6
Jade
Ishould not have taken the swords.
Everything got so jumbled when I landed in Jacob’s bed. I forgot my main mission. Everything got derailed.
It started with that Scandinavian nuptial tiara. Jacob didn’t deserve it. The thought of him crowning naked prostitutes with something so beautiful and precious threatened to destroy me.
And then there was the bigger prize. The Romanov tiara.
That crown had gone missing a year ago. When I looked into it, I discovered Jacob Holt had been at the German estate that once held it. It wasn’t reported missing for months, but I knew it was him. No one else at his skill level had been there during that time.
So I decided to make Jacob my mark. Even if it hurt me to do so. Even if it was a risk.
It had to be him.
More than just the tiara was at stake. My mission for two years had been to infiltrate the Den, an underground bar where upscale lifters like us networked and openly recruited for big jobs. I needed to choose a target and bring him down, the higher up, the better. If I could undermine the superiority of the male thieves in the Den, I would create an opportunity for the women to fill the upper ranks.
If Jacob fell, the whole Den would topple like a pile of bones.
The women would rise.
But after spending a night with him, his sexist, domineering, pandering lifestyle made me crazy. How could someone who fit me so well be such a jerk?
I admit it. I was hurt. And angry. And maybe feeling a little despair over the man I had once idolized and now knew too well.
So when I went in for the tiara, I took the swords.
But now I sit in a modest hotel room in the Lower East Side, staring at my laptop screen in disbelief. One hundred and forty million dollars.
That’s what the network of buyers are offering him for them.
I’m sunk.
I had overshot the mark. Instead of embarrassing Jacob by having a woman steal his tiaras, I have spurred him to revenge. He will recruit people to come after me.
If they figure out who I am, I may have started a war.
I pace the room. Where had my plan fallen apart? The sex? The deception? My foolish, foolish heart?
It began with Sabrina, a call girl who often serviced men of the Den. Three months ago she called to say she’d spent the night with none other than Jacob Holt himself.
So Sabrina and I hatched a plan. The next time he requested her, she’d look for the tiara and I’d create a scheme to steal it back.
Three months I’d worked this job, adding my own surveillance, collecting fingerprints, copying retinal scans after he completed them.
Sabrina bugged six of his suits with tiny pea-sized cams meant to fall out and roll on the floor. The sixth one finally placed well enough, and I watched with amusement how he’d rigged his vault for a dance. I had the whole recording. It didn’t take a genius to create a life-like hologram from the video to set off the whole thing.
The last piece I needed was the iron key.
So I waited until he called Sylvester again to hire a call girl to take the biggest risk of all. I had to go in myself for this part. His apartment was too secure and too rigged for anyone to do this job for me.
Sabrina had a couple of her friends alerted for a request with “H,” and as soon as one of them got the call, I wired her double the fee to take the job off her hands. Of course Jacobwouldbe in a brunette phase, so I had to do a quick color wash on my bleach-blond hair. It took two rounds of lilac conditioner to cover the smell of chemicals.
I stole the Scandinavian tiara in his living room, made an impression of the key in his bureau, broke into his bunker, andvoila. The Romanov tiara was mine.
But now I have these swords.
