The Vault & The Vixen
Author: Adam Gaffen
Date: 2024-09-03T07:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Heist Thriller; Romantic Suspense; Crime Fiction; Urban Fiction; LGBTQ+ Fiction
Description: Is the heist of a lifetime worth her heart? Dive into the heart-pounding world of The Vault & the Vixen, where heist thriller meets romantic suspense in a gripping tale of crime, love, and redemption. Set against the gritty, neon-lit backdrop of Brooklyn, this novel weaves a complex web of high-stakes heists, intricate plots, and unyielding loyalty. Meet Dakota Chase, a master planner and the fearless leader of a crew that specializes in pulling off the impossible. With her long dark hair and iconic leather coat, Dakota is the epitome of cool, collected, and cunning. She's spent years navigati
Publisher: Adam Gaffen, Author, LLC

“The Vault and the Vixen”

Published by Arima Bikia, LLC

Copyright © 2024 by Adam Gaffen

Cover Design © Adam Gaffen

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

All Rights Reserved.

The characters, companies, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

For more about the author, future works, and events, please visit:

www.cassidychronicles.com

Keep reading to find the bonus chapter!

Also by Adam Gaffen

Godsfall

The Book of One

The Book of Two

The Book of Three

Godsfall: Books 1-3

A Roman Holiday

Tales from the Cassidyverse

Into the Black

The Heart of Space

The Artemis War

The Road to the Stars

The Measure of Humanity

A Quiet Revolution

Triumph's Ashes

The Cassidy Chronicles

Run Like Hell

The Cassidy Chronicles

Terran Federation Technical Manual

Quantum Quirks: A Science Fiction Childhood

The Missions of the TFS Pike

The Ghosts of Tantor

Tracking Tantor (Coming Soon)

Standalone

The Kildaran

Roots of Love

Refuge

The Artemis Wars Omnibus

The Vault & The Vixen (Coming Soon)

Watch for more at Adam Gaffen’s site.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Adam Gaffen

The Vault & The Vixen

1: The Best Laid Plans

2: Echoes of Complicity

3: Into the Fray

4: Shadows of Doubt

5: Converging Paths

6: Under Cover of Night

7: Whispers and Warnings

8: The Calm Before

9: The Storm Unleashed

10: In the Lion’s Den

11: Fractured Alliances

12: A Dance with Danger

13: The Price of Trust

14: Twilight Escapades

15: Revelations

16: Betrayal’s Bitter Taste

17: Falling Dominoes

18: A Tangled Web

19: The Gathering Dark

20: A Narrow Escape

21: Regroup and Rethink

22: The Quiet Storm

23: Paths to Redemption

24: Breaking Point

25: Echoes in Silence

26: Cost of Courage

27: Bound by Blood

28: Cloak and Dagger

29: A Flicker of Hope

30: Descent into Chaos

31: Edge of the Abyss

32: Last Stand

33: A New Beginning

Epilogue: Beyond the Shadows

Playlist

Afterward

A Rogue’s Gallery

Sign up for Adam Gaffen's Mailing List

Further Reading: The Book of One

About the Author

Content and Trigger Warning

PLEASE NOTE THAT WHILE this is a comic novel, there are some serious themes that occur within these pages. I don’t want to inadvertently disturb anyone, so here’s a list of content and triggers that may cause distress.

- Crime and Criminal Activity: The novel centers around the planning and execution of heists, involving detailed criminal activities.

- Violence and Threats: Scenes of violence, threats, and potentially harmful confrontations.

- Strong Language: Frequent use of profanity and strong language throughout the narrative.

- Alcohol Use: Characters consume alcohol, sometimes in a context that suggests coping with stress.

- Mental and Emotional Distress: Characters experience significant stress, anxiety, and other mental health struggles due to their involvement in criminal activities.

- Betrayal and Deception: Themes of betrayal and deception are prevalent, which could affect readers sensitive to interpersonal conflict and trust issues.

- Legal and Law Enforcement Interactions: Depictions of interactions with law enforcement and the legal repercussions of criminal activities.

Dedication

To Donald Westlake, for bringing Dortmunder into this crazy world

All The Best Ideas Are Insane

1: The Best Laid Plans

“Don't worry; my plans hardly ever fuck up.” Kalili's voice echoed in the dimly lit bar, a confident proclamation that should have sent shivers down my spine. Instead, I remained rooted in my spot, my natural skepticism overshadowed by the promise of easy money.

I really should've known better. After all, Kal's track record with crazy ideas was as reliable as a politician's promise during an election year. Yet there I sat, mesmerized, ready to follow her lead. That’s when I should have run, but I didn’t have enough sense. Instead, I gave her a look.

“What? Dakota, how long have we known each other?” Kal's eyes gleamed with a mischievous twinkle, daring me to doubt her again.

I gave it a few seconds’ thought, tracing the lines of our shared history through the haze of memory. “Um. About five years. Maybe six. Most of it seemed to make some sort of sense at the time. Why?”

“Have I ever gotten you into trouble?” Kal's question hung in the air like a dare, challenging me to refute her track record.

I paused, weighing the evidence in my mind. “No, I suppose not. Nothing permanent, at least.”

“See? You should trust me now.” Kal's grin widened, her confidence unshakeable in the face of my lingering doubts.

I sighed, resigning myself to the inevitable. “Tell me how this is going to work again.”

“It's simple, really,” Kal began, leaning in closer as if divulging the secrets of the universe. “We hit the location, grab the emeralds, and make a clean getaway. Piece of cake.”

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And what about the security guards, the alarms, the inevitable police presence?”

Kal waved away my concerns with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Don't worry about that. I've got it all figured out. Trust me, Dakota. This is foolproof.”

Famous last words, as they say. But at that moment, surrounded by the familiar scent of stale beer and the distant hum of the city outside, I allowed myself to believe her. After all, what could go wrong?

Normally, Kal would have found me holed up in my humble abode, a fourth-floor walkup in East Flatbush that could barely be called an apartment. It was a cramped space, with a bedroom masquerading as a sanctuary, a living room that begrudgingly shared its space with a makeshift kitchenette, and a window that offered a less-than-scenic view of the Holy Cross cemetery. But despite its shortcomings, it was mine, a refuge from the chaos of the outside world, albeit a rather dingy one.

My parole officer, bless his bureaucratic soul, knew exactly where to find me, but had long since given up on his fruitless attempts at surprise visits. As far as he was concerned, I was another cog in the wheel of society, a model reformed citizen working at a nondescript restaurant and bar nestled in the heart of the Little Caribbean. To reinforce this illusion, I occasionally pulled a shift behind the bar, often enough to keep up appearances and ensure that my coworkers didn't forget my face.

It was a delicate balancing act that had served me well over the years. On that particular Tuesday night, fate had other plans in store for me, as evidenced by the arrival of Kal, the harbinger of chaos, in the most unlikely of places. Kal's presence was like a splash of color in the monochrome monotony of my existence, a reminder that life was anything but predictable. As she danced to the beat of her own drum, oblivious to the curious glances of the other patrons, I couldn't help but be drawn into her orbit again.

I should've known better, of course. But then again, where's the fun in playing it safe? So, with a resigned shrug and a silent prayer to whatever deity watched over fools like me, I braced myself for whatever madness Kal had cooked up this time. After all, what's life without a little adventure?

She’d sauntered into the bar. a whirlwind of red hair and reckless abandon, her grin wide enough to give a sane woman pause. Alas, sanity had never been my strong suit, so I greeted her with a matching grin, a silent acknowledgment of the trouble that inevitably followed in her wake. I’d just finished making a pair of margaritas for two of the few customers I recognized, Rebel and Sarah, when she dropped onto a stool with the grace of a fallen angel, her fiery mane of hair a stark contrast against the muted backdrop of the bar. “Emerald,” she declared, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

“Not your usual poison,” I remarked, my hand already reaching for the familiar, if underused, bottle of Bushmills. If Kal wanted an Emerald cocktail, she'd get it, no questions asked.

But then she clarified, and my hand froze mid-reach. “No, I mean emerald,” she said, and I knew exactly what she meant.

I hesitated, tempted, my fingers hovering uncertainly over the bottle, before sanity asserted itself. “No.”

“It's just sittin' there, I swear it,” she insisted, her hand over her heart in a mock gesture of sincerity. “Scout's honor.”

I couldn't help but scoff. “You were never a scout.”

Kal raised an eyebrow, unfazed by my skepticism. “No, but the little fucks don't lie.”

“You do,” I countered, my tone laced with a hint of exasperation.

Feigning offense, she plastered a look of mock horror on her face. “Moi?”

“Yeah, you,” I confirmed, shaking my head in resignation. “Not interested, Kal. After our last narrow escape, I’m about ready to hang it up for good.”

But she was undeterred, leaning in closer with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. “You want to hear this. How much do you have left in your retirement fund?”

“Enough for now,” I muttered reluctantly, visualizing the diminished stash and already dreading the inevitable rollercoaster ride that awaited me.

I didn’t like crime. Never had, never would. In my topsy-turvy world, sometimes it was the lesser of two evils. A necessary evil, if you will. At least, that’s what I told myself as I navigated the murky waters of my less-than-legal career. Sure, pulling capers had its moments of excitement, its adrenaline-fueled thrills, but make no mistake, it was still a job. A tedious, mind-numbing job that left me yearning for the simplicity of a nine-to-five gig, at least until I came to my senses.

If I wanted to spend my days pilfering and plundering, I’d have followed in my brother’s footsteps and taken my talents to Wall Street. The thought of selling my soul to the corporate machine was enough to make me nauseous. No, thank you. Instead, I lived in a state of perpetual semi-retirement, dancing the tightrope between legality and lawlessness with the finesse of a seasoned acrobat. My humble abode may have been a far cry from the penthouses of the elite, but it was mine, damn it. In this city, that counted for something.

I tried to escape to a more permanent retirement. Repeatedly. Every so often, a big score would come to me, the word carried on the network of cons that populated New York’s underworld. Time after time I’d pull my crew together, make my plan, run through it a dozen times to eliminate flaws, then pull the heist. Twenty-plus years, dozens of jobs, any of which could have set me up for life, and what did I have to show for it? Two stints upstate and a crappy apartment. It was like the Fates had decreed I’d be able to see my promised land but never reach it.

I was sick of it.

Small jobs, I could do in my sleep. Those kept me in luxuries like food and shelter. Bigger jobs, my retirement fund jobs, came by less frequently, but with my crew? No problems at all. It just seemed that every time we had our sights on a big haul, something would happen between grabbing the loot and divvying up the proceeds, like the last time Kal had come to me with a jewel heist. There was a clearance house that was going out of business, and as part of the cutbacks had reduced security to stupid levels. Getting in and out with the jewels was easy; unfortunately, when we’d brought them to the fence, he’d discovered almost every one was microetched with a serial number. Microetching could be beaten, but it was costly. Instead of a haul that should have netted each of us a quarter-million, we split sixty grand. Nothing to sneeze at, no, but a far cry from what we’d hoped for.

My gig at the bar was a lifeline, a threadbare safety net that kept me from plummeting into the abyss of destitution, stretching my retirement fund without impinging too much on my desired life. The pay was meager, the hours long when I needed to show up, but it put food on the table, kept the lights on, and got me out and interacting with people on the regular. Ish.

But semi-retirement had its drawbacks. Money had a nasty habit of slipping through my fingers like sand, leaving me scrambling to make ends meet. It was a delicate dance, a high-wire act that required equal parts skill and luck. And friends like Kalili.

“It better be good, Kal. I'm not in the mood for any more of your wild goose chases.”

With a grin that rivaled the Cheshire cat's, Kal leaned back, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, it's good, Dakota. Trust me.”

“Go ahead. What’s the score?” I muttered, my patience wearing thin as Kal's grin widened further.

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree, her excitement infectious. “Eighteen two-carat emeralds, six three-carat, and a six-carat behemoth. All AA or better. We’re talking a half mil easy, and I happen to know that Max is looking for emeralds right now and will pay double his usual.”

That got my attention, all right. Max was my preferred destination to unload my questionably acquired goods, a man of peculiar integrity in the underworld of Brooklyn, or maybe he was simply the most adept at concealing his dishonesty. Regardless, his reputation as a fence preceded him, and if there was one thing I could count on, it was his willingness to pay top dollar for the right merchandise. Double his usual payout meant a handsome sum – a cool hundred fifty grand, thirty percent of the total take. It was the kind of payday that could keep a woman in rum for months, maybe even buy her a few nights of relative luxury in a seedy motel.

I couldn’t help but feel a jolt within me, despite my better judgment. It was a tantalizing prospect. Financial security? All my life, it had dangled just out of reach, and here it was again. I knew the saying: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Still, a half million dollars was nothing to sneeze at. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it was Kal, so I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

“After work. Round up the gang,” I instructed, the wheels of the scheme already turning in my mind.

Kal's face fell, a shadow passing over her features like a cloud on a summer day. Not the reaction I was expecting. “Can't. Astrid’s been pinched for three to six.”

The news hit me hard. Astrid, with her absentminded charm and her knack for slipping past even the most fortified locks, was an indispensable member of our crew. She’d been running with me for eight years, almost nine, and without her, my nebulous plans threatened to unravel like a poorly knit sweater.

“Can't do a snatch if there’s a lock involved,” I muttered, a note of frustration creeping into my voice. It’s not that we didn’t have anyone else who could crack a lock. I could get through most, if not quickly, and Kal was capable but lacked Astrid's finesse, her delicate touch.

Kal, ever the optimist, refused to be deterred and bounced right back. “No problem, I got another girl. Checked her out for you and everything.”

I hesitated. A new member of the team was a wildcard, a variable that could make or break our operation. But everyone was new, at one point. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and I found myself nodding in reluctant agreement.

“What's her name?” I asked, steeling myself for whatever curveball Kal had in store for me this time.

“McKenna,” Kal replied.

I should have run, slipped out the back door and disappeared into the night like a ghost. Failing that, I could have tossed Kalili out onto the street on her ass. But where's the fun in that? No. The challenge of a big score called to me, something I had a hard time resisting. I sent a silent prayer to the gods of fortune and steeled myself for the chaos that awaited me.

2: Echoes of Complicity

That's how I found myself the next night, skulking in the shadows of the SVG Bar & Grill—that’s the Safe, Vault, and Gate, a hangout for our kind where you don’t have to worry about someone dropping a dime on you, but you do have to worry about everyone else dropping everything else. The scent of stale peanuts and almost flat beer hung heavy in the air like a thick fog that took a detour through the ballpark. Keston, the hulking behemoth of a bartender, was busy at work, his massive frame hunched over as he wrestled with a stubborn floorboard.

I cleared my throat, breaking the silence that enveloped the room like a suffocating blanket. “Back room open?”

Keston grunted in response, not bothering to look up from his task. I took it as permission, though it could just as easily have been exertion. I watched with amusement and fascination as he wielded his crowbar with the finesse of a lumberjack, each blow echoing through the cramped space like a gunshot. From the looks of things, he'd been at it for a while. Several boards had already been replaced, their fresh nails glinting in the dim light. I couldn't help but be curious. “What are you doing?” I finally asked, unable to contain myself any longer.

Keston leaned back, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I dropped a coin and I wanna get it back,” he explained, his voice gruff with effort.

I surveyed the scene, the absurdity of the situation not lost on me. “Are you sure it's worth all this?” I gestured at the mess of torn-up floorboards with a wry grin.

He straightened up, his joints protesting with a series of ominous creaks. “It's a gold St. Gaudens,” he replied matter-of-factly.

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. A gold St. Gaudens? Now that was worth the effort. Four or five figures, easy. Suddenly, Keston's dogged determination made a lot more sense.

With a resounding clang, he dropped the crowbar and made his way behind the bar. “Who else?”

I rattled off drink orders without missing a beat, falling into the familiar routine of our clandestine meetings. “Irish Coffee, almost virgin Hurricane, straight rum, and someone I don't know,” I replied, my mind racing ahead.

Keston nodded curtly as he pulled drinks with practiced efficiency. He could barely remember my name and hardly ever used it, despite our twelve-year acquaintance. As for the rest of my crew? Forget it; Keston didn't know and didn't care. But he knew the drinks of everyone who frequented the bar more than once, a testament to his remarkable memory.

For me, he grabbed a bottle of rum and two glasses of ice, arranging them on a tray alongside a plastic bottle of generic cola. “Who's the new drink coming with?” he asked, his attention drifting to the next task.

“The Irish Coffee, probably,” I replied, dropping a fifty on the bar and offering a small nod of thanks before making my exit. It was the cost of arriving first, but it was fine. Some benefits far outweighed the money. Making my way through the dimly lit bar, I navigated the maze of tables and chairs with the ease of years of practice, until I reached the back corridor that led to the hidden alcove where our meetings took place.

The door labeled Staff Only creaked open, protesting. Flicking on the overhead light, I surveyed the room before me. Stacks of boxes lined the walls, surrounding a faded blue felt poker table at the center of the space. Five seats encircled the table, silent invitations to clandestine meetings. I made a beeline for the farthest seat, the one that afforded the best view of the door, and took my place with satisfaction. Setting the tray down in the center of the table, I poured myself a generous serving of rum and cola, the familiar clink of ice cubes echoing through the room. Then, with nothing left to do but wait, I settled into my seat. Despite my outward calm, I was generating tension thick enough to scoop with a spoon.

It wasn’t long before footsteps echoed through the hallway, signaling the arrival of Chelsea, punctual as ever. With a tall glass of crimson liquid in hand, she took her place in the chair to my right, her expression stoic. Even though her drink resembled a Hurricane, it was so close to virgin as to be nearly Catholic. Chelsea was our driver and had been for fourteen years, the longest run for anyone in my crew. She abhorred the slightest hint of intoxication. According to her, it interfered with her ability to change the radio channels on the fly.

“Traffic on Linden was terrible,” she began, launching into a detailed account of her journey, “so I tried to get around on Lenox but wouldn't you know it, they're doing construction, so I took East 42nd down to Snyder and it was smooth sailing.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured, nodding along absentmindedly as I took a sip of my drink, the liquid burning pleasantly on its way down.

Chelsea continued her monologue as she shed her gloves and leather coat, revealing her wiry frame and shock of short black hair. She and I were the same height, an inch short of six feet, and in the right light, with my dark hair pulled into my usual ponytail, we could pass as sisters. Behind the wheel, she was a force to be reckoned with, her stolid nerves matched only by her uncanny ability to navigate the city's labyrinthine streets. Driving didn’t pay the bills, so she spent her days searching for cars that were in demand, hotwiring them, and either bringing them to Max for disposal or stripping them herself in her garage. When that grew boring, she customized cars for wealthy idiots, but that was a last resort. As for dealing with people? Well, let's just say it wasn't her strongest suit. In fact, it didn't even crack the top twenty on her list of skills. Still, she was the best damn driver in the five boroughs, and I wouldn’t trade her for any two others.

“I'm not late, am I?” Sierra's voice cut through the air as she ducked through the door, her presence injecting a burst of energy into the room.

“Not at all,” I assured her.

Sierra dropped into the seat to my left and wasted no time in making herself comfortable. Her fingers tapped at her phone with the ease of a Millennial before sliding it onto the table. With a practiced motion, she reached for the glass of ice, her other hand deftly pouring a generous serving of rum. She shared my penchant for the amber liquid, though she preferred hers on the rocks, much to my shivering dismay.

As always, I couldn't help but marvel at her ability to knock back drink after drink without so much as a stumble. Perhaps it was her metabolism, which rivaled that of a chipmunk, or perhaps she was simply made of sterner stuff than the rest of us. Or maybe it was that Sierra was the youngest member of our crew, a prodigy straight out of MIT with a rap sheet longer than most people's resumes, though, notably, no convictions. She'd breezed through their Bachelor’s and Master’s level IT programs in record time, only to be snatched up by the FBI for a string of cybersecurity crimes. Instead of facing trial, they'd offered her a job, and she'd spent the next three years honing her skills as a cyber sleuth.

Like me, Sierra wasn't one to be tied down by the constraints of a nine-to-five job. When she left the FBI’s regular employ, she went into consulting for herself. The FBI still had her on speed dial, but when she wasn't freelancing as a white hat hacker, she was moonlighting as a private IT expert for hire, her talents in high demand among the city's elite. Her demand was somewhat artificially generated, as she still played the other side of the tracks, creating threats that only she could deal with.

She’d joined my crew a year earlier, the newest member, out of the blue. Apparently, while consulting for the FBI, she’d poked around their files and found me in connection to a few unsolved cases. After skimming it, she decided to look me up. Next thing I knew she was at my doorstep, asking to come along. To sweeten the pot, she mentioned the cases and their unfortunate deletion from the FBI database. It worked for me because my previous computer whiz, Natalie, had left in a huff after four years of failed scores. Last I heard, Nat was working for IBM and chewing off her nails on the daily. Sierra was an improvement in almost every way, and if she was a hard drinker? It never interfered with her performance.

“Good. I got wrapped up in a nasty piece of ransomware and lost track of time,” Sierra explained, having drained the first glass and refilled it. “Had to disable all my alerts the other day because my partner got tired of the beeping.” She took another pull at the rum. “What's the score?”

I shrugged. “Kal has all the details.”

“Where is she?” Chelsea interjected, her brow furrowed in concern. “It's not like her to be late.”

Sierra snorted derisively. “You know she doesn't even own a smartphone? I mean, not a personal one?” We regularly bought burner phones for our jobs. “I swear, she's worse than my grandparents.”

I couldn't help but stifle a chuckle at Sierra's remark. Her obsession with the hottest tech was a constant source of amusement.

“Sorry, sorry.” Kal burst in, her usual energy arriving three seconds before she did. She scanned the room, eyeing the remaining chairs with distaste before shrugging and feigning nonchalance. “Everyone, this is McKenna Cross. McKenna, that's Chelsea, Sierra, and the boss, Dakota.”

I only half heard what Kal said. My attention was fixated on McKenna, and I couldn't have cared less who knew it.

She was... well, stunning didn't quite do her justice. Neither did beautiful or gorgeous. McKenna possessed a raw magnetism that sucked me right in, an unconventional allure that defied easy categorization. Her cheekbones were a little too pronounced, her jawline too strong, her shoulders too broad. There was something undeniably captivating about her, a fierce confidence that radiated from every pore.

As I later learned, McKenna dressed for comfort, not style, flying her butch flag high and proud. Her short blonde hair was spiked in a rebellious defiance of convention, her flannel button-down clinging to her slim torso as if it were molded to her, and her jeans were worn with the kind of effortless cool that can't be bought. Her brown eyes reflected quiet confidence with just a hint of cynicism. She was a woman who’d seen what the world could throw at her but wasn’t fazed. I glanced down at my own comfortably ripped jeans and couldn't help but smile. It seemed McKenna and I had a fair amount in common. No wonder Kal had chosen her to join our motley crew.

Kal dropped into a seat, leaving McKenna with the last and least desirable one by our unconventional conventions. The newcomer didn't seem to mind, settling in with assurance. Maybe I was being overly sensitive, or hopeful, but I thought I saw the interest that shone in my eyes echoed in hers.

Kal took a long pull of her drink – an Irish Coffee, with Tullamore Dew, heavy cream, and enough sugar to send a roomful of diabetics into shock – before turning to the rest of us with a bright grin. “Did I miss anything?”

“How could you? You're bringing the job, remember?” Sierra half-quipped, half-snarked.

Kal's grin widened. If it stretched much wider her jaw might fall off, I thought. “Right!”

Before she could launch into the specifics of the caper, I raised a hand, halting her mid-breath. “Hold it, Kal.” I turned to the newcomer. “We’ve got to get this settled first. No offense, McKenna, but what do you bring to the table? Kal told me you’re a locksmith, but I want to hear it from you.”

She accepted my question with a solemn nod. It was reasonable, after all. Nobody wanted to embark on a job with an unknown element, and a new member of the crew was the epitome of uncertainty. “I've been picking locks since I was three.” McKenna's voice resonated through the room, sending a shiver up my spine and blood rushing to vulnerable spots. I forced my focus back to her explanation.

“My dad was a box jockey, mostly a dial rider,” she continued, her voice a low, husky contralto that held a healthy dose of nostalgia. “He took me under his wing when my mom died and brought me along on jobs sometimes. Mostly, the cons brought the booty to him, and he'd work his magic at home.” A rueful smile flickered across her face. “Probably would've lasted longer if he'd been more discreet, or picked better associates. He was locked up for good when I was eight and died in prison when I was eleven.” A sympathetic murmur circled the table. “I went to live with my granddad when Dad was arrested. He officially adopted me later. Granddad was a vault vulture; his biggest heist was the First Manhattan job in '68. Claimed that Adam Wright was his great-great-grandfather, so he came by it honestly.”

I heard a chuckle at her granddad’s colorful history.

“That's all well and good,” I interjected, “but what about you?”

McKenna took a sip of her drink before dropping it to the table, her expression showing confusion and dismay. “What the hell is this?” she cursed.

“Kal?” I prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“She said she drinks whiskey, so Keston poured her two fingers of the store brand,” Kal explained with a shrug.

I winced, realizing the oversight. Or was it subtle hazing on Kalili’s part? Either way, I had to clean it up. “Sorry, McKenna. If you start running with us, you'll have to be specific with Keston about what you drink. Otherwise, you get the stuff he keeps under the bottom shelf. He'll never forget your drink, but he'll never remember your name. You were saying?”

“I’ll remember that. You think if I ask for a Johnny Blue he’d have it?” Without waiting for an answer, McKenna pushed the glass away from her as if offended. Maybe she was. I wasn’t a whiskey drinker, but I knew the so-called rum Keston tried to pass off on me the first time I was here, and didn’t think the whiskey would be any better. “I'm a box jockey too, though I'm less of a dial rider. Whatever it takes is my motto. I'm also the best damn twister in this city. Doesn't matter what sort of setup, I'll get you through it.”

I had to hand it to her, she knew the lingo. “Have you pulled anything we'd know?” I asked, eager to hear more about her skills. Maybe too eager.

“Remember a couple of years back, suddenly the Bronx branch of Waverly Bank shut down for a week?” McKenna's question hung in the air.

I nodded slowly. Of course I remembered. It had made national headlines when they revealed that their impenetrable vault, buried two stories underground with security that would make Vegas casinos look like a kiddie's piggy bank, had been emptied over the weekend by “person or persons unknown.” The perpetrators had made off with nearly fifty million in cash, bonds, and other valuables.

What made the news and drew the public attention was the disappearance of the entire run of a thousand solid gold medallions that the now-former President had minted to celebrate his reelection. They would be priceless mementos, given the history, but I doubted any still existed. Despite the nostalgic value, with the price of gold, they were likely melted down. Given the vociferous nature of the former President’s supporters, the Feds had put up a hundred grand for any information leading to the capture of the culprits.

As far as I knew, they hadn't paid out.

“That was you?” I asked, incredulous.

Without a word, McKenna reached into a pocket and tossed a golden coin onto the table with a casual flick of her wrist. It rang with the clear, musical tone that only the purest gold could manage as it rattled to a stop. I didn't need to pick it up to know what it was, gleaming in the overhead light. The muted gasps told me my crew recognized it, too.

“So why are you here? Slumming?” I inquired, raising an eyebrow.

McKenna grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye that was as infectious as it was captivating. “Nah. Bad investments. Turns out, those Nigerian Princes? They're not as adept at building crypto wealth as you might think.”

A chuckle bubbled up, easing us into a comfortable camaraderie.

“Seriously, McKenna, I need to know.” I didn’t want to doubt her, but it was a question that needed answering. Losing money because you spent it foolishly was one thing. We’d all done that. If she squandered her ill-gotten gains at the track or had to pay off old debts, she presented a risk I couldn't afford to have on my crew. Tangling with anything the Families had their hooks into was bad news, and they weren’t averse to reeling in their catch. Too often their victims paid up in information. After all, there was always a profit to be made in screwing over your co-conspirators.

The grin on McKenna's face faded, replaced by a somber expression with a soupcon of unhealed pain. “My fucking ex. Yeah, I got a nice cut, but before I could stash it in a safe place, the bitch packed it up and cleared out. Hit Miami and remade herself into some kind of influencer, bought her way in with my money, and what could I do? Going after her would open me up to a nice twenty-to-life in fashionable orange jumpsuits.”

I nodded sympathetically, understanding her issue, if not the scope. I'd had my share of exes who couldn't wrap their heads around my unconventional retirement plan or my near-pathological aversion to so-called real work. Having them steal my cut from me? That was a whole new level of treachery I hadn't encountered and certainly didn't want to. Not that it was likely; Tinder wasn't exactly kind to a fortysomething pan with no job history she could discuss without raising eyebrows and probable cause. Sure, there were plenty out there who were up for a quick hook-up, but just because I was pan didn't mean I wasn't picky.

“How much did she leave you with?” I asked, trying to gauge the extent of McKenna's predicament.

“A few grand I had hidden where she didn't think to look,” McKenna replied with a shrug, a touch of bitterness seeping into her voice. “I’ve made ends meet since then with small jobs, but I need to get back on my feet. So. Is my story pathetic enough? Am I in?”

I glanced around the table, meeting the eyes of my crew. There was a moment of silent contemplation as we assessed McKenna's situation and her potential value to the team.

“I brought her in. I say yes,” Kal chimed in with one of her trademark grins. I’d seen my fair share of them. They had gotten her into more trouble, and back out of it, than any other four people I knew.

I turned to Sierra, who was busy tapping away on her phone, her green hair framing her face like a vibrant halo. “Sierra?”

She glanced up, a confident smile playing on her lips. “She checks out. By the way, McKenna?” Sierra looked directly at the blonde, who pivoted to meet her gaze. “I've hacked Shanna's bank account and locked her out. She’s gonna have a bitch of a time buying status with declined cards. Can’t do much about transferring it, if that’s what you want to do, until I have a safe place to park it. I took over all her socials, too. She was sloppy, using the same password for everything. And I deleted those pics, I know you know the ones I mean. Sent a worm in to wipe any copies she might have saved elsewhere.”

McKenna looked stunned, and even I was impressed by Sierra’s abilities. Still, business was business. “That's a yes, Sierra? Just wanting to be clear.”

Sierra rolled her eyes, a half-playful, half-tolerant smirk lingering on her lips. “Yes.”

“Th-thanks, Sierra,” McKenna stammered, obviously floored by the unexpected support.

Turning to Chelsea, I raised an eyebrow. “Chelsea?”

Her response was characteristically pragmatic. “It depends.”

Every eye in the room turned to her, waiting for an explanation. “On what?” I prompted when she didn’t continue.

“Do I have to drive? If so, what?” Chelsea clarified, her gaze flickering between McKenna and Kal.

“I don't know yet,” Kal spoke up. McKenna added, “I assume there's a safe and that’s why you need me, so maybe a truck?”

All eyes turned to me, and I glanced back at Kal. “It's your caper. But I also vote yes. McKenna, you're in. Now, Kal, do you want to drop the details, or should we enjoy more of SVG’s finest?”

Kal nodded eagerly.Ah, the joys of hindsight. I still could’ve run.

3: Into the Fray

“I heard about this from an old friend of mine. We go way back, all the way to my previous occupation,” Kal began, her voice tinged with the mystery that surrounded her past. She was famously close-mouthed about what she did when she wasn’t with the crew on a job. In the hints she dropped, I'd gathered she was something of a troubleshooter, but for whom? Nobody knew.

“Anyway, she told me about this morally questionable shipment of gems coming into the city. I did a little snooping, made sure of her facts, then came to you,” she continued, her eyes agleam.

“I didn’t think you were a tease, Kal.” I took another pull from my drink.

She waved her drink at me dismissively. “I'm getting there. These gems are what you might call conflict gems, right? Nothing any right-minded person wants to get tangled up in, so I figure we're doing the right thing by taking them away. You know, by liberating them we're keeping people from making bad choices and getting their souls all sticky,” Kal explained, her words dripping with artificial righteousness. There was that grin again, the one that always seemed to accompany her most outrageous schemes. I couldn't help but notice the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach about the size of the Titanic, but I bit back my immediate objections. This was Kal's show, after all, and interrupting her now would only distract her without accomplishing anything useful.

“Now, security's gonna be a bitch and a half. The people behind this are some heavy hitters. Three-comma-type people and that's the legit stuff. Four-comma, if you add in their dark jobs,” Kal explained, her voice hushed, eyes darting around the room as if expecting trouble to materialize at any moment.

All my nerves tingled like I’d licked a car battery Four-comma? Trillion-dollar criminals? There was only one outfit I could think of that would carry that much weight, and I didn’t want anything to do with them. Making a decision, I stood, raising my hand. Every face turned to me, and Kal ground to a halt. “Hold up, Kal,” I said, my tone firm as I edged around the table and grabbed her arm. “Let's you and me talk. Private-like, savvy?”

She followed me out of the back room without argument, her steps hesitant and her expression guarded until we found a distant corner. The bar was never particularly busy, which was one reason I preferred it, but I bent my head close to hers, ensuring that no one could overhear our conversation. “Kalili Keoka, what the fuck is going on? This isn't the kind of heist we do, and it's sure as fuck a lot more than just a few biggish emeralds. Level with me, Kal, or I'm going to call this all off.” My tone was harsh, but dammit, if this was what I thought it was, I was gonna run away from it as fast as I could.

She dropped her face into her hands, a gesture of despair that seemed out of character for the typically unflappable Kal. “No, don't do that,” she murmured, her voice muffled by her fingers. With a sigh, she raised her eyes to my chin, and I could see the weight of the world reflected in their depths. “Yeah, it's big. Huge.”

“Big?” All my fears and insecurities about being jinxed rushed back. “You know my track record with big jobs, Kal. I’m not the right person for this.”

She shook her head. “You totally are, Dakota. It’s never your plans that go sideways; it’s something out of your control. What’s important to me is nobody ever gets pinched or dead running your jobs.”

She had a point. I’d never lost a woman on a job. The two occasions I’d done time had been my bad luck on solo excursions. It’s hard convincing the cops that you didn’t have anything to do with the blaring burglar alarm when you’re standing there with a forty-inch television in your arms, you know? Then I’d compounded my error by insisting on going to court instead of taking the plea deal. But that train of thought brought up another, darker possibility.

“Tell me it’s not the Families, Kal. Look me in the eyes and tell me we’re not taking on the Mafia.”

She shook her head. “I wish I could. Look, this shipment? Every Family in the country put aside their differences and went in together on it.” Her emphasis on the capital F left no doubt. I never crossed any of the Families. Not only did people who screwed with them end up permanently missing, but I also had a personal reason. Before I could interject again, she hurried on, her words tumbling out.

“With this, they're gonna have enough cash to buy the world, or at least the country. Every politician will cave or die. Once they own the government, it's open season on everyone who doesn't want to play their game,” Kal explained.

“Kal, why should I care what happens to a bunch of crooked politicians? Why do you? I just want to make my scores, have a quiet life, and maybe find someone to get old with. If I can make a big enough haul, I’m gonna retire from this lousy life for good.” I tried distancing myself from the magnitude of what she was proposing.

“Believe me, Dakota, this haul? You’ll be able to retire in style.”

Oh, that was a low blow. I’d been doing this for almost thirty years. The average life of a planner before getting that third strike? Six years. I was way overdue, and I knew my clock was ticking. Add that to my rotten luck, and the prospect of just chucking it away and working full-time in the Salty Parrot was starting to look good.

She wasn't about to let me off the hook that easily. “If this happens, and right now it looks like it will, that goes away. For all of us. Do you think they'd let you pull a job and then walk away for a few months like you do now?” I grimaced, but she rolled on. “You don’t have a boss now, but you will. How much will their cut be, fifty percent? Seventy? Do you think you’ll ever make a big enough score to walk away? Or do you think they might have you working until you’re caught, killed, or drop dead?”

Kal's words hung in the air much the way bricks don’t as she considered her next argument. I winced at the thought of losing such a significant portion of my hard-earned loot. But she wasn't finished yet.

“I know that your parole officer's a lazy piece of work, but what if he's replaced by someone who wants you to pull jobs to stay out of jail?” Crooked POs weren't uncommon, but to have it be the norm was disturbing. Kal's words loomed like a storm cloud, casting a shadow over any hope of a peaceful existence. I could almost feel the grumbles of thunder coming from my realization, and I knew I couldn't easily dismiss it, or her. Dammit.

“Or maybe you come home and find that you're being moved somewhere more convenient for them?” The thought sent a chill down my spine. I didn't love my apartment; most days, I barely liked it. But it was mine, and the thought of losing it was abhorrent.

“And don’t you want to even the score?”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean, Kal?”

“Your father.” She didn’t need to say more. When Sal had told me dad headed out of town, I was young enough to believe him. By the time I was a teenager, I wasn’t so trusting, and years of careful snooping had convinced me one of the Families had done my father in, probably for stepping on too many toes.

“Revenge isn’t my style, Kal.” But I had to admit, if only to myself, that the thought of taking the Families down a notch or three warmed me.

Kal nodded, accepting my words if not entirely believing them. “Sure, Dakota.”

“Why all the interest in this, Kal? You never struck me as the save-the-world type.” I’d always taken her as a bored rich woman who got a thrill from walking on the wrong side of the line.

“I’m not—at least, not when I can help it. What I'm going to tell you stays between us, okay?” Her tone was deadly serious, and I nodded solemnly in response. “Not a whisper.”

“You know me, Kal.”

She nodded before saying, “My wife and I live in the city.” As quiet as she’d been, her voice dropped further, to a low murmur.

This wasn't news to me, and I cocked an eyebrow at her. “I know; I've been to your place, remember?” I'd been there a few times, a penthouse in midtown, but had never met her wife. Conservatively, it was worth six or eight million, and that didn't count the furnishings. How she got it I didn't know, but I could imagine her winning it in a game of chance. I knew they'd been there for years, living in a world of luxury that seemed light years away from the dingy corners and back alleys where I operated. Yet, here we were, tangled up in the same mess.

“Right, you have. The point is we’ve lived here for a while. I have connections that go back a long, long time,” Kal explained cryptically.

