto the marble countertop. The place looked like a freaking showroom, bypassing warmth with straight up glam. All white, from the gleaming travertine floors to the cabinets, the only color was the bottom of the high-shine copper pots hanging from a rack that circled above the granite island.
She shimmied to the edge of the countertop and dropped lightly to her feet. Then, she pulled a large stone from her bag
Similar Books
