Tattoo (Take It Off #7)(3)
Author: Cambria Hebert

Scratching myself, I went into the bathroom and took a quick shower, not bothering to shave. In the corner of the room was my bag of belongings. From inside, I pulled out a pair of worn jeans, a T-shirt, and a long-sleeved, plaid flannel that I left unbuttoned and untucked.

Before heading out the door with my bag, I slid a navy baseball cap onto my head, swiveling it around backward, and palmed the keys to my beat-up Ford pickup.

It was already hot outside; the Raleigh sun and humidity was relentless almost every time of the day. After dropping off my key to the room, I pulled out of the lot and didn’t look back. My fishing pole and gear was already in the back, along with the few other items I had to my name. The drive to the Emerald Isle was two and a half hours so I decided to run through a drive-thru to get some food.

After I ordered a couple breakfast sandwiches and a large coffee, I pulled through and paid, pulling out the last bit of cash I had. Guess a stop at the bank was in order as well.

Shaw Trust was located on a busy street in Raleigh, North Carolina. I had been banking with them for the last five years. I didn’t have many material goods to my name, but my bank account was better for it. Well, that and never being able to spend my own money.

The inside of the bank greeted me with a blast of cold air and was just as brightly lit as the sidewalk outside. The walls in here were white and so were the glossy tile floors. I stepped through the roped-off line, lining up behind several others already waiting. Four tellers stood behind the long wooden counter, each with their own computer.

It seemed like I stood in line forever, and I grew irritated because I just wanted to get the hell out of here and onto the open road.

Finally, it was my turn and I moved down the counter toward the last window on the end. I yanked out my wallet and bankcard, then looked up.

Suddenly the amount of time I waited didn’t seem like such an inconvenience. In fact, if I had known she was the person waiting for me at the end of this counter, I would have waited longer.

Her light scarlet hair was long and filled with loose curls that fell over her shoulder and down her chest. Her complexion was flawless with the flush of fresh peaches, and her lower lip was fuller than the top, making it appear as though she had a permanent pink pout.

“How can I help you today?” she asked politely, glancing up with crystal green eyes. I watched them widen slightly and rich satisfaction flowed through me. I wasn’t pretty like her, but I wasn’t completely lacking in the looks department.

“Hey,” I said, leaning on the counter with both my elbows. The movement brought me a little closer to her. “I need to make a withdrawal.”

She glanced down at the bankcard and ID I extended between us and then back at me. I gave her a lazy smile and she cleared her throat, taking the cards. She looked them over and then her polished fingernails flew over the keyboard.

I glanced at her chest, being distracted by her nice rack, but my eyes finally found the nameplate pinned to the front of her top. Taylor.

“How much would you like to withdrawal?” she asked.

“Four hundred.”

She input the amount without saying anything.

“So…” I said, leaning toward her again. “You come here often?”

She rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. “Just the days I feel like earning a paycheck.”

I grinned. “Paychecks are overrated,” I drawled. “I’m going fishing.”

“Says the man with a huge bank account,” she quipped. Then she winced and looked up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

I laughed. The chagrin on her face and the way her cheeks bloomed with bright pink spots was entirely amusing. “Never said I didn’t work. Just said I thought it was overrated.”

She relaxed when she realized I didn’t give a rat’s ass that she knew how much was in my account. “You should bait your hook with hot dogs. Fish love them.”

She was right. Surprise rippled through me. “You can’t tell me a girl like you likes to fish.”

“And what,” she asked, arching a red brow in my direction, “is a girl like me?” She hit a couple keys and the little dispenser to my right started flinging out cash.

“Your withdrawal is to your right,” she said professionally.

I let the cash sit there. “Are you a tomboy in disguise?” I whispered conspiratorially. I enjoyed the emotion, the animation that played over her features. She was beautiful—there was no doubt—but it seemed that she also had a lot beneath that pretty exterior.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered back, handing me a receipt. Her teeth were really white and really straight. I got this sudden craving to run my tongue along their smooth surface.

“Your secret is safe with me.” I tore my eyes away to pocket the cash, not bothering to count it. Oddly, I trusted her. I never trusted anyone.

Behind me, a loud banging sound boomed through the room, and I tensed, spinning on my heel. Four guys pushed through the entrance, each of them pulling out a gun.

I couldn’t even get away from this shit on vacation.

Adrenaline spiked my system and began pumping through my veins and accelerating my heart. It didn’t take an idiot to guess why they were here. This was a bank and they had guns. I looked over my shoulder at Taylor, who was watching the men with wide eyes.

“Get down!” I ordered quietly. “Hide. Hide good.”

The thought of her being hurt was like a foul odor that caused me to wrinkle my nose. Taylor reacted instantly, dropping down behind the counter and out of sight. I hoped she crawled somewhere that no one would think to look for her.

I turned away, unable to see if she was on the move because I didn’t want to draw any attention her way.

The men were yelling and waiving the weapons around, ordering people to hit the floor. People were crying and whimpering. The security guard who looked like a rent-a-cop pulled out a handgun and held it up with shaking hands. It was clear he had no idea where to aim because there were four criminals and only one of him.

One of the men closest to him took him out in under three seconds, hitting him in a way that made the man sprawl onto the floor, the gun lying next to him, forgotten.

I reached behind me to pull out my own weapon, my hand only meeting air. I wasn’t armed. I spent the last two years with a gun or weapon on me at all times. It figures the one time I didn’t wear it, I got caught up in the middle of a bank heist.

“I said down on the ground!” one of the men yelled, swinging the gun around to me. I was the only one left standing.