A penny dropped. “Is this some kind of revenge thing? You got out of the Families and now you have a chance to screw them over?” It all made sense, but Kalili put a stop to that.

She spluttered indignantly. “What? No! Gods below, you think I worked for those pieces of crap? Dakota, I might have flexible morals, but I still have standards, and they fall so far short of them that they make Danny DeVito look like a basketball star! No!” Her vehement denial was convincing, but volume and sincerity wouldn’t stop a conviction. Or worse. I wasn't about to let her off the hook that easily.

I pushed, determined to get to the bottom of this. “How do you explain your penthouse? Come on, Kal, you don’t work half as hard as you need to live in a place like that.”

“Investments,” she replied tersely, the word hanging in the air like a challenge. I took the bait.

“Bullshit, Kal. You know as much about the stock market as a fish knows about thermodynamics. Try again.” I squinted at Kal. When she wanted to avoid the truth, it was like trying to catch a greased pig in the dark. This time, she relented.

“Okay, okay. Without going into too many details?” I nodded at her condition. In our line of work, there was such a thing a unindicted co-conspirators and plausible deniability. “People know us and know we can sometimes fix things that need fixing, you understand?” she said, a perfect blend of evasion and sincerity.

I scratched my head, feeling more confused than a termite on a laminate floor. “You mean like an equalizer?” I prodded, hoping to pry loose a clearer explanation.

“Sort of, though we don’t usually do one-on-one support, like cooling off unwanted exes, clearing bad debts, that sort of thing.” Unlike her usual style, she rambled, her words stumbling over each other like a drunk on a tightrope. “When we get involved, it’s more of the end-of-the-world problem. I can’t get into what we’ve done, mostly because you wouldn’t believe me, but it doesn’t happen more than once or twice a decade. The rest of the time, I do what I want.”

I sighed, feeling like I was chasing shadows in a dark alley with Kal's evasive answers. “Alright, alright,” I conceded, throwing my hands up in defeat. “I get it. You're part of some secret society of fixers.” I almost asked Kal how many decades she’d been in this racket. She looked younger than me, but her responses hinted at a long lifetime of shady dealings. Instead, I played it cool. “If this is one of the end-of-the-world problems, I must be in the big leagues now.”

Kal's grin returned for an instant. “Trust me, Dakota, you’ve always been in the big leagues. Anyway, it doesn’t happen too often. It’s been several years since the last one, but earlier this week, like I said, the people I used to work with told me about this. I couldn’t let it pass. I’ve always believed that human problems require a human solution. My former employers? Not so much. They’re the type who’d napalm a city block to kill a mouse.” Her sudden shift in demeanor caught me off guard. This wasn’t the Kal I knew – the one who lived for the thrill of the con. This was a side of her I’d never seen, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Stopping this is huge, and it’s gonna happen, whether you take the job or not,” she continued, her voice low and intense. “Whether I get involved or not, for that matter. Contacting me was more of a courtesy. I could let it go, but if my former employers get involved...”

I leaned in, eager and terrified to hear her next words. “What happens then?”

“There’s gonna be breakage. Big breakage, hard to explain, harder to cover up.” Kal’s concern was as apparent as the dog’s mistake on the tile floor. I nodded in understanding, knowing that when Kal talked about breakage, she wasn't referring to shattered glass, broken bones, or even broken marriages. She was talking about the kind of trouble that could end lives and ruin companies. “I’m not subtle, but my breakage is more contained,” she added, almost as if she were trying to reassure herself as much as me. “Now, I might be able to find another crew to take this on, but I don’t have the time, I don’t know them like I know you, and I don’t want to try to pull this on my own,” she confessed.

“And you think we can? Five women taking on the Families?” I asked incredulously.

Kal, who’d never met a challenge she didn’t attack, nodded vigorously. “I know we can,” she insisted.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes at Kal's confidence. Taking on the Families sounded like the setup for a bad joke with me as the punchline. “We’re gonna need a miracle or two.”

To my surprise, Kal's grin returned, but it was different this time. It was mischievous, almost diabolical. “That can be arranged,” she said cryptically.

I couldn't help the shiver running down my spine. Kal's confidence was infectious, but her mysterious smile hinted at something dangerous. Whatever she had up her sleeve, it was bound to be a wild ride. I rubbed my chin, weighing our options. With my crew, maybe we could mitigate the damage and keep things under control. Plus there was the prospect of the final payoff, the last job, my genie in a bottle.

I’m not sure how to explain what happened next. Perhaps it was the electric charge between McKenna and me that put my brain out of order. Maybe it was the undeniable allure of Kal's unwavering confidence. It could have been dollar signs dancing before my eyes, promising an end to the hamster wheel I was on. Or it might have simply been the thrill of facing an impossible challenge head-on.

“Alright, Kal,” I said, making up my mind. “I think you’re insane, but that doesn’t make you wrong. Count me in, at least for now. If you’re serious about avoiding breakage, you’re gonna need a damn good plan, and that’s where I come in.” I jabbed a finger into her chest. “But you and me are gonna have a long, long talk before we put it before the crew. I don’t want them swayed by dollar signs, you got me?” The irony of what I was saying wasn’t lost on me, but I was the planner. I had to know all the details. The crew, maybe not so much.

She nodded, giving in far too quickly for my taste.

“Let’s tell the crew.”

Together, Kal and I strode to the back room, where three pairs of eyes awaited our return. Taking my seat, I wasted no time with pleasantries and dove straight into the heart of the matter. “This is going to be a colossal heist,” I began. “And for once, we’re doing it because it needs doing, not for the money—”

“Oh, the money will be good. Fantastic, actually. Permanent retirement money,” Kal interjected with her trademark bravado.

“Fine. Big money,” I acquiesced, shooting Kal a sideways glare, reminding her of our conversation from not two minutes earlier. “That’s not the point, though. We're going up against the Families. All of them. These people can wipe us out without a second thought, like swatting an annoying fly. If they catch us, death is probably the best we can hope for. If you want out, I won’t hold it against you.” I caught each pair of eyes in turn. “Frankly, I don’t know why I'm not sprinting for the door right now.”

“My winning personality, obviously,” Kal joked, prompting me to toss a balled-up napkin in her direction.

I turned my attention to Sierra. “Sierra, I want you to think about this hard. You've got someone waiting for you at home. It makes a difference.” Chelsea and I were flying solo, and I assumed McKenna was too, after her story of woe. That meant all we were risking were our skins. Sierra's partner, Alex, was a soft spot in her otherwise tough exterior. Wanting to give her as much time to decide as possible, I turned back to Kal. “You didn’t give me an exact timeline. How quickly do we need to act?”

“The haul is due to be moved on Friday the thirteenth,” Kal replied. She didn’t need to say anything else.

I winced reflexively at the ominous date, not that I was superstitious or anything silly like that. “That gives us ten days. Go home. If you’re in, meet me at my place tomorrow at one.” I knew none of my crew were particularly early risers. “McKenna, you can get directions from Kal.”

With that, I rose from my seat, the meeting over. “See you tomorrow. Or not. Kal, you’re with me. We’ve got lots to talk about.”

4: Shadows of Doubt

Kal offered me a lift home, despite my apartment being a stone's throw away, a mere six blocks. But Kal had a sweet, sleek '52 Jaguar, and I wasn’t about to pass up the ride. The Jag gleamed under the streetlights, as if it had just rolled off the assembly line, and sliding into the plush leather seat felt like settling into a cloud.

Once we arrived at my humble walk-up, I gestured towards the improvised bar, extending the offer of a drink. Kal declined with a polite shake of her head. I shrugged, opting for water instead. Drinking alone wasn't my style anyway.

“You sure you're ready to dive into this, Dakota?” Kal asked, her expression serious.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “No, but you woke up my curiosity, and that’s always been my Achilles' heel.”

“Well, they say curiosity killed the cat, but in our line of work, it's what keeps us alive.”

I couldn't help but chuckle at her gallows humor. “You have a knack for finding the silver lining in a mushroom cloud.”

“So do you, Dakota. And if you can't laugh in the face of danger, what's the point?” Kal retorted with a wink. “Besides, I've faced worse odds than this.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Worse odds than this? I don’t believe you. I think five against an army is bad enough.”

Kal waved off my concern with a dismissive gesture. “Trust me, Dakota, we've got this.”

I leaned back in my chair, unsure if the sigh was mine or the abused cushions. “Alright, lay it on me,” I said, steeling myself for whatever nightmare Kal had cooked up, and lay it on me she did.

The upside in this whole mess was that the shipment was stashed way out on the Island, which meant it wasn't lurking in our backyard. If things went south, at least we wouldn't be sitting ducks. Aside from that tiny glimmer of hope? Nada. Zilch. Nothing but trouble as far as the eye could see, with a shiny pot of fool’s gold at the end of the painbow.

According to the grapevine Kal tapped before bringing me this steaming bucket of insanity, there were two reasons why Long Island got the honor of hosting this cargo. First off, these gems snuck into the country incognito, mingling with phonies, and then hitched a ride to Global Logistics, a shipping outfit calling Harborpogue Industrial Park home. Second, and here's the kicker, all five of the Families had their sticky fingers in the HIP pie. It was like a buffet for them, a smorgasbord of temptation just waiting to be gobbled up.

HIP? Let me tell you, HIP was a nightmare on steroids for folks like me. Picture this: a fortress straight out of a medieval tale, complete with towering walls, battlements bristling with guards, and a moat filled with alligators just for good measure. Got that image in your head? Good. Now, take that and crank it up to eleven. HIP wasn't just a fortress; it was a citadel of concrete and steel, rising from the earth like some kind of behemoth. Rows upon rows of warehouses, factories, and storage facilities stretching out as far as the eye could see, all surrounded by walls so thick you could park a tank on top and it wouldn't even dent 'em. Yeah, a wall, ostensibly to keep the noise from the park from disturbing the surrounding civilians, but owing far more to the Berlin Wall than any noise barrier.

The kicker – the Families’ claws were sunk deep into HIP, tighter than a tick on a hound. Even the places they didn't outright own had security that put Fort Knox to shame. Don't get me started on their private army of rent-a-cops; those guys were scarier than a pack of rabid wolves. Not only were there checkpoints to get in and out the further into HIP you ventured, but there were constant, roving patrols, ready to put the clamps on any crook unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then there were the people, the workers and grunts and foot soldiers. Thousands of 'em, bustling about like ants on a mission, each one more suspicious-looking than the last. You had your run-of-the-mill workers, sure, but you also had your shady characters, the ones with shifty eyes and nervous tics, the kind of folks who'd slit your throat for a nickel.

I’d stumbled on it once, ten-fifteen years earlier, and made the mistake of looking around before being oh-so-politely escorted off the property. When I say HIP was like Dante's Inferno with barbed wire, I'm not exaggerating. It was a hellhole, plain and simple. And as for me? Well, let's just say I'd rather dance with a nest of rattlesnakes than set foot anywhere near that place again. Planning a heist there was as high on my to-do list as marching into the local IRS office and telling them about my undeclared income for the past thirty years.

I nearly choked on my water when Kal dropped the bomb about the size of the shipment. “How big?” I sputtered, trying to regain my composure. It’s hard to do with water dribbling down your chin.

“Two cubic meters,” Kal replied coolly, “but don't worry, that includes all the decoys. We're only dealing with about a quarter of a cubic meter of the real deal. Still, we've got to grab it all. No time for sorting on-site. It’s HIP, so the security’s gonna be—” She didn’t have to finish the sentence.

I let out a groan, rubbing my temples. How could I forget about that little detail? “Just when you think things couldn't get any more complicated...”

Kal smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Hey, you've got to admit, it's a pretty slick operation they've got going. Using a legit company as a front, they can receive packages from all over the place, and then sift through them like kids in a candy store. This is just a larger version of that scheme. Once they've separated the gems from the junk, they ship out the real McCoy to God-knows-where.”

Her words sparked something in my brain. “Wait a minute,” I interjected, sitting up straighter. “Do you know when they do this sorting? When they finish? It has to be before Friday, right?”

Kal shrugged, a glint of understanding in her eyes. “Not off the top of my head, but I could dig around and see what I can find. Why? Got a plan brewing?”

I crunched the numbers in my head. “If they're sorting through two cubic meters of gems, even if most of it is fake, we're talking about a serious weight. Two to three tons, easy. But if we catch them later in the sorting process, when they've narrowed it down to the good stuff, we're looking at a much more manageable load. Maybe a tenth of that.”

Kal's grin widened. “Now that's using your noggin, Dakota. There’s a reason you’re the best planner in the City. Always finding ways to simplify the problem.”

Simplifying things would be an understatement. Sure, Chelsea could handle a truck sturdy enough to bear the weight, but cruising through HIP with that much cargo? We might as well hang a sign saying ‘Free Loot!’ on the side. If security twigged to us, we could forget about a speedy getaway; we'd be chugging along like a parade float on Thanksgiving Day. Plus, waiting for them to do the hard work meant we wouldn't need to find a hiding spot for a mountain of treasure so we could sort it ourselves.

I nodded in agreement with Kal's assessment. “We have to narrow down the haul, Kal. Trying to snatch the entire shipment is a recipe for disaster.”

“Won't it eat into our timeline?” Kal brought up a reasonable concern. This was one of the reasons I loved having her on my crew when she could join us.

I shook my head. “It'll give us more time to plan. Besides, we need to know more about the security setup. What else do you have on that?”

We dove headfirst into the nitty-gritty details, dissecting every angle until the wee hours of the morning. By the time the first hints of dawn peeked through the clouds, I felt like I'd sucked every last drop of information out of Kal's brain. We lapsed into a comfortable silence as I mulled over our options, weighing the risks and rewards.

Finally, with a cleared throat, I broke the silence. Kal, who had been teetering on the brink of sleep, cracked open an eye.

“It's doable,” I declared, feeling a flicker of optimism within me, an unusual sensation but I could get used to it. It was immediately snuffed by my next realization. I managed a weak smile. “It won't be a walk in the park, though.”

With a triumphant whoop, Kal shot up from her chair. “I knew you'd sort it out, Dakota!”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Kal waved off my concerns. “If it were easy, I wouldn't have brought it to you. But why the long face? Usually, you're all pumped up when you crack a caper.”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Because there's one thing I'm not looking forward to.”

“Just one?”

I nodded. “One unavoidable one. The rest are just details.” I could see the curiosity in Kal's eyes, so I relented. “I have to ask my uncle for a favor.”

5: Converging Paths

Uncle Sal? He was a character straight out of a mobster movie down to his name, Salvatore “The Shadow” Russo, but without the flashy suits. He wasn't my uncle, not by blood. He was more like a stray dog that Dad picked up along the way and decided to bring home, or maybe Dad was the stray. Either way, Mom wasn't thrilled about it, but what could she do? From what she told me, Dad had a way of bulldozing his decisions through.

When Dad vanished into thin air two months before I popped out, Sal had been hanging around for four years. He decided to stick around like a stubborn stain on a favorite shirt. Maybe he felt some twisted sense of obligation, or maybe he enjoyed playing family with Mom and my older brother, and thought I’d be fun, too. Whatever the reason, he was a constant presence in our lives for my first three years. As for any romantic entanglements between him and Mom? I tried not to dwell on it. The thought of them together was enough to make my stomach churn. Some mental images are better left unformed.

But Sal wasn't some two-bit thug, oh no. Back in the day, he had aspirations, big ones. He was a rising star in the Bonanno Family, always gunning for that elusive Made status. Dad, bless his misguided soul, saw something in Sal. It was probably the opportunity to ride some coattails higher than he’d ever manage on his own. Maybe he thought rubbing elbows with an up-and-comer would elevate his status in the underworld. Spoiler alert: it didn't. Dad always chased after bigger and better things, but in the end, he wound up with a one-way ticket out of town. That’s what Sal told me, when I was old enough to ask, though later I more-or-less figured out that my dearly departed father was most likely part of some building’s foundation.

That's how I found myself with Uncle Sal. Over the years, he climbed the ranks until he reached the position of Capo, where he stuck. It was the peak of his mobster career, but he didn't seem bothered. It was a cushy gig, a chance to sit back and let others do the grunt work. Instead of getting his hands dirty, he spent his days juggling a handful of legit businesses through shell companies and keeping an eye on his troops, like a general overseeing soldiers on the battlefield.

Was he the reason I ended up in this life of crime? Maybe. Sal was a constant in my life, an anchor that kept me from drifting away into the abyss, and if he was secured to the wrong side of the law? I didn’t much care. Whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, or just someone to listen to me, Sal was there. It was only natural that I followed in his footsteps, or at least along a similar path.

How did my brother avoid the same fate? No idea. He and I weren’t close; I think his child brain blamed me for Dad’s disappearance, something he hasn’t forgiven me for yet. Maybe that was the answer. He saw what happened to Dad, what Sal did, and wanted no part of it, running as fast as he could into the arms of big money and white-collar thievery through the banks.

These days, Sal was living the semi-retired life, like a mobster version of a pensioner. He had a reliable crew under him, guys he trusted not to stab him in the back, and bosses above him who knew the score. It was a comfortable existence, like lounging in a hammock on a lazy summer afternoon. I hated to admit it, but there was a part of me that envied him, that craved the sense of stability and security that came with being part of the Family. What stopped me from following him more closely? Deep down, I knew it wasn't for me. I knew the costs, and I wasn’t willing to pay. Not anymore. Still, my relationship with Sal was friendly. Peaceful. Comfortable.

I was about to make it uncomfortable.

Dakota: Hey Sal, got time to chat?

Sal: for you anything, where/when

Dakota: Half an hour at the Bella?

Sal: Whaddya know, I’m already here

Dakota: Thanks, see you soon

La Trattoria Bella Napoli, nestled snugly in the heart of Flatbush, had the reputation of crafting the finest pizza this side of the Brooklyn Bridge. In my neck of the woods, even though it was the Little Caribbean, there were more pizza joints than you could shake a pepperoni stick at, and within a ten-mile radius? Forget about it, there were enough to make your head spin. I might have been biased, but none of them held a candle to the Bella.

Sal, ever the opportunist, swooped in and claimed ownership of the joint when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, and he'd been holding court there ever since. Sure, it was a cliché, but all clichés had their basis in truth, and a mobster owning a pizza place happened more often than you might think. Lots of cash transactions, lots of foot traffic, and connections to so many other mobbed-up businesses it would make your head spin? A natural. If Sal had a headquarters, this was it. I could always find him holed up in his booth at the back, a king surveying his domain. Sending him a text before dropping by was a formality, an acknowledgment that this visit was business, not a reunion.

The threat of rain looming overhead gave me the perfect excuse to splurge on a cab ride to the Bella instead of trudging through the streets on foot. It also helped stave off the nerves that were threatening to gnaw away at my insides as I approached the door.

Even though it was barely ten in the morning, the door swung open at my gentle tug, welcoming me into the warm embrace of the trattoria. I made my way through the dimly lit interior, my expression carefully neutral, until I spotted Sal nestled at the back. His face lit up with a grin as I drew near.

“Dakota!” he exclaimed, his voice booming over the din of the restaurant, already bustling.

“Hey, Uncle Sal,” I replied, bracing myself for the bone-crushing hug that followed. “Oof.”

“How's my little bella doing?” Sal asked, his eyes twinkling with affection. “You don't visit me enough.”

I slid into the booth opposite him, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I'm good, dealing with things with the crew. You know how it is.” I paused, then added, “You remember Astrid?”

He nodded. Sal had a passing acquaintance with my crew; nothing that would land him in a line-up, but enough so I could drop a name and he’d understand who I meant.

“She’s out of action for a while, so I’ve got a new twister to bring in.”

He winced. Replacing a member of the crew, whether temporary or permanent, was a pain. “Who?”

“Woman named McKenna Cross. Know her?”

Sal considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, the name doesn’t ring a bell. She any good?”

“What I’ve heard says she’s one of the best.”

A genuine smile passed his lips. “Glad to hear it. Running with a subpar crew is a sure way to end up behind bars, and I don’t want my bella there again. Other than that, everything’s good? Not getting into any trouble?”

I returned the smile, relaxing. “Only good trouble, Uncle Sal.”

Sal grunted. “Pull the other one,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. Sal's words acknowledged our shared history and our mutual evasion of Mom’s scrutiny. He was privy to every twist and turn of my career, from my first brush with petty theft to my more elaborate schemes. As for Mom, well, she was no fool. She knew I wasn't the poster child for law-abiding citizens, but she didn't press the issue. Maybe it was her years spent tending to the chaos of the ER that gave her a healthy dose of perspective. Or maybe she didn't want to know the gritty details of her daughter's less-than-legal exploits. Either way, she kept her distance except for the occasional Sunday dinner when my fridge was particularly empty, content to let me live my life on my own terms.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to muster up the courage to broach the subject I’d trekked over for. “Well, now that you mention it, Sal, I need a favor.”

His eyebrow arched. I prided myself on my independence, and coming to him was something that hadn’t happened more than a handful of times. “A favor, huh? What kind of favor?”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “I need information. About security.”

Sal's expression hardened, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Security, eh? You gonna explain a little more?”

I had to tap-dance around the details if I could. “A job. Big job, Sal. Like, a life-altering job. A get out of this life job, and not the orange jumpsuit and an hour of sunlight a day kind.”

Sal's eyes narrowed further, his gaze piercing me like a laser beam. “Not good enough,” he demanded. “What's this job all about? And where?”

“It's... uh, it's a big score, Sal,” I began, my words jumbled in my haste to find the right ones. “But, you see, the thing is, I can't afford any surprises. I know that it’s gonna be tough to crack, but I need to know exactly what we're up against.”

Sal's expression softened slightly, a hint of understanding creeping into his eyes. “Alright, I get that,” he conceded, leaning back in his booth with a thoughtful expression. “But why come to me? Why not just do your research like you always do?”

I hesitated, knowing that the truth was a risky card to play. Then again, when had I ever been one to shy away from risk? “I’m going to, Sal.” Assuming Sierra’s in, I thought. “But there are a couple problems. We’re on a tight timeline for one.”

“How long?”

“Ten days. No, nine, now.”

Sal shook his head. “Oh, Dakota, you know better than to take a rush job.”

“I know, I know, but like I said, it’s a huge score, one I can’t pass up. It’s my ticket out, Sal.”

There was a moment of silence as Sal processed my words, his gaze never leaving mine. I tried not to squirm like a six-year-old. Finally, after half a lifetime, he gave me a slow nod. “You said two problems. What’s the other?”

This was easier. “You know how it is. My techie will get everything online, no worries, but some people are so old school they look sideways at electric lights. If there’s something jotted down on a sticky note, you’re more likely to find it than we are.” He nodded but didn’t give any indication I’d convinced him. I resisted the impulse to babble and kept my mouth shut. It was a long three minutes before he spoke.

“Alright, Dakota,” he said, his tone softer now, almost gentle. “I'll help you out. But you better tell me exactly what you need.”

I took a deep breath. First hurdle down. Now for the tough one. “Thanks, Sal,” I said, genuine gratitude flooding through me with a hint of terror. “Um. Well. The score’s at HIP.”

Sal's eyebrows shot up, disbelief written large on his face. “HIP?” he echoed, his voice concerned. “You're kidding me, right?”

I shook my head, meeting his gaze head-on. “No, Sal. I wish I was, but this is the real deal. That’s why I need your help. It’s the only way I can think of to make it happen.”

Sal's eyes widened further until he was almost a comic character. His voice rose with agitation. “You're talking about hitting HIP? Dakota, do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He shook his gray-maned head. “You said life-altering. Try life-ending, Dakota.”

I nodded, not knowing what else to say. “I know it's risky, Sal—”

Sal leaned forward, his voice lowered, as if he realized he might be overheard. “You don't understand, Dakota. HIP isn't some warehouse store you can waltz into and grab what you want. It's not run by a rival Family; I’d happily help you give one of them a black eye. No, it's controlled by all the Families. My Family, Dakota. You mess with them, you're not stepping on one set of toes, you're stepping on them all. And you’re asking me to betray their trust?”

I swallowed hard. If I had any doubts about the seriousness of the situation, they vaporized, and I was left with a ton of bricks in my guts. “I know it's crazy, Sal. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t vital. I’ve got to do this, for reasons I—I can’t explain, not right now.” I couldn’t tell him about Kalili’s motivation. Sal might love me as family, but I didn’t want to test it against his loyalty to his Family. “The good news is, I've got a plan, or I will once I know about security.” I tried to duplicate Kal’s grin and missed by half a lifetime.

Sal ran a hand through his hair, frustration written in every line of his face. “Oh, well, that makes it all better. You’ve got a plan. Dammit, Dakota, you're playing with fire!” He waited, obviously hoping I’d tell him I was kidding. The seconds stretched out like cheap taffy until he finally sagged back into the seat. “You're dead set on this?” I winced at his word choice but nodded. Dead was not something I wanted to consider. “Even if I get you exactly what you need, it won't be easy. And if things go south, you’re on your own. You can’t drop my name and expect me to pull your nuts from the fire.”

I met his gaze squarely. “I understand, Sal, but I've got to try. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s not about me. It's about making a better life for all of my crew.”

Sal's expression softened. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll do my best to get it for you. But don't say I didn't warn you.”

I nodded, warmed by Sal's concern even as I braced myself for the challenges ahead. “Thanks, Sal. I appreciate your help.”

Sal ran a hand through his hair as he processed our conversation. “How soon do you need it?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern. “You said nine days?”

I hesitated, considering the timeline of our plan. “Ideally, as soon as possible,” I replied honestly. “I’m still working on the timing, but the hard deadline is next Thursday. The loot’s being moved the next day. It’s tricky timing, I know. We can't afford to waste any.” I dug around in my pocket and slid across a folded piece of paper. “Everything I can think of is on there.”

Sal made it disappear without glancing at it, then shook his head. “Like I said, I'll give you what I can. Give me a couple of days to work on my contacts, and I'll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Sal. I’d love to stay, but I have a meet this afternoon. I owe you one.”

Sal waved off my gratitude with a dismissive gesture. “You owe me more than one, Dakota, but we won’t talk about that. Just be careful. These are dangerous waters you're sailing in, with more sharks swimming than you can see circling.”

I knew about sharks. I’d been swimming with them my entire life. This job was more than just a score; it was a chance to get on dry land. With Sal’s information, I felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to feel the sand beneath my feet instead of teeth.

6: Under Cover of Night

That afternoon, in the cramped confines of my apartment, the usual suspects congregated with one addition. The aroma of cheap coffee and Caribbean pastries hung heavy in the air. Chelsea, the epitome of nonchalance, sprawled across the couch, one leg thrown over the armrest in a manner that suggested she was already planning her next joyride. Kalili lurked by the pastries, while Sierra and McKenna had their heads down over Sierra’s trusty laptop.

“Alright, gather round, people,” I announced, my voice slicing through the chatter, dragging eyes to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t have all the information last night, but when we’re done, I think you’ll agree the delay was worth it.” I looked at them, judging their interest. Chelsea seemed bored, but I could tell the difference between true boredom and the front she wore. Sierra’s eyes gleamed, relishing the prospect of a worthy challenge. Kalili? She was practically bouncing. McKenna was the wildcard, the one I couldn’t quite read, but I took her return today as a good sign. “This job isn’t your run-of-the-mill gig. It's bigger than anything we've tackled before, and it's got more twists than an alley cat running from the neighbors and their shotgun.”

Chelsea, ever the picture of indifference, raised an eyebrow in my direction. “Spill it, Dakota,” she drawled, her tone as casual as if she were asking about the day's forecast. More casual, as the forecast affected her driving, and she took that deadly seriously.

“Kalili and I went over the particulars last night.” I held up a hand to forestall the inevitable questions. “I’ll cover them. There were things which I knew we were going to have to go outside the crew to get, so I met with Uncle Sal today,” I continued, and the expected chorus of groans reached my ears. He was a source of both dread and fascination for my motley crew.

“He agreed to help, but he also had some warnings for us.” I ignored the renewed groans as I pressed on. “No, he was serious. Dead serious.” I winced at my phrasing, but nobody else noticed. Then again, they didn’t know all the nasty details yet.

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “Oh, great. What's the old man think we’ve got ourselves into this time?”

I shot her a warning glance before turning back to the group. “He's worried about this job we're planning,” I explained, downplaying Sal’s assessment of the risks. “Says it's more trouble than it's worth, that we're playing with fire.” I paused, then added, “I believe him.”

Sierra, ever the pragmatist, frowned in thought. “What does Sal know about it anyway, and how soon does he plan to share? I don’t want to wait on him.”

I shrugged, knowing Sal's concerns were valid, whether we liked it or not. “Let me ask you, Sierra: what do you know about HIP?”

Sierra shrugged. “Big place out on the Island. It’s a front for a Family, isn’t it?”

“All the Families,” I clarified. “And that’s where the loot is.”

“Fuck me.” Sierra’s curse was reverent, and I nodded in agreement.

“That’s the size of it. As for Sal’s info? He said two or three days, but I agree with you, Sierra. I don’t feel like sitting around either.”

McKenna leaned forward. Now I could see her curiosity was engaged, the particular eagerness a con had when presented with a challenge. “What's our play?”

I shook my head, determination clear. “No way. Kal convinced me this needs to happen. If you’re in, then we're in it come hell or high water. But we need to be smart about it. We can't afford any mistakes.”

I knew I could count on Kalili to stir the pot, and she didn’t disappoint as she cracked a grin. “Sounds like fun. Besides, your plans are always good.”

I was ready to lay out my ideas, even if I didn’t feel the confidence I projected. I fixed Chelsea with a stare. “Alright, here's what we’re doing. Chelsea, how do you feel about rideshares?”

“Hate ‘em. Why?” She narrowed her eyes at me in suspicion.

“Well, get over it. You’ll fake your way into a rideshare gig with Sierra’s help. We need someone on the inside, and you're our her.”

Chelsea grew serious in response to the insult to her status as a driver. “Really, Dakota? There’s no other way?” It wasn’t a whine, but the next best thing.

It was time to unruffle some feathers. “I know it’s going to be tough for you, dealing with passengers and all the other shit.  I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

“I know, Dakota, but—”

“Besides, I believe in you. You've got the savvy to pull it off.”

Chelsea sighed, then grinned. “I haven’t let you down yet, and I won’t start now. I'll be the slickest rideshare jockey they've ever seen. They’ll get to their destinations faster than anyone else could get them there, and I'll keep a sharp eye out for anything we can use while I'm at it. Listening, not chattering like the usual driver.”

“Good. Sierra, you're up next.” I turned to our resident tech wizard. “After you set up Chelsea, I need you to hack into the records at HIP, find out who might need rideshares, and link them up to Chelsea’s account. I want them used to her, fast, and I want the guards to get so familiar with Chelsea they don’t even blink when she drives in.” Sierra nodded, but I wasn’t done. “While you're at it, find their servers and own them. I want their security cameras, emails, and anything else you can grab. We know what building the jewels are in, but we need everything about it, plus total control.”

Sierra grinned wickedly, her fingers twitching with anticipation as she reached for her laptop. “Ought to be a piece of cake. They won’t know the emperor has no clothes until too late,” she replied with a mischievous glint.

Before she could dive into her digital escapades, I stopped her in mid-keystroke. “Hold on there, Sierra. I want you to cover your tracks as thoroughly as possible. We can't afford any slip-ups.”

Sierra raised an eyebrow, her expression shifting from curiosity to indignation. It seemed it was my day to step on toes. “Are you kidding me, Dakota? I've done high-risk hacks before and gotten away with it clean I don’t know how many times. I don't need you telling me how to cover my ass.”

I held up my hands placatingly, recognizing Sierra's abilities. “I know you're good, Sierra,” I replied, trying to soothe her irritation. “But this job is different. One wrong move, and we could all end up getting a visit from the Feds. Or worse.”

Sierra scoffed, her confidence unwavering. “Please, Dakota, I've danced with the devil before and come out unscathed. I'll make sure there's no trace of my presence, just like always. Besides, this would be the FBI’s jurisdiction, and I have full access to all their files.” I nodded, remembering her consultant job. “Anything comes up about us, I make it disappear.”

I hesitated for a moment, torn between accepting Sierra's expertise and my instinct to err on the side of caution. Ultimately, I knew I had to trust my team. “Alright, Sierra,” I conceded. “Do what you do best, but don't underestimate the opposition.”

Sierra crossed her arms, and I knew my mea culpa had been too little, too late. “Remember the bank heist in Queens? I hacked into their security system and wiped out all traces of our presence. We walked away with the loot, and nobody even knew we were there.”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Yeah, I remember that,” I acknowledged, impressed by the memory of Sierra's resourcefulness. She was right; the bank didn’t have a clue who hit them. The car thief who stole the van after we loaded it with cash was a total wild card.

“What about the casino job in Atlantic City?” Sierra continued, her tone growing more animated. “I got into their mainframe and rigged the slot machines. We made off with a fortune, and the footprint I left pointed to a rival casino. They’re still fighting over it.”

“That was slick,” I admitted, grateful for Sierra's quick thinking that night. It was her idea to put the money on untraceable pre-loaded debit cards. The malfunctioning security scanner at the exit that acted like a magnet and erased them all was just bad luck.

“Don’t forget the art gallery heist in Manhattan,” Sierra added, sounding like a prosecutor making closing arguments. “I hacked into their alarm system and disabled it long enough for us to make our move. We got away with three priceless paintings, and the cops were none the wiser.”

I nodded again, neglecting to mention that all three turned out to be forgeries. If you couldn’t trust an art dealer to the millionaires on Wall Street, who could you trust? “You're right, Sierra. You've proven yourself time and time again. Keep me in the loop, is all I’m asking.”

Sierra nodded, mollified. “Got it, Dakota,” she said. “We’ll be the ghosts in the machine.”

“Alright, McKenna,” I said, turning to her. “Once Sierra gets you the building details, you're gonna be sniffing out those hidden gems and how to get to them.”

McKenna grinned, her eyes twinkling with pleasure at my brave words. A shiver echoed down my spine at her look. “Just call me the Jewel Whisperer.”

I chuckled at her enthusiasm, unable to suppress a grin. “That's the spirit.”

The apartment was abuzz with anticipation as Kal broke in, her eyes alight with curiosity. “So, Dakota, you haven’t said yet. What's my role in all of this?”

I paused for a moment, considering my words carefully. “Well, Kal,” I replied, a smart-ass grin spreading across my face. “I already told you what I need from you.” Kalili’s face clouded in confusion. I let her dangle for a moment before relenting. “You're in charge of the miracles.”

Kal's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her eyes crinkling at the corners with suppressed laughter. “The miracles?” she echoed, her voice tinged with poorly feigned disbelief. “What exactly does that mean?”

“You know, Kal,” I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “Those moments when everything seems impossible, but somehow, against all odds, you make it happen. That's where you come in. Make sure we get what we need to pull this off.”

Kal's face lit up. “Oh, that kind of miracle, where I get to work my magic?” she exclaimed, her voice rising with enthusiasm. “Hell yes! I'll turn this job into a masterpiece, just wait and see.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, Kal,” I replied, anticipation building within me. “There's no telling what we can accomplish.” I looked around and saw four pairs of eager eyes locked on me. “Okay, enough generalities. Let’s get down to it.” I took a pull of my coffee and grimaced. “After I brew up a fresh pot. This stuff’s terrible.”

7: Whispers and Warnings

The afternoon had been humming along smoothly, ideas bouncing off the walls, until the familiar buzz of the intercom startled us. I shot a curious glance at my crew, eyebrows raised in silent question. “Did someone order a pizza?” I joked, getting a mix of laughs and denials as I rose from my seat to press the intercom button. “Who is it?”

A gravelly voice crackled through the speaker. “It's Granger. Lemme in,” came the reply. Like a thunderclap on a clear day it sent a chill down my spine. I hesitated before pressing the button to grant him entry, exchanging worried glances with everyone.

A moment later, there was a single sharp rap at the door. I pulled it open with a creak, revealing the rumpled, grungy figure of my parole officer. This wasn't just any run-of-the-mill parole officer; no, I didn’t have that kind of luck. This was Mortimer Granger. Most of the time he didn’t care, paying no more attention to me than a piece of gum stuck under a desk. I knew his reputation. When he sniffed a parole violation, he was relentless in his pursuit. And now he was here, while we were planning the biggest job the East Coast had ever seen. Shit.

He didn’t look like the man whose parolees had the highest rate of aborted recidivism in the borough. No, he looked more like an older, bargain-basement Colombo, down to the floor-length trenchcoat and perpetual sneer. His gray hair and beard didn’t change the impression; if anything, it added to the sense of dishevelment. He’d been a PO for longer than I’d been alive, but there wasn’t a whisper about a planned retirement.

He was not who I wanted dropping in, ever, and least of all today. The tension in the room ratcheted up as Mortimer fixed each of us with a steely stare, his eyes boring into our souls with an intensity I could have lived without. I felt like a mouse, cowering under the watchful eye of an owl, but there was nowhere to run.

“What's going on here?” His voice was a low growl that hit my gut like a sledgehammer.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. “Just catching up with some old friends,” I replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Nothing to worry about, Mort. A quiet afternoon is all.”

Mortimer's gaze swept over the room, surveying my crew, his eyes sharp and calculating. “Old friends, eh?”

I nodded convulsively. “Yeah, you know, just a casual Wednesday...” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence, as nothing sounded plausible.

“You keep interesting company, Chase,” he growled. “You might want to consider finding a different set of friends if you want to stay out of prison.”

“Whaddya mean?” I sputtered.

“Oh, is that the game you want to play?” he sneered. “Fine. Chelsea O'Malley. Notorious for her prowess in the art of hotwiring cars and evading police pursuit. He paused for a moment before he listed off Chelsea's rap sheet with the precision of a seasoned prosecutor. “Multiple arrests for grand larceny auto, as well as first-degree auto stripping, reckless endangerment, and what else? Oh, yes. Her habit of resisting arrest, with numerous charges stemming from her refusal to go quietly into the night, has made her a particular favorite with the DA’s office.”

