Into The Dark (Lords of the Underworld #5.5)(48)
Author: Gena Showalter

“Can I help you, miss?” one of the guards asked. He clanked his coffee onto the gray countertop and pushed to his feet. He was a burly man in his late fifties. Friendly face, tired eyes.

Farrah didn’t slow her steps, but tossed him an I’m-so-innocent smile over her shoulder. “Acting like you don’t recognize me? Not funny,” she said. “You know I live here.”

Maybe he was embarrassed not to “recognize” her. Maybe he was just too tired to care. But he didn’t try to stop her as she entered the elevator. And then the doors closed, shutting her inside. Alone. A relieved sigh parted her lips. She would have preferred to have rented one of the apartments and move around freely, without (much) artiface, but all of the apartments were already rented and there was a year-long waiting list. No thanks. She already had a buyer for this particular item, so waiting wasn’t an option.

“Which floor is emptied?” she asked River.

Tap, tap, tap. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Eight is your best bet.”

“Pressing eight.” She jabbed the button, and the elevator jostled into motion. When it stopped on the correct floor, she strode into the hallway and pretended to dig in her purse for a key. “Hold the elevator for me,” she whispered.

“Done,” River said. “Alright, the guards are watching you and they see you at the door. I’m switching the feed…now.” He paused. “Excellent. All they see now is an empty hallway, so they’ll assume you entered the room. I’m controlling the elevator feed, as well. You’re good to go.”

Farrah hurried back to the elevator and swiped the key card she’d stolen. Anyone who wished to enter the penthouse needed a card to bypass the twenty-eighth floor and reach the twenty-ninth.

“I’m looking at the foyer,” River said. “Matt and Mike are waiting for you across from the elevator doors at ten and two.”

“Copy that.” Farrah dug a black mask from her bag and pulled it over her face. That done, she stuffed her gloved hands into her coat pockets, wrapping her fingers around the tranq guns anchored inside of each. She was a thief, not a killer, and never carried lethal weapons.

As adrenaline rushed through her, so heady and strong she could have drunk it, she withdrew the guns and held them at her sides. Her heart pounded excitedly in her chest.

It had always been this way. A rush. Addictive.

She’d begun stealing at the age of twelve; her mother had been sick, and they’d needed money. She stole small things at first: food, clothing, wallets. But as her skills increased, so did her targets. Now, her mom was gone and she had a hefty bank account.

There was no limit to what she could take—or who she could take from. Stopping had never appealed to her.

“Awfully quiet in there,” River said, cutting into her thoughts. “You imagining me naked or something?”

She snorted. “Funny.”

“No. Sexy.”

“Arrogant.”

“Hold that thought,” he said. “Arrival in five. Four. Three. Two.” The elevator dinged; the doors opened.

Immediately Farrah raised her arms, aiming her guns at the ten and two positions. She squeezed the triggers before the guards, who were already standing, had a chance to realize she was masked. Red darts pegged them both in the neck. One guy managed to withdraw his weapon, but the tranquilizer was strong, mainly used for wild animals, and he tumbled onto the plush, dark brown carpet without firing a single shot. His friend soon joined him.

“We good?” River asked.

“We’re good.” Sheathing the guns, she quickly moved to the front door. Unlocked. But she didn’t enter. Not yet. “I’m ready for the power surge.”

“Overriding power system…now.” Lights instantly flickered off, leaving only a dark, dark void. Absolute silence slithered through the air, causing her ears to ring. A necessary evil. It was easier to disable the security system by cutting the power than to use light and sound to cover her actions while she danced around motion detectors and heat sensors. “You have approximately five minutes before they’re able to trip the wire and recharge.”

“Entering now.” She swept inside, time ticking away inside her mind. Here it was lighter than the foyer had been, thin rays of moonlight seeping in from the unadorned windows. For days she’d poured over the blueprint of the apartment, so she knew exactly where to go. The owner, according to her contacts, was vacationing in the French Riviera with his mistress. The wife was here, though—hopefully sleeping.

Silently Farrah moved, rounding corners and taping tiny cameras onto the walls, each one giving River a direct view of her surroundings. “Hallway one, live,” he said. A pause, then the clatter of his keyboard. “Living room, live. Uh, you’ve got a man asleep on the couch.”

Farrah backtracked, used a dart on the third guard, or whoever he was, then leapt back into motion.

“Kitchen, live,” River said. Pause, clatter. “Hallway two, live.”

The study was up next. Reaching the double doors, Farrah’s exhilaration intensified. This was it. The room. She gave the knob an experimental twist. Big surprise, it was locked. Not with a simple pin-tumbler or a wafer-tumbler, either, but a tubular lock, with pins all the way around the circumference of the cylinder plug.

Usually she preferred museums to private collectors. More of a challenge. This job, however, was proving to be quite fun. “How am I on time?” she whispered, dropping her bag and crouching down. She withdrew the proper tools.

“Four minutes, two seconds.”

She inserted the pick gun, a vibrating piece of metal that pushed the lock’s pins up to the shear line, all the while working the tension wrench into the bottom hole. Click. “I’m in.”

Too easy.

“Six seconds,” River said. “Not your record, but not bad.”

Farrah quietly entered the study, her boots sinking into the thick crimson rug. Even through her mask, she smelled woodsy cigar smoke, leather and freshly polished oak. The spacious room boasted wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a desk in the center, a cushioned chair and several display cases perched on small marble stands.

“Do you see it?” River asked, his excitement palpable.

Her gaze scanned…scanned…seeing many artifacts and several pieces of jewelry until finally lighting on a small wooden box. Dark, surmounted by a deliciously carved face—a man’s face, Farrah realized, when she stood just in front of it—with a glittery golden cord wrapped around the middle.