The room fell silent at Mortimer's words. We didn’t talk about our histories much, satisfied to know we were all part of the same sorority. I was familiar with them; it was my job to know skills and weaknesses. But having it laid out was a shock I saw reflected on the faces of my crew.

He shifted his focus to Sierra. “Sierra Rodriguez. A generational hacker, her skill at breaching secure systems and infiltrating government databases has her at the top of most wanted lists. A subject of interest by multiple law enforcement agencies for a litany of cybercrimes, including identity theft, credit card fraud, and the unauthorized access of classified information.” He paused for breath, and for a moment I dared hope his research had been incomplete. I was wrong.

“She has suspected ties to the hacker known only as Raven, a ghost in the system, and the brains behind some of the slickest cyber heists we've seen lately,” Mortimer added as an afterthought. Perversely, I relaxed slightly. He’d missed a detail, a crucial one: Sierra was Raven. When you’re a white hat hacker, it helps to control the biggest black hat boogeyman. Brings in more business. “Of course, all of this is buried by the FBI, who find it convenient to overlook these details, which means zero trials and zero convictions.”

He turned to the next woman. “McKenna Cross,” he began. I wasn’t surprised he recognized her, but how did he know she’d be here? I didn’t have time to ponder the question too long. “A third-generation con, raised on safecracking, her skills also include being a master of disguise.”

McKenna snapped, “If I’m some sort of master of disguise, how do you it’s me?”

He ignored her question. “She's a ghost, slipping through our fingers every time. Been tied to a string of crimes, but no proof, no evidence. All slick and clean, leaving us chasing shadows. And just when we think we've got something on her, poof! She's gone, nothing left behind to prove her involvement. It's like she's taunting us, and we can't do a damn thing about it.”

“Alleged involvement, but thank you for the kind words,” McKenna added, but Mort wasn’t listening. He’d moved on to my closest friend, and I listened carefully, curious about what he knew that I didn’t.

“Kalili Keoka.” He bore down on Kalili, but she wasn’t having it and returned the stare with interest. “No convictions. No charges. You’ve never even been picked up for jaywalking.”

“Jaywalking’s a good way for a person to get dead in this city.”

“Ah, but you’re a person of interest in cases that date back seventy years. How can you explain that, Ms. Keoka?”

Seventy years? He had to have her mixed up with someone else. All eyes turned to Kalili, awaiting her response. She met Mortimer's scrutiny head-on, a defiant spark in her eyes. I could see the crinkles of amusement at the corners of her eyes, and wondered what her response would be, or if she’d bother. Kalili's lips curled into a smirk as she delivered her response with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. “Clean living,” she said, eliciting a stifled chuckle from me. Trust Kal to navigate Mortimer's questions with irreverence.

Mortimer’s voice took on a steely edge, trying to intimidate her like a cat does a mouse with a limp. “Clean living? Let's take a stroll down memory lane, shall we? Start with '74, that little stunt with the Mona Lisa – clever fake left behind, almost had the Louvre fooled. Then there was the '79 heist at the Kremlin, where someone made off with the Czar's jewels like they were picking daisies. And don't think I've forgotten about the '84 caper at the Smithsonian. Made national headlines, that one.”

He ticked them off on his fingers, a grim rhythm. “Move on to the '90s – '94, to be precise. A Fabergé egg, poof! Vanishes from under everyone's noses at Sotheby’s, despite MI6 having their best agent on premises. Four years later, there’s a robbery at the Met. Video footage catches a slim woman with red hair stuffing her pockets with jewels like she’s at a kid's birthday party, but there’s no physical proof. And 2003? The Guggenheim might as well have had a 'Welcome' sign out for you.”

I thought he was done, but no. “We hop across the pond for the next act – Tate Modern, 2009. Just a warm-up for the British Museum in '14, and then, for the grand finale, the Bank of England in '19. Banks, museums, jewels – you're like an international tour guide for grand larceny. Tell me, do you get frequent flyer miles for all this globe-trotting theft?”

Kalili's lips curved into a smirk as she met Mortimer's eyes. “I could say they were daring, over-the-top capers, executed with exquisite skill and aplomb. Or maybe they were just another day in the life of a woman with discerning tastes. And frequent flier miles are for wimps.”

He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon, and from the way he was eyeing me, I guessed I was next on his list.

“And you, Dakota. I thought you were smarter than this, spending your afternoon surrounded by notorious scofflaws.” Mort's voice was like sandpaper.

I couldn't help it. “Glad to disappoint you,” I shot back. Inside, I was a tangle of nerves, but he wouldn't catch me showing it.

He gave me a look that could curdle milk in the refrigerator. “You're playing a dangerous game, Dakota,” he warned, and I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

Shrugging, I put on my best poker face. “I’m hearing that a lot lately. Besides, isn't that the name of the game, Mort?” My smile was all teeth. “Where’s the fun in playing it safe

Mortimer’s jaw clenched so hard, I thought he might break a tooth. “Don’t screw with me, Dakota. I could haul you in right now, just for being in the same room as this lot.” His voice was a low rumble, like thunder rolling in.

Leaning back, I met his glare square-on. “Thin ice is my middle name.” Okay, so it wasn’t my wittiest retort, but under his basilisk stare, it was the best I could do. “If you’re done, we’d like to get back to relaxing. You know, like friends do?”

That did it. “I'll be keeping a close eye on you and your crew,” he spat out, struggling to keep his temper in check.

“You do that, Mort,” I said, cool as a cucumber on the outside, though inside, I was more like a rabbit in a snare. “Just remember, we'll be watching you too.”

Without another word, he stormed towards the door, stomping like a child denied candy. The door slammed behind him with the finality of a judge’s gavel.

I let out the breath I’d been holding, feeling like I’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight. Mort was gone, but the echo of his warning lingered. I swiveled back to face my crew. My mind was a whirlpool of suspicion and unanswered questions. Why today, of all days, did Mort decide to play a surprise visit? And how did he know who to find here? Those were questions that needed answers, and I had an ugly hunch that I might not like them.

My eyes slid over to McKenna almost of their own accord. She caught my look, a flicker of something passing through her eyes before they clouded with doubt. Great. I didn't want to think it was her, but she was the new kid on the block, the unknown quantity in our little equation.

“Alright, ladies,” I said, doing my best to sound more confident than I felt. “I don’t care what the bag of noise said. We've got work to do, and he’s not gonna stop us.”

Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “What's the plan, Dakota?” she asked. The expectancy in her voice was a lifeline.

I took a deep breath and surveyed my crew. They were a loyal bunch, every one of them ready to follow my lead. That steadied me more than I wanted to admit. “Nothing’s changed,” I declared. “We need to scope out the target, assess the layout, and determine our approach.”

McKenna was the first to nod, a little too eagerly, maybe, her eyes bright. The others followed suit. I watched McKenna, a twinge of something – doubt, regret, suspicion, I couldn't tell – nipping at me. I shoved it aside.

“Sierra, you’re up first. Work your magic. Set up Chelsea, hack into the HIP records, and get us the intel we need.”

Sierra was practically vibrating with excitement. “Easier done than said,” she shot back, a wolfish grin on her face.

I turned to Chelsea. “Get on that rideshare as soon as Sierra has you set up. While you’re waiting, go car shopping. You need a car that won’t get flagged, so you might have to play it straight for once.”

She made a face but nodded. “Will do, boss.”

“McKenna, until we have the layout, you get to relax.” I moved on hastily, hoping she didn't read too much into it, and looked at Kalili. “Kal, I need you to find out what Mort knows, and how. And if there's a leak...” I didn’t need to finish the sentence.

“You can count on me, Dakota,” she promised, her eyes promising her understanding.

“I hope so,” I replied, trying to keep the unease from my voice. “Otherwise, we're all gonna be trying on prison orange.”

Just like that, it was back to business, even though a shadow hung over me, a question mark that refused to go away. Trust was a luxury in our line of work, and it looked like it was getting more expensive by the minute.

8: The Calm Before

For a couple of days, my world turned into a sort of purgatory where boredom and anxiety were throwing a party, and I was the unwilling guest of honor. In this business, when you're the brains of the operation, which I reluctantly admit I am, you're supposed to have a stomach for the wait. Unfortunately, patience, let me tell you, is not my strongest suit.

The first night was the worst. I was trying not to step on the toes of my crew as they prepared. I knew enough to keep my nose out of their way. Hovering over their shoulders? That’s a rookie's game, and I left rookie status in the dust years ago. What does one do in this predicament? Well, if you're me, you find every inane chore in your cramped apartment to obsess over. I moved the furniture around like I was redecorating for the Queen. That took about ten minutes, so I did it again. And again. And a few more times, just to finish my workout.

I even got to alphabetizing my meager book collection. Yeah, A for 'absurd' that I was spending my time this way. Every genre, every author, lined up like soldiers. Then, the junk drawer – a last resort for the truly desperate. There I was, sorting through old receipts and rubber bands with the intensity of cracking a safe. The walls of my place started to feel like they were closing in, inch by inch. I caught myself pacing like a zoo animal plotting an escape. I even turned on the TV, hoping some mindless chatter would drown out the gears grinding in my head. But no dice.

Every so often, my thoughts would drift back to Mortimer. His timing, his knowledge of who would be there was like a pebble in my shoe, constantly nagging. The one name that kept floating up as our potential Judas? The one I didn’t want to consider. That stung.

My sleep was uneasy. I suppose it was a mercy it was so short. Then my crew saved me. One by one, they checked in, their updates a reminder that I wasn't in this alone. Their faces, popping in and out of my apartment, were my anchor in this storm. I just had to hang on until Sal came through with the goods.

First in was Sierra, and I spent a distracting time watching her turn into a sort of digital wizard, the kind you'd expect to find in one of those high-tech heist movies. She wasn't keen on working from her place, opting instead to set up camp in my cramped apartment, something about needing to be close for questions best left unwritten. Tech talk flies over my head like a supersonic jet.

She was dealing with Chelsea's cover. Sierra whipped up a rideshare driver's profile for Chelsea so real, you’d think she’d been shuttling folks around New York for years. Then came the real high-wire act: sneaking Chelsea into the HIP database. This was where Sierra shone. She danced through their security like it was a grade school hopscotch game. Chelsea’s fake identity got stitched into their system so well, you couldn’t tell it from the real thing. It was a piece of art worthy of a museum.

“Impressive.” I watched in awe.

Sierra gave me a grin that was all smug satisfaction. “Just doing my part,” she said, but her eyes were doing a victory lap. “Any word from Sal yet?”

I shook my head. “Not yet, but he's on it. We just have to be patient.” In truth, I was treading lightly with Sal, not wanting to spook him. We needed him focused, not second-guessing. There was more, but eventually she headed back home. That opened up my place for my next visitor, Chelsea, taking a break from her mission for the perfect car. She was scouring the streets and the internet like a detective on a cold case. But, finding the right car?

“Dakota, I've been at this for hours,” Chelsea complained, frustration written all over her face as she dropped her phone on the table. “It's like looking for an honest politician.”

“What’s the hang-up?” I asked, already guessing her response.

“It’s gotta blend in,” she said. “Nothing that screams 'I’m up to no good,' but also not a car that’d bore a parking meter.”

I got it. Chelsea wanted the Goldilocks of cars – not too flashy, not too dull., but her pickiness threatened to turn our timetable into a wish and a prayer.

She kept flicking through car listings, the blue light from her phone screen painting her frustration in neon. I pointed to a decent-looking sedan. “How about that one?”

Chelsea gave it a two-second look. “Too plain. It’s gotta have some life in it.”

I tried again, pointing to a sportier model. “This one’s got some zest.”

She threw me a look that would freeze boiling water. “And get me locked onto the police radar before I even start? No thanks.”

As Chelsea kept hunting for the perfect car, I felt a tickle of impatience. I appreciated her attention to detail, but time wasn’t a luxury we had in abundance. We needed wheels, and we needed them yesterday.

“What about that one?” I pointed at the screen, to a hatchback that screamed practicality.

Chelsea gave me a look like I'd just suggested she use a tricycle. “Are you serious? That thing screams ‘senior citizen discount at the grocery store.’”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you want then? A gold-plated limousine with built-in champagne fountains?”

She feigned a ponderous expression. “Please, Dakota, you know my taste is more in the diamond-encrusted hovercraft range.”

Despite the situation, I couldn’t help but appreciate her sense of humor. “Sure, I’ll get our R&D on that right away.” We shared a smile before reality set back in. “Seriously, Chels, we need something workable. Can't it be just, I dunno, almost perfect?”

She huffed a sigh, plopping her phone down on the table and rubbing her eyes. “I know, I know. It's just... There’s gotta be the right car out there, Dakota, but I’m sick of looking.”

I softened up a bit. Pushing wouldn’t help either of us. “Take a breather, Chelsea. Don’t burn out on car shopping.”

She nodded, closing her eyes for a brief respite. When she opened them again, she grabbed the phone and her fingers danced across the phone screen. “Too old... too cramped... too flashy...” Then her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Wait a minute,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice. “This might be the one.”

Leaning over, I checked out the car she'd found – a sleek silver sedan, understated yet elegant, with enough personality to not be boring. “Looks like you hit the jackpot,” I said, hopeful.

Chelsea was tapping away on her phone, probably setting up a meeting to get the car. “Perfect, right?” she beamed, satisfaction radiating off her.

“You’re the driver, Chels. I trust you.” I was relieved. One more piece of the puzzle in place. Chelsea bounced out not long after, a spring in her step and plans to make the car ‘just right,’ leaving me mulling over whether to take a shower or dive into another mind-numbing TV episode. I was mid-thought when the door creaked open. Kalili slipped in, a grin on her face like she’d swiped a cookie from the jar.

“Kal, how many times have I told you not to do that?” I grumbled.

“What, pick your lock?” She was already latching the door. “It keeps me sharp. You need me sharp.”

“Yeah, but what if I had company?” I shot back, though she’d heard this spiel before.

She raised an eyebrow, her tone teasing. “Got a secret rendezvous with McKenna?”

The mere mention of the box jockey sent a rush of heat up my neck. I cleared my throat, trying to keep it together. “No, nothing like that.”

Kal nodded, but she wasn’t buying my disinterest. “So, how's everything? Any updates?”

I motioned for her to sit and started filling her in. “Chelsea found us a car,” I said, skipping over the finer details.

Kal listened, unusually calm, but I could see she was turning things over in her mind. “We've still got a lot to do,” she noted.

I agreed. “One step at a time.”

She eyed me, concern flickering in her eyes. “You look tense, Dakota. All good?”

I shrugged it off. “The usual heist jitters.”

Kal seemed to let it go, switching back to business. “Well, don’t worry. We’ve got this,” she reassured me.

I couldn’t help but tease her a bit. “You seem pretty chilled out. What happened to the sky’s falling?”

She chuckled. “Chaos is where I thrive, Dakota. Plus, worrying gets us nowhere.”

I grinned despite myself. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one juggling the hand grenades.”

Kal gave a casual shrug. “Someone’s gotta keep things light, right?”

Her optimism was contagious, as always. “Don’t lose that touch of yours. Did you find anything on Mort? Or his snitch?” I couldn’t bring myself to say McKenna’s name. I didn’t want it to be her—well, no, I wanted it to be her, but not for this.

She shook her head. “Not yet. But give me time.”

We talked a bit more before she left. I double-checked the lock, a reasonable precaution in my part of town, then hit the sack. The pieces were falling into place, but in this game, that just means the dominoes are lining up for a bigger fall.

Nine in the morning might as well be the crack of dawn for someone like me, doubly so when I’m awakened by the apartment buzzer going off again. It couldn’t be Mort again. Impossible.

“Who is it?” I called, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“McKenna,” came the response. Her tone snapped me awake. It was totally unlike her lightness the first night at the SVG, or her professionalism during the planning session.

“Hold on.” I hit the buzzer and glanced at my attire – an old college t-shirt so thin it was practically a second skin. I grabbed some shorts, thinking, Way to impress, Dakota.

I opened the door, and there was McKenna, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine, while I was standing there like I'd lost a fight with my bed. “McKenna, what brings you here this early?” I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear them.

She gave me a tight-lipped smile, like she wanted to scream but didn’t dare. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” I said, stepping aside. “Coffee?” I offered, more out of habit than expectation.

She declined and sat, all business. “I need to talk to you, Dakota. It's important.”

I could feel the seriousness in the air. “What's going on?”

“Do you think I'm the leak?” she blurted, eyes fixed on me like lasers.

I stumbled over my words, thrown off guard. “What? No, of course not.” I was trying to sound convincing, but it sounded hollow.

She wasn't buying it either, her expression turning to stone. “Don't BS me, Dakota. I can take it.”

I sighed. This was walking through a minefield in clown shoes. “Look, McKenna, it's not you. I mean, why would it be?”

Her eyebrow arched, her arms folded defensively. “Enlighten me.”

Scrambling for something to say, I latched onto Kal. “She brought you into this job, and I trust her.”

“People fuck up.”

Why was she fighting this? “But why join us to stab us in the back?”

Her face softened, but the pain was still there. “It’s easier than doing the job and pulling the risks with it.”

I shifted, uncomfortable under her gaze, unwilling to admit anything too deep. “I don’t think that’s you, McKenna. I think you’ve had a shitty hand, and this is a way to win the game.”

Her laugh was bitter, humorless. “And that's why I'm the perfect suspect, right?  McKenna, the hard luck case, who'd suspect her?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. She was right, in a twisted way. “But what about your reasons for being here? You needed this job, right?”

She narrowed her eyes, her voice taking on an edge. “Doesn’t mean I couldn’t be desperate enough to do something drastic.”

“That’s not you, though!” How I was sure, I didn’t know, but I’d bet my soul she’d rather take a fall than turn rat.

“People change, Dakota, and you’ve known me for how many days?”

I was floundering now, trying to make sense of it all. “You wouldn’t sabotage the heist. You were excited about it.”

She shook her head, disappointment in her voice. “You don't get it, do you, Dakota? Sometimes, what we want most can destroy us.”

What was I hearing? I’d been so busy trying to crush out what I might be feeling for her that I hadn’t thought it could be reciprocated. Was she trying to push me away? Afraid of what might happen between us? Making up this shit so I’d drop her from the crew, so she wouldn’t have to face her feelings?

In a fit of frustration, I blurted out, “Fine, yes, you could be the leak. Happy now?”

Her reaction was immediate, hurt flaring her eyes. “You admit it? You think I'm the rat?”

I raised my hands, trying to backpedal. “No! No, I... I don't know what to think anymore.”

She stood up, anger radiating off her. “Thanks for the trust, Dakota. I’ll see myself out.”

I watched her go, feeling like I'd shot myself in the foot. The door closed with a finality that sounded like the trap door on a gallows. The heist, the plan, everything, the carefully woven fabric of my plan – it was all unraveling, and McKenna was the thread I shouldn’t have pulled.

9: The Storm Unleashed

After McKenna left, I felt like a pool player who'd sunk the eight ball too early – I'd messed up, big time. I needed to clear my head, but instead, I found myself punching in Kal's number.

“Dakota? What's up?”

“Kal, we've got trouble,” I said, my voice tight as a drum.

I could almost hear her ears prick up. “Shoot.”

“McKenna was here. She thinks she’s the leak. Or rather, she thinks I think she’s the leak.” Saying it out loud didn't make it sound any less complicated.

There was a sharp intake of breath from Kal. “That's a messy plate of spaghetti.”

I snorted, despite the gravity of the situation. “Understatement of the year.”

“Okay, spill the beans. What exactly did she say?” Kal’s voice was like a steady hand on my shoulder.

I recounted the whole sorry mess with McKenna, leaving nothing out. Kal was quiet on the other end, letting me ramble.

“Okay, this is confusing even for me. Was this her way of admitting she’s the leak, and clearing out before you found out? Or is there something more?” Kal finally said.

I paused. “I don’t know, Kal. I mean, you vouched for her, but everything feels off.”

“Look, I get it,” she said, the gears turning in her head. “Let’s not jump the gun and start looking for a new locksmith. Is there anything concrete that makes you think McKenna’s dirty?”

I thought about it. “Not really. It’s a gut feeling, you know? Too many coincidences. With Mort sniffing around, Sal’s mood, the Families...”

“Gotcha.” Kal's voice was calm, the eye of my hurricane. Then she dropped the bombshell. “Did you think that maybe, just maybe, this is about you and McKenna, not the job?”

My cheeks heated up. “That’s not... I mean, I wouldn’t let that get in the way...”

She laughed, a sound that usually irritated me, but right now, it was a relief. “You’re not fooling anyone, Dakota. But okay, I'll look into McKenna, and do a deep dive. I’ve known her casually for years, but I’ll admit, I haven’t been that close. I’ll fix that. If she’s a rat, I’ll find out.”

Relief washed over me. “Thanks, Kal. I need to know.”

“Don't mention it. Keep your eye on the prize, alright? We’re too close to let this fall apart now.”

“Will do,” I promised, a little more confident now.

After hanging up, I was restless, prowling my apartment again. By midday, I couldn't stand it anymore. I threw on my trusty leather jacket and high-tops, needing to walk, to feel the city around me, anything to shake off the cabin fever. Stepping out into the street, I tried to lose myself in the bustle of the city, letting the noise and chaos drown out the storm in my head. Kal would find out that McKenna was someone I could trust, and with any luck, Sal would come through.

I set off, no particular destination in mind, and wouldn't you know it, a sedan that might as well have had 'undercover' painted on the side pulled up beside me. They always think they’re subtle, but it’s the type of car that screams to anyone with a halfway decent set of eyes, ‘Hey, I'm with the fuzz.’

I played it cool and kept walking. Dreaming up a heist isn't a crime. If it were, half the mystery writers in the world would be wearing stripes instead of tweed. My recent history was cleaner than a preacher's Sunday best. I hadn’t lifted so much as a pack of bubble gum in weeks, and there wasn’t anything in my apartment that couldn’t stand up to a tax audit.

The guy in the passenger seat rolled down his window. “Chase. We want to talk to you.”

I kept my pace steady. “And I want to finish my walk.” He had this Samuel L. Jackson look, minus the cool factor. His being on street duty told me he wasn't exactly detective of the year.

“Don’t make me make this official, Chase.”

Ah, the trump card. I let out a sigh, feeling like a balloon losing air, and ambled over to their car. The guy gestured to the back seat with a look that was part annoyance, part grudging respect. Okay, maybe mostly annoyance. I slid into the back, the seat groaning under me. The driver was the strong, silent type. He probably thought he'd be running the precinct by the time he hit thirty and looked tough enough to crack walnuts.

We started driving, nobody talking. The silence was as thick as the tension. Finally, the driver spoke up. “You know why we're here, Chase.”

“Yeah? That makes two of you.”

“You've been busy, Chase. Meeting some interesting people.”

I clenched my jaw, keeping my cool. “I've got nothing to hide.”

He shot me a look like he didn't buy a word but kept his mouth shut. Sitting in their car, I knew they weren't buying my innocent act. And yet, something felt off. If this were official, they'd have dragged me to the precinct. This smelled like something the Families would cook up.

I couldn't help smirking. Two could play this game. “So, what's the deal? Missed my sparkling personality?”

The driver's grip on the wheel tightened. “Cut the crap, Chase. We know you're into something big.”

I grinned. “Is that right? Funny, last I checked, this isn't how you conduct a friendly chat. What's the real story?”

The passenger, a little nervously, turned to half face me. “We're not here officially, Chase. This is off the books.”

Now I was having fun. “Let me guess, the Families can't get enough of me, so they sent you two?” The driver's face went red, but he kept quiet. My jab had hit home, and I was feeling pretty good about it. “So where's this road trip headed? Gonna take me to see the big boss?”

“Hungry, Chase?” asked the passenger.

That threw me. “Sure, why not? How about some Chinese?”

Maybe I’d get some answers over dim sum. I’d settle for a good meal. In this business, you take what you can get. I had a hard time keeping my face straight as we pulled into a diner, the kind that's seen more deals and double-crosses than a Broadway show. They led me to a booth like we were about to enjoy a Sunday family dinner, only with more suspicion and less gravy.

“So, what’s good here?” I asked, as one of them shoved a menu at me. “And do you have names? Or are we gonna play a game of ‘Guess Who’s Got a Badge’ first?”

There was a quick, tense exchange of looks between them. “Call us whatever you want, Chase. Just keep it easy,” one of them grumbled, which made me want to stir the pot more.

“Sure thing, Detective... Smith? Jones?” I said, throwing out the first names that came to mind. I picked up the menu, going along with their little act. “So, Detective Smith, what do you recommend?”

The passenger tried to suggest the burger and fries. I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the culinary guidance, Detective Johnson.”

They both looked like they’d rather be anywhere else. Good. I was just getting started. If they were irritated now, they’d be furious in a minute.

The waitress, a perky thing named Doreen, bounced over. “What can I get for you folks?”

“Bring me the most expensive thing you’ve got,” I said, waving at the two detectives. “Put it on their tab.”

As she left, the one I called Smith shot me a look that could curdle milk. “You’re a real comedian, Chase.”

“Hey, you're buying, right?” I replied. “I’m just trying to make the best of the situation. You dragged me here, after all.”

Doreen came back, beaming about some fancy surf and turf dish. Sounded good to me, especially since my last decent meal felt like ages ago. “I’ll have that, thanks,” I said, my stomach grumbling in anticipation.

The detectives settled for the classic cop special – coffee and donuts. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Living up to the stereotype, huh?”

Johnson shrugged, taking it in stride, but Smith looked like he was chewing on a wasp.

Then Johnson got down to business. “We're not here to mess around, Chase. We know you're in deep with something. And we think it’s bigger than you know.”

I arched an eyebrow, taking a good look at Johnson. There was something earnest in his eyes, something that said he was on a mission. The problem with missions is they didn’t pay well and tended to leave the participants sorry and sore. “Not saying I am, but so?”

“We know about the Families planning something big, and we think you’re our best shot at stopping it.”

“Really? You think I’m going to help you take down the Families? You’re dumber than you look. Or maybe you think I’m dumber than I look?” I asked, skeptical as a Swiftie at a Korn concert. “Besides, even if this wasn’t moondust, I know cops like you. You talk a good game, all law and order and shit, but when it comes time to put the bad guys out of business, the evidence disappears. And the loot? Well, lots of you boys are driving fancy BMWs on detectives’ salaries. Something doesn’t add up.”

He leaned in, serious as a heart attack. “We don’t want a piece of the action, Chase. We want to stop it before it blows up.”

I sat back, mulling over his words. It was a twist, alright. The detectives weren’t after a slice of the pie; they wanted to toss the whole thing out the window? That lined up with what Kalili wanted, though she wasn’t above taking a profit. Then again, just because they talked about not wanting a piece didn’t mean they were telling the truth. This little lunch meeting was turning out to be more interesting than I’d expected. As much as I wanted to play it cool, a part of me was itching to find out just how deep this rabbit hole went. I gave in to temptation.

I cocked an eyebrow at Johnson, my voice dripping with badly concealed doubt. “You expect me to buy that? You guys aren't known for your altruism.”

Johnson held up his hands, trying to sell sincerity. “Trust me, Chase. We're straight shooters on this one.”

I wanted to laugh. This had the makings of a bad crime novel. “Let’s say I believe you,” I said, dragging out each word. “What exactly have you got on the Families? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

Johnson looked like he was wrestling with his conscience. Finally, he spilled. “The Families are moving a big shipment of gems. They’re going legit. Sort of. We think they’re going to buy their way into power like they were in the bad old days, really get into running things, but on a national level.”

My mind was racing. Their story was checking out, but how much did they have? One way to find out. “Uh-huh. Sure. They’re just gonna bring in, what a couple billion in gems and nobody will notice? Un-fucking-likely.”

Johnson shook his head. “The real jewels are mixed in with fakes. New York gets tons of that crap every month, for all the shows on Broadway and the fashion industry. Nobody will look twice, and the courts are too bought to let us search the shipment.”

Okay, they did have the details. Maybe these guys could be useful, but every instinct screamed for me to run.

“Chase, you still there?” Johnson's voice broke into my thoughts.

I shrugged, playing off my distraction. “Just digesting. It's a lot to chew on.”

Smith chimed in, sounding suspicious. “You're awfully calm. What’s your angle?”

I smirked. “A talent for keeping my head. You know how it is.”

Johnson cut to the chase. “We need the lowdown. The whole shebang, your plan, everything.”

I almost choked on my laughter. “Sure, like I'd spill my guts to you. Hypothetically, if I were involved, which I'm not admitting.” The detectives exchanged a look. “I wish I could help you,” I said, my voice oozing insincerity. “But I'm just an innocent bystander in all this.”

The waitress swooped in then, saving me from further interrogation. She laid out their coffees and donuts and a salad in front of me. “The surf and turf will be right out.”

“Take your time,” I said cheerfully, relishing the momentary break from the pressure.

But Johnson wasn't letting up. “Come on, Chase. We’re not leaving till you fess up.”

I sat back, enjoying my salad like it was a five-star meal. “You know, for cops out to stop a mob war, you’re awfully focused on nailing me.”

Smith bristled. “We’re trying to stop a bloodbath here, Chase. You think we’re gonna trust a two-time loser like you?”

I laughed it off. “Bloodbath? You know, if I were to plan a heist, which I'm not, it would be a clean job. No mess. What’s this bloodbath you’re talking about?”

Johnson’s face tightened. “The Families play rough, Chase. If things go south, people will get hurt.”

I leaned back, all casual-like. “And that’s my problem how? I’m supposed to be on their side, remember? One big happy law-breaking family?”

Inside I was a knot of nerves. Trusting cops, playing games with the Families – this was a high-stakes poker match where the chips were in money and lives, but what choice did I have? I needed to play along, at least for now, and see where this crazy ride took me.

I was still reeling from Johnson's proposition when he played his next card. “We know you’re not with us, Chase. But you can stop them. If you don’t...”

I bristled at the veiled threat, the insinuation that somehow this was all on me. Pushing back from my half-eaten salad, I stood up, ready to bolt. “Not happening, flatfoot,” I shot back, speaking without thinking. “You’re not pinning your mess on me.”

Johnson looked about as desperate as a cat in a dog kennel. “Sit down, Chase,” he hissed, the 'please' coming out as an afterthought. “We need you on this,” he added, his words softened.

There was something about hearing a cop beg that did wonders for my morale. I reluctantly sat back down. “If I wasn’t starving, I’d be out the door.” I resumed my assault on the salad, showing off how much I was enjoying it.

Smith tried to corner me. “You're in this deep, Chase. Don’t act like you’re clean.”

I scoffed. “Me, clean? Hardly. Today, though, I'm a regular Jane enjoying a salad. You need more than suspicions to pin anything on me.”

Johnson was losing his patience, his voice dropping an octave. “Don’t play us, Chase. We’re not in the mood.”

I stared him down. “I’m not playing stupid games and hiding my name.”

They were so clearly out of their element, it was almost painful to watch. I sat there, taking it all in, trying to decide whether to play their game or not. Trusting cops is about as safe as juggling dynamite. If I was going to do it, I needed to make sure their fuses were pulled.

Right then, my savior, Doreen, reappeared. “Boys, don’t waste those donuts.” I swear, the woman could have run the city better than the mayor.

Smith and Johnson reluctantly nibbled on their donuts, looking like kids forced to eat broccoli. Meanwhile, I savored my salad, relishing their discomfort. Doreen nodded and disappeared again. Smith finally broke the silence. “We know you’re involved, Chase. Spill it.”

They were so one-note, it was like listening to Nickelback on repeat. Maybe they thought if they repeated the same question a thousand times I’d eventually change my answer? Well, they were in for a brutal lesson. I feigned indifference despite the tension. “Look, I might have done time, but if you think I’m the bad guy? I’m flattered, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Doreen chose that moment to bring in my steak. Any thoughts of clever comebacks vanished as I dug in. The steak was heavenly – worth every bit of the cops’ dime. Surprising me, they let me eat, and I did. Halfway through my meal, reality came crashing in. These detectives weren’t going to vanish into thin air. Swallowing a mouthful of steak, I turned my attention back to them.

“Alright, boys. I’ll bite. Let's say I'm theoretically involved in something you’re interested in. What do you bring to the table?”

Smith smirked. “More than you think, Chase. We’re your ticket out of a cell.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s supposed to make me sleep easier?”

Johnson chimed in. “On my honor, Chase. We keep you out of the slammer.”

“Your honor?” I scoffed. “Forget it. I’d rather trust a cat not to trip me in the dark.” Pah. Government promises. Like a magician’s hat – full of surprises and none of them good.

“What’s in it for you? Why help me?”

“We want to stop the Families,” Smith said, with a hint of sincerity I couldn’t discount, despite my instincts. They were consistent, at least.

“And if things go south?” I asked, knowing all too well how my luck tended to turn.

Johnson was quick to add his two cents. “We've got your back, Chase.”

I narrowed my eyes at them both, my bullshit alarm screaming. “Oh yeah? And how do I know I can trust you? You're asking me to put my neck on the line for a pipe dream and a meal. I might be a cheap date, but this is ridiculous. “

Johnson leaned forward, his tone earnest. “Look, Chase, we may not be saints, but we're not looking to double-cross you. We have our interests, sure, but we also have a common enemy: the Families. We want to take them down as much as you do.”

I remained unconvinced, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t care about taking them down, asshole; I want a payday.” I realized too late that I’d all but admitted to planning something, and had to redirect the conversation. “But you haven’t told me what you bring to the table. Keeping me out of a cell? Only if you catch me doing something I shouldn’t, which you won’t, so that’s a big fat nothing. Come on, what else do you have? Besides stale donuts, that is.”

Smith's cocky grin faltered slightly, but he quickly regained his composure. “We may not have the connections you do, but we can provide something invaluable: a distraction.”

I arched an eyebrow, interested despite myself.

“A distraction? What do you mean?”

Johnson exchanged a glance with Smith before speaking. “We have ways of making sure the heat is off you when the time comes. A raid at just the right time can focus their attention away from any irregularities going down elsewhere, you know? But for us to do that, we need to know when the heist is happening.”

My mind raced with possibilities. A distraction could be what we needed to pull off the heist. It’s hard to concentrate on a maybe-threat when all the alarms are ringing. Did I dare trust these two? After all, they were as likely to stab me in the back as they were to help me. Then again, all they wanted right now was a date. Worst case, I could change it and leave them hanging. I weighed my options, but in the end, the lure of a distraction was too tempting to resist. “Alright. You've got a deal. Theoretically.” I waited for them to nod before I added, “Remember, if you screw me over, you'll regret it.” I might be taking the devil’s dollars, but I wasn’t entirely stupid.

A look of satisfaction passed between them. “When’s the job?” Smith asked, keen for details.

“Not saying there is one, right? We understand that?” They nodded without any other prompts. Smart boys. “If there was a heist being planned, it would be happening next Thursday.”

That seemed to satisfy them for now. As I tried to wrap my head around the deal I'd stumbled into, Smith reached into his jacket and fished out a thick wad of bills. He casually flicked three crisp hundreds onto the table. “Consider it a down payment,” he said, smirking like a dog that cornered a kitten. He didn’t know me too well, or he’d realize I wasn’t a helpless kitten.

I eyed the money with a mix of wariness and wonder. It’s not every day you get cops tossing cash at you like you're the winner of some back alley game show. The fresh smell of greenbacks mixed weirdly with the lingering scent of my steak, creating a cocktail of temptation and suspicion in my mind. Could working with these two be a good idea? Or was I going to wake up in a cell with a public defender looking sorrowfully at me, saying he wished he could do something else but recommending I plead guilty?

There was one last play I had in mind. If they already had their hooks in me through Mort, I wanted to know. “We’re gonna have to coordinate, and you’ll understand if I don’t want to give you my cell. You can get me through my PO.” I waited a beat, then dropped his name. “Mortimer Granger.” The moment his name left my lips, their faces went blank, without even a flicker of recognition, which told me all I needed. They weren't connected to Mort's earlier visit, which meant more questions.

Johnson added a few more bills to the pile and dropped a business card on top. They rose to leave, their faces as unreadable as a pair of Easter Island statues. “We'll be waiting to hear from you,” Smith said, his tone leaving an itch in my brain I couldn’t scratch.

I watched them go, a pair of detectives playing it fast and loose with the rules, leaving me sitting in a diner with a steak going cold and a head full of what-ifs. As the bell over the door tinkled their exit, I couldn't shake the feeling that I’d opened Pandora’s box.

What the fuck had I just done?

10: In the Lion’s Den

Dakota: Hey, meeting tonight at the bar, 10pm, sorry for the short notice

My burner phone felt like it was scorching a hole in my pocket as I sent the same message to each member of my crew. I was leaving the diner, my stomach comfortably full even if my mind was roiled. The rest of my meal, paid for by my new best friends, was eaten in blissful silence, and I left Doreen a generous tip. Why not? It wasn’t my money, and I’m sure she dealt with jerks all day. I wasn’t going to splurge on a cab, though. Saving money came naturally to me, at least trying to save money, and I needed the time to think.

Walking home, I couldn’t help but ponder the mess I’d gotten myself into. The cops had left me with a bit of cash, which was nice and all, but it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for the headache of dealing with them. Still, staying out of jail counted as a win in my book. How was I going to juggle these two detectives, keep them away from the real action, and somehow convince my crew that I hadn’t completely lost my marbles? By the time I saw the front door of my fourth-floor walkup, I was still as clueless as when I’d started.

Fishing out my keys, I was comforted by their familiar jingle. “It’s open,” a voice called from inside and I groaned. Kalili. I pushed the door open, ready to lay into her about boundaries and breaking and entering, but she beat me to the punch, handing me a drink. It wasn’t out of my stash, but something good, something she’d brought, the kind you don’t waste.

I knew I was in trouble.

“This doesn’t excuse you from breaking into my apartment,” I grumbled, though the rum was already working its magic.

Kal flashed her grin, the one that could probably get her out of a parking ticket in a no-parking zone. “No?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes.

I took another sip, the warmth of the drink spreading through me. “No. But it helps.” I settled into a chair, my weary legs thankful for the rest. “What’s up, Kal?” Putting aside her breaking in—which, to be fair, was par for the course—Kal being considerate usually meant she had news, and it wasn't the kind you celebrated with champagne.

She leaned against the door frame, her casual stance belying the seriousness of her tone. “Maybe you ought to sit down.”

Didn’t she see I was already sitting? Then a ripple of unease washed through me. Kal wasn’t one to beat around the bush, and the fact that she was even suggesting I sit down meant she had something heavy to drop.

I eyed her warily, waiting for the other shoe to hit me upside the head. “I’m sitting. Spill it, Kal. What’s going on?”

As I sank into my less-than-comfortable chair, Kal pacing around my apartment like she owned the place, I couldn't help but clench my teeth. The fading sunlight cast long shadows across the room, giving the place a feel of a classic detective movie. Except, in this movie, I was the one in the hot seat, not sure if I was the detective, the suspect, or a bystander caught in the wrong story.

Kal stopped her pacing and faced me. “Look, Dakota,” she started, her voice carrying a sense of urgency I didn’t often hear from her. “About McKenna – she’s not our leak. I’ve known her for years, and I wouldn’t have brought her in if I didn’t trust her as much as you trust me.”

I raised an eyebrow. Trusting a stranger was as alien to me as a quiet day. But McKenna didn’t feel like a stranger, hadn’t from the first moment. “Okay, fair point. But just because you’ve never known her to screw you over doesn’t mean she’s not capable of it.” Why was I being so stubborn?

Kal spoke with an intensity that caught me off guard. “Dakota, listen. I've got a story that shows where her loyalties lie.”

I forced myself not to lean in, curiosity aroused despite myself. “Alright, I’m all ears.”

Kal sat on the chair next to me, laying her hand on my arm. “Remember that botched job in Queens a few years back? The jewelry store heist on Jackson Avenue?”

I nodded. It was one of those stories that made rounds in our circles – a cautionary tale of near-misses and sloppy planning. “Heard about it. They were a hair's breadth from a long vacation courtesy of the state.”

“McKenna was part of that crew, She was the inside man – got them through the security like a ghost. Here's the thing – when the heat showed up, instead of bailing, McKenna stuck her neck out and warned the crew. She could've easily walked away, let them take the fall, but she didn't.”

Huh. That spoke well for McKenna. If Kal’s tale was true, it painted McKenna in a different light – less of a potential rat and more like one of us. Then I remembered McKenna’s words about people changing, and reconsidered my reconsideration. As if she sensed my resurgent doubt, Kal continued.

“That’s not the only time. There was this other job, bigger, uptown. McKenna got caught up in it, and when the Feds leaned on her, she clammed up. She could've cut a deal but she stayed silent and took the hit for her crew.”

I leaned back, letting the information sink in. It painted a picture far more similar to the one I’d had in my mind before Mort made his unexpected appearance. McKenna, for all her rough edges and mysterious past, seemed to be someone who stood her ground, loyal to those she worked with.

“You see? McKenna’s solid. She’s not our problem.”

I exhaled a long breath. “Alright, Kal. I appreciate what you’ve done, and I’ll admit, I didn’t want to think she was our rat. You’re vouching for her again, and I trust you. That’s good enough for me. McKenna stays.”

Kal’s smile was one part satisfaction, one part I-told-you-so. “You won’t regret it. She’s solid, Dakota, absolutely—”

I cut her off. “Stop, Kal. I already agreed. But if we’re wrong, we deal with it. You and me, you understand?”

“More than you could possibly know. I’m glad you see it my way.”

“Out of curiosity, Kal, how’d you get this intel?” I asked, half-expecting her to pull out some secret spy gadget.

Kal grinned, that daredevil grin of hers that could mean anything from ‘I just saved your ass’ to ‘I just blew up your car for fun’. “Let’s just say I’ve got ears in places you wouldn’t believe. It’s amazing what people will say about you, Dakota, when they think no one’s listening.”

I snorted, not sure whether to be impressed or worried. “Me? I’m nothing special.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“Why? There’s a thousand people just like me in this city.”

“Because you don’t think the rules apply to you. You play the game your way. That’s what they like about you, even if they gripe about losing out to our crew.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her explanation, even if it was as clear as mud. Kal had a way of turning the world upside down and making it look like it was supposed to be that way.

Kalili recognized my confusion. “You’re special, Dakota. There aren’t many people like you around, but you’ve pulled a bunch of them together. I have connections that specialize in people like us. You know, the good people who do the wrong thing for the right reasons.”

I snorted. “You mean because we’re broke?”

“Because you reject the BS that society tries to foist on you for rules. Let me tell you a secret, Dakota: it’s all a game, and nobody’s keeping score. Play to have fun.”

“Hmm.” It certainly appealed to my sense of the ridiculous, even if it didn’t answer my question. We fell into a comfortable silence then, with the McKenna problem shelved, or at least deferred. With McKenna not the answer, the question came back: who was? Worse, if she wasn’t the leak, then I’d have to deal with that stupid, ridiculous schoolgirl crush, which was another challenge. Then there were the cops, and...

Sitting there, my mind racing like a hamster on a wheel, I felt Kal's gaze on me. She had a knack for reading me like one of those open books with large print. It was unsettling, to say the least.

“Why don’t you look happier, Dakota?” Kal prodded, her curiosity sharp as the pocketknife I always carried.

I gave her a wry smile. “You’re too good at this, Kal.”

Her laughter was brief but genuine as she clapped her hands in glee. “You should see me with my wife,” she retorted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Just as I thought I'd managed to deflect her, she leaned in, her detective instincts kicking in. “What's eating you, Dakota? Spit it out.”

I knew I couldn't dodge her forever. “There might be something,” I admitted. To stall for time I poured her a drink before settling back into the chair.

Kal accepted the drink with a knowing nod, waiting patiently as I gathered my thoughts. I took a deep breath and began.

“I was enjoying a nice, solitary walk when these detectives decided to play tag,” I started, my frustration evident in my voice. “They cornered me in an unmarked car, spouting some nonsense about wanting to chat.”

Kal’s brow furrowed as she listened. “Then what?”

“They hauled me off to a diner and tried to squeeze me about the heist,” I continued, the memory making my blood boil. “Tried to weasel their way into our plans, but I wasn’t having any of it.”

Kal’s face contorted into a scowl. “Those dirty, underhanded...” she trailed off, muttering a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush.

I nodded, sharing in her sentiment. “I played dumb, gave them nothing. We’re still holding all the cards.”

She raised her glass in a toast to my cunning, but lowered it when I didn’t match her. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

I sighed, knowing I couldn’t keep it from her. I needed to walk to force the story out, but my steps across the cramped space of my apartment felt like trudging through mud. “Alright, Kal. I might have agreed to something a little crazy.”

“A little crazy? Dakota, that’s not like you.” Her eyes twinkled. Crazy was her department.

“I know, I know.” My feet continued on automatic, my mind gibbering at my lapse in good sense.

“Okay, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. You’re the brains of this operation; I’m just your second.”

Encouraged by Kal’s faith in my abilities, I took a deep breath, held it for a two count, then blurted, “I may have agreed to let them help and told them the date.”

Her eyes widened, disbelief etched across her face. “You did what now?”

Now that I’d revealed it, I rallied to my defense. I raised a hand, preempting further eruptions. “Hear me out. I’m thinking we play them. Use them as a distraction, then cut them loose before they know what’s hit them. Like in that movie with the heist, you know?”

Kal squinted at me, sizing up my harebrained scheme. “We double-cross the double-crossers?”

“Exactly,” I said, my voice more confident than I felt. “We use their interference to our advantage.”

“And the crew?” Kal asked another question I desperately wanted to avoid.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I’ll bring everyone up to speed tonight. Starting with McKenna.”

Kal exhaled deeply, her dismay shifting to her usual can-do attitude. “Alright, Dakota. I trust you. But you’d better be sure about this.”

I mustered a grin, though it felt as shaky as a three-legged table. “As sure as you are about McKenna. I’ve got it all under control.”

Kal grunted a laugh, already on her phone, fingers tapping away with purpose. This couldn’t be good.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t look up from her task. “I’m setting up your meeting with McKenna. You’ve got till 9:30 to figure out how you’re going to apologize.”

Damn. Kal had me in a corner, and she knew it. As I watched her expertly orchestrate my impending grovel-fest, I realized I was in deeper than I thought. Now, not only did I have to juggle a heist and two nosy detectives, but I also had to mend fences with McKenna.

Great. No pressure.

11: Fractured Alliances

Kal and I were still fussing over the final touches of what she dubbed “Operation Grovel” when it was time to meet the rest of the crew. It felt like we were trying to put a band-aid on a bullet hole, but it was the best we had.

The SVG was quiet when we walked in, a sharp contrast to the chaos I was expecting later. Keston was elbow-deep in a task that had him more engrossed than I’d ever seen him. The acrid smell of solvent filled the air, overpowering the usual aroma of stale beer and peanuts. I watched, puzzled, as he meticulously worked on a high-end whiskey bottle. “Hey, Keston, what's with the arts and crafts project?”

Without looking up, he grunted, “Bosses want to rebrand some fancy whiskey. Crown Regal or something like that.”

“Crown Regal, huh?” I wondered if the bosses were aiming a bit high with their aspirations.

Keston kept scrubbing. “Yeah, I'm prepping the bottles. Gotta get these labels off before I put the new ones on and fill them.” He nodded toward a stack of papers. I guessed they were the rebrand. I didn’t want to know what they were going to be filled with, so I decided not to pry further into the SVG’s dubious business ventures. “Anyone else here?”

Keston nodded towards the back room. “Your new whiskey’s waiting for you. Two fingers of Johnny Black.”

McKenna. She was punctual, dammit. I nodded. “Keep the Irish Coffee on hold. The rest will join soon.”

Keston slid a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label across the bar towards me. “Peace offering,” he muttered.

Great. If McKenna was already putting out fires with whiskey, and Keston picked up on it, this was going to be more delicate than I thought. I took the bottle, a lifeline in a stormy sea. “Thanks, Keston.”

He didn’t even grunt, his attention already on the bottles.

The walk to the back room felt longer than usual, like marching towards the gallows. Outside the door, I paused, taking a deep breath. This was it – time to face the music and dance like I'd never danced before. I pushed the door open, bracing myself for whatever lay ahead.

“I thought Kal asked me here.” There was no warmth in that voice, and I almost chickened out. McKenna was staring at me, those brown eyes flint-hard and boring through my skull. She had a look in her eyes that said she wasn’t buying any half-baked excuses. I had to come clean, but in a way that didn’t make me look like a complete moron.

“She did. For me.” I set the bottle on the table and took a seat that, though it put my back to the door, allowed me to face McKenna directly. I had one shot to apologize, and I wasn’t going to fuck it up by not making eye contact.

“I didn’t think we had anything else to say.”

I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling the import of the words I needed to say. “Look, McKenna, I owe you an apology,” I began, my voice low and sincere. “I shouldn't have doubted you. I let my suspicions get the better of me, and for that, I'm sorry.”

McKenna's expression softened slightly, but the hard edge in her eyes didn't fade. “You’re damn right you owe me an apology. You had no reason to accuse me like that, especially without any evidence.”

I winced at the truth in her words, feeling every bit the idiot she thought I was. “I know, and I'm truly sorry. I let my fear cloud my judgment, and I shouldn't have. You're new, but Kal’s always had my back, and I should've trusted her. And you.”

“So why didn’t you?”

McKenna had a knack for hitting me where it stung. I was going to have to face my inadequacies, but it was a reasonable price to pay. “I don’t have good luck,” I began. She didn’t reply, waiting for more.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, since I was a teenager, and I’ve chased every damn rainbow that little green bastard could sing up.” A corner of her mouth twitched. “The problem is, every time I think I’m finally going to catch it, something goes pear-shaped, and I end up right back where I started, and the loot’s in someone else’s hands.”

I saw a glimmer of sympathy on her face, and I recalled her ex. Yeah, she’d understand, because she’d stepped in the same steaming pile at least once. “I’ve never been caught for a major job, which means I haven’t had long stints behind bars. You could look at all of them as wins, but when you’re hoping for Benjamins and end up with bus fare, it’s hard to feel that way. I guess I figured this time, my luck wasn’t even going to let me get a whiff. I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” I shrugged. There wasn’t much more to say, but my mouth kept going.

“I was afraid, and I looked for an out.” I didn’t mention how many levels my fear ran, but that was a discussion for another day.

McKenna studied me for a long moment, her gaze searching my face for any hint of insincerity. Finally, she let out a heavy sigh and shook her head. “That is truly fucked up, Dakota. You know what’s scarier? I can almost see where you were coming from. But I guess we all make mistakes. How are we gonna fix this one?”

I met McKenna's gaze, grateful for her willingness to move past our recent tensions. “We start by focusing on the job,” I replied, my hands shaking but my voice steady. “We've got a heist to pull off, and I need you to do it.”

McKenna nodded in agreement. “That’s a good start, keeping our eyes on the loot.” She leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful. “You were right about something else yesterday. We need to figure out who the leak is. I didn’t do it, and you didn’t. So who did?”

I mulled over her words. “Good question. I’m not sure how we find out. We can't exactly ask without tipping off whoever's behind it. I think for now, we just keep an eye out for anything off, you know? And if we catch them in the act, we come down like the hammer of god.”

McKenna flashed me a small smile. “Damn right we will. You’re my crew now.” A shiver passed through my core at her words, and I crushed it. “No one messes with us and gets away with it.”

That brought my thoughts to the cops. A question sprang to mind and ran right out my mouth before I could arrest it. “Wait. How did Mort and the detectives both know about the heist, but not about each other? At least, the detectives didn’t know Mort. I don’t know if Mort knows about them.”

McKenna raised her hands in confusion. “What detectives?”

I smiled sheepishly, realizing my error. “That’s what I’m telling everyone about in, uh, fifteen minutes.” I laid it all out for her, knowing I’d have to do it again but wanting to demonstrate my trust in her. I’d screwed up once, and I wasn’t going to do it again. Whether that was Dakota the planner talking or Dakota with a crush, well, I didn’t know.

“Okay, I can see they sort of had you over a barrel, but how are you gonna turn this around?”

I was saved from answering by a knock on the door and Kal’s voice. “I didn’t see McKenna run, so I figure you two kissed and made up. If you’re still kissing, stop it. Everyone’s here.”

My face burning, I slid around to the seat next to McKenna, noting that she flushed at Kal’s words too.

“We’re decent,” I said, and the door opened. Kal entered, scoped out the table, and settled on the other side of McKenna with the tray. She slid my rum and cola to me, and then there were a few moments of confusion and chatter. McKenna and I kept our little discussion to ourselves as the others gave updates.

Sierra continued digging into anything she could latch onto in HIP, though she was finding it tough sledding. “Those paranoid SOBs have more advanced encryption than the casinos in Vegas.”

“Can you get Chelsea’s name onto the list of approved rideshares? Her car? Whatever?”

“Oh, that was easy.” She knocked back her rum and poured a second. “I dug into the IRS records to find out who gets W-2s from businesses in HIP, then cross-checked with the rideshare companies to see who had which app, then—”

My eyes glazed, and not from my as-yet untouched drink. “Fine, good. Chelsea’s in?”

Sierra was a little annoyed at being cut off, but said, “Yeah, she’s in.”

“Great. Chelsea?”

“I took a couple of jobs there today, quick rides, so they’re gonna get used to seeing me. I’ll have to figure out which roads are the fastest because I don’t know that area well. It might take a day or two, but I want to have the rep of someone who knows all the best routes, you know?”

I cut her off, too. “I do. McKenna, what about you?” I was determined not to seem to be playing favorites.

“Nothing to report yet. Like you said the other day, until we get an idea of the security around the gems, I can’t start planning. I’m brushing up on the high-end systems, though. All I can do for now.”

“Why the meet, Dakota?” Sierra asked. “It’s not your style.”

For the third time, I ran through my encounter with Smith and Johnson. Before I could get to the kicker, my agreement, Sierra jumped in.

“Did you get pictures of them?”

“Huh? No. But...” I rummaged through my pockets before finding the card Johnson gave me. “I have this.”

Sierra snatched it from me and examined it. “Did you call them yet?”

“No. I wanted to talk with you all first.”

“Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll have them ID’d and hung out to dry.”

I held up my hands. “Hold on. There’s more.”

Every face turned to me, including McKenna and Kalili’s. I appreciated their acting skills.

“I made a deal with them. They’re gonna help us—”

I didn’t get any further as everyone, including Kal and McKenna, started yelling at once. I let them go. They needed to vent, and I needed time to take the nebulous wisps of a plan and solidify them. The rum and cola helped. After several minutes of abuse, I had my plan as close to ready as I was gonna get, so I stood and slammed my hands on the table, making McKenna’s bottle wobble. “Shut up!”

Stunned by my outburst, they shut.

Time to play my cards. “Look. Sierra, Chelsea, Kal, you’ve all trusted me before. None of us have ever gotten nailed on a job that I planned, and I don’t intend to start now. This is a curveball, yeah, but I can make it work for us.”

“How?” asked Chelsea.

“If you give me a minute, I’ll tell you.” I paused a heartbeat, then continued. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re still doing the heist our way, but we’re moving the timetable up. Kal, the jewels go out next Friday?”

She nodded, red hair tossing about.

“Then we’re gonna lift them Wednesday. Sierra, new priority. I need eyes inside that building so we can learn the routines. Do they sort them 24/7? Or is it a part-time job? Who stays in there? What do they do with the jewels after they’re sorted?”

Sierra nodded. “Yeah, okay. I can get that.”

“Kal, once Sierra gets us those pictures, I’ll need you to get us two boxes, identical to the one the real jewels are in.”

“I know a guy.”

I smiled a genuine smile. “Of course you do. Chelsea, that perfect sedan you found?”

She regarded me with suspicion. “Yeah?”

“Find another one. My plan calls for two cars, but they’ve got to be identical. You with me on that?”

Chelsea was used to rolling with my punches. “No clue, but okay.”

“We’ll do some mods to mine. Tomorrow, or the day after, this weekend for sure. Whenever Kal gets the boxes.” Chelsea nodded again.

“But what’s the plan, Dakota?” McKenna insisted.

“I’m getting there. Wednesday night, we hit HIP. I can pass for Chelsea if I wear a wig, so we’ll be using both cars, and I’ll have the other empty box. I want the guards used to seeing it in the trunk, just sitting. Chelsea, as soon as Kal gets them? Start driving yours around.”

“Makes sense, I think.” She didn’t sound convinced, but it was driving. She’d do it.

“Sierra, on Wednesday, you set up an inbound ride, with an ID that matches McKenna’s photo. Chelsea brings McKenna in with an empty box and then leaves. McKenna does her magic, grabs the bundle, and lets me know. We’ll work out the timing once we know the security.” McKenna nodded. “Kal and I drive in, McKenna dumps the loot into the hidey hole, and I drive out.”

“Won’t they get suspicious if you drive right out with me?” Kal looked puzzled.

“No, because your story is you had to come back to do time-sensitive paperwork you missed. The guards will understand you not wanting to get into trouble, and that’ll explain the quick in-and-out. Worst case, we slip them some cash. Don’t you have some of those fakes left?”

“Oh, the bank job a couple years ago? Yeah, they’re great for poker night with our friends.”

“Good.” I waited for nods before continuing. “Meanwhile, McKenna goes back in and fills the original box with fakes from the pile they’ve already sorted and leaves it where she found it. A little bit later Chelsea returns, complaining to the guards about McKenna. They let her through, she picks up McKenna, and they head out.”

“What about you?” Chelsea said. “They searched my car both times today.”

“That’s why you need to be busy. They’re gonna get bored searching you, and I’m betting that by next Wednesday they won’t even stop you. Even if they do, what are they gonna find? An empty box.”

“And you?”

I smirked. “Same. That’s why we’re doing the mods. Anyway, I drive out with Kal, Chelsea drives in, picks up McKenna, and we’re home free.”

“This all assumes I can break their security,” McKenna said, but I waved her off.

“I have faith in your abilities.” It was the right thing to say, and she lit up.

Sierra frowned. “Where do the cops come in? I didn’t hear anything.”

“Thursday. We do it all again, simplified. Chelsea and McKenna go in with the empty box to pick up a load of fakes. Sierra, you’ll have to plant the order in the security system, because I’m sure one of the bright boys will check.” The IT specialist nodded. “You go in, load up the box with fakes, and head back out. They can test them if they want, but they’re just fakes, so who cares? And the paperwork will match up.”

I could see everyone thinking it through, so I gave them a minute before I hit them with the rest. “As for the cops, I’ll get them to pull an emergency evacuation, or some shit like that, at the far end of HIP. Maybe a raid. Doesn’t matter what the specifics are, as long as it’s big and noisy with lots of flashing lights. The whole nine yards. I figure they’ll try to intercept us between HIP and here, wanting the loot, and we won’t argue at all. Nope. We’ll hand over the box and smile.”

Kal’s face split into a grin. “And they get paste jewels!”

My smile matched hers. “Exactly. Friday, the Families realize they’re burned, and what do they remember from the night before?”

“The cops!” said Sierra, laughing.

“Got it in one. We won’t even be on their radar. The Families won’t believe the cops don’t have the jewels, and the cops won’t admit that they got duped. They might come looking for me, but I’ll have an ironclad alibi.” I hoped. This was the iffy part, but I figured Uncle Sal would speak up for me if I asked him.

“But what about your PO?” Sierra asked. “He knows who we are.”

“He won’t be a problem. McKenna, this one is you and me.”

She was ahead of me. “A little breaking and entering? Maybe some file removal?”

I nodded. “Mort’s so old-fashioned he puts everything on paper and keeps all the copies. Nothing electronic. If the file he has on my known associates is replaced by one naming different cons, ones who can prove they were nowhere near New York on the night in question? Between that and my alibi, no matter what he suspects, he’ll have to drop it.” Another idea crystallized, and I tossed it out before it could shatter. “Kal, don’t you know people in shipping?”

“Ye-es,” she drawled. “Here and there.”

“Think you could get someone to take a box of fakes to, say, Gabon? Moldova? Indonesia?” I rattled off a few countries that didn’t cooperate with US authorities. I think McKenna recognized them for what they were and raised a questioning eyebrow. “What? In this line of work, lack of extradition can be useful.”

“Yeah, probably. We’ll need a third box.” McKenna ticked them off on her fingers. “One for the Families, one for the cops, and one to ship.  Unless we want to store the jewels in something else until we can offload them, but that’s just one more moving part. KISS, right?” I grinned at the acronym for Keep It Simple, Stupid, because this plan was anything but simple. “And fakes to fill the one heading overseas. I can bring them out the first night. Easiest, I think.” I was impressed with McKenna’s ability to think on the fly, but I didn’t have time to tell her so.

Instead, I turned to Kalili. “Will that be a problem?” Kal shook her head. “Good. Make the arrangements, and have them sail on Friday. Chels, we’ll have to modify your sedan the same way. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Dakota, how are we paying for all this? The material list is getting pretty hefty, which means the bill’s getting bigger,” Chelsea commented.

“I brought the job, I’m covering the expenses,” Kal answered. “I’ll get paid back out of my cut.”

That was standard for our jobs. Whoever brought it, paid, then got the first taste of the loot. There were a few minutes of questions for her, which she evaded with the skill of a diplomat before we turned back to the heist.

“Why are we sending a box on a ship?” Sierra asked.

“I think that Smith and Johnson will figure out the box we give ‘em is bogus, so they’ll come find me. When they do, I’ll tell them we’re shipping the real ones overseas to avoid any sticky issues and to save us all. I mean, we can’t give the Families what we don’t have, right? And the whole point of this is to keep the gems out of the Families’ hands, so who cares where they end up? They told me today they don’t want a taste of the profit.” Was that a hint of evil in my grin?

“I don’t believe ‘em. If they’re as bent as I think they are, they won’t be able to argue, and if they’re not? If they’re just superhero do-gooders? Then it’ll accomplish what they need. Once they think the gems are out of our hands, we’re in the clear. By the time they figure out which boat, it’ll be well beyond territorial waters. I don’t think anyone has the juice to get the Navy involved, but if they do? ‘Glass? We put the real ones on there, honest!’ They’ll be busy running around in circles.”

Sierra frowned, then brightened and said, “What if we put a few real ones on top? A layer, so if they catch the ship somehow and test the gems, they might think they got the real ones? It might buy us more time.”

“Good idea.” I looked around the table. “Kal, you’ll have to hold the real ones. I know you have somewhere safe to stash them.”

She nodded. “I do. Secure enough that neither Heaven nor Hell can get their hands on ‘em.”

“So that’s it. That’s the plan. What do you think?”

There was a quiet moment, then McKenna raised her refilled glass. “Fuck the man, fuck the Families, and fuck the system. Let’s do it.”

Everyone clinked glasses and took a deep draught. We were doing this thing.

Counting Chickens

12: A Dance with Danger

Morning crashed into my world like a sledgehammer through glass. I was in that hazy place where the night before felt like a distant dream. I couldn't quite believe I'd been a part of it, sharing a few too many drinks with the crew, laughter, and ludicrous plans for spending our hypothetical riches. And then there was McKenna...

I whimpered and buried my face in the pillow, trying to block out the cruel light of day. The pounding in my head had its own rhythm section. Then reality decided to twist the knife.

“Not so loud,” came an unexpected voice, sounding like I felt.

“McKenna?!” The word slipped out in a tone that was a equal parts horror and bewilderment. I rolled over, forcing my eyes open, and there she was, hair looking like it had been styled in a cyclone. Dawning realization was spreading across her face.

“Good morning, sunshine,” McKenna croaked out, her voice hoarse but amused.

I squinted against the daylight's assault, memories of the night beginning to surface like flotsam after a storm. “What the hell happened?” I mumbled, more to myself than to her.

McKenna shrugged, a sheepish smile on her lips. “Last I remember, we were doing our best impressions of drunken sailors.”

“Great,” I grumbled. “This isn’t exactly in my playbook, you know.”

Her laugh soothed my headache. “Nor mine, but here we are, thanks to a little too much Johnny and not enough sense.”

I shot her a glance, a smirk tugging at my lips despite the situation. “Not enough sense. I’ll have to add that to my résumé. Right next to ‘occasional fool’ and ‘unwitting participant’.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t waver. “Kalili’s probably patting herself on the back as we speak.” She paused, then said, “Do you think we...”

I shook my head hard and immediately regretted it. “No!” I recoiled at my harsh tone and tried again. “I mean, not that I don’t want to, but—”

McKenna saved me from stumbling over my words more than I had. “Yeah. Me neither.” There was a wistfulness in her tone that gave me hope that whatever might be between us, we hadn’t wrecked it in a drunken haze. I lay back, next to her, and tried to pull details from my addled brain. Nothing.

As my brain tried to switch gears from hungover to problem-solving, I became uncomfortably aware of the warmth of the bed. I lifted the sheet. A quick glance confirmed my suspicion – yep, clothes were another casualty of last night, along with my dignity. McKenna had a tee on, and I, well, I had less. I wiggled my toes and felt a sock. One. Sock.

I cleared my throat, which felt like sandpaper. “Um, McKenna? We might have a situation here.”

Her eyes followed mine to the edge of the sheet, and a flush of pink spread across her cheeks. “Oh. This is unexpected, if pleasant.”

“Unexpected,” I repeated, ignoring the other half of her statement, my voice a bit too high-pitched for my liking. “Who’s gonna be the hero here and face the morning?”

We lay there, the silence thick with shared awkwardness. It was one of those moments where you wish you could hit rewind and start the day over. Or maybe fast forward and find out how it ended. McKenna chuckled nervously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, considering I'm wearing the most clothing, I suppose it should be me.”

I nodded in agreement, relief flooding through me at the prospect of escaping the situation. “Right. I'll, uh, just wait here.”

She climbed out of bed, and I averted my eyes a fraction of a second too late, catching a glimpse of muscular thighs flexing, sending a ripple through my jangled nerves. As McKenna vanished into the bathroom, I was left to confront the chaos of clothes scattered like confetti after a parade. I swiveled out of bed, groaning, searching for my clothes in the jumble. I grabbed a pair of panties, struggling to step into them with as much grace as a one-legged flamingo in a skating rink. The elastic snapped against my skin, a harsh reminder of the night's indulgences.

Cursing under my breath, I fumbled with a top, yanking it over my head. It clung to me like a needy octopus, tangling in my hair and twisting around in a manner that defied physics. It didn’t feel right, and a quick check confirmed my suspicion - not only was it backward, but inside out as well. So much for making a smooth recovery.

With a moan, I attempted to rectify the situation, only managing to make the top more unruly. It was like trying to solve a Rubik's cube while wearing oven mitts. McKenna reappeared, looking annoyingly composed though she was still just in a tee, her grin suggesting she was enjoying the show.

“You're making quite the fashion statement.”

I glanced down. “I was going for the ‘disheveled chic’ look,” I mumbled, face burning with embarrassment. Attempting again to turn the shirt right side out, I ended up in a tangle of limbs and fabric.

McKenna’s laughter filled the room, easing the tension. “It happens to the best of us,” she reassured, stepping in to help untangle me.

Her touch was electric, sending a surprising jolt through me. I quickly stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. “Thanks,” I muttered, straightening my now-correctly oriented shirt.

“What’s the plan for today?” McKenna asked, leaning casually against the doorframe, the tee rising dangerously high on her legs.

“Coffee,” I replied, looking away from temptation. “Coffee sounds like a miracle right now.”

“Café?”

I nodded, unwilling to face the challenge of brewing it here and hoping the fresher air would help. I stepped out of the bedroom, allowing McKenna privacy while she pulled herself together. In a few minutes we headed out, McKenna in the lead, her easy stride a stark contrast to my still-lingering disorientation. As we walked, she launched into a monologue that veered between the bizarre and the hilarious, describing her recent encounters with the city's more colorful characters. Her stories sanded away over the awkward edges of the morning.

“There I was at the corner deli,” McKenna began, “and this guy tries to pay for a sandwich with a sock full of quarters.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A sock full of quarters?”

“Yeah, and the deli guy – he’s this no-nonsense type – looks at him and says, ‘Do I look like a laundromat to you?’”

I chuckled, the image too good not to enjoy, but she wasn’t done yet.

“If you think that’s bad, you’ll love this. It was a few days ago, before your personal chaos demon dropped you into my life.”

Chaos demon. I could see that for Kalili.

“She’s not my chaos demon. She’s an equal opportunity sower of entropy,” I replied, playing along. “She said she’s known you for a while.”

She hooked her arm through mine, an innocent gesture that sent gooseflesh outward from where we touched, steering me around a pile of discarded trash on the sidewalk. “Okay, picture this: I'm at the grocery store, minding my own business, trying to pick out a decent avocado—because, let's be real, finding a ripe one is like winning the lottery.”

I chuckled, nodding in agreement. “Tell me about it. I swear, I've spent half my life squeezing avocados in the produce aisle.”

“Exactly!” McKenna exclaimed, her eyes lighting with enthusiasm. “There I am, deep in avocado contemplation, when suddenly this little old lady comes up to me and asks if I can reach the top shelf for her.”

I grinned, imagining McKenna towering over some sweet old lady like a benevolent giant. “You swooped in to save the day.”

“You know it. But here's the kicker: as I'm reaching for the canned peaches or whatever, I knock over this whole display of cereal boxes. They go tumbling down like dominoes, busting open and scattering cereal everywhere, and I'm standing there, covered in Cheerios and Cap'n Crunch.”

I burst out laughing, unable to contain myself any longer. “Oh man, I wish I could've seen that!”

McKenna joined in my laughter, her infectious giggle echoing off the buildings around us. “Believe me, it was a sight to behold. I haven't seen that many grains since my last trip to the beach.”

Feeling I ought to contribute, I recalled an embarrassing incident from the previous winter. It was the kind of mishap that was both humiliating and hilarious, the perfect fodder for the moment. “You think that's bad?” I was surprised by my eagerness to share my tale of woe. “Last winter, I decided to impress this girl I was seeing by taking her ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

McKenna's eyes widened with interest, her grin growing wider. “Do tell.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up my cheeks. “There we are, gliding along the ice, trying to look all graceful and romantic. Out of nowhere I hit a patch of rough ice and go flying.”

McKenna's laughter bubbled up, echoing down the street. “No way! You wiped out in front of your date?”

I nodded sheepishly, feeling the memory of the fall as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. “Not only did I wipe out, but I managed to take out a whole group of tourists with me. It was like a scene from a slapstick comedy.”

McKenna doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach as tears of mirth welled up in her eyes. “Oh, Dakota, you hopeless romantic.”

I chuckled ruefully, glad that at least my misfortune could lighten the moment. “Yeah, well, I figured if I couldn't impress her with my skating skills, I might as well give her a good laugh.”

“Mission accomplished,” McKenna replied, finally managing to compose herself. “But hey, it's moments like those that make life interesting, right?”

I nodded in agreement, grateful that we’d moved on from the Bed Incident. “Absolutely. Who knows? Maybe one day we'll look back on this heist and laugh about it, too.”

McKenna grinned, her eyes sparkling. “Here's hoping we make it out in one piece first.”

We reached a cozy corner café I rarely frequented, the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafting onto the sidewalk. McKenna pushed open the door, and we stepped inside, greeted by the comforting warmth of the place.

“Two coffees, please,” McKenna said to the barista behind the counter, flashing a winning smile before engaging in the peculiar language of coffee ordering. I found a table by the window, and McKenna joined me moments later, two steaming cups of coffee in hand. She slid one across the table to me, and I wrapped my hands around it gratefully, welcoming the familiar heat.

“So,” McKenna said, leaning back in her chair, “about the plan.”

I took a sip of coffee, buying myself a few precious seconds to collect my thoughts. Back to business, then. Definitely better than talking about whatever this was between us. “Right.”

“I hope Sierra has the information today about the systems in place there.”

“Okay, why?”

“Because if they’re using the high-end security I’d insist on, it’s not something we can go into Radio Shack and pick up.”

I grinned. “You’re not old enough to remember Radio Shack.”

She drew herself up and put on her best indignant look. I tried not to laugh. “I’ll have you know I cut my teeth reprogramming their 49-454 model home security system.”

“You did not.”

“You wanna bet? I can draw their circuitry from memory.” Before I could protest, she pulled out a pen, grabbed a napkin, and started sketching with rapid strokes.

“I believe you, I believe you!” I laughed and took a sip of my coffee.

McKenna pushed the napkin away. “My guess is they’re gonna use a Mach Communications system. Very high-end, uses dedicated servers, but hands-off. No human monitoring, which the Families will want. The fewer eyes on the jewels, the happier they’ll be.”

I frowned. “Why don’t we get a system on that assumption?”

“Because, including install, it’s upwards of a hundred large, and they’re usually backed up four to six weeks.”

I whistled. Kal might be backing the play, but a hundred grand might be too much.

“Yeah. Plus, we need a place to set up, mock it up, and practice. I can do the install with some help from Sierra if we don’t want to answer nosy questions from the techs.”

I shrugged. “I’ve lined up a place in Jersey—”

McKenna recoiled, a look of horror plastered on her face. “Jersey? Really, Dakota?”

“It’s close enough to get to easily, it’s cheap, and it’s not Brooklyn.” I circled back to her main point. “You need to know today?” McKenna nodded. “Let me see what I can shake loose.”

“That’ll be helpful.”

We spent the next few minutes talking about the heist, the weather, anything but how we ended up in my bed. It sat between us, though, a live grenade that could blow up the plan worse than accusing McKenna of being the leak. Eventually, we ran out of small talk, and it wasn’t even eight.

Fuck.

“About last night...” McKenna’s face was a blend of pleased embarrassment and mortified joy that I suspected reflected mine. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, trying to muster the courage to address it. McKenna's gaze met mine, and I could see the same mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes.

“Yeah, about last night...” I began, my voice sputtering out as I searched for the right words.

McKenna let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, that was unexpected.”

Understatement of the century.

I scratched the back of my head, feeling a flush creeping up my neck. “I mean, I don't even remember how we ended up, you know.”

McKenna’s cheeks turned a matching shade of pink. “Yeah, me neither. One minute we're having a drink, and the next?”

“We wake up together,” I finished, a knot forming in my stomach.

We sat in awkward silence for a moment, both of us grappling with the absurdity of the situation. Here we were, supposed professionals planning a heist, and yet we couldn't even remember how we ended up in bed together.

“Well, I guess that's one mystery we'll never solve,” McKenna said with a nervous chuckle.

I couldn't help but laugh along with her, the tension in the air easing slightly. “Yeah, I suppose so. Another unexpected chapter in the saga of our lives.”

McKenna grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, at least we can say we had a memorable morning, even if we don't remember the night.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, and maybe it'll make for a great story someday.”

“Or a cautionary tale,” McKenna added with a wink.

Despite the awkward jokes and nervous laughter, I couldn't shake the whirlwind of conflicting emotions inside me. I glanced at McKenna, her smile still warm and genuine despite the explosive nature of our conversation. She was beautiful, smart, and undeniably charming. And yet. Dammit, and yet. We had a job to do, a heist to pull off, and getting tangled up in a romantic entanglement was the last thing we needed. Besides, even if I did give in to my feelings, what would it change? McKenna just out of a crappy relationship, and I barely knew the woman. And me? I was a planner and strategist, more comfortable with blueprints and schematics than matters of the heart.

No, it was best to keep things professional, focus on the task at hand, and leave any romantic notions behind. With a pang, I pushed aside my desires and squared my shoulders, ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead. McKenna was a tempting distraction, but I couldn't let myself be swayed off-course. I made a silent vow to keep our relationship strictly platonic, no matter how much my heart protested. After all, in the world of heists and high stakes, there was no room for distractions—or broken hearts.

With the tension eased, or at least firmly put aside, we chatted for a while longer until McKenna stood. “I’ve got to get home and get some proper sleep. Three or four hours just doesn’t do it for me.”

I checked the time and winced. “Yeah, I gotta shower, then run to a meeting. As soon as I know about the hardware, I’ll let you know.”

“No problem.”

We stood for a moment, unsure what to do next. I mean, we slept together, so did we hug when saying goodbye? Or were we still at the casual see ya stage?

McKenna rescued me by wrapping an arm around my shoulders and giving me a quick squeeze before separating.

“Meet tonight?”

“If I have anything. I’ll message you later.”

She nodded and headed off down the sidewalk, her strides brisk. I turned around and headed back to the apartment, a shower, and, with luck, a clearer head.

13: The Price of Trust

“Do you know much shit I can get into for giving you this?”

“Nice to see you too, Sal,” I grumped as I dropped into the booth next to him. I was later than I hoped, but I was early for the lunch rush and could get a greasy slice of pizza or two to help my hangover.

“Seriously, Dakota. This is major-league shit you’re playing with.” He tapped the oversized yellow envelope next to him, bulging with what I hoped were plans and schedules.

“Hold that thought.” I flagged down a waiter, a kid I knew named Nicolo, and ordered two slices of pepperoni and water. Pizza was one of my go-to hangover remedies, and who cared if it was breakfast?

“Make it a full pie,” Sal corrected. When I cocked an eyebrow at him, he said, “What? You think I’m gonna sit here and watch you eat? And two beers, that new IPA we got in.”

I shook my head, the motion not as painful as earlier. “No beer for me. Too early.”

He looked indignant. “These are for me. Nic, get that order moving.” The server scurried off. “Dakota, if I’d known what this was when you asked, I would have told you to jump in the Sound, family or no. But I never break my word.” He pushed the envelope to me.

I opened it and peered in. There was a manila folder inside, stuffed full. “Paper? Seriously?”

He shrugged. “The Families are old-fashioned and mistrustful. There’s no reason for me to get into any of the computers and look for anything to do with HIP. I don’t have access. You’re lucky I could get this.” I started to pull the folder out, but he slapped my hand back. “Not here.”

“Why not?”

“Because anyone could walk in. They see you lookin’, they ask, all friendly like, whatcha doin’, and whaddya say?”

I took his meaning and slid the envelope off the table and into my pack.

“Good girl. Dakota, listen to me.” He paused long enough for Nicolo to drop off my water and his beers. I took a sip of water, feeling the cool liquid do little to soothe the knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. Sal's words were like his nickname, a shadow looming over me, providing an unnecessary reminder of the stakes.

I glanced around the restaurant, and I couldn't shake the feeling that every pair of eyes in the room was trained on me. “What kind of trouble are we talking about here, Sal?” I kept my voice low to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.

Sal leaned back in his seat, taking a long pull of his beer before answering. “Let's say the Families don't take too kindly to outsiders sticking their noses where they don't belong.”

I frowned. I’d hoped for something more specific. This much, I’d figured out on my own. “You mean they'll come after us?”

Sal set his beer down with a thud that seemed too loud for the post-lunch quiet of the pizzeria. He fixed me with a look that was part exasperation, part concern. “Dakota, if the Families even get a whiff of you sniffing around, they won’t just come after you. They’ll come after anyone connected to you and their families, friends, neighbors, and probably their pets to be certain.”

I swallowed hard, feeling his words settle in my gut. “You’re talking serious heat,” I murmured, trying to keep my tone light.

Sal nodded once. “Not heat, Dakota. Inferno. The kind of trouble that doesn't go away with a couple of cold beers and a ‘sorry, my bad.’”

The aroma of cooking pizza was suddenly less appetizing. I glanced at the door, half expecting to see a couple of goons in suits walking in, followed by Ray Liotta. Still, I put on a brave face. “No problem, Sal. I know I need to be careful.”

“Careful?” Sal snorted. “You need to be invisible. These guys, they don’t play by the rules. They make them. Right now, you're dancing on their monopoly board with muddy boots.” He shook his head, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “You need to know what you’re up against. These people, they don’t have a line they won’t cross. They find out you’re sniffing around, they won’t think twice about making an example out of you.”

I felt a jab of irritation. I got it; he didn’t need to keep harping on all the dire possibilities. “Thanks for the pep talk, Uncle Sal. Real uplifting.”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “I'm just telling it like it is, kid. You wanted into this world, now you gotta play by its rules.”

Nicolo returned again, bearing a pizza that was still sizzling and bubbling. Despite my unease, the glorious aroma of melted cheese, sauce, oregano, and pepperoni roused my appetite. Sal thanked him with a nod, his gaze never leaving me.

“So,” I said, trying to steer the conversation away from doom and gloom, “what's in the folder?”

Sal took another sip of beer, his expression hardening. “Everything I could find on HIP. Layouts, security, shift changes. The works. But like I said, it's hot. You get caught with this, and I can't help you.”

I pushed my pizza around my plate, the greasy cheese suddenly looking like a biohazard. “Yeah, I get it, Sal. Loud and clear.”

He eyed me skeptically. “You better be. You're playing with fire here, Dakota. And I don’t want to have to explain to your mother why her only daughter ended up wearing cement shoes.”

The threat hung in the air between us, a reminder that this was no ordinary heist. This was the big leagues – and I was stepping up to bat whether I liked it or not.

“Thanks for the heads up, Sal.” I hoped he’d drop it now; he was being fucking monothematic.

He gave me a solemn nod. “Remember, Dakota, there's no going back once set foot out at HIP. You've got one shot at this, so make it count.” He grabbed a slice and took a healthy bite.

Despite my hunger, and my need to push against the hangover, I only managed a single slice. Maybe it was the burden of what Sal had told me, but something kept us both to a single slice. The cooling pizza sat between us, a mute witness to our conversation. When I reached for my wallet, he waved it aside.

“My joint, my treat. When was the last time I let you pay?”

“The day I turned twenty-one and bought my first legal drink.”

Sal laughed, remembering. “You were so determined to do it right. How long had you been buying before that birthday?”

I returned his smile. “Since I was fifteen and you told me that you didn’t care as long as I paid. The price of breaking the law, you said.”

Sal’s gruff chuckle was a brief bright spot in the otherwise heavy conversation. “You always had a knack for bending the rules without breaking them. Just like your old man.”

I rolled my eyes. “Let’s not bring him into this.”

Sal’s expression sobered, and he leaned back, studying me, sharp eyes missing nothing. “Dakota, I’m gonna say this just once more, so listen. You’re not lifting wallets or hustling pool. You screw this up, it’s not just your ass on the line. It’s your entire crew.”

I sighed. “I get it, Sal. I’m not walking into this blind.”

Sal nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Sometimes the smart play is to walk away. There’s no shame in living to fight another day.”

I tried injecting a bit of levity back into the conversation. “Since when did you start spouting fortune cookie wisdom?”

He cracked a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Since my favorite niece started playing with napalm. Just promise me you’ll think things through. No cowboy shit.”

I raised my hands in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”

Sal snorted. “You were never a scout.”

“And you were never a boy scout leader,” I shot back.

“Just be careful, kid. I’ve seen too many good people go down because they thought they were smarter than they were.”

I stood, slinging my pack over my shoulder. “I hear you, Sal. I mean it. We’ll be careful.”

He grunted, the lines on his face deepening. “Don’t make me regret it.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words as I stepped out of the booth. As I walked out of the pizzeria, the like a brick in my pack, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was stepping into something bigger and more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. Sal’s warning echoed in my mind, a reminder that in this game, the stakes were higher than I’d ever played before.

14: Twilight Escapades

I found myself unsure where to go.

The SVG was open, but Keston wouldn’t be on until later and I didn’t have the same understanding with the day bartender. With the information I had in my pack, I didn’t dare go back to my apartment, not after Mort dropped in and the encounter with Smith and Johnson. I had a sudden urge to look over my shoulder for their undercover POS. Instead, I pulled out my phone and called Kal. She answered after two rings.

“Dakota, are you okay?”

“Peachy. Look, can you pick me up?”

I heard a muffled voice, and Kal replying, “It’s Dakota, Faith,” before she was back. “Yeah. Where?”

I gave her an address a few blocks from the Bella.

“Give me twenty minutes. No, make it thirty. Traffic off Manhattan’s a bitch.”

I meandered, stopping at random stores. At one point, in an antique store, I stared into a two-hundred-year-old mirror, checking for tails. Damn, I was getting paranoid, but paranoia was a professional hazard. Given what Sal told me, it might save my life this time around. Thirty-two minutes later, I glanced up from the bench to see Kal’s silver Jag cut across traffic and double park in front of me.

“Subtle,” I said, going to the left side to get in.

“If you got it, flaunt it.” She grinned at me. “And I’ve got it. Besides, it’s not the person who does the flashy things that gets busted; it’s the schlub who tries to walk out with a pack of gum. Where are we going?”

“Your place?”

She arched an eyebrow, pulling back into traffic and cutting off at least three cabs. “Why, Dakota, I didn’t think I was your type.”

“Funny, Kal. You’re anyone’s type.”

“You’ve never met my wife.” Her smile faded as a thought occurred to her. “Okay, so maybe the timing sucks and I should have thought of this earlier, but is this sensitive? I mean, it might be a stretch, asking you to trust her because I trust her with my soul—”

“You mean like you did with McKenna?”

She had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m trying to be noble and shit. If you want Faith elsewhere while we talk, I need to make a call.”

I was touched and a little surprised by her thoughtfulness. “No. I don’t want to pull her in, but I’m not going to throw her out of her home.”

“Damn decent of you.”

We made small talk until we were driving into the garage under Kal’s Manhattan building. I goggled at the new exterior. “Holy crap. Kal, did this place get fancier since the last time I was here?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, we did some improvements. It’s an old building and needed a refresh.”

I didn’t miss the we, but this was new information. “You own the building?”

“We do,” she admitted. I sensed relief in her voice, like she’d wanted to tell me for a while but had to keep it under wraps. “Best kept secret in the city.”

“How so?”

“Well, we’re still charging Sixties-era rent. What?” she said in response to my incredulous look. “It’s our building, and we like knowing our neighbors, so we make it easy for them to stay. The only tricky bit was getting people to sign an NDA as part of their rental agreement.”

“Tell me again why you pull these scams with me?”

“Because it’s fun and I’d rather do this than anything serious. Gods, the paperwork for legit businesses is enough to drive anyone to crime.” She pulled into a spot labeled Owner. In the neighboring Owner spot was a red Mercedes. In front of us was an elevator with a biometric entry pad. Kal did this and that, carefully unconcerned that I was watching, and the doors slid open. She punched the button for the penthouse. “Besides, if I don’t do something shady every so often, my friends worry I’ve lost my touch.”

“I never thought you were an angel.”

“Wash your mouth out! Angels.” She sounded genuinely offended. “Pompous do-gooders who don’t know their asses from their elbows.”

As we ascended in the elevator, I couldn’t help but rib Kal a bit more. “From what you’ve told me, I thought angels were your wife’s type.”

Kal rolled her eyes, her usual playful smirk returning. “Please, Dakota. Faith married me for my devilish charm, not my halo.”

The elevator dinged, opening to a lavish foyer that looked like it belonged in a magazine. I whistled appreciatively. “I see you’ve changed things a bit. Did you add a Matisse? A Renoir?”

“Nah, just a couple of Goyas and a Picasso.” I assumed she was joking, and she didn’t slow, taking my hand to lead me through the foyer into an expansive living room. “Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink? We have water, soda, three kinds of juice, and if you’re feeling adventurous, a 1947 Cheval Blanc.”

“Just a water, thanks. Don’t want you to accuse me of driving up your grocery bill.”

Kal called out, “Faith? It’s me, and I brought Dakota home. You decent, hon?” She wandered off, and I headed for the picture window. Although I’d been here before, it was never a social call, and I never had enough time to enjoy looking around. The view of the island was to kill for, and I found myself in front of the floor-length windows almost without volition.

“Hi,” I heard but didn’t turn around. Kalili must’ve found Faith. I figured I’d give them a moment’s privacy, and there were murmured words. In the reflection, I saw movement, so I pasted on a smile and pivoted.

“Hi, I’m...” My voice dried up like a puddle in summer.

Now, I’m not immune to beauty. After all, I hung out with Kal. But I was used to her! She was a bundle of energy and trouble, wrapped in redheaded beauty and topped with charm to get her out of any situation.

I was unprepared for her wife. Slim, athletic, blonde, and gorgeous. Blondes weren’t my type, and I never imagined chasing one of my friends’ partners.  For her, I might reconsider, if I couldn’t see how utterly devoted she was to Kal. My mind froze, my mouth hanging open. Not my best look.

“This is Dakota. She’s a better planner than talker,” Kal supplied with a wink.

“Nice to finally meet you, Dakota. I’m Faith, Kalili’s wife, partner, and voice of reason.” She held out a hand and I took it, operating on automatic.

“I think you broke the human,” Kal said, laughing.

“Again?” Faith’s answering laugh was musical, and I almost missed the peculiar wording. As it was, I put it aside as unimportant.

“Dakota needs a place to stay for a week or so. It’s kinda impromptu, so she’ll need clothes, toiletries, all of that. I was thinking 28C.” Turning to me, Kal explained. “There are always a few apartments we keep vacant for friends dropping in, parties we don’t want to hold up here, things like that. This one’s only a couple of floors below us, has the same view you’ve been admiring, and is all set up for a home office. You’re welcome to it for as long as you need.”

I jarred my mind into gear, processing what Kal said. “Apartment? What?”

Maybe I didn’t quite process it.

Faith laughed again. “I think you’re right, love. Come on.” She took my arm. “Maybe some food will help her?”

They led me to the kitchen, and I started to recover my wits. By the time I finished the BLT they made, the last of my hangover had passed and I felt more capable of understanding things like, you know. Words.

“Okay, Kal. Take it slow?”

She finished her mouthful, washed it down, and said, “You need a place—”

“How do you know that’s what I want?” I was pretty sure I hadn’t said anything about my worries on the way over and knew I hadn’t said anything during my lunch.

“It is, isn’t it? You call me sounding like you’ve seen a demon. This happens right after meeting with your Uncle, after shit goes south with Smith and Johnson, and oh yeah, your PO dropping by all unexpected-like. What else could it be?”

I frowned, but her logic was sound. “Yeah, okay, that’s what I was thinking. Keep going.”

She nodded, and I got the feeling she was happy to move on. “You need a place to stay for the heist, but you can’t get too far away from your usual haunts. It has to be off the books, so you can’t rent a room in a hotel, and you want it outside your PO and the detectives’ jurisdictions. Finally, it has to be someone you trust. It all adds up to us.”

I didn’t want to rain on her parade, but I needed to know more. “Is this place big enough to hold meetings? You said home office, so I hope so.” I hesitated, then added another consideration. “I love the SVG, but if the cops know where I live, they can find where I hang out.”

Kal grinned. “Come on, you tell me.” Pausing only long enough to give her wife a quick kiss, she snagged a digital key card from what I guessed was her desk before leading me back to her private elevator.

“How long have you owned this place?”

“Long enough to be comfortable,” she evaded. There was something more here, and I almost asked what and why she wasn’t sharing. The doors opening saved her from the follow-up question on my lips, and I trailed behind, walking down the corridor, checking numbers. “Here it is.” She did her thing with the key, pushed the door open, and waved me in. “Let’s see how it fits.”

I walked in and stopped dead. The layout was similar to Kal’s apartment, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows giving a view of the city. To the right was a kitchen that could swallow most of my hovel, and to the left was a hallway.

“Bedroom, bathroom, and office down there.” Kal jerked a thumb at the hall. “Kitchen, dining room next to it, and there’s another bathroom back behind with a laundry set-up. Fully furnished, of course.”

“Of course,” I said dumbly. Hell, that couch probably cost more than a month’s rent, and she was gonna lend this to me? “What’s the catch, Kal?”

“No catch. Call it salving a guilty conscience,” she continued. “I pulled you into this shitshow, and I feel bad about it. I never want my friends to get hurt.” There was pain behind her words, and I knew she had stories that gnawed at her. Now wasn’t the time to pry. “Whatever I can do, I will.” She waved her arms around. “This is nothing.”

“Not to me. I accept.”

It was the right thing to say. Kal’s mood lifted, and she grinned. “Great! Now, come back up and tell me what happened with you and McKenna. Last I saw, you were leaning hard on each other, laughing as you tried to get out the door to the SVG.”

I groaned but knew I’d tell her. After all, what were friends for?

15: Revelations

I was sitting in my temporary digs, admiring the space I had. Seriously, I could get used to this. I mean, not worrying whether my stove was going to catch the couch on fire? Having a place to work that wasn’t three milk crates with a board lashed over the top? It was a luxury beyond belief.

Despite my fascination with the place, the day had been crawling along like a traffic jam on the interstate until my burner buzzed. “Chase,” I answered.

Sierra's voice came through my phone. “Hey, Dakota, you got a problem.” She had a flair for dramatic understatement. It was a tricky mix, but she was a master.

“What’s up, Sierra?” I flicked the phone to the speaker.

“I was gonna swing by your place for the HIP scoop. You got it, right?” Her voice had an unexpected edge. I didn’t think she was worried about the HIP info, so there had to be something else.

I nodded to myself, looking at the spread of papers that Uncle Sal had conjured. “Yeah,” I replied, realizing she couldn't see my head bobbing.

“Well, you might wanna stash it.”

“Why?”

“I walked past a couple of blue POS parked by your building. One empty, the other with a pair of goons doing their best to look inconspicuous,” she said, her tone casual like she was discussing the weather. “I think they’re waiting for you to come out.”

I mulled it over. There had to be a leak; I remembered the old adage about three times being enemy action. It wasn’t McKenna; I couldn’t turn off my trust like flicking off a light. But who? They had to be someone outside my crew, that much I knew, but that was a fucking big pool of possibilities.

I realized I’d been silent too long. “I'm not home,” I said.

“SVG?”

“No.” I gave her the address to Kal’s place.

“Swanky. Also, I got a lead on your detectives.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you the details when I see you.”

The line went dead, and no sooner had I set down my phone than another message buzzed in.

McKenna: You free tonight?

My eyebrows shot up. I didn’t know McKenna half as well as I wanted, but she was a straight shooter, never cryptic. So why was she asking about my plans?

Dakota: Yeah

Keep it short, Dakota. Don't give away your interest!

McKenna: Got some thoughts on Mortimer

Mortimer? That was a curveball.

Dakota: The sooner the better

Then she threw the knuckleball.

McKenna: Dinner?

Panic set in. I couldn't cook to save my life. My culinary skills stopped at pouring milk into cereal. On an extraordinary day, I could make eggs. But sanity, that elusive friend, came to the rescue with a well-timed save.

Dakota: Sure, where?

She sent a name with a Brooklyn address. A public place was good. It meant I had no cooking disasters looming.

Dakota: Meeting Sierra soon, probably take a bit. Six work?

McKenna: I’ll make a reservation in your name. See you

No sooner had I exhaled a sigh of relief than a new crisis loomed.

Dakota: Kal, I need clothes!

Kal replied instantly.

Kal: Be right down.

I grinned. Kalili was many things, including chaotic, infuriating, and utterly insane. She was also the most dependable person I’d ever known in a crunch.

She breezed in a couple of minutes later, a grin playing on her lips. “You picked it, didn't you?” I accused, half-serious.

She raised her hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged. What's the fuss about clothes?”

I filled her in about Sierra, the cops, then McKenna.

Kal eyed me like a chess grandmaster eyeing a board where two eight-year-olds were playing. “What's wrong with what you're wearing?”

I glanced at the shirt and jeans I’d left the apartment in this morning. “Oh, nothing, except McKenna saw me wearing it backward, and I have no idea about the place she wants to go?” I pushed the phone to her with the address.

She examined the phone. “Oh, right. Point.” Kal eyed me up and down, and I felt she was measuring me to the last inch. “You said Sierra’s coming by.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded. “Okay, I’ll pick up this and that from your place. Do you have anything nice to wear tonight?”

I shrugged, the universal language of 'I hope so.' With friends like these, who needs a fancy wardrobe? “It's a business dinner, not a date. Why do I need to look nice?” I argued, frowning at the phone like it had personally offended me.

Kal tapped the screen, emphasizing the address McKenna had sent. “It's not the SVG, Dakota.”

“No kidding, Kal.” I rolled my eyes. She had a knack for stating the obvious.

“I know it. It's a decent place,” she continued. “Steaks, good whiskey, and those cozy booths where you can scheme without being overheard. Not too shabby for a business meet, but you don't want to look like you rolled out of bed and threw on whatever was on the floor.”

“Oh.” I was being eloquent, and she wasn’t far off.

“What do you have that will help you fit in?”

Shit. I didn’t go for fancy. “I have the suit I wear to court?”

Kal’s objection was instantaneous. “No way. Completely wrong vibes. Tell you what, I’ll pick up something on the way. Do you have a suitcase somewhere in your place? Never mind, I have a spare.” She was in motion, heading for the door. “I’ll message when I’m coming back.”

Well. I guess I was going on a not-date tonight in new clothes.

Left to my own devices, I buried myself in the folder of information, trying to focus on anything but the upcoming dinner with McKenna. I was making headway until Sierra arrived The intercom was so clear it was unsettling, nothing like the buzzer at my old place that sounded like a dying frog. It took two buzzes before I placed it, and I rushed through the hall, yelling, “Hold on!”

“Hey, nice digs.” Sierra breezed past me. “Doorman and all. I had to give your name, and they called someone to confirm it, but I’m guessing it wasn’t you?” I shook my head. “Whatevs. Where’s the loot, and do you have anything to drink?”

Completely typical Sierra. I breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s Kal’s place, and I don’t know. We can look.” The fridge was stocked with a few basics, including bottles of water and soda.

“I found glasses.”

I poured, then led her to the living room. Maybe it was silly, but I loved the view, and figured to take advantage of it.

Sierra and I flipped pages in silence for an hour, her camera snapping away, punctuated by muffled exclamations. It took less time than I expected for her to run through the whole stack, while I was still puttering along.

“About those cops...”

She had my full attention. “What did you find out?”

“Well, the one you called Johnson? His name is Marcus Washington, and he’s been on the force for twenty-six years. Up against forced retirement next year.”

That explained the do-gooder attitude. Nothing like the end of a career to make a cop look back and realize how little he’d accomplished. “How did you find that out?”

Sierra smirked. “Traced the phone number back. Easy enough to do, and not even illegal. Well, mostly. From there, I got the credit card he used to pay for the phone and service, and it was all over. You wanna know about the other one?”

I restrained my immediate snark. “Yes.”

“Detective Nilsen Jorgensen. Twelve years. Graduated at the top of his class at the Academy, but stalled out. Wants the rank but doesn’t put in the effort. Both of them work Organized Crime.”

That made sense. Jorgensen was looking for a way to jump-start his stalled career. “Are they bent?”

She waggled her hand. “No more than anyone else in their precinct. Occasional bits of evidence go missing, warrants get served to the wrong place, that sort of thing, but nothing that got more than a sniff from Internal Affairs. If they’re on the take, they’re subtle about it and good at keeping quiet.”

“Any connection to Mort?”

“I haven’t found any.”

Damn, there went that idea. “Shit. If they don’t know Mort, do you think we’re looking at two potential leaks, not one?”

“I didn’t say that. I said I haven’t found a connection. Your PO is practically prehistoric, you know that?”

I did, but hearing it from her helped. “Yeah. Anything in particular tip you off?”

“He has a cell, but only because the office issued him one and forces him to carry it. He uses it maybe sixty minutes a month, according to the records. No personal cell phone, no social media, no online presence at all.” Her eyes widened. “He has a land line, Dakota, and pays for cable!”

I chuckled at her reaction. I was a Millennial, but Sierra was a hardcore Gen Z and couldn’t understand how people could exist without being online.

Sierra stood. “I’ve got a copy of Jorgensen and Washington’s info here.” She tossed a flash drive on the table. “This baby's a one-time-use-only kind of deal. Plug it in, and it's married to that machine. Try anything funny, and it self-destructs. So, think before you plug.”

I pocketed the flash drive, feeling like I was in a spy movie. “Thanks, Sierra. I owe you one. Do you want any of the papers?”

“No, I captured them all and sent them to my home rig. My pet AI’s already working on breaking it down.” Sierra was always a step ahead, probably even in her sleep.

As my mind wandered to McKenna and the upcoming dinner, a thought struck me. “What security system are they using? Is that in there? I hadn’t found it yet.”

Sierra nodded. “Yeah, Sentinel Security Solutions. Decent, but not Fort Knox. They've got some holes we could dance through. I’ll dig into it, get us set up with an install.”

“Thanks. What about the inside scoop? Safe model? How's this sparkly stuff secured?”

She shrugged. “Not in the snapshots, but my system might have caught something. Want me to check?”

I hesitated, tapping the folder. “No offense to your digital genie, but I’ll leaf through this the old-fashioned way. Trust issues, you know.”

Sierra let out a laugh. “I’ve been screwed over by people, not AI.” She waved her phone. “I'll send you any names I come across. Call it a hunch.”

I chuckled. Trust Sierra to back her tech like it was her kin. “Appreciate it.”

She was halfway out the door when I remembered something. “Hey, those cars outside my place? Did you get a lead on them?”

“Oh, no. Not yet. I snapped the plates but haven't checked.” She winked. “Probably sent by your pet dicks.”

Her timing couldn't have been worse. I took a sip as she said it, and the drink went down the wrong pipe. I spluttered and coughed, my dignity taking a nosedive. “Thanks, kid,” I gasped.

Sierra's grin was as wide as the Grand Canyon. “My pleasure, Dakota. I’ll shoot you what I find.” With that, she vanished, leaving me in a coughing fit and a growing sense of trepidation.

My phone buzzed – a message from McKenna.

McKenna: Don’t forget dinner!

Not a chance. The night was beginning. I wondered where it would end.

16: Betrayal’s Bitter Taste

Dinner was barreling down on me like a runaway freight train, and yeah, I was dithering. Kal hadn't shown up yet despite my message, and my head was anywhere but on the job – a major no-no for a planner. I tried to lose myself in the grandeur of the view from my borrowed place. No dice.

Pacing around the apartment, I snooped in every nook and cranny. I had to give it to Kal and Faith – their taste was impeccable. Too bad it did nothing to distract me from the upcoming dinner with McKenna. Then, like a whirlwind, Kal burst in, lugging a suitcase and a garment bag. “Got something special for you,” she chirped.

My gut twisted. Kal's idea of 'special' could mean anything from a tuxedo to a clown suit. I reached for the bag, but she slapped my hand away. “Go get cleaned up. I'll lay it out.”

Grumbling, I did as I was told. Showering helped, sort of, and I figured I was ready for anything. Nope. I was fresh out of the shower, still dripping, when Kal barged in.

“Ever heard of privacy?” I yelped, tucking the towel around me.

Kal ignored my condition and shrugged off my indignation. Her grin was so big it looked like it might crack her face. “Come on, Dakota. You're gonna love this.”

I let her lead me back into the bedroom. What I saw nearly knocked me off my feet. Laid out on the bed was a suit that screamed luxury – a Victoria Beckham, sleek as a panther and probably worth more than my last five jobs combined.

“What the hell, Kal?” I stammered.

Her grin somehow got wider. “It's for you. A little upgrade.”

I snorted. “Upgrade? I'm not some high-flying socialite. This is overkill. And how the fuck am I ever gonna pay you back?”

Kal waved off my protests like she was shooing a fly. “Don't worry about the cost. Think of it as an investment. Besides, you’ve gotta impress McKenna, right?”

I shook my head, still trying to process it all. “Next time, maybe something a little less extravagant?”

“Oh, so you’re planning a next time?”

“Shut up, Kalili.” I was not going there. But I had to admit, the suit was stunning. Running my hands over the fabric felt like touching a dream. Against my better judgment, I decided to give it a whirl.

“Underwear?”

Kal pointed to the dresser, and I opened the drawers. “La Perla? Seriously, Kal? I’d be happy with Maidenform.” Without waiting for her protest, I grabbed a set and ducked into the bathroom to finish drying and put them on. When I came out, she was still waiting.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Nope. Not until I know I got the right suit.”

Grumbling, I gave in. Slipping into the suit was transformative. It fit like a glove, molding to my body in a way that made me feel invincible. The charcoal gray color complemented my dark hair, and the contrast with the crisp white blouse was a chef's kiss.

“You've got a knack for this, Kalili,” I admitted.

“What can I say? I have an eye for these things,” she said with a smug tilt of her head.

With each step, the fabric whispered against my skin, a constant reminder of Kal's impeccable taste. As I gave myself one last look in the mirror, I couldn't help but think – maybe, just maybe, this suit wasn't such a bad idea after all. Maybe it was exactly what I needed to take on the world. Dressed to the nines, I felt ready to face whatever the night threw at me – even a dinner with McKenna.

The reason I was doing all this hit me like a slap in the face. “Shit, I’m gonna be late!”

Kal tried to soothe me. “Chill, Dakota. You’ll make it. I’ll drive you.”

Her reassurance was as comforting as a hedgehog in a balloon store. The idea of not being late for dinner with McKenna, courtesy of Kalili’s driving, was somehow more nerve-racking than the thought of being late. We hustled out of the apartment, the heist papers securely tucked in a leather bag that matched the suit uncannily well, and zoomed across the river. Kal had the sense to drop me a half-block from the address, a restaurant called The Savoy Grill, so I could do that whole 'clear your head with a walk' routine.

“You got your key?” Kal asked as I was getting out.

I patted my pocket. “Yeah. Oddly enough, I don’t make a habit of breaking and entering for fun, unlike some people I could name.”

Kal grinned and, before speeding off, informed me she had stashed some cash in my other pocket. Sure enough, I found a wad of crisp hundreds and a note in Kal’s fancy script: “Have fun tonight. Relax. You only live twice.”

Relax. Right. Like that was possible with McKenna waiting inside.

I approached the restaurant, trying to shake off the nerves. Even from the outside, I could tell the place was a throwback to another era, all cigar smoke and mahogany panels that whispered secrets of a hundred clandestine meetings. Still, I was dressed the part. Time to act it.

I swaggered up to the maitre'd, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. “Reservation for Chase,” I said, my voice betraying none of my inner turmoil.

The maitre'd, a guy who looked like he'd been born in a suit and tie, eyed me up and down, seeing right through my camouflage. “Miss, this establishment has standards. We don’t just let anyone off the street waltz in.”

Normally, I'd shrug off a comment like that, but tonight I was riding high on Kal’s brand of confidence. I stood taller, the Beckham suit feeling like a set of armor. “Good thing I'm not just anyone. I said, I’m Chase. Dakota Chase. Check the book.”

He grudgingly dropped his eyes to the leather-bound reservation folder, his finger running down the list until he found my name. When his eyes rose again, the look on his face was priceless. He gestured stiffly, and I followed him, feeling every eye in the place on me.

Settling into the plush booth, I took in the ambiance. The dim lighting, the elegant decor, it all screamed old money and secrets. I scanned the room from my strategic spot, watching the diners with their martinis and the waitstaff moving with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

I felt like a high-roller, a player in a game much bigger than myself. The smooth feel of the suit was a reminder – tonight, I was in the big leagues. As I waited for McKenna, I couldn’t help but wonder what the night had in store. Would it be a calm sea or a dive into choppy waters?

The waitress kind of materialized out of nowhere. “Good evening, my name is Leah.” I didn’t jump, but it was close. She was good and gave no sign she noticed, placing two menus down. “Can I bring you something to drink, ma'am?”

“Rum and cola.” My go-to.

“Any particular rum?” That question threw me. SVG, my usual haunt, wasn't big on choices. You got what you got and liked it.

“Mount Gay,” I said after a beat, remembering a distant wedding reception where the booze was the only memorable part.

Leah zipped away and returned with my drink, quick as a cat. “Ready to order a starter?”

“I’ll wait for my companion.” She nodded and vanished again.

A few minutes later, McKenna breezed in, looking effortlessly cool. Her outfit? It screamed ‘I just woke up and still beat you at dressing.’ Tailored trousers, a crisp shirt that screamed to be untucked, and loafers so casual they were practically asleep. I swear, McKenna could make a potato sack look chic, or at least that’s how it seemed to me.

Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Dakota,” her voice a gravelly melody, “you clean up real nice.”

I basked in the compliment. “Only for special occasions, McKenna,” I said, my voice a playful tease. “Tonight's definitely one of them.”

She slid into the booth beside me, close enough to share secrets. Saved from further innuendo by Leah’s timely return, McKenna ordered whiskey, a Johnny Blue.

Once Leah was gone, I fired off the question burning a hole in my head. “Why here? This place is leagues above my usual digs. Feels like I've been thrown into the majors without a glove.”

McKenna's eyes twinkled with mischief, or was it something more? I waited, sipping my drink, wondering what kind of game we were playing tonight. “Me too, and that’s why,” McKenna said, making me frown. McKenna's reasoning made me tilt my head like a confused puppy.

“Nope, not following. You're going to have to spell it out for me.”

She looked more relaxed than anyone had a right to in a joint like this. “SVG, that's your domain. You're like the queen bee there. Going there puts you in charge. If I wanted home-field advantage, I've got my spots, too. But this? This is neutral ground. We can be ourselves. Plus, you know, the whole clothes thing.” She waved her hand in a gesture encompassing my attire.

I felt a flush creep up my neck. “So, neutral ground and clothes. Got it.”

“I knew it was nice, since I had to make a reservation, but I didn’t know it was going to be this fancy,” she admitted with a rueful chuckle. “Dinner’s on me, by the way. I invited you.”

I shook my head and pulled the cash out. If McKenna or I paid, that would be way too close to a date, and that’s one thing this wasn’t. Couldn’t be. If we were on a date, well, there were a million ways it could end up, and most of them were bad. Somehow, Kal had figured it out before it had even occurred to me. “Nope. Tonight’s on Kalili. She's a sly one. Slipped this into my pocket before I left.” I tucked the money back into my pocket, wondering how many other tricks Kal had up her sleeve.

“She’s a dip?” McKenna sounded astonished. Pickpocketing was an art, and reversing it doubly so.

I laughed. “She might be, but no. She did it before I put the suit on.” At least, I assumed she did. “How did you find this place?”

“It’s one of those places I’ve seen on the way past but never been into. If I had, I would’ve dressed up. Like you. Nice suit, by the way. It fits you.”

Leah returned with McKenna’s whiskey before I could explain that this really wasn’t my look, it was Kalili’s idea of my look and I really didn’t know how I ended up in it except to trust my friend. She took an appreciative whiff, a beatific smile spreading across her face.

“That good?”

“It’s the best. Period. You’ve never tried it?”

I shook my head. “Not much of a whiskey drinker. I got hooked on rum when I was a teenager and never lost the taste.”

McKenna raised her glass. “A toast, then.”

I raised mine. “What should we toast to?”

“To impeccable plans and unexpected sparks?”

A thousand unasked questions jostled for my attention, but I ignored them all. Instead, I angled my glass to hers with a gentle clink. “I can go for that.”

The smile grew wider, though I didn’t think it possible, as she tipped it back and took a sip. Have you ever watched someone savor a drink? I mean, let all the flavors expand on their tongue? It’s something else. McKenna did it now, and I watched it all play out on her face.

My drink went down the wrong pipe. Coughing and sputtering, embarrassed by my reaction, I waved off her concern, gasping, “I’m okay.”

But damn. She appreciated the hell out of that drink.

After recovering from my coughing fit, we decided to dive into the menu. McKenna suggested the beef carpaccio – something I’d never had the guts to try. For the main course, we agreed on the porterhouse with all the trimmings. Decadent, but hey, when in Rome.

“It’s nice not worrying about the prices,” McKenna commented as Leah took our order and left.

I couldn’t help but agree. For once, I wasn’t having to do mental math on every menu item. We relaxed into our seats, waiting for the food, the atmosphere wrapping around us like a velvet glove. It was a world away from my usual haunts, but for tonight, it felt right.

“I’m hoping you have something for me,” McKenna said, shifting the conversation like a pro and dragging me back from the hormone-induced fantasies her proximity was fostering.

I reached for the courier bag, feeling a bit like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “I do. They went with an outfit called Sentinel Security Solutions,” I said, flipping through the papers. Her nod urged me on. “But that's about as far as I got.”

“Triple-S is as good as any of the big boys, but they don’t do corporate. They’re connected, way back, so are pretty much exclusive to the Families.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Shit. Can we handle them? Are they too well-connected?”

“No, no, not a big deal. They have all the same weaknesses and strengths, and I’ve tangled with them before.” She started leafing through the papers. “If we can find the exact model, I’ll have a better idea what I can do.”

We dove into the papers, fully professional. The carpaccio came and went, a brief interlude from our heist talk. We kept it safe, off the subject of the morning, and I relaxed more. Then the porterhouse arrived, and it was like time stood still. That hunk of beef was a masterpiece, seared to perfection, juicy and inviting. McKenna's appreciative whistle matched my thoughts.

“Agreed.” I pulled the platter to me, picked up the serving fork and knife, and said, “Do you have a preference?”

“Surprise me. I trust you.”

Flustered, but trying not to show it, I cut slices from both sides and stacked them on her plate, adding another when she shot me an expectant look. “Safecracking’s hungry work, Dakota.”

“Yes, those fingers are agile and powerful. Gotta keep your strength up.” Too late, I realized what I said and hoped McKenna would let it pass.

“They certainly do.” She fucking winked at me, and I almost dropped the slices I was adding to my plate. I managed not to, just, but declined serving the sides. That might be too much for my already-stressed nerves.

The steak was like nothing I’d ever had. The charred crust was a gateway to a tender, juicy wonderland. Each bite was a revelation, a symphony of flavors playing in my mouth. The sides were masterpieces too, but compared to that steak? Relegated to off-off-Broadway.

As we savored the last bite of our meal, the lingering flavors danced on our tongues. McKenna leaned back in her seat, a satisfied grin playing on her lips.

“Well, Dakota, this has been one hell of a night.” McKenna's voice was a low hum.

I shot back a grin, feeling the air crackle between us. “Glad you liked it. Next time, the choice is mine,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

Her eyebrows arched, a playful challenge in her eyes. “Next time? We're on a business meeting, aren't we?” That grin of hers was loaded, like a gambler holding all the aces.

“Right, strictly business,” I agreed, a bit too quickly. My heart was doing its best impression of a jackhammer. Focus, Dakota. Focus on the heist. I busied myself with gathering the papers, trying to shove the sudden heat in my core away. I glanced up, catching McKenna's amused gaze, and wondered if she bought my act.

“About Sentinel Security Solutions...” My voice petered out. It was hard to concentrate with her sitting there, looking like trouble in a very appealing package.

“Yeah, Triple-S,” she picked up smoothly. “They're good, but everyone's got a weak spot.” Her gaze flickered to mine, a knowing look that said she might not just be talking about security systems.

I cleared my throat, trying to steer us back to safer waters. “Right, weaknesses. You know them?”

Her eyes locked on mine. The air felt charged, like the calm before a storm. “Finding weaknesses is what I do best, Dakota. And trust me, I'm very thorough.”

There was an undeniable electricity buzzing around us now. This was supposed to be a business meeting, but it was quickly turning into something else. Something a lot more complicated. I steadied my breathing, reminding myself of the task at hand. Business first, Dakota. Always business first.

McKenna held my gaze and that simple mantra became a lot harder to follow.

We debated the idea of dessert, but decided against it, opting for another round of drinks. When the plates vanished, we were back to business, diving into the pile of documents like two miners searching for gold. Sal had given me a pile of information, but I couldn’t see the point of some of it. Who gives a damn about the make and model of the security cars at HIP?

“Chelsea might.”

Apparently, I mumbled aloud without realizing. “Oh. Yeah,” I agreed with McKenna's point. “If we're down to car chases, we've already screwed the pooch.”

She cracked a smile. “Exactly. Now, onto better news.”

I welcomed a change of pace. “Lay it on me.”

“Internal security on the gems is beatable.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Beatable? That's like winning the lottery.”

McKenna slid a thick packet across the table. “Here. The blueprint of our ‘easy win’.”

I flicked through the pages, recognizing bits and pieces. Not that I was a lockpicking expert, but a little knowledge goes a long way. I handed it back to her.

“What’s our game plan?” I asked, keeping the conversation professional.

“We're looking at a full team effort. Sierra's skills will be crucial. If we can pull off a rush install by Saturday, we'll be golden.”

“Saturday? That's cutting it close.” I mused, thinking of Sierra’s prowess. She'd probably have their system in her pocket by then.

“We'll need to hijack their surveillance, keep our moves unseen.”

The rest of our time passed with no frills or flirts, just straight talk and strategy, and, okay, a shared molten chocolate cake that neither of us could resist. It was getting late, the restaurant emptying out, and I was beginning to unwind, the alcohol and the privacy working their magic. The question I wanted to ask McKenna—did she want to come back to my apartment?—hung on the tip of my tongue, needing only the tiniest push to speak it into reality.

Then our burner phones buzzed, jolting us back to reality.

“What the hell...?” I fumbled with my phone like it was a foreign object.

McKenna was quicker on the draw. “Oh, shit.”

She showed me her screen.

Kalili: Fire at Dakota’s apartment building

Well, fuck. That's one way to end an evening.

17: Falling Dominoes

Sierra: FD reports a total loss

We rode in a rideshare that was as quiet as a tomb, the silence only broken by the bumps and jolts of the shattered concrete as the city lights flashed past. McKenna, sitting beside me, kept sneaking looks my way, maybe trying to start some small talk. What was there to talk about? My home was gone, charred to hell and back. We stopped a half-block away, the building surrounded by fire trucks and flashing lights.

“Wait for us,” I directed the driver, dropping a twenty on the seat. Silently, we walked toward the ruin of what used to be my home.

“You can’t go there,” a fireman said, blocking our way a hundred feet away. I didn’t feel like fighting with him, so it was up to McKenna to say, “That was her building.”

I don’t know what he replied, but we passed through, stopping close enough for the acrid stench of burned wood to overwhelm the night air. Standing in front of the smoldering remains, I felt like someone had kicked me in the gut. It wasn't the loss of stuff – that’s replaceable. I could probably cover everything I lost with the change leftover from Kal’s generosity. This wasn’t about stuff, about belongings. It was about belonging. It was personal. It was a big, fiery middle finger to my life. I felt a pang of loss so sharp it was like a knife twisting in my gut. It wasn't even losing my refuge from the storm—it was the violation of having something so important ripped away from me.

I couldn’t replace the feeling of safety. I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of anger bubbling up inside me. Whoever had done this, they weren't just destroying a building. They were tearing apart the fabric of my life, leaving behind nothing but ashes and rubble. The place was no palace, but it was mine. My little corner of sanity in a city that eats sanity for breakfast. It was the spot where Dakota the bartender shrugged off Dakota the criminal, where I could just breathe. It wasn’t much – peeling paint, creaky floors, and a faucet that sang a never-ending symphony of drips – but it was mine. My paycheck from slinging drinks wasn’t winning any lotteries, but it kept me afloat. It was enough, or so I’d thought. It was mine.

And now it wasn’t.

McKenna’s hand on my arm was a drop of comfort in an ocean of anger. “Dakota, I'm so sorry,” she murmured, her voice a soft balm on the raw wound of my soul.

I flashed a brittle smile, one that didn’t reach my eyes. “Thanks,” I managed, choking on the words. Inside, I was a tempest. This wasn’t a random accident. It was a message. And I intended to return the favor.

“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered, my voice steel wrapped in velvet. We retreated, breathing deeply of the cleaner air as we returned to the rideshare. I opened the door and dropped into the seat.

“Where to?” McKenna slid beside me, her presence a silent support.

I rattled off Kal’s address, making sure the driver got paid through the app. As the city lights blurred past, I felt a cold clarity settle in. I was playing a dangerous game, taking on the Families? Well, that went both ways. Someone was playing with Dakota Chase, and they were about to learn I played for keeps.

We rolled across the Manhattan Bridge and I texted Kal.

Dakota: Heading back. Total loss. McKenna with me

Kalili: Watch for tails

Fuck. The cops. I'd almost forgotten about the jackals sniffing at my heels. I quickly pulled up a map, picking a decoy address.

“Change of plans,” I said to the driver, who gave a noncommittal grunt. I hoped the reroute would lose any tails we might have. Before McKenna could question me, I sent her a quick text:

Dakota: Shaking any followers

McKenna proved again how quick on the uptake she was. She kept the conversation rolling, requiring nothing more than grumbles from me. Meanwhile, my mind was racing like a getaway car. Could it be Smith and Johnson – or rather, Jorgensen and Washington? Some twisted 'cooperate or else' stunt? According to Sierra, their pet hyenas had been lurking around my apartment earlier today.

Then there was Mort. He was a straight shooter, in my experience, but could he have stooped to arson? I didn’t want to believe it, but who knew? Looming over it all were the Families. Were they pulling the cops’ strings? Mort’s? If they caught wind of our plans, burning down a building would be like swatting a fly for them. If they knew we were involved, Uncle Sal’s advice about walking away suddenly made a lot more sense.

These thoughts swirled in my head, so much so I didn’t notice when we stopped. McKenna had to jab me back to the present. I managed a half-hearted smile as we got out, my brain still doing cartwheels. With McKenna’s arm looped through mine, we strolled the Manhattan streets like any other couple finishing up a date. The city was buzzing, even on a Thursday night. Crowds made it hard to spot anyone tailing us, which was fine by me. If I couldn’t spot them, they’d have a harder time spotting us. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes on me. Maybe it was an overactive imagination but I didn’t question it. We didn't head straight back to the apartment. My nerves were shot, and I needed something to calm down – ironically, coffee. We ducked into a cafe along the way and headed for the counter.

“Coffee, sweet and light. McKenna?”

“How can you drink that this late?” she asked, her voice a seamless blend of amusement and horror.

“That’s what the cream and sugar are for,” I shot back, a ghost of a smile on my lips.

She opted for tea, something raspberry mint. We found a spot at the back, with a clear view of the street. Perfect for keeping watch.

As I sipped the overly sweet coffee, McKenna stirred her tea, her eyes thoughtful. “Who do you think did it?” She didn’t have to say what it was.

I frowned, letting the warmth of the coffee seep into me. I ran through the possibilities as I saw them, and then she asked again, “But which one do you think?”

“As big a pain as Mort is, I don’t think it’s him. I don’t know much about Smith and Johnson, so they’re higher on my list. At the top? The Families. Either way, someone’s trying to squeeze me.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering with something fierce. “We can’t let them get away with it.”

The hate flared up in me, anger turning into something sharp and focused. “No. They won’t.” I glanced around the cafe – no nosy onlookers. “Let me message Kal.”

Dakota: Looks like we’re clear

The three dots bounced for a moment before Kal’s message flashed up. It was a street map I almost recognized. I showed the map to McKenna without a word, then waited for the explanation from Kal.

Kalili: Go in the garage entrance, it’s a public garage so it might throw them off

Dakota: Explain

Kalili: Public parking. They’ll have to wait to see if you come out

Dakota: Got it

That settled, I drained the coffee. “Ready to leave?”

“I am.” Her voice had a hint of something I couldn’t quite place.

I nodded, feeling a combination of relief and tension as we left the café. Her arm slid through mine again, our stroll taking on a casual air as we scanned reflections for any sign of followers. McKenna and I acted like nothing was amiss, but as we walked, our act of normality was veering dangerously close to something else. Even through the rawness of my loss I could feel it, and I drew comfort from it.

“I feel like bolting,” I admitted under my breath, the sensation of being watched gnawing at me.

“Yeah, it's unnerving, like having a target on your back,” McKenna murmured in agreement, her gaze scanning the street. “Don’t worry. You’re with me.” Her casual words, meant to do no more than reassure and fill the discomfort, resonated and muted the anger I was feeling over my home.

We reached Kal’s building, and I subtly steered us past it. “Didn’t you park around the corner?” I asked, forcing a casual tone into my voice for any listeners.

She played along. “Right, I did. Can’t believe we're already here.”

Then I added something I hadn’t planned on saying, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “The night doesn’t have to end.”

Her grip on my arm tightened, and I felt a jolt when she answered, “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

We fell silent, our words echoing between us, our feet leading us to the garage. At the door, we paused. The shadows were our friends, and McKenna turned to me. She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and my arms dropped naturally to her waist. Comfort, desire, safety, I felt them all. Her embrace was a haven I didn’t want to leave.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” she confessed, her breath warm against my skin.

So had I, though I didn’t dare admit it. Her lips were inches from mine, a promise unspoken. When they finally met mine, it was like fire meeting gasoline. I responded, caught in a whirlwind of sensation that was part defiance, part desperation. There was only her, and us, sensations and temptations suppressed for too long given their release.

Then reality intruded as she whispered against my lips, “I don’t see anyone.”

Right. The cops. The game. This wasn’t real, or was it? The lines were blurring, vanishing like a child’s writing on the beach.

“Me neither.” My voice was barely a whisper. We stood there a moment longer than necessary, our reluctance to part entirely genuine. When I finally stepped back, the cool air felt like a splash of cold water, snapping me back to reality.

“We should head up,” I said, but my voice betrayed my turmoil. It was clear this night was about more than shaking tails, planning heists, and plotting revenge on an unknown arsonist. We were treading on uncertain ground, and I wasn't sure where the next step would lead.

“Yeah.” McKenna’s voice was huskier than usual, but she took a half-step back. “We should.”

The elevator was next, and as McKenna's hand found mine, something not at all professional rippled through me. The feeling wasn't lost on her either; I could tell by the way her grip tightened. Were we both adrift in this unexpected current? I fumbled for my key, tapping it against the elevator sensor. The doors slid shut, cocooning us in our own little world. I chuckled, breaking the silence.

“What?” McKenna’s voice held that same charged energy.

“I’ll bet anything Kal’s broken into the apartment,” I said, leaning against the wall. “She’s probably lounging around like she owns the place. Wait, that’s right. She does.”

“Anything?” McKenna echoed, her voice dripping with implications that sent another shiver down my spine. “What’s my prize if you're wrong?”

The heat flooded my cheeks again, a familiar sensation by now. “What do you want?” My voice was steadier than I felt, and I couldn’t believe I was doing this. It felt so right, so normal, and on a night when I’d lost my sanctuary I craved normality almost as much as I craved her touch on my skin.

“A real date. You take me out somewhere,” she said, her tone leaving no doubt to her sincerity. “Tonight was fun, but it's left me wanting more.”

I swallowed, aware of the implications. “Deal,” I managed. “And if I win?”

“Oh, you won’t,” she teased, arching an eyebrow. “But let’s make it even. If you win, it’s a date, on my tab.”

I couldn’t see how I would lose, so I nodded, a little thrill racing along my skin. The elevator dinged, bringing us to my floor. Our hands were still linked as we walked down the corridor, a tacit agreement keeping us connected.

Kal’s voice greeted us before we even opened the door. “Took the scenic route, huh?”

I pushed the door open, finding Kal sprawled across a chair like she belonged there, mischief in her eyes. “Hey, Kal. Lockpicking again?”

Kal raised an eyebrow at our joined hands. Suddenly, McKenna and I were like two high school kids caught in the act. The moment hung between us, charged and uncertain. McKenna recovered first, shifting into casual mode. “Yeah, Dakota's trying out some changes.”

The air was thick with silent words and glances, but my grip on McKenna's hand didn’t slacken. It was a statement, maybe more to myself than to anyone else. This wasn't a ruse anymore; it was something real, something I wasn't ready to let go of yet.

As we stood there, Kal's expression shifted from amusement to understanding, an acknowledgment of our changed dynamics. I wasn't sure where this was leading, but I wasn't concerned about finding an immediate answer. For now, it was enough to be here, in this moment, with McKenna by my side.

“Oh, I’m not disagreeing,” Kal insisted, then she sobered. “I’m sorry about your apartment, Dakota, even though it was a dump.”

“Hey!” I protested, more out of reflex than real offense. “I thought you had a soft spot for my cozy little nest?”

Kal grinned and I braced for her words. “Cozy? Dakota, the last time I felt that cramped, I was hiding in a dumpster from the cops.”

Even McKenna chuckled at that, and I shot them both a mock scowl. “Okay, okay, so it wasn't the Ritz. But it was home.” The lump in my throat caught me off guard, and suddenly McKenna's arm was around my waist, steadying me. I leaned into her, grateful for the support.

“It’s better than some places I’ve lived,” Kal allowed. “Then again, I once lived in a stable for a week.”

McKenna laughed.

“It wasn’t that bad!” I could feel McKenna’s look, and I just knew it matched Kal’s. “Fine, so it wasn’t great, but it was mine.” The sniffle snuck up on me and landed without warning. McKenna’s hand pressed against my hip, and I leaned into her shoulder. “I still didn’t want it torched.” The weight of the night crashed down onto me, and McKenna’s warmth warded off the chill that wanted to permeate my soul.

We sat on the sofa, Kal giving me a few minutes to pull myself back together. When she spoke, she delivered some much-needed good news. “Sierra’s been staying on top of the chatter. No one was seriously hurt in the fire.” That was a relief. I thought about Mrs. Wilson, the Carlsons, the cranky bastard who lived on the second floor who played Mendelssohn too loud. Real people, now collateral damage in this twisted game I was caught in.

Kal continued. “It looks like the fire was deliberate. I’ve got eyes and ears out, so we’ll stay updated.”

McKenna took over, listing my suspects. I wasn't much for conversation right then and nodded along.

“My gut’s with the Families,” Kal added, reading my silence.

I found my voice again. “Job first, revenge later.” It was a mantra, keeping me focused on what needed to be done.

“Plan tomorrow?” McKenna’s voice was soft, understanding the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

“Yeah,” I managed, feeling the whipsaw day like a physical thing. “Thanks for the place, Kalili. I’ll pay you back.”

“Like Hell you will. Forget it.” She came over and gave me a quick hug. “It’ll work out.” Her abnormal seriousness disappeared. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Wait. That doesn’t rule out anything.” Her wicked smile surfaced before she bopped out. I heard the door snick closed, leaving me with McKenna in the quiet of the apartment.

It took me a moment to process McKenna's next words. “I guess you win the bet.”

I blinked, trying to catch up. “Bet?”

“About Kal breaking in. You were right,” she said, a playful light in her eyes. “So I owe you a date.”

For a moment, the day seemed a little lighter. A real date with McKenna was something to look forward to amid the chaos. It was a small thing, but right then, it felt huge.

“Ain’t I the lucky one?” I said, feeling the corners of my mouth twitch into a genuine smile. “But let’s get this job done first.”

McKenna nodded, her expression serious but her eyes warm. “Of course. Business before pleasure.” She half-smiled. “I could wish I’d never heard of this job, except then I probably wouldn’t have met you.” Her safecracker’s fingers—long and nimble—tucked a hair behind my ear, her touch a caress.

“I think we would have met. Somehow Kal would have arranged it.”

“She does have a way, doesn’t she?”

“As long as I’ve known her.” The memory of some of the scrapes Kal had gotten me into—and, fair dues, out of—forced my mouth into a grin.

McKenna grinned back. “How did you meet her?”

I leaned back, still warm in her half-embrace, a fond smile on lips as I thought back to the day I first met Kal. “It was when I was putting together a crew for a job that was supposed to be quick and easy, but Kal had other plans. See, it was about six years ago, and I was down at this bar, figuring out who I needed on my crew.”

“The SVG?”

I shook my head. “No, this was before I found it. Another dive. Anyway, she dropped into the seat across from me, all confidence and swagger, and told me she was joining me.”

McKenna’s look of disbelief was comical. “Just like that?”

“Yep. She had this look in her eye, you know? Like she’d already decided and that was that, no arguments would be accepted, and where was the booze?”

“That sounds like Kal.” McKenna laughed, shaking her head. “I can’t imagine anyone else pulling that off.”

“Yeah, that’s her.” A grin tugged at my lips as I recalled that fateful day. “Anyway, there I was, and I tried to play it cool, you know? Told her I already had a full crew and didn't need anyone else. Total lie, of course.”

McKenna's eyes widened in disbelief. “Let me guess, she didn't buy it?”

I let out a rueful laugh. “Not even a little bit. She looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘Well, you do now.’ No matter what I tried, she wouldn’t leave. She sat there, shooting down my arguments for the next two hours and half a bottle of rum. Before I knew it, she was part of the team. To this day, I don’t know if I gave up or she convinced me.”

McKenna shook her head, clearly impressed by Kal's audacity. “Wow, she's got guts.”

I nodded in agreement. “She does. But you know, I'm glad she barged her way into my life. We wouldn't be where we are today without her.” Kal was a force of nature, unstoppable once she set her mind to something. She had proven herself to be an invaluable member of the team, and the closest friend I had. “What about you? How did she sucker you in?” I asked, turning the conversation back to McKenna.

McKenna's nostalgic smile softened even further, her eyes glazing with fond memories. “I remember like it was yesterday. I was making a name for myself, but hadn’t done any major jobs yet. Fifteen years ago? Sixteen?” I tried not to stare. Fifteen years? And I thought I’d known Kalili forever, or maybe that was how it felt sometimes. I jerked my mind off her history and back to her words.

“Kal came to me, all wide-eyed and eager, asking to be trained on safecracking.”

“Kal? Wide-eyed and eager?” I couldn’t picture it.

McKenna nodded. “Yup. Like a schoolgirl with her first doll. She finds me, which was a hell of a feat, lets herself in through my locked door—”

“She does it to you, too!” I crowed with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah. She comes in, drops into a chair with this cocky, self-satisfied grin spreading across her face. She says to me, ‘I’ve heard you’re the best in the business, and I have to learn from the best.’ Now, I don’t know her from Eve, so I play dumb. Tough to do, since I was tinkering with a TitanSafe 550. You know it?”

I did. It was one of the toughest mid-range safes out there, favored by millionaires with enough sense to want to protect their valuables, but too cheap to spring for the better quality that Citadel and Armor Vault put out. “Yeah.”

“So there I am, and I say, ‘Who? What business?’ Make her spell it out, right?” I nodded. Pretty standard trick against entrapment. “She says, ‘Safecracking,’ and proceeds to rattle off most of my granddad’s greatest hits. Well, I’m impressed, and by the end of it I’m willing to give her a shot.” McKenna chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in her eyes. “I was skeptical at first. As it turns out, Kal was a natural. She picked up on everything so quickly, it was like she was born to crack safes.”

I nodded in agreement. “That's Kal for you—Hey! Maybe she learned how to lockpick from you!”

“No, I swear, I never taught her anything about locks. Safes only!” McKenna's smile turned wistful, her gaze drifting off into the distance. “You know what? Despite all the headaches and the close calls, I wouldn't trade her for anything. She may drive me crazy sometimes, but she's also one of the most talented and loyal people I've ever met. We don’t cross paths too often, but when we do, it’s always worthwhile.”

“Yeah, same here. Kal may be a handful, but she's also family.”

McKenna stood, and I immediately missed her closeness. She wasn’t gone long, returning with two beer bottles. “Nice stock,” she said, handing me one.

“Another one of Kal’s touches. I know for certain this beer wasn’t in the fridge when I left earlier.” I chuckled, raising my bottle in a silent toast to the woman who had become so much more than part of the crew. “To Kal,” I said, the words heavy with gratitude and affection.

“To Kal. May she always be one step ahead.”

We clinked our bottles together, the sound echoing in the quiet room. In that moment, it felt like we were toasting more than Kal. We were acknowledging the ties that bound us together, the camaraderie that had formed in the heat of shared trials.

“To chaos and crazy plans,” I added, the beer cold and refreshing against my lips.

“To chaos,” McKenna echoed, and I could see the same warmth in her eyes that I felt in my heart.

To our mutual surprise, we ended up in bed together.

Again.

It wasn’t as simple as passion overtaking reason. No, we were both trying to behave, hold our desires in check until the job was done, and doing a pretty good job of it. After reminiscing until after midnight, McKenna prepared to head home. I wasn’t having it.

“You heard what Kal said. We all have to watch out. If it’s Mort doing this? He knows who you are. And do you think you’re not on the Families’ radar?” I could see I was getting through to her, so I pushed ahead. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, we didn’t do anything last night, and we were way more drunk. We can share an apartment for a night.”

“Okay, yeah, makes sense. Where’s the guest room?”

Kal’s plans for the apartment didn’t include overnight visitors, as she hadn’t provided a guest room. Oh, there was the office, but it was an office, with nary a bed in sight. We considered the couch, but it was little bigger than a loveseat, which was cozy, but McKenna would fit into it about as well as a Great Dane in a puppy bed.

“No bed?”

She shook her head. “I counted them twice. You have one, in your bedroom.”

“I don’t even know if it’s comfortable,” I said, trying to add some levity and maybe defuse some of the energy between us. “Come on. We can do this. After all, we’re adults.”

“That’s what worries me,” she replied, but she followed me to the bedroom. I stopped, confused.

“What?”

“I left my suitcase right there.” I pointed at the impression on the bed. “All my clothes were in it, well, except what I was wearing earlier. I don’t see those, either. Dammit.”

“Maybe Kal put them away?”

“Doesn’t seem like her style, but maybe.” McKenna was closer, so she opened the bureau.

“Yup. Folded, even.” Her voice took a teasing tone. “Red lace? Dakota, I would’ve figured you for a boyshort kind of woman.”

I flushed. “I am, but you know. Sometimes you want to feel...” Oh, this was dangerous territory.

“Yeah.” McKenna felt it too, I could hear. I closed the distance and started looking through the drawers. Kalili was many things, but she had no clue how to put clothes away.

“Tee and sweats? Ought to be pretty close to fitting.” I held up the items, and she took them with a little too much eagerness.

“That’ll work.”

“Bathroom’s through there.” I started removing my suit, amazingly unrumpled despite the evening, and hung it in the closet. I found a pair of my favorite sleep shorts and slid them on before McKenna returned.

“They’re a little short, Dakota.” I heard the grin in her voice before I turned to see. Her arms were out, lifting the tee to expose several inches of toned stomach. The sweatpants were almost worse, riding just below her hips and still not reaching her ankles. I swallowed a sudden lump.

“Comfy enough?” I asked, my voice rougher than intended.

“Perfect,” she said with a grin, jumping onto the bed. It was then I noticed she’d claimed the same side as last night. A coincidence? I wasn’t sure. “No worries about the bed, Dakota.”

“Good,” I said hoarsely, my traitorous mind conjuring all sorts of images that I ruthlessly suppressed. “I’ll, uh, yeah. Gonna finish changing.”

When I returned from the washroom, sporting a tee that fit me much better than it would her, McKenna was already tucked into the covers, looking obscenely cute and relaxed.

“I have to find out from Kal where she got this, because damn. I want this bed.”

I chuckled, looking for the light switch. “I’ll trust you on that.”

“Oh, you won’t have to once you lie down.” She patted the space next to her. “Let’s get some sleep.”

I found the switch and turned off the lights. Not seeing McKenna didn’t help, because now my imagination had free rein to wander. Avoiding obstacles as best I could in the dark, unfamiliar room, I found the bed and climbed on, crawling towards the headboard.

“This is my side,” McKenna said softly, and I realized where my hand was. Shit. “Though I don’t mind sharing.”

“We’re sharing enough, I think,” I managed, removing my hand and creeping to the side.

“For now.”

With those words echoing in my ears, I found the edge of the covers and pulled myself under. I immediately regretted it, as McKenna’s warmth spread over me and all I wanted to do was attach myself to her and not let go. The temptation was mutual, as McKenna shuffled closer.

“Goodnight,” I said, trying not to think about how close she was.

“Night, Dakota,” she replied, her voice soft.

Sleep should’ve been elusive, with my mind racing and McKenna’s warmth inches away. Exhaustion won and I drifted off. The last thing I felt was McKenna’s hand finding mine, as it had the night before. Any thought that this was nothing more than a practical arrangement, a matter of convenience, vanished. As her fingers intertwined with mine, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were kidding ourselves. We could pretend we were just friends, just crewmates, but it was quickly becoming something far more.

I wanted it more than the score.

18: A Tangled Web

Waking up with McKenna wrapped around me was something I could get used to, I discovered, puddled in her warmth.

“Morning.”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” I said, not meaning a word of it.

“I don’t know. You’re restful company in bed.”

I turned in her arms so I was facing her. “Restful?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh. Some people twitch and thrash around, like they’re being chased by bears, but you? You lay there and snuggled into me. Whenever I woke up, you were in the same spot. Restful.”

I considered this. “I’ll take it.” Feeling bold, I leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose before rolling away and, feeling better than I ought, bounced from bed. “I might have one bed, but we have two bathrooms. Or you can wait.” Much as I wanted, I didn’t offer to share the shower. My resolve, and the line I wouldn’t cross, were getting flimsier by the minute.

When I emerged from the shower, a huge, fluffy towel wrapped around me and rubbing another one through my hair, McKenna was gone. I could hear water running, so I dressed, making a note to buy more clothes today, and headed to the kitchen. The coffee was just finishing brewing, and I smiled at McKenna’s thoughtfulness.

“It wasn’t her, it was me.”

I jumped backward, and then cursed. “Fucking hell, Kal, can you give me some warning?”

Unrepentant, the redhead lithely dropped from the counter to the floor. “Nope. Where’s the fun in that?” She pushed a mug to me. “Sugar’s in the cupboard, cream in the fridge.”

I used the routine of mixing my coffee to calm my pounding heart, regaining a little composure before returning to Kal. She was sipping her mug of black coffee the way she did everything: wholeheartedly.

“Good morning,” I said.

“Ah, we’re resetting. I can do that. Morning, Dakota. Sleep well?”

“Very well.” This wasn’t a subject I wanted her to dwell on, so I pivoted. “Do you have news?”

“Yes. The fire at your building...”

I straightened up, my concern mounting as I listened intently. “What?”

Kal let out a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I had hoped to be wrong, but it turns out it wasn't an accident. It was arson, Dakota. Someone torched your building, and I think you’re right. It was probably to send a message.”

My stomach churned at the revelation. “Arson? Are you sure?”

Kal nodded. “My sources are pretty damn good, Dakota.”

I felt a chill run down my spine again, and my jaw clenched at the violation. This was my home, and someone torched it. Why?  “That's insane. How did you find out?”

Kal’s gaze flickered away for a moment before meeting mine again. “I can’t give you details. You’ll have to trust me.”

I narrowed my eyes, sensing her evasiveness. “Kal, what aren't you telling me?”

Before she could respond, the door swung open and McKenna strolled into the kitchen, wearing a casual smile on her face and my too-short clothes. “Hey, did I miss anything?”

I exchanged a glance with Kal, the unexpected tension between us lingering in the air. Kal wasn't ready to share the full extent of what she knew. I decided I’d drop it, for now. It’s not like I didn’t keep stuff from Kal, though a voice in my head told me this was different, it was about my home. Former home. “Kal was telling me what she discovered overnight.”

“While you two were canoodling,” Kal added.

“We were not!” My protest was almost drowned out by McKenna’s, “What’s canoodling?”

Kal ignored me and answered her. “Making out.”

“Oh. No, what Dakota said. We slept.” At Kal’s arched eyebrow, McKenna repeated, “We slept, Kal. Get your mind out of the gutter. Besides, where did you come up with that word? It sounds like something my granddad would’ve said.”

“He probably did.”

McKenna gave up, occupying herself with fixing her coffee before turning back. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, if you’re comfortable here, I think we should move you in for the duration,” Kalili said, jumping right past the canoodling idea. “Like I told you, this building’s secure as Hell. If you don’t want to share space with Dakota, I have another apartment open on the ninth floor. It’s not as nice, but...”

The thought of sharing my bed with McKenna for who knows how long was sweet torment. Did I want it? Hell, the very idea sent a thrill right through me, a deep, undeniable yearning. The rational part of my brain, the part that was still trying to run a heist, screamed about restraint and boundaries.

McKenna’s answer, a confident “No, I’m good here,” came with an undertone that could have been desire. Or maybe that was my overly hopeful imagination running laps. A flicker of annoyance hit me – she’d made the decision solo. It died as I thought some more. McKenna had hit on exactly what I needed. Her being here felt right, regardless of the complications.

I shot a look at McKenna, who gave a small nod, her face a mask of concentration. Having Kalili here was helping remind us both that this was a job, and we had to keep our eyes on the prize. Easier said than done when every glance at her stirred up things I was desperately trying to shove in a box for later.

“We need to get some stuff from my place,” she continued. “Tools of the trade. Clothes. I can’t go around in Dakota’s hand-me-downs forever.”

We were trying to act like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, but our attempt at normality was about as convincing as a cat pretending it didn’t knock over a vase while the person was watching. McKenna’s comment about needing to get her stuff brought a chuckle from Kal, and I had to agree – McKenna in my clothes was a sight, but not a long-term solution.

Settling into our spots from last night, I noticed the ease with which McKenna and I now sat close, our legs touching like it was the most natural thing in the world. As we sipped our coffee, the low sun cast a golden light over the Bronx, making it look almost picturesque – a rare sight for a part of the city that usually reminded me of a warehouse district after a Godzilla attack.

Kal, who had really stepped up in the past twenty-four hours for me, was already a step ahead. “I touched base with Sierra. She’s working on the video feeds,” she announced, topping up our mugs. “And McKenna, your security mock-up is ready to roll.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How did you convince Triple-S to lend us their system?”

Kal’s grin was all mischief and secrets. “Let’s say when you flash an AmEx Centurion, doors open. Helps to mention you’re shopping for an eccentric billionaire.”

“AmEx Centurion?” I blurted, my eyes widening. “I thought those were urban legends.”

Kal shrugged. “Oh, they’re real. Faith and I each have one. Handy for these kinds of situations.”

I sat there, gobsmacked. Kal’s casual admission made me reconsider my whole understanding of her. Here I was, struggling to keep my head above water in New York, and Kal was swimming in the deep end with the sharks – and apparently doing backflips while catching rides on their fins. The Centurion card was the Holy Grail of credit cards, a black, mysterious symbol of wealth and exclusivity. You didn’t walk into a bank and apply for one of those; you had to be invited. Here was Kal, casually mentioning she had one as if it were a library card, and adding that her wife carried one, too.

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around it. “I thought picking locks was your most impressive skill.”

Kal’s laugh seemed to bounce off the luxurious walls of the apartment. “Oh, Dakota, you have no idea.”

McKenna chimed in, her tone teasing. “Looks like we’re in good hands, then.”

I nodded, still in disbelief. “No kidding. Kal’s full of surprises.”

“Well, however you did it, Kal, it’s a damn miracle. Triple-S on loan? That’s like convincing a cat to take a bath. I promise, I won’t break it. Mostly it’s a matter of familiarizing myself with its sensitive spots so I know what not to poke.”

Kal chuckled, adding her signature mischief to the morning brew. “Yeah, and speaking of miracles, Chelsea’s working some serious magic at HIP. She’s like a magnet over there. You’d think she was handing out free money the way they flock to her.”

It was no secret that Chelsea had a certain allure that drew people in, much to her annoyance. She had the kind of charm that would make a saint swear, but her interest lay solely in cars and engines, not admirers. The attention didn’t bother her too much; she’d become a master at the art of polite rejection. Over the years, deflecting unwanted attention had become second nature, something she did with the ease of a skilled magician performing a well-practiced trick.

I couldn’t help but appreciate the thought. “How’s she handling her fan club?”

“Like a rock star avoiding paparazzi. I’m half expecting her to start wearing disguises.”

McKenna’s laugh was genuine, a light moment amidst our heist planning. “That I’d like to see.”

“How come you know all this and I don’t?” I pulled out my burner, but didn’t have any messages.

“The crew’s giving you a little break,” Kal explained. “Besides, I can handle the routine crap for you, Dakota.” She turned back to McKenna. “How much stuff will you need to pick up?”

“Maybe three largish suitcases.”

“We’ll take the Merc, then.” She turned her attention to me. “What are you doing about Granger? Has he checked in with you? If I was him, and I heard one of my parolees had been burned out of her place, I’d be tracking her ass down before she slipped town.”

Shit. I’d forgotten about Mort, but Kal was right. I found my regular cell, and sure enough, there was a voicemail from Mort. I played it for everyone to hear.

“Chase, this is Granger. I need a new address for you by the end of the day today, or you’ll be reported in violation.” The message clicked off with the sound of a handset being slammed into the cradle, making us all jump.

“Well, that’s typical Granger. All heart, that guy.”

McKenna, whose expression showed her shock, said, “It hasn’t even been a full day since your place burned!”

“Yeah, I know. Kal, can I say I’m staying with you? I’ll be as non-specific as possible, give him bits and pieces and only what I have to, but he’s gonna need an address.”

“Of course.”

McKenna brightened. “You know, Dakota, this gives us an opportunity.”

“Go on,” I urged, eager for some good news.

She turned. “You and I were planning that little switch with Granger’s paperwork, remember?”

“Right,” I said, recalling our scheme to swap out the known associates sheets. “We still need to whip up the fakes.”

McKenna nodded, her brain clearly ticking away. “Granger keeps regular hours, doesn’t he? Nine to five?”

“Yeah, he’s a creature of habit. Could probably set a clock by him.”

“His office is gonna be locked up tight most times, right?” McKenna’s eyes were sharp, calculating. “Lockpicking isn’t usually my thing, but I can do it and handle any security system tied in, no problem.”

I grunted. “It’s probably a bucket filled with water, propped over the door.”

That drew a smile from McKenna that faded quickly. “No matter what it is, it's easier without an audience.”

I saw where she was heading and couldn’t help but feel a quiver of worry. “So we go in after office hours?”

McKenna shook her head. “Not quite,” and I was lost again.

“Oh-kay...”

“We don’t go in after office hours.” She gestured between her and me. “We do, and we go during his usual schedule.” Now she pointed at Kalili and herself, beaming, pleased as a puppy with a new bone. “Today, while it’s open. Kalili and I can walk in, do the switch, and walk out again.”

“And you think you’ll blend in there?” I gestured at our ensemble – we weren’t exactly the picture of parole officer decorum.

By way of her answer, McKenna turned to Kal. “Do you still have the ID and uniform from the job we did last year?”

“The Nine-Nine? Yeah, never had reason to ditch it.”

“So do I.” McKenna returned to me. “Badges and IDs that look official enough, with records in the system if anyone checks, and uniforms that are the genuine article. We go in as cops, do the thing, and leave. If you can get Granger out of the office, it’ll make it easier for us.”

Now I got it, and I nodded enthusiastically. “I can do that. I’ll call him back and set up a meet for this afternoon—will that be enough time to do the papers?”

Kalili scoffed at my concern about the timing. “Please, Dakota. I've been forging documents since I could write. This is nothing.”

McKenna clapped her hands together. “I think we have a plan.”

“I agree. And then, Dakota?” Kal turned to me, and I didn’t like the look in her eyes. “After we get back, I’m taking you shopping. You’ll need more than what you have.”

My mood faltered at the reminder of my worldly goods, now reduced to so much ash, coupled with my almost instinctive hatred of shopping. McKenna sensed this and rested a hand on my thigh, and the momentary touch restored my spirits.

“Yeah. We can do this.” But I couldn’t help but think, in our line of work, ‘normal’ was a setting on the dryer. And we were definitely not on that setting.

19: The Gathering Dark

I settled into the chair with a sense of purpose, dialing Mort's number. After three rings, his gruff voice answered, “PO Granger.”

“Hey, Mort, it’s Dakota. Got your charming message. Thanks for the sentiment. I’m touched. Truly.”

His response was like gravel in a blender. “Chase, I don't have time for your bullshit. Where are you?”

I tried for casual. “Relax, Mort. I'm safe. No need for the fatherly concern.”

He snapped back, “I’m not worried about you. You’re breathing, so you’re not crispy. I need an address, Chase. Protocol and all that.”

I couldn’t resist poking the bear. “Aw, Mort, I never knew you cared.”

“I don’t. Give me your damn address.”

I tried to drag more info about the fire out of him. “You hear anything about my building? The cops were crawling over it like ants on a dropped ice cream cone.”

Mort's impatience battered me through the line. “Whaddya mean about your building?”

I rolled my eyes at his attempt to cover his ass. He knew my building was gone, or he wouldn’t have called. “You know exactly what I mean. Do you wanna stop playing, because it's been a hectic morning? Any leads on what happened? Or do I go down to the local precinct and lean?” We both knew I wouldn’t, but it was part of the dance.

“Chase, even if I was part of the department, I can't discuss ongoing investigations with you,” Mort grumbled.

I pressed him, hoping he had the scoop. “Come on, Mort. I know you've got info. You might not be a cop, but you're definitely in the gossip loop.”

He sighed, the sound of a man beaten down by bureaucracy. “Fine. It was arson. But that's all I'm telling you.”

The word 'arson' hit me like a slap, even though I’d heard it from Kalili. “Arson? Seriously? Who in their right mind—”

Mort cut me off with his usual charm. “Maybe if you didn’t piss off every second person you meet, you wouldn’t have this problem. Or maybe it’s your choice of friends.”

That stung, but I couldn’t let it show. “I'm not exactly Mother Teresa, Mort, but I don't go around lighting matches, either.”

“Whatever. Where are you staying?” Mort's patience was exhausted.

“Oh, Mort, I can’t spill my secrets over the phone. You'll have to meet me. How about Calypso Cravings in Brooklyn, in two hours?”

“I don’t have time for a wild goose chase, Chase!”

I hid a giggle. “And I’m not telling you shit over a line that could be tapped. If someone burned down my building, they could tap your line. Two hours.”

There was a pause, filled with Mort's frustration. “Fine. But don’t be late.”

I hung up, a smug smile on my face. Mort was like a puppet, and I’d pulled his strings perfectly. The burner buzzed, and I glanced at the screen.

Chelsea: I have the second car

Crap. I’d forgotten about the duplicate car and the mods we needed to do. Well, I could fit it in.

Dakota: Great! Plates?

Chelsea: Same plates, yeah

As long as we weren’t side-by-side, it wouldn’t be a problem, and I knew better than to ask her how she got duplicates.

Dakota: Where are you?

Chelsea: Garage

I checked the time. Plenty enough to get there and meet Mort.

Dakota: Be there in an hour

Now my question was, did I go up to Kal’s? Or message her? McKenna? Both? Crap on toast, I was acting like a stupid teenager. Enough. I riffed through the closet and my paltry wardrobe, settled on my standard tee and jeans, topped it with my favorite leather jacket, and headed upstairs.

My key let me punch for the penthouse. I wondered if that was a problem I needed to bring to Kal, or if it was a privilege attached to my apartment. Being two floors down, I didn’t have much time to consider it. At their door, I pressed the buzzer and waited. As soon as it started opening, I spoke.

“Hey, Kal, I—” Too late, I realized my mistake. The blonde hair was a giveaway, and so was the more subdued energy Kal’s wife gave off. A sense of peace washed over me.

“Hello, Dakota. I’m afraid you missed Kalili and McKenna. They’ve already left.”

Her voice was musical without being cloying, and I found my mind went blank for a moment.

“Oh. Uh. Okay.” I rebooted and tried for coherence. “I’ll shoot her a message.”

“I’ll let her know.” She paused, as if unsure what to say. “Dakota? Can I give you some advice?”

I hadn’t asked, and as far as I knew she wasn’t fully in the loop, but I felt a need to listen. “Sure.”

“Let the good things happen.” She smiled then, brilliant, like sunshine at the end of a storm. “It’s worth it.”

“I’ll—okay, yeah, I will.” I wasn’t sure at all what she meant, but it sounded like something she’d experienced. “See you.”

The lobby of the building was a haven compared to the madness of Manhattan streets. Stepping out into the roar of the city, my thoughts on Faith’s mysterious message were shoved to the background by the sheer force of New York’s midday frenzy.

I started hailing cabs instead of getting a rideshare. It didn’t take long before I snagged one – an older yellow cab that had seen better days, like most things in this city. The moment I slid into the backseat, I was hit by the familiar mix of scents – a cocktail of stale cigarettes and pine air freshener that tried too hard. “Brooklyn,” I said to the cabbie, a grizzled man who looked like he’d been born in the driver’s seat.

“You got an address, or am I psychic now?” His tone was as rough as the upholstery I was sitting on.

I rattled off a location close to Chelsea’s garage. Paranoia is a habit hard to break and a constant in my line of work. With a grunt that could’ve been affirmation or indigestion, we lurched forward, joining the symphony of honking horns and cursing drivers.

The cab rattled over the Manhattan Bridge, an aging metal giant groaning under the weight of relentless traffic. Below, the East River churned, indifferent to the chaos above. Crossing from Manhattan to Brooklyn was like traveling through a wormhole – you leave one universe and enter another. As we descended into Brooklyn’s heart, the change was obvious. The sleek, glass skyscrapers gave way to warehouses and brownstones. The buildings here wore their age like my well-loved leather jacket, each crack in the facade a story of years gone by. This was a place where life happened loudly and without pretense. Brooklyn wasn't just a borough; it was a living, breathing entity, pulsating with the dreams and struggles of its inhabitants.

As we pulled up to the curb near my destination, I handed the cabbie his fare plus a generous tip – hazard pay for navigating the urban jungle. “Keep the change,” I said with a grin. “Buy yourself something nice, like a new air freshener.”

He snorted, the sound halfway between a laugh and a snarl, and took the money. I slid out of the cab into the bustling Brooklyn street. As I walked, I felt myself syncing with its rhythm, a melody composed of equal parts chaos and harmony, where every step felt like a note in an urban symphony. No matter what obstacles awaited me—whether it be the Families, the cops, or anyone else—I wasn't going to let them scare me off. This was my home, and I was here to stay.

Chelsea’s garage, with its comforting aroma of grease and metal, was a place where you could believe for a moment that all the troubles of the outside world didn’t exist. Here, amidst the hodgepodge of tools and parts, she created magic on whatever car had taken her fancy. Today, all the usual projects were pushed to the sides, the twin sedans dead center.

“Perfect,” I admitted, letting my fingers graze the cool metal. “I didn’t think you could do it, not after the trouble we had with the first one.”

“I have my ways,” Chelsea said, nodding, before a crease of concern marred her brow. “I figure we’ll install the hide you wanted under the back seat. No one’s finding anything unless they take the whole car apart.”

I grinned. “Exactly what I thought.”

The conversation shifted, and I asked her about the gig. Chelsea’s expression morphed to a combination of pride and worry, and my gut tightened.

“It’s weird,” she confessed, leaning against the front of one of the cars. “Everything’s running smooth, too smooth. It’s like walking on a frozen lake, not knowing when the ice will crack.”

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. “You think we’re being watched?”

She shrugged. “Could be. Or maybe I’m feeling the pressure of doing this day after day. There’s a reason I don’t do the corporate scene, Dakota.”

I chuckled. “Me too. I trust your instincts, so keep your eyes open, okay?”

She nodded. “Always do.We’ll work on the cars tomorrow,” she said as I prepared to leave. “Be careful, Dakota.”

“My middle name,” I replied, though we both knew that was an exaggeration. I managed risks, but sometimes they were unavoidable. I stepped back onto the busy Brooklyn streets, apprehension settling in. Mort and whatever storm was brewing at HIP were two more hurdles in a never-ending steeplechase.

As I hailed another cab, this one even more rundown than the first, I thought about Mort and how I’d handle the inevitable barrage of questions. I figured my best bet was to play the role of the slightly bewildered parolee. Maybe Mort would give up some tidbits. In the game of cat and mouse, I was the mouse with a plan.

The cab pulled up to the bakery, and I paid the driver. He took the money without a sound, a polite New York thank you, and I headed into Calypso Cravings. Time to face Mort and do the steps to my delicate dance of deception. With a deep breath, I pushed the door open, ready for whatever came next.

He wasn’t there. This didn’t surprise me, as it was a quarter-hour before our appointment. Arriving before him wouldn’t just put him at a disadvantage, but gave me a chance to get a coffee and the pastries I loved from the shop. I found a table close to the kitchen door and took the seat with my back to the wall.

The bakery was buzzing when Mort finally barged in, ten minutes late. He looked around with the air of a man who'd lost his keys in a dumpster. I made no move to flag him down, casually sipping my coffee and savoring the coconut bread, letting him stew a little. One point to me. Mort finally zeroed in on me, bulldozing through the crowd like a tank through a flower bed. “Chase,” he growled, plopping down across from me.

I raised my coffee in mock salute. “Mort, my favorite PO. Want a slice of heaven?” I asked, gesturing at the coconut bread with exaggerated politeness.

His glare could’ve killed a lesser soul. “Cut the crap, Chase. We need to talk.”

I leaned back, enjoying the way he bristled at my calm demeanor. Two points. “Sure, Mort. What's eating you today?”

“Don't bullshit me, Chase. You know damn well why I'm here.”

I shrugged, feigning ignorance. “I do? Last I checked, I wasn't on the arson suspect list.”

Mort’s frustration was almost a physical assault. “Stop playing dumb. Your building’s a pile of ash, and here you are, sipping coffee like it's Sunday brunch.”

Three points. “Well, Mort, life goes on. As for my building, any leads from your cop buddies?”

He sighed, the sound like sandpaper on wood. “I can’t talk about it, Chase. I need to know where you're staying. Give me an address.”

I relished the chance to dance around his questions. “Sorry, Mort, but I'm a bit cautious these days, what with my apartment flambe. I’m sure you understand.”

Mort looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “This isn't a game, Chase. You could have been in that fire. I need an address, now.”

I gave in, tossing him a bone. “Alright, I'm staying with a friend. Kalili Keoka.”

“Good choice, Chase.” With an eyeroll, Mort scribbled down the name with the enthusiasm of a kid doing homework. “And where’s this friend live?”

I hesitated, on the edge of telling him to look it up in his files before I remembered that Kal would be swapping the documents about now, and decided to play it safe. “Uptown. You know, where the streets are paved with gold.”

He snapped his notebook shut, his eyes sharp. “You think you’re clever, Chase, but you’re walking a thin line. One wrong move and you’re back inside, serving the rest of your term on a parole violation.” At my wide eyes, he added, “You have to notify me before you move.”

Mort’s revelation about my living situation being a parole violation hit like a sucker punch. I stared at him, my indignation boiling over. “How in the seven hells is that my fault, Mort? My place turned into a damn bonfire!”

His casual shrug was like throwing gasoline on the fire. “Rules are rules, Chase. You gotta run these things by me. I’m your guardian angel, remember?”

The sarcasm in his voice was as subtle as a sledgehammer. “Yeah, my very own Clarence. You planning to earn your wings by sending me back to the clink?”

The bakery’s fluorescent lights glinted off his glasses. “Don’t push me, Chase. I got enough on my plate without having to babysit you.”

I crossed my arms, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Babysit? Mort, if I had a babysitter like you when I was a kid, I probably would’ve—” I stopped before I could reveal too much about myself and changed tactics. “Besides, the last time I checked, parole officers didn’t double as real estate agents.”

His chuckle was dry, devoid of any real humor. “Maybe I should. Make good money that way. Speaking of which, are you still pulling pints at that dive?”

I bristled at his description of the Salty Parrot. “It’s a respectable establishment, Mort. And yes, I'm still employed, before you get any ideas about dragging me back to jail for vagrancy.”

Mort made a show of jotting something down in his notebook, his pencil scratching noisily. “Good to hear. Wouldn't want you falling into old habits.”

I bit back a snappy retort. Arguing with Mort was about as productive as teaching a cat to sing – amusing for a minute, but ultimately futile.

He snapped his notebook shut with a finality that echoed around the now-quiet bakery. His chair scraped across the floor, painful echoes ringing in my ears. “Just remember, Chase, I’m watching. Step out of line, and it’s back to the big house. No more coconut bread for you.”

As he stood up, I offered him the most insincere smile I could muster. “I’ll remember that, Mort. Thanks for the heart-to-heart.”

He grunted, unimpressed by my attempt at politeness, and strode out, leaving me alone with my coconut bread and a fresh wave of irritation. As he stomped off, despite his veiled threats I couldn’t help but feel a little victorious. Mort might have had the badge, but I had the smarts. In this city, that counted for a lot. I took another bite of bread and tapped out a message.

Dakota: You’d better be done, Mort just left here

I heard his ancient Ford struggle to life, firing on maybe five of its eight cylinders.

Kalili: Done and dusted, slick as anything. Meet you back at the apartment

I guessed it was time to go. After sending messages to the associates I’d recruited, telling them to establish nice, air-tight alibis for the next week, I drained my coffee and swallowed my last morsel. Then, thinking I might want to bring something nice home to share, I picked up a box of their fruit turnovers, getting three of each with an extra mango, my favorite.

“See you, Zahara,” I said. She was the owner and someone I’d miss if I left the neighborhood for good.

“Hey, Dakota, before you go.” She still had the accent from her birthplace in the US Virgin Islands.

Stepping away from the counter, I adjusted the box of turnovers under my arm. “Yeah, Zahara?” I walked over to where she stood, away from the other customers.

Her accent brought a touch of the Caribbean to the Brooklyn bakery. “You in trouble, mi tesoro?” she asked, her voice low.

I offered her a half-smile. “Just the usual. What's up?”

Zahara glanced around, ensuring we weren’t overheard. “It’s about your apartment. My nephew, Mateo, he was around that night.”

Mateo, right. The guy was practically part of the building's late-night landscape, dating one of the residents on the first floor. “Yeah, I know him. What about him?”

She leaned in closer. “He saw someone. Not a regular. Moving fast, just before the fire alarm.”

Now that was worth its weight in gold. “Did he see what this person looked like?”

She shook her head, her dreadlocks swaying gently. “No, but he said he smelled good. Not like cologne, but... clean, you know? Mateo, he say he didn’t know the smell, but after, he was hungry.”

I frowned, digesting this. A good-smelling stranger that made people hungry in a place where everyone knew each other’s business. It was something, even if it was frustratingly bizarre.

“Thanks, Zahara. If he remembers anything else, anything at all, let me know.”

She gave me a look that was all maternal concern. “You be safe, Dakota. This place, it’s not kind to people in your line of work.”

“I plan to be,” I assured her, but her words stuck with me as I left the bakery, the box of turnovers now a secondary concern.

Outside, the city thrummed around me, a constant reminder of the hustle it took to survive here. Zahara’s words added another piece to the puzzle, a stranger amidst the familiar chaos. As I walked, blending into the Brooklyn crowd, I couldn’t help but wonder who the hell smelled good in a building ready to burn.

“Seems like trouble’s got a new cologne,” I muttered to myself, the gears in my head already turning. Time to find out who’s been dabbling in arson – and designer fragrances.

20: A Narrow Escape

The less said about the trip back to Manhattan or Kal’s shopping expedition, the better.

I never liked clothes shopping. If it covered me and kept me on the right side of the law, I considered it a win. If the colors didn’t make others scream and gouge their eyes out, so much the better. I told Kal as much in the car, on our way to the first store, and she couldn’t contain her glee. “You know, Dakota, sometimes I think you deliberately underdress to tick people off.”

I glanced at her, my mood darkening. “Kal, if I wanted to piss people off, I’d tell them my opinions on politics and pineapple on pizza.”

Her laugh echoed in the confined space of the car. “Well, now you can infuriate them in style.”

We headed into the shops with Kal wielding her AmEx like a weapon of mass shopping. She was relentless.

“It’s about blending in, Dakota,” she kept saying as she thrust set after set of absurdly expensive clothes into my arms. “You can’t look like you rolled out of a dive bar when you're trying to pass as high society.”

I muttered something about dive bars having more character as I was ushered into another dressing room. Each outfit was a battle, me versus the fabric – and the fabric was winning.

“Kal, I swear, if I have to try on one more silk blouse, I’m going rogue,” I threatened, half-serious.

She only tossed another dress over the changing room door. “Just one more, I promise.”

Emerging from the dressing room, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The person staring back was a stranger – polished, sophisticated, and utterly out of place.

“See? You look amazing!” Kal’s enthusiasm was undimmed by my scowl.

“I feel like a circus monkey,” I grumbled, eyeing the mirror with suspicion.

Kal sighed, her expression turning serious for a moment. “Look, Dakota, I know this isn’t your scene, but it’s necessary. We’re playing at a higher level now. You need to look the part.”

I conceded with ill grace, because Kal had a point. In our line of work, appearances were half the battle. If dressing up in these fancy threads gave us an edge, then so be it. I didn’t have to like it, and told her so, knowing I sounded like a petulant child. As we finally made our way back to the car, laden with more shopping bags than I cared to count, I couldn’t help but feel a grudging sense of appreciation. Kal knew what she was doing, even if her methods were borderline diabolical.

Back in the car, Kal turned to me with a sly grin. “Ready for round two?”

I groaned, sinking further into my seat. “Kal, if you make me try on one more pair of designer jeans, I’m joining a nudist colony. For real.”

She treated me to the sound that was quickly becoming the soundtrack to my shopping hell, giggling around her words. “Trust me, Dakota.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that Kal's definition of “style” was probably lightyears away from mine. “This is gonna end soon, right?” Her chuckle did nothing to improve my mood.

The eighth store, or maybe it was the ninth, merged into a kaleidoscope of designer labels and over-enthusiastic sales assistants. Kal looked more at home than a cat in a sunny spot. As she tossed another ensemble my way, I sighed, feeling like a mannequin being dressed for a window display. “Kal, this is torture, you know that, right?”

Her joyous laugh filled the upscale boutique. “It’s not torture, Dakota. It’s fashion. Big difference.”

I snorted. “One’s painful and unnecessary, and the other’s also painful and unnecessary.”

Her response was drowned out by the buzz of my phone. I glanced at the screen – a message from Sierra. Kal leaned in, her expression turning serious for a moment, so I satisfied her curiosity. “She’s into the video feeds. Should give us a good look inside HIP.”

“Good. Here.” Kal held up a suit, its lines sleek but less eye-catching than the Victoria Beckham number.

I pocketed my phone, taking the suit. “Aw, come on, Kal. I’m starting to feel like you’re living out your shopping fantasies through me. Doesn’t Faith like to shop?”

“She’s never gotten the knack of it,” Kal said, pushing me toward the changing rooms. “You’ll wear this, and you’ll like it. It’s stealthy, it’s stylish. You’ll blend in.”

“Stealthy, huh? Does it come with a cloaking device?”

Her grin was infectious. “Almost. Here, try it on. Remember, we’re not shopping for clothes. We’re armoring up for battle.”

The fitting room felt like a confessional booth, and I wondered what sins had landed me here.  When I emerged, feeling like a spy in a movie,  I had to admit the suit fit like a second skin, and the mirror reflected someone who looked surprisingly competent.

Kal clapped her hands together, a proud parent at a recital. “See? What did I tell you? You look ready to take on the world.”

I grumbled something noncommittal, uneasy about my reflection. As I shrugged off the jacket and started unbuttoning the blouse, I searched for something to distract me. Faith’s earlier words rang through my mind. What the hell was she talking about, let the good things happen? Did she mean McKenna? I stepped out of the pants and reached for my comfortable jeans. We’d settled it, hadn’t we? Friends, and we’d see what happened after, after.

Kal’s voice dropped me out of my reverie with one leg in. “Damn, Dakota, you killed it in that outfit. Now, try this.” Another set of clothes dropped over the door.

I eyed the outfit with suspicion but complied. “Fine, but no more scarves. They itch.”

“We’re thieves, Dakota, but we can be elegant thieves.”

I snorted, extricating my leg. “I’ll leave the elegance to you. I’m more the get-things-done type.”

The outfit passed the test, and we left the store, laden with bags. “I’m done, Kalili. There’s been enough shopping for one day,” I declared, feeling like a mule under the weight of designer gear. “If you try to drive me to another store, I’ll jump out of the car while it’s moving.”

Kalili laughed, but she agreed to stop. “For today,” she added, and a groan escaped my lips before I could stifle it. Her smile grew wider.

As we drove back, I messaged McKenna with an update. The streets of Manhattan passed by, a blur of lights and shadows, and I found myself thinking about the job ahead. We were threading a needle here, and there was no room for error. If all this helped us succeed, well, it would be worth it.

I had my doubts.

Dakota: Can you come down to the garage?

McKenna: Sure, why?

Dakota: Kalili. Shopping. That’s all I wanna say

McKenna: LOL

Dakota: It’s not funny!

McKenna: LOL LOL LOL

Dakota: Brat

Back at the building, McKenna was there, grinning. Despite my annoyance at her pleasure at my discomfort, I felt a tingle. Between us, with minimal help from Kal, we made it to the apartment in a single trip. I flopped onto the couch, surrounded by bags and boxes. “Christ, Kal. I feel like I've robbed a department store.”

Kal settled in beside me and patted my thigh. “Consider it a necessary evil, Dakota. Tonight, go through these again. I want you to feel comfortable in every one of these outfits.”

I groaned inwardly but nodded. This was part of the game, and if I wanted to win, I had to play by the rules. Even if those rules were dictated by the whims of fashion.

Kalili stuck around a few more minutes, then made her excuses and disappeared. As she walked out, she said, “Oh, one more thing. I have a grocery delivery coming for you, but I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered what I’d get. If there’s anything you just can’t stand, let me know, because it’s gonna be something I’d eat.”

I had pulled the fridge open when she said this, so I lifted my head. “How soon?”

“Half an hour? I ordered when we headed back. Lawrence, the night desk, will let you know when it arrives. Night!” She breezed out.

Closing the door, I said, “Well, we can either wait for the groceries and see what we can put together, or eat turnovers for dinner.”

McKenna grinned. “As appealing as turnovers sound, I think we’ll do better with proper food.”

“Hey, Zahara’s turnovers are practically a food group!”

McKenna threw up her arms in surrender. “I’m sure they are, but let’s hold that as plan B.”

“Spoilsport.”

To fill the time, we put my new clothing away. I learned quickly to appreciate the full walk-in closet, lined with shelves and drawers, that Kalili had installed in the bedroom. As we hung up, folded, and put away, McKenna told me about their visit to Mort’s office.

“Okay, so, today’s little adventure started off slow,” McKenna began. “Kal and I dressed up as Brooklyn's finest and waltzed right into the office on 2nd Avenue.”

“That’s a sight I’d love to see.” McKenna’s eyes widened, and I realized what I’d said. “That is, um, you got into Mort's office?”

McKenna nodded, a smug grin spreading across her face but letting me off the hook. “You bet we did. It was easy, but it wasn’t simple. See, the first part was we had to find the right uniforms. You might’ve guessed that Brooklyn PD isn't too keen on loaning out their gear to just anyone, but we had the old ones from a job we pulled.”

I remembered Kal mentioning it.

“We had to make sure it was up to date, so that meant a quick visit to the precinct on 78th Street. Kal was all slicked up, playing the part of a public defender, can you believe it?”

“Kalili Keoka, Public Defender.” I tried it out for size, then shook my head. “Can’t picture it.”

“No, neither could I, but with her hair up in a bun and a pair of fake glasses, plus a cheap polyester pantsuit that looked like it pained her to wear? She pulled it off. Anyway, we went in. She played the PD, I was the defendant, and she asked for Sergeant Martinez.”

“What? Wasn’t that risky?”

“No, we knew he wouldn’t be there—he works the night shift, and you can thank Sierra for that bit of information—so while Kal’s faking a message for him about an upcoming court case, I’m scoping out the blues.”

“And?” I imagined them sweet-talking their way into a police precinct.

“No updates. We left the precinct, ducked into a restaurant, and changed. Then there was the matter of actually getting into the building.” McKenna’s tone was nonchalant, as if she were discussing nothing more than a stroll in the park. “I wanted to slip in through a side entrance when nobody was looking, but Kal said we ought to brazen our way in. So we did, right through the fuckin’ front door.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed by their nerves. “That’s so typically Kal. What happened once you were inside?”

McKenna's grin widened. “Oh, it got better from there. We had to navigate a maze of hallways and stairwells. You know how many people work in that office?” I shook my head. I’d never paid much attention. “Neither do I, but it’s a bunch more than I ever thought! We were dodging nosy interns and secretaries every step of the way. Somehow, we managed to find Mort's office without raising too much suspicion, or getting lost, which was a minor miracle.”

I shook my head in disbelief, visualizing the scene. Kal, leading the way, looking utterly confident, and McKenna, watching their backs. “Did you have any problems with the papers?”

“No, that part went like clockwork. Well, maybe clockwork that skipped a gear or two occasionally. After we found his office and I picked the lock, we had to find his files, which nearly killed me. That man doesn’t know the first thing about organization!”

I laughed again, harder, seeing how offended McKenna was at Mort’s files. That, I remembered. “Yeah, Mort barely knows where he puts anything. Last time I was there, it took him five minutes to find the NV-P-2 form that we fill out every single time.”

“I believe it. It’s like he sticks folders into the closest drawer. It took us a half hour before we stumbled on it, stuffed between ‘Williams, J.’ and a folder full of old take-out menus. The whole time, we’re listening, waiting for someone to get the drop on us.”

I shuddered. Doing what we did had risks, but this was the sort of thing that could turn a con straight.

“Finally we found the file, swapped out Mort's notes with the doctored ones we prepared, locked up, and we were out of there.”

I couldn't help but grin at McKenna's bravado. “Well, I'll be damned. You two are a couple of geniuses.”

McKenna shrugged modestly, but I could see the pride twinkling in her eyes. “Just another day at the office, Dakota. Nothing we couldn't handle.”

We’d migrated to the living room, so when the intercom buzzer sounded I wasn’t far away.

“Yes?”

“This is Lawrence, the concierge.” I was glad he identified himself. I don’t know if I’d’ve remembered his name. “I have a delivery here for you, Ms. Chase. Would you like me to send it up?”

I shot a querying look to McKenna, who shrugged. Between us, I felt pretty confident we could take down a fake deliveryman, so I said, “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Ms. Chase.”

He clicked off, and McKenna mocked him immediately. “Ms. Chase? Well, lah-di-dah.” Her disdain was ruined by her giggle, though.

“Moving up in the world,” I countered through a laugh of my own, then started humming the old song, which got McKenna laughing harder.

We probably would have continued for a while if we weren’t interrupted by a knock at the door, sobering us both. Without a word, McKenna moved to the far side of the door, her hand slipping to her waist and a Kahr CM9 I hadn’t noticed. I winced; violence wasn’t the first resort for my crew or even the fourth, but that was a discussion for later.

Midway through the next set of knocks, I pulled the door open, revealing a spotty twentysomething holding several bags.

“Yes?”

“Uh, Ms. Chase?” His voice broke, and I revised his age downward as I nodded. “Delivery from Trader’s Market for you. I have some more bags downstairs...?”

McKenna tucked the gun away and smoothly inserted herself, though he jumped at the sight of her, saying, “Let me help.” We unloaded the bags from his arms, and then McKenna went with him to fetch the rest. A few minutes later, she returned alone, loaded with more bags than he’d brought the first time. I whistled.

“Didn’t know that box jockeys were so strong.”

“Lifting safes out of holes does things to a woman. Take these, will ya?”

Grinning, I grabbed a couple of bags and pushed the door shut.

“Where’s Mr. Spots?”

“I sent him on his way with a ten, after I scoped out his car. If he’s spying for anyone, he’s the best damn undercover operative I’ve ever seen. There were so many fast food wrappers in the back seat I could’ve insulated a house with ‘em.”

We put the groceries away, my thoughts straying to the gun McKenna carried. Finally, I decided to grab the bull by the balls.

“Pretty gun, but my crew doesn’t use ‘em. Not on the job.”

Her eyebrows lifted, but McKenna kept her voice neutral. “Sometimes an equalizer is necessary. Come on, Dakota, you’ve done this long enough to know I’m right.”

I nodded grudgingly. “Yeah, but being caught with an unlicensed gun added ten years to my last stint, or would have if I hadn’t pled down. Since then? No guns. Not on the job.”

McKenna nodded. “I get that, but this baby is licensed.”

“Which can still make it a Class C felony, or even a Class B. What?” I said at her surprised expression. “You gotta know the laws you’re gonna break.”

“We’re not going to get caught, and we’re not on the job.”

I sighed. “No, we’re not. Don’t carry it when we’re working. Promise me.”

She raised her hand and extended her fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s the Vulcan salute.”

She ostensibly examined her hand. “Huh. I always get those mixed up. Seriously, Dakota, if we don’t carry on the job, I won’t. But I won’t walk around the City without some protection.”

That, I couldn’t argue.

As the evening wore on, McKenna took charge of the kitchen with a surprising flair. I found myself relegated to the role of sous-chef, tasked with slicing and dicing. Not that I minded; my culinary skills were usually limited to the beep of a microwave.

We chatted casually as we cooked, the conversation ebbing and flowing as naturally as the wine we sipped. McKenna was a storyteller, her tales punctuated with bursts of laughter that echoed off the walls. I found myself drawn in, laughing along, the weight of our situation momentarily lifted. When we moved to the table, our conversation turned to the plans for the heist.

There was a rhythm to our discussion, a back-and-forth that was as smooth as it was professional. It felt good, natural, like we'd been partners in crime for years rather than days. As the night drew on, the air between us thickened with an understanding. I caught her looking at me once or twice, her gaze lingering a moment too long, her smile a tad too knowing. Getting ready for bed was a quiet affair, devoid of the awkwardness that had marked our first few nights. It was strange, this sense of familiarity with someone I'd known for such a short time.

Lying in the dark, I found my mind wandering, tracing the outline of McKenna's figure in the faint moonlight. There was a warmth to her presence, a sense of comfort that I hadn't known I was missing. I found myself closer to her than mere professionalism would dictate, but didn't push the thought away. Here we were, two people thrown together by fate, finding solace in each other's company. It was an odd sort of intimacy, borne out of necessity, yet it felt right.

As I drifted off to sleep, a thought lingered in my mind, a hook to ponder in the light of day. In this crazy life of heists and close shaves, McKenna was becoming an unexpected constant. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was beginning to like it that way.

21: Regroup and Rethink

The weekend passed quietly, starting with waking with McKenna wrapped around me again. I took it as a good omen, a sign of things to come.

I should have known better. When life hands you a cigar, you expect it to explode. At least in my life it does; I don’t know about anyone else’s.

Chelsea and I did the conversions on the cars, getting covered up to our elbows in grime. It felt good to get my hands dirty and do something physical. “You think anyone's gonna spot the compartments?” she asked, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her hand.

I glanced at our handiwork, impressed despite myself. “Not unless they're looking really hard. They'd have to flip the seat or fiddle with the armrest, and even then, it's a tight fit. Looks like an original fit. Nice job dulling the welds, by the way.”

We shared a nod of satisfaction, both knowing the stakes. I finally peeled myself away, leaving Chelsea to fine-tune our mechanical marvels, heading for my borrowed apartment. After scrubbing off the day’s labor, I dialed up my alibi crew. “Hey, just checking we’re all clear,” I said into the phone, voice low.

“Clear as vodka, Dakota,” came the first reply. As I ran down the list, each one confirmed they were ready to cover our tracks. It surprised me how willing they were to assist, without a single offer of money. I knew some good people, even if they were all criminals. Satisfied, I checked that mental box and focused on the next task.

By seven, McKenna stumbled in, looking like she’d wrestled a greased pig but grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Triple-S is all set. That system's so slick, it’d fool a saint. Since I’m not a saint? I’ve got it sussed out seven ways to Sunday.”

I imagined her wrangling tech and cables. “We're invisible now?”

“Practically ghosts,” she assured me, clapping her hands together and sending a plume of dust into the air.

“Great. Go shower.” She looked at me, puzzled, until I added, “The crew’s coming later, remember?”

“Shit, I forgot.” She disappeared, shedding clothes as she went, and I averted my eyes after I caught sight of muscular shoulders. When she returned, I asked her opinion on what we should do for food for the crew. I favored pizza, but McKenna was all for playing host, and somehow she prevailed. Me? I just tried to keep my fingers intact while chopping veggies. “You sure this isn't overkill?” I joked, narrowly avoiding a culinary mishap.

McKenna shot me a playful glare. “Trust me, Dakota. They'll appreciate it.”

I went down the list of foods were providing the crew. A quick scan revealed a glaring omission: no booze. I grabbed my jacket. “Back in a flash. Can't have a dry meeting.” I headed out the door.

The liquor store clerk raised an eyebrow as I piled up bottles and mixers. “Big party?” he asked.

“Something like that,” I replied, handing over the last of Kal's cash.

Back at the apartment, I lined up the bottles like the willing sacrifices they were. “You know the crew,” I said to McKenna, unscrewing a bottle cap. “Liquid courage is part of the uniform.”

McKenna laughed, raising her glass in a mock toast. “To a successful night.”

As usual, Chelsea was the first to show. “I had to get space in the garage, since this part of town is terrible for street parking, at least if I wanted to be on time.” I nodded, knowing better than to interrupt, heading to the kitchen to fix her nearly virgin Hurricane, as she continued. “I’m hoping that Kalili’s got some pull with the owners, or will cover the cost, because until this job pays off I’m kinda skint. The HIP rideshare gig helps, but...”

I hid my smirk behind her quarter-shot of light rum. “Yeah, she has some pull. Just ask.”

“Nice place. Hi, McKenna, I didn’t expect anyone else yet.” She sounded peeved at not being the first, but then her driver’s curiosity won out. “How did you get here so fast?” She sounded like she hoped for a secret route, but my mind was a million miles from tricks of the road.

How were we gonna deal with McKenna and I sharing a bed? It hadn’t crossed my mind, too wrapped up in my own issues to wonder how the crew would deal with it. Business and pleasure didn’t mix, and while what we were doing was as innocent as a sleepover, I knew my people. They’d leap to any awkward conclusion. I hoped McKenna had a better clue on how to handle the question.

She did. She ignored the elephant in the room and said, “I’m staying here until after the heist.” Before Chelsea could react, McKenna moved to the oven, sliding a mitt on her hand. She pulled the door open, and I was relieved to see no accompanying plume of smoke. She pulled out the pans of meat tartlets and simple mini quiches.

“Holy shit. Did you do that, Dakota?”

I preened for about a half-second before McKenna said, “Well, she helped,” and I deflated.

“Hey, I beat the eggs and portioned out the tartlet filling!” I felt I had to defend my contribution.

“Impressive,” Chelsea drawled, reaching for one. “Ouch!”

“Yeah, they’re hot. Oven, remember?” McKenna didn’t pretend to hide her amusement.

“Smartass.”

“It’s why I fit in so well.”

I kept my mouth shut, enjoying the banter.

Kal arrived next, which didn’t surprise me since she lived two floors up. She let herself in, which also didn’t surprise me. But she had Faith in tow, which did surprise me, at least until I saw what they were carrying: bottles and bottles of liquor.

“Hey, I forgot to stock up, and—oh. You took care of it.” Kal sounded crushed at our resourcefulness.

“We did, but more’s better, and I’ll bet you brought the good stuff. Better stuff,” I amended, clearing a space on the counter. “Hi, Faith.”

She nodded, almost shyly. “Hi, Dakota.” Faith unburdened herself and turned to Kal. “I’ll see you later.” A quick kiss and she was out the door.

“Who’s the blonde?” said Sierra a moment later. “And Dakota, no offense, but if this is what you have here you’d be stupid to move back to Brooklyn.”

A quick, complicated look passed between Kal and me. “I’ll keep it in mind,” I answered, but Sierra had already moved on.

“Holy crap, we have rum that has a name I recognize?” She swarmed over the bottles, a kid let loose in a toy store, picking up one after another, unable to choose.

Drinks and snacks settled, we gathered in the living room. Conversation lapsed as we took in the sparkling lights of the city.

“I vote we keep meeting here instead of the SVG, despite the shitty parking,” Chelsea eventually said.

After a round of approval, we got down to business. “Sierra, you’re up first,” I said, relaxing in my seat, eyes fixed on her. “Before we all get too cozy with our drinks.”

Sierra, cradling her glass of rum like it was a lifeline, let out a long breath. “Alright, hold onto your asses. You’re not going to believe the setup at HIP. They’ve got cameras plastered everywhere, and they're hooked up to some fancy AI that's supposed to sniff out trouble.”

The image of Big Brother watching us made me uneasy. “How sophisticated are we talking?”

Sierra took another gulp, her eyes gleaming with a hacker’s zeal. “Oh, it's state-of-the-art stuff. This AI, it's not just recording; it's analyzing. Movement patterns, facial recognition, you name it. And there are these live monitors, three of them, fed the most 'threatening' footage. High-tech paranoia.”

I frowned. “Sounds like we’re walking into an electronic hornet's nest.”

She shrugged, her confidence unwavering. “Yeah, but here's the equalizer: I've tapped into their feeds. As we speak, I'm downloading terabytes of data and feeding it to my pet AI. By the end of the weekend, I'll have enough footage to create a perfect loop around Global Logistics. No traffic, no us. I patch in our dummy feed, and voila, we vanish.”

My eyebrows shot up. “That’s some Hollywood heist movie shit right there. And the alarms?”

Sierra’s smile turned wicked. “Oh, they went all-in on integration. Alarms, cameras, the works, all feed into the same system. Once I hijacked their video, the alarms were mine to play with.”

I nodded, impressed despite myself. “You’ve got it handled, then?”

Sierra winced slightly at my words. “Every time you say that, Dakota, I feel like there’s a shoe about to drop and I start feeling all Wicked Witch of the East.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her mixed metaphor. “You know me too well. Speaking of which, I've got another task for you.”

Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “What’s up?”

“Find out who torched my place. You’ve got your digital tentacles in all sorts of pies, right? Use your trojan worms or whatever magic you do and dig around. I know you’ve hacked into the BPD. Kal's shaking trees on her end, but you can probably get it faster.”

I saw Sierra’s shoulders tense, but she didn’t balk. “Why? Got a vendetta brewing alongside our heist?”

The words hit me hard. Did I? Maybe. I damned well had reason to be pissed, to want revenge. The more I thought about it, the more the anger bubbled up, the more the desire to get even came to the fore. When I finally answered, my voice was steady but seethed with a bitterness that cut through the air. “You know something? I do. The bastards who burned down my place crossed a line. They took away more than bricks and mortar; they stripped me of my sanctuary. And for what? To send a message? To scare me?”

The room fell silent, every gaze locked on me, seeing the raw, unfiltered anger surface. “Yeah, this is personal, damn it. We play in the shadows, sure. We dodge cops, we deal with marks getting wise, we even bump heads with other crooks. That's the game. But this?” I slammed my hand down on the table, the sound echoing like a gunshot. “This is a whole different level of violation.”

My eyes moved from face to face, each of my crew seeing the fury, the hurt, the vulnerability I had kept buried deep for days. “They burned my home. My fucking refuge from this crazy life we lead. They think they can intimidate us, make us back down?” I stood, my voice rising with each word. “Well, they picked the wrong crew to mess with. I’m not going to let this slide. I’m not going to tuck tail and run. They want to play dirty? Fine. I’ll show them how dirty I can get.”

I could feel the heat in my cheeks and the tremor in my hands, but I didn’t care. “We’re going to hit them where it hurts. We're going to strike hard and make them regret thinking they could mess with us. I want them to suffer, to feel the fear they tried to instill in me. And I want them to know who did it to them, despite their best effort.” My voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. “This is more than a heist, more than a job. This is a statement. We’re not to be fucked with. Not now, not ever.”

My fiery declaration hung in the air. For a moment, there was silence, the weight of my words settling over us like a heavy blanket. Then, one by one, my crew nodded, their expressions shifting from surprise to resolve. Chelsea was the first to break the silence, her voice gruff but supportive. “Dakota, you know we've got your back. Anyone messes with one of us, they mess with all of us.” She cracked her knuckles in a way that made me believe she'd personally like to deal with the culprits.

“Fucking right!” I turned to Sierra at her outburst. “Everything I do, I do in shadows. Coming out to poke someone in the eye sounds good to me.”

McKenna, her eyes still reflecting the intensity of my speech, added, “Yeah, we're a team. Your fight is our fight. We'll make them regret they ever crossed paths with us.” There was a fire in her tone that warmed me more than I expected.

Kalili chimed in, and if her voice was gentler than the rest of my crew, the words resonated the same way. “We're in this together, Dakota. Always have been, always will be. Let's show them what happens when they wake a sleeping bear.” Her hand found its way to my shoulder, a reassuring gesture that spoke volumes.

The moment of solidarity lingered, a rare show of emotion in our business. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, we shifted gears, turning our attention back to the task at hand. I could feel the difference, though, and knew in my gut we’d end with the upper hand.

Chelsea launched into a tirade about her travels through the Manhattan streets. “You wouldn't believe the number of morons on the road today,” she grumbled. “I swear, half of them don't know the difference between a red light and a green one. If I were in charge, I'd revoke their licenses on the spot. No trial, no appeal.”

Sierra and McKenna leaned into a deep dive about the Global Logistics building. “The blueprints don't show half the security measures they've got in place,” Sierra explained, tapping away at her tablet. “I mean, it doesn’t much matter, since I own ‘em all, but it’s good to know what’s there.”

Kal flitted about like a butterfly, unable to settle for long. She joined in the conversations, adding her two cents before finally coming to rest beside me on the couch. Her presence was a quiet reminder of our long-standing friendship, a bond that went beyond professional ties.

“You want to talk?” She was unusually subdued, and I responded in kind.

“Maybe. Not tonight.” The hatred still seethed, barely contained, and I didn’t think I could take the lid off it again without it consuming me.

She nodded. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

The gathering wrapped up soon after that, and McKenna and I were alone before midnight.

“I don’t know about you,” she said, putting away the last dishes, “But I’m wiped out.”

The weight of the day landed on me then, as if it had been waiting for something to remind me it existed. “Yeah, me too.”

We went to bed, and it wasn’t at all weird.

The apartment was quiet the next day, almost too quiet. Kalili breezed in around noon, her usual liveliness somewhat tempered. “Hey, Dakota. Mind if we chat?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Kal, ever heard of calling ahead?”

She flopped into the chair opposite me with her characteristic lack of formality. “And miss the chance to catch you in some scandalous situation? Never.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Sorry to disappoint, but McKenna’s out with Sierra, and it’s just plain ol’ me here.”

Kalili’s eyes, usually so full of mischief, took on a deeper hue, mirroring my turmoil. “You seemed pretty wound up last night,” she started. “Wanna talk about it?”

I let out a sigh and ran my hands through my hair in frustration. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in as I voiced my anguish. “It's this whole mess with my apartment building,” I said, my voice heavy, almost a growl. “I can't seem to shake the anger. It's eating me up inside. I push it down, ignore it, but then it shakes off my control and takes over. I’m worried I’m not thinking right, that I’m leading us right off a cliff because I’m too blinded by rage to see clearly. The only times I feel normal are when I’m with you or—or McKenna.”

Kalili’s demeanor softened, her usual sharp edges blunted by empathy. “I can only imagine,” she murmured, understanding coloring her tone. “Losing your home like that is a hard pill to swallow.”

The words poured out of me then, bitter and raw. “But it's more than losing the place, Kal,” I continued, my voice laced with a deep-seated resentment. “It's how it makes me feel. Violated. Powerless. Like someone walked into my life and upturned everything, leaving me with nothing but ashes.” I clenched my fists, trying to contain the churning anger. “You know how I felt about my apartment. It wasn't four walls and a roof. It was my sanctuary, my one corner of this mad world where I could be myself. Just Dakota. No masks, no schemes, no dodging bullets. Now it's gone, burned down by some faceless coward.”

A warm hand on my arm soothed the roughest edges of my fury. “You're stronger than this, Dakota. Don't let this eat you alive.”

I wasn’t convinced but grateful for her presence. “I know, Kal, but how the hell do I get past this anger?” The memories of prison life crept back in, where I’d always been on edge, always watching my back. I’d thought those days were behind me, the nightmares, too, but this anger was like acid, eating away at the barriers I’d put around them.

Kalili tightened her grip, reassuring in its firmness. “I won’t lie; it's a tough one. Holding onto that rage, though, it's like poison. Keeping a grip on it won't change what happened, only make you bitter.”

“You make it sound so easy, Kal,” I said, almost resentfully.

Her gaze warm and sympathetic, she spoke with a rare gentleness. “It's anything but easy, Dakota. It’s about the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’re right. If you let that fury fester, it’s going to fuck with your mind and steal your ability to think clearly. They’ll win without lifting a finger, and we can’t let that happen.”

Her advice struck deep, the truth resonant in her words. Truth didn’t make it easier to deal with. No matter how much I wanted it, letting go seemed impossible. “Where do I begin?” I whispered, feeling more vulnerable than I cared to admit.

Her touch grounded me. “You started by acknowledging it, Dakota.” She stopped, then added, “You're not alone.”

I looked up, her somber tone, so unlike her usual self, catching me off guard. “What do you mean?”

A shadow seemed to pass over Kalili’s face, an echo of awakened memories best left undisturbed. “I’ve been there, Dakota. Letting anger take the wheel. It’s a road that leads nowhere good.”

Her voice hinted at the past she rarely spoke of. “What happened, Kal?” I found myself asking, drawn into her story, a distraction from my swirling thoughts.

Kalili exhaled slowly, leaning back, her usually bright eyes clouded with the past. “A long time ago, when Faith and I were just starting, we hit a rough patch.” Her voice carried a quiver that betrayed the emotional depth of her story. “I won’t bog you down with the grimy details, but let’s say it left me seething, Dakota, much like you. I was furious, at the world, at life, at the bastards who thought they could control us like puppets.” Her gaze locked with mine, and I saw a primal rawness there, a reflection of battles fought and barely survived. “Faith was taken from me, snatched from right under my nose. I went a bit mad, I guess. I was ready to torch Heaven itself, hellbent on getting her back at any cost.”

My heart clenched at the pain in her voice. “God, Kal. I’m so sorry you went through that.”

She waved a hand, dismissing the need for my sympathy, but the shadows in her eyes said she appreciated it. “It’s ancient history now. But, Dakota, it nearly destroyed me, that anger. It took a piece of my soul. It took years, and lots of love, to get it back.” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “I see that same fire in you. Don't let it consume you like it almost did me. You’ve got too much to live for.”

The weight of her story, her experience, lent her words power I couldn’t ignore. I nodded, feeling the edge of my anger dull just a bit. “Thanks, Kal. It means a lot, knowing you’re here.” Unbidden, Faith’s words came back to me again. Let the good things happen. Maybe that was my answer, letting the good things in, letting them balance out the crap I usually carried around. Losing an apartment stung, but what if I gained McKenna? It might be a fair trade.

Her usual devilish smile crept across her face. “Always, Dakota. What are partners for?”

My lips twitched into a half-smile, despite the heaviness in my heart. “Dragging me into harebrained schemes?”

Her laughter rang out, genuine and bright. “Guilty as charged. But hey, I always pay my debts, don’t I?”

“Oh, really?” I challenged, the banter a welcome relief from the darkness of our conversation.

Her eyes sparkled, the mischief fully back in place. “Absolutely. When have I ever steered us wrong?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, there was that time with the...”

She cut me off. “Okay, okay, maybe once or twice. But who’s counting?”

The mood in the room lifted, the earlier tension dissipating into friendly jibes and laughter. Despite the lingering shadows of our respective pasts, there was comfort in the here and now – in the solidarity of shared struggles and the unwavering support of a friend.

We spent the afternoon talking. Oh, we discussed the job, but most of it was reminiscing, remembering the good times we’d had in the past years, dredging up stories from our separate pasts to entertain the other. It was refreshing, putting aside the burdens of the world. By the time McKenna strolled in, with the evening settling into a comfortable lull, I was feeling much more myself.

We sat down for a delivered dinner, and she was practically buzzing with excitement from another day with Sierra. “Sierra’s on another level,” she said. “You wouldn’t believe the tech she’s messing with.”

I grunted affirmatively, more focused on my meal than on matching her enthusiasm. “Yeah, she’s a wiz. That’s why she’s in.”

McKenna’s excitement was undimmed. “No, Dakota, I mean she really knows her shit. Like, these locks at Global Logistics? They're top-tier biometric. Not your run-of-the-mill stuff.”

I found myself pausing mid-bite, intrigued despite myself. “Biometric, huh? Sounds tricky.”

She nodded vigorously. “Exactly. I've got a guy who can replicate the prints and retinas, but it’s not instant. We’d be delayed past our deadline unless I paid him a queen’s ransom.”

“And Sierra found a workaround?”

McKenna gave me a look. “Of course she did. She dug into their system and found all the biometric data and clearance levels. Turns out, it's not about breaking in; it's about breaking in as someone with full access.”

I mulled over that, the complexity of our job hitting home through the unexpected details. “Can’t we bypass the biometrics?”

McKenna chuckled at me. “No way. Everything’s biometric there. It’s like Fort Knox but with eyeballs and fingerprints.”

I could only muster an “Oh” in response, slightly embarrassed.

She continued, undeterred by my lack of understanding. “So, Sierra’s neck-deep in this, chugging energy drinks like water, when she realizes she’s been going at it all wrong. Instead of hacking the existing data, she could add new data. She’s got admin access, right? She creates a profile for me in their system, plugs in my biometrics, and boom – I'm in like Flynn.”

I sat back, impressed despite my initial lack of interest. “So you’re going to waltz in like you belong there?”

“Pretty much,” she said, grinning like a kid with a secret. “It’s genius. I need to get familiar with their system, so I don't look like a newbie fumbling at the door.”

My brain was already ticking away at the implications. “That mock-up in Jersey still necessary?”

“Absolutely. Gotta look like I've been using this tech for years. Can’t risk a slip-up,” McKenna explained, her face a picture of focus now. “I’ll be on that tomorrow. Unless you’ve got something else for me?”

I caught myself before a less-than-professional reply slipped out. “No, I trust you. You’re good at what you do.”

Her smile turned sly, teasing. “Is that why you like having me around?”

My professionalism crumbled. “Well, you’re also easy on the eyes.” The moment the words left my mouth, I mentally kicked myself. Where did that come from?

McKenna’s laugh was light, carefree. “The feeling’s mutual, Dakota.” As if to prove her point, she let her eyes roam my figure. I felt my cheeks burn, the pull between us suddenly as tangible as the evening air. Pull it together, Dakota. This is not the time.

McKenna seemed to sense my internal turmoil and smoothly steered the conversation away from dangerous waters. “Hey, why don’t we go over the timeline for Thursday again? Just to make sure we’re crystal clear.”

I nodded, grateful for the diversion. “Sure, let’s do it.”

We spent the next few hours hunched over our notes and diagrams, ironing out every possible kink in our plan. The job was intricate, with a thousand moving parts, and every detail had to be perfect. As we talked, I found myself regaining my usual form, the earlier tension easing under the familiar weight of planning and strategy.

Eventually, the conversation dwindled, and we decided to call it a night. The day had been long, and the comfort of the bed was calling.

The world was dark and silent when the piercing ring of my burner phone yanked me back to consciousness. Untangling myself from McKenna's unintentional embrace, I grabbed the phone and slipped out of the bedroom, my heart starting to race.

“This better be goddamn important,” I growled into the phone, my voice rough with sleep and annoyance. I was dimly aware of McKenna easing herself up onto her elbows.

“D-Dakota?” The voice on the other end was shaky and unfamiliar.

I frowned. “Who's this?” I demanded, racking my brain for a match to the voice.

“It’s Alex,” they replied, a noticeable pause hanging in the air before adding, “Sierra’s partner.”

“Oh.” A flicker of recognition hit me, but it was quickly overshadowed by a more pressing concern. “How the hell did you get my number? Why are you calling me?”

There was a hitch in their breath, a moment of hesitation before they dropped the bombshell. “It’s Sierra. She’s been arrested!”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Oh, fuck,” I whispered, my mind reeling. All our plans, the meticulous preparations – they could unravel in an instant.

I paced the floor, adrenaline and fear mixing in my veins. This was bad, worse than any snag we’d hit before. Sierra was the linchpin of our operation, her skills critical to our success. I felt the familiar coil of anxiety tighten in my chest, a cold realization dawning on me. We were teetering on the edge of a cliff, and Sierra’s arrest was the gust of wind threatening to push us over. I had to find a way to pull us back, fast.

Things Fall Apart

22: The Quiet Storm

My mind was racing as I tried to steady Alex's frayed nerves over the phone. “Listen, Alex, stay calm. I'm sending someone to pick you up. We'll figure this out.”

The sheer panic in their voice was clear through the phone. I could practically hear the rapid pounding of their heart. “But, who? Who are you sending?”

“A friend of Sierra’s,” I answered vaguely, wondering who I could call at this ungodly hour. Worst case scenario, I’d go myself. Just then, a soft touch on my shoulder nearly sent me leaping out of my skin. I spun around to find McKenna hovering close, her expression etched with concern. “What’s happening?” she whispered.

I quickly covered the receiver. “Trouble. Sierra’s been nabbed,” I muttered tersely, turning back to the phone. “Alex, can you handle that? I need you to be ready to move.”

There was a brief pause before Alex replied, their voice steadier now. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Okay. I'll call you back soon. Get your essentials packed and be ready to go.” I ended the call and turned to McKenna. “That was Sierra's partner, Alex. They said Sierra's been arrested.”

“Fuck,” McKenna cursed under her breath.

“Exactly.” I was already firing off messages, my fingers flying.

Dakota: You awake?

McKenna craned her neck to see my screen. “Who's that? Chelsea?”

“Yeah,” I responded as the phone buzzed with a reply.

Chelsea: WTF

Dakota: Busy?

“I can’t believe she’s still up,” McKenna remarked.

“Chelsea’s a night owl. Says she drives around checking on things. But between you and me, I think she just loves that damn car of hers too much to leave it.” Chelsea’s obsession with her classic Volvo was a running joke among the crew.

Another buzz.

Chelsea: About to go to bed

I quickly typed out the next message before she could cut me off.

Dakota: Need you to pick up Alex at Sierra's, bring them here. Urgent

There was barely a pause before Chelsea’s response came through.

Chelsea: On it

Chelsea: Be there in sixteen if they’re not doing drunk stops

I couldn't help but appreciate Chelsea's precise timing.

Dakota: Thanks

“That’s it?” McKenna’s tone betrayed her astonishment.

“If I send the word urgent, it means drop everything. I’ve used it four times now in the years I’ve worked with her.” I hit redial on the phone, my mind already churning with contingency plans and what-ifs. The line connected quickly, and Alex's shaky voice came through.

“H-hello?” Alex sounded like they were on the edge of breaking.

“It's Dakota. Chelsea's on her way to get you,” I said briskly, trying to infuse some calm into the situation. “She's driving a blue Volvo, older model, very distinctive. She's hard to miss. I’ll send you a picture of her and her car.” Shit, I’d have to drop them from my phone to the burner, but I could do that.

There was a moment of confusion on their end. “You can’t send a picture of her to me. This is a landline.”

I paused, momentarily thrown. A landline? Who the hell still had one of those? But then it clicked – Sierra, with her tech paranoia? Of course she’d have a non-digital line. “Right, no picture then. You think you’ll recognize her?”

“I think so.” The wavering tone wasn’t reassuring. “Thanks. I’m all packed.”

“Okay, go to the lobby and wait for her. If anything feels off, you bail and call me. But don’t use a phone in the building. A pay phone, or borrow a cell from a stranger.” Anything in the building could be tapped, but a random mobile ought to be safer. Worst case, I ditched this burner and got a new one.

“I will.” They sounded a bit more grounded now, and I relaxed a fraction. As long as they listened, we could get them here and deal with whatever shit had come down.

I ended the call and leaned heavily against the wall, the cool surface a brief respite against the heat pumping through me.

McKenna, still in her sleep clothes, raised an eyebrow at me. “We should probably get dressed. You know, in case we need to move quickly.”

I snorted at the understatement. “Yeah, good idea. And coffee. I'm gonna need a lot of it.”

We quickly slipped into more practical clothes, the mood shifting from casual to high alert. It was all hands on deck now. About fifteen minutes later, my phone buzzed with a welcome update from Chelsea.

Chelsea: Outside Sierra's, got Alex. Heading to you

“No ETA?”

“She must be distracted by Alex,” I said through a yawn. “God, there’s not enough coffee in this cup.”

“That’s because you drank it all.” McKenna took the mug away and filled it. “Sweet and light, right?”

I smiled at her thoughtfulness and took a big pull of the now-brimming cup. “Perfect.”

Kalili and Faith strolled in as the tension in the room was starting to feel like a physical presence, both of them armed with mugs of coffee that looked like they could double as soup bowls.

“This is ungodly early, Dakota,” Kalili grumbled, her usual spark somewhat dimmed by the hour.

I didn’t have time for pleasantries. “We need all the brains we can get on this. If Sierra’s arrest is a set-up, we need to know. Fast.” Speaking the words aloud made the situation all the more real, solidifying the swirling fears in my mind.

Kalili raised an eyebrow at my mug. “Jesus, Dakota, what kind of buna you got in there?”

I shot her a puzzled look. “Buna?”

Faith, elbowing Kalili gently, clarified, “She means coffee. You can tell it’s early; her humor hasn’t woken up yet.”

Kalili peered into the coffee pot as if it held the answers to life itself. “Right, coffee.”

Faith’s attention was back on me, all business. “A set-up, you said?”

I hesitated. Faith wasn’t part of our world, and I didn’t want to drag her into something she couldn’t walk away from. I had to give her an out. “Listen, Faith, you sure you want to be in on this conversation?”

She gave me a look that was half amused. “You don’t think that one talks about it?” She pointed at Kal. “She’s more into this job than anything else in years. For better or worse, I’m involved. Plus, I need a break from my work, and playing detective sounds more fun.”

“You love it when I’m out of your hair,” Kalili chimed in, a mischievous glint in her eye even at this ungodly hour.

Faith rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth there. “Maybe I do, my arima bikia, but you're a nightmare for my schedule.”

Kal waved her off, clearly dismissing such mundane concerns as schedules and deadlines.

Faith continued, undeterred. “But yes, I’m worried. Kal gets... enthusiastic about her hobbies.”

Kalili put down her mug, hands on her hips in mock indignation. “Name one time I’ve gone overboard.”

Faith didn’t miss a beat. “Christo’s art installations.”

“What about them?”

“Who do you think convinced him to do the Running Fence? Funded him? Pushed him through legal battles?” Faith’s voice was a mix of fondness and frustration as she listed off Kalili’s misadventure.

Kal’s face morphed into something resembling guilt. “Fine, but that fence was a masterpiece. Twenty-five miles, Dakota! Right to the ocean!”

I had to shake my head to clear it. “Okay, okay, we’ll revisit art history later. For now, we’re talking about Sierra.” Everyone turned to me. “This doesn’t add up. She's under FBI protection, and suddenly she's arrested? We don't even know who has her or why. Without her, we’re blind.”

“I’m not in Sierra’s league, but I know a thing or two about cybersecurity,” McKenna offered. At my skeptical look, she added, “What? Dakota, being a box jockey is about more than having keen hearing and nimble fingers.”

“Right, right. Okay, you can check it out after we talk to Alex.”

It was a few minutes before Chelsea arrived, a distraught Alex in tow. I took a moment to study them as they stood before me, their posture tense and their clouded with worry. I couldn't help but notice Alex's demeanor as they stood there, their body language a roadmap to panic. The way their eyes darted, scanning the room as if searching for an escape route, spoke volumes.

I watched as they tried to maintain their composure, but there was a vulnerability there, just beneath the surface. “Hi Alex, I’m Dakota,” I said, extending a hand in what I hoped was a comforting gesture. The slightest hint of relief flickered in their eyes as they focused on me. Maybe it was the recognition that they were no longer facing this nightmare alone.

“Hi. Thanks for—” Alex responded, their voice barely more than a whisper.

“Come on. You want some coffee?” They shook their head. “Water?” Another shake. “Let me know if you change your mind.” I led them to the dining room, pulling out a chair for them. Kal settled next to them, resting a comforting hand on an arm, while I took a seat across from them so I could see their eyes. “I know this is hard, and I wish it could wait, but I need you to tell me what happened. Start from the beginning, and don’t leave anything out. We’re going to do everything we can to get Sierra back, and you’ve going to help us do it.”

I hoped I was hitting the right notes. We needed to know, but pushing Alex wouldn’t help.

“Okay.” They looked like a wreck, slouched on the chair, their eyes red and tired, their fingers trembling as they knotted nervously around each other. They let out a shaky breath, their gaze lost in the distance. “I... I'm not sure where to begin,” they murmured, their words barely audible.

“Take your time,” I said, my tone soothing, though my patience was fraying like an old sweater. “Like I said, start from the beginning, and we'll figure it out together.”

Alex remained silent, their lips pressed into a thin line as they struggled to find the right words. It was clear that whatever had transpired was seriously screwing with their mind, and the thought of reliving it seemed to fill them with dread. I sighed inwardly, realizing that getting the full story out of Alex might take some time and patience, neither of which I had at the moment.

“Alex.” Faith’s voice was a surprise to everyone. “Nobody’s going to hurt you. Nobody’s going to be angry with you. All we want to know is what happened, so we can figure out what to do next.”

Faith had the magic touch,  and Alex gained strength from her words. “Okay, okay,” they began, their words stumbling over each other in their haste to escape. “I was, I was gaming, you know, trying to unwind after a long day. And Sierra, she was, she was at her computer, working on something important, I guess.”

I had a pretty good idea what she was working on, but didn’t know how much Sierra told Alex about her role in the heist. “And then what happened?” My heart pounded as I braced myself for the inevitable.

“Well, Sierra, she got really excited, you know how she is?” Alex checked with all of us, and we nodded. “Her mood went from zero to giddy in zero point two seconds. She started jumping up and down, yelling, so I paused my game so I could ask her what was happening. I got my headphones off, and said, ‘What?’ She said something about the stupid superstitious fools, but then...” They paused, then asked, “Have you been to Sierra’s place?”

“Yeah, before you moved in.” Alex was a relatively new addition to Sierra’s life, having dating her for maybe six months, and moving in with her a couple months earlier.

“You know about all her alarms?”

I did. Being a hacker who’d had her fair share of run-ins with both the law and people who’d taken her skills personally, Sierra set up a pretty elaborate personal security system through the building. Some of it was there with the owners’ blessings. Most of it, not so much.

“They started going off. This happens sometimes, and Sierra can usually laugh it off because it’s some maintenance guy in the wrong corridor, but this time she freaks out. ‘Oh shit oh shit oh shit,’ is what she said, over and over, then she starts acting crazier.”

“How crazier?” I could visualize the scene.

“Like, not just shutting down her computers, but she did something that made them, like, totally die, then, I don’t know, she opened her desk and lifted a lid? Pressed a button, and everything died, my game, the TV, my phone, everything.”

“Pocket EMP,” Kal said, shaking her head. “Sierra was professionally paranoid.”

“Explain?” The second half made sense, but not the first.

“Short version? Computers, phones, and other high-tech devices are sensitive to high-powered pulses of electromagnetic energy. Hit a machine with one and it’s basically a brick. Scrambles everything beyond recovery. It’s real last resort shit.”

“Oh.”

“Go on, Alex,” Kal encouraged them. “What happened next?”

“There was a pounding on the door, and this voice yells, ‘Open the door! We have a warrant!’ Sierra ignored them and kept doing things. Next thing, there’s a crash, and...” I wanted to press them, but resisted. “The DEA,” Alex whispered, the words hanging in the air like cheap cigarette smoke. “They came, they came out of nowhere, busted down the door like, like they were storming a fortress or something.”

My jaw clenched at the mention of the DEA, a puzzle piece that didn’t fit in the grand scheme of things. The FBI was supposed to be protecting Sierra. That much I was sure of, a strange sort of alliance borne out of necessity and mutual benefit. The CIA were legally barred from operating on U.S. soil – or so the official line went. Then there was the NSA, notorious for their surveillance but not known for making arrests; they were the eyes and ears, not the hands.

My mind raced through possibilities – could Sierra have gotten herself tangled in something we didn’t know about? No, it didn’t track. She was meticulous, careful to keep her nose clean in ways that mattered. I thought about the other federal agencies – ATF, Homeland Security, even the damn Postal Inspection Service – but none seemed to have a plausible reason to nab Sierra.

It all came back to three letters that didn’t make any sense.

Sierra didn’t do drugs, as far as I knew – her only vice was rum, and that was hardly a DEA concern. And Alex? Everything I’d gathered from Sierra suggested they were as straight-laced as they came, at least in terms of stuff the DEA might be interested in. It didn’t add up. They dealt with drug trafficking, major stuff, not small-time operators or cybersecurity experts like Sierra.

I felt a headache forming as I mulled over possible connections. Were we missing something crucial? Or was this a government fuck-up, a case of mistaken identity? A wrong place, wrong time scenario? In my gut, I knew it wasn’t a mistake. This had the stench of something deliberate, a calculated move in a game we were just realizing we were playing, something similar to the torching of my apartment.

A message.

The question was, who was moving the pieces, and why the hell were they targeting Sierra? A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. “And Sierra? What happened to her?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

I didn’t think they’d manage another word, but Alex choked out, their voice thick with emotion, “She was, she was trying to erase everything, all the data on her computers and phones. But they got to her before she could finish.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed, my brow furrowing in concern as I contemplated the implications of Sierra's frantic efforts. Sure, Kal said she used that EMP thing, but what if it didn’t work? What if something was shielded against it, just in case? The thought of all that data falling into the wrong hands sent a shiver down my spine. Everything she’d gathered about HIP, all the access to Triple-S’s systems, all of our plans, they lived in her hard drives. If the Feds had any of that, we might as well call off the heist now.

Alex’s expression was haunted. “I don’t know. They took her away before I could even blink.”

Anger, fresh at this new injustice and reinforced by my losses, bubbled up inside me. I pushed it aside, focusing on the moment. Alex needed me. “Did they say anything to you?” I asked, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands.

Alex hesitated, their eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape. I noticed Faith standing behind them, hands resting on their shoulders, comforting them. Alex seemed to draw strength from the contact. “There were three of them, no, four,” they finally managed to say. “Three big guys in black body armor with DEA all over, and a woman in a suit who hung back, kinda watching everything. They cuffed Sierra, then grabbed everything electronic, including my game system and phone.”

My brow furrowed in concern as I absorbed this information. Three agents and a supervisor meant they weren't messing around. “Did you get names?” I hoped against hope that Alex had managed to notice something amid the chaos.

But Alex shook their head, a defeated look crossing their face. “No,” they admitted, their voice tinged with frustration. “They didn't give me their names. Just told me to keep my mouth shut, or else...”

My heart sank at the implications of Alex's words. “Or else what?” I demanded, my voice rising slightly despite my efforts to remain calm.

“They threatened me,” Alex admitted, their eyes brimming with tears. “Said they'd come after me if I talked to anyone about what happened. Then one of them tossed a paper next to me, and they were gone.”

Alex fumbled in their bag, their hands shaky as they pulled out a folded sheaf of papers. I took it from them, recognizing the bold, official print of a search warrant. Alex’s shaken state was a stark reminder of the dangers that were closing in. I shoved the fear aside. We were in deep and murky waters, sure, but sinking was not an option. Not while I could still punch back.

As Alex looked around, lost and visibly rattled, I thought they could use a break from the madness. “McKenna, can you take Alex to freshen up?” I suggested, my voice artificially steady, projecting a confidence I was struggling to hold.

Without a word, McKenna stood, her demeanor all business. “Come on, kid.”

Once Alex was out of earshot, Kalili’s voice cut through the tense silence. “I know that look. What is it, Dakota?”

I rubbed my temple, feeling the headache gaining steam. “The DEA agents—if they were DEA—something’s off.” My distrust for anything that didn't add up was an old friend by now.

Chelsea, leaning against the wall with her arms folded, raised an eyebrow, signaling me to go on. “How do you figure?”

“From what Alex said at the end,” I started, my mind racing as I pieced it together. “They raid Sierra's place, which is already a stretch for the DEA, but then there’s the way they treated Alex. Threatening instead of detaining? It’s messy and unprofessional. Either they take Alex too, or they steer clear to keep a witness clean. What happened doesn’t line up with standard ops.”

Kalili nodded slowly, her experience with shady dealings lending her insights weight. “Could be legit badges, but a dirty play. No way a supervisor was running that show. It’s all too slapdash, too risky.”

It was Faith’s practical voice that brought us back to the problem. “What next, then?”

I didn’t hesitate. “First, we rescue Sierra. We need to know where they took her and bust her out.” Turning to Kalili, I got down to details. “We need a safe spot for Alex. That spare apartment still available?”

Kal nodded, already on her feet. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Just make sure you use a key,” I added, half-joking but mostly serious. “Picking it won’t do anything for Alex’s sense of safety.”

Kalili’s response was a playful groan. “You’re no fun.”

“Fun’s not in my job description today,” I shot back, my mind already turning to the tasks ahead. As they left, I tamped down the rage, shoved aside the sense that circumstances were conspiring against us, pulled out a notebook, and began scribbling down our immediate action items: secure Alex, locate Sierra, and unravel the DEA angle.

Easy. Now I had to plan it, without our best tech person, and with a time crunch looming. No problem. Sierra was one of mine, and I didn't leave my own behind.

23: Paths to Redemption

The musty scent of old coffee and copier ink permeated Mort's office, and I was heartily sick of them. I was planted in the guest chair across his desk, looking every bit as sleep-deprived and cranky as I felt. I’d broken into the office an hour earlier, before any of the staff were around, and had waited. Why? Because despite everything, Mort was my most reliable law enforcement contact. He was painfully straight-laced but predictably so, making him the perfect litmus test for any rumblings within the system.

Right at 8:30, his door creaked open as my mind raced through my backup plans. If Mort didn’t pan out, I’d reach out to Johnson—no, I had to remember his real name, Washington—for insider info. If they fell flat, I’d reluctantly call Uncle Sal, who’d probably know if any DEA agents had gone rogue. I snapped back to the present when the door slammed behind him, jolting me from my thoughts. “What an unpleasant surprise,” Mort grumbled, dropping his keys with a clank that echoed off the sparse walls and fueled my aching head. “Why are you here? I locked this; I could arrest you for breaking and entering.”

I flashed him a grin that I knew wouldn’t reach my eyes. “It was open,” I lied smoothly. “Did you have a good weekend, Parole Officer Granger?”

His bushy eyebrows twitched upwards. “Get out,” he said flatly.

“But, Parole Officer Granger, I need your help.” My voice took on an overly sweet tone, an imitation of distress that I knew wouldn’t fool him.

“Get out,” he repeated, firmer this time.

I let my posture slacken, abandoning the charade. “Mort, come on. You’re always preaching about staying on the straight and narrow. I’m trying, but—”

“Don’t wanna hear it, Chase. Get out.”

I leaned forward, desperation edging into my voice as I played my last card. “Sierra Rodriguez.” I watched him closely, looking for any flicker of recognition or interest.

“Who? Oh, right. Her. What about her?” His disinterest hit hard, and I knew I struck out.

“Shitcrackers.” I cursed under my breath. He didn’t know a damn thing, and now I was left scrambling to fill in the blanks. “I thought you might be interested to know she’s not involved in anything shady at the moment.”

He snorted. “That’s wonderful news, if I believed you, which I don’t. She’s not one of mine, anyway, so why should I care?”

I stood, my frustration simmering. “Hey, I’m trying to live up to your expectations, you know?”

“You can’t sink that low, and don’t try,” he muttered, already dismissing me as he turned to shuffle through his case files.

I stepped out of the office, pulling out my phone as the door clicked shut behind me.

Dakota: Dead end

The reply came quickly.

Kalili: No luck here yet, but I have an idea

Dakota: Will I like it?

Kalili: No

Great. Just great. Whatever Kalili's idea was, it smelled like trouble. With our options dwindling, trouble might be exactly what we needed. It didn’t mean I was excited about it.

I was right. When I got back to the apartment, Kalili was already there, pacing with an energy that spelled out she had something brewing. The look on her face said it all; she had concocted one of her infamous plans, and I braced myself for the worst.

“Look, Dakota.” Kalili stopped her pacing and faced me squarely. Her voice was calm though her eyes betrayed her excitement. “Faith has contacts all over, on the right side of the fence. She's pulled in a couple of favors, and she secured an appointment this afternoon at the DEA field office on 10th. I’ll go with McKenna, and we’re going to find out exactly what their involvement is.” My shock must have been plastered across my face because she paused, giving me the all-too-familiar grin that invariably meant I wouldn’t like what came next. “Do you really want me to spell it out?” she teased.

The need for deniability battled with my growing curiosity. Finally, curiosity won. “Alright, hit me,” I sighed, not sure I was ready for the answer.

“We’ll pose as lawyers for Sierra.” Kalili sounded proud of this burst of insanity. “We'll dress to look the part, and I’ve been around enough shysters to talk the talk. We demand to see her file under attorney-client privilege. If they let us see it, we’ll know what’s up. If they don’t have one, or refuse us? Then we apologize, say there’s been a mistake, and walk out. Either way, we’ll know if this whole snatch was legit or a setup.”

I was silent for a moment, mulling over the audacity of the plan. It was bold, risky, and very Kalili. My concerns were far from alleviated, but the conviction in her voice was hard to argue with. “Alright,” I finally conceded, desperate enough to grasp at any straw. “I trust you.” She beamed, and I turned to the other part of our Sierra situation. “What about Alex? How are they?”

Kalili's expression turned serious, her playful demeanor replaced by concern I rarely saw. “They’re doing better. I had a thought about that supervisor,” she added, before I could ask more about Alex.

“Go on.”

“I figure the thugs aren’t important as anything but muscle. It’s the woman who’s the key. She’s either their handler or the contact back to whoever set up the snatch.” She paused, and I examined her logic. It was sound, so I gestured for her to continue. “Alex got a look at her, and even though they were scared out of their gourd, maybe we can pull something useful out of them. McKenna said she’d rig some AI facial recognition stuff to see if we can't pin down who she is and what she's tangled up in. She’s gonna sit with Alex this morning, before we head out.  If that fails, then Faith will go sit with Alex and try to sketch out anything they remember about the woman from the raid.” At my puzzled look, she added, “Faith used to do cartoons, years ago. If anyone can pull a portrait from Alex’s memories, it’s her.”

I nodded, appreciating the proactive approach. “Can we scrape enough details for that to even work? Alex said she was wearing a suit, but did they catch anything else? Anything distinctive that could help us narrow it down?”

Kalili's expression tightened. “We might need to dig deeper,” she conceded, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “There's gotta be something unique about her, even if it's just a mannerism or a way she talks. McKenna's sharp, and Faith’s sharper, and that’s not the loyal spouse talking; if there's something to pick up on, one or the other will catch it.”

Feeling bolstered by Kalili's assurance, I straightened up. “Alright,” I stated firmly. “Let's make sure everyone's on the same page and ready to move. We've got a ton of ground to cover, and the clock's ticking fast.”

Kalili’s nod was all I needed. “Absolutely, Dakota. We’ll pull Sierra out of whatever hole they've thrown her into. Count on it.” She was turning to leave when she stopped, throwing over her shoulder a quieter suggestion. “And Dakota, maybe give your pet dicks a ring?”

I blinked, momentarily thrown by her phrasing, before realization dawned. She meant Washington and Jorgensen. My less-than-favorite pair of police acquaintances might be useful now. “Yeah, I was hoping to keep them out of this mess, but it looks like we don't have much choice,” I grumbled. As Kalili disappeared to set things in motion, I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the calls ahead. Working with cops was always a last resort for me, but desperate times called for desperate, and decidedly irritating, measures.

“First things first, though,” I muttered to myself. “I need to take a long shower to wash off the stink of desperation and find something to eat before I dial up Washington.”

I got through to Johnson—Washington—on the first try. He was willing to meet to discuss the plan; I didn’t mention Sierra. I told them the time and a different diner, not wanting to establish a pattern that could be predicted, then headed out to ensure I arrived first.

This dive wasn’t as nice as the first place. The scent of greasy breakfasts past conjured up memories of meetings just like this. The booth in the back corner offered a clear view of the entrance and some semblance of privacy. I nursed a lukewarm cup of joe, the bitter liquid a poor pairing with the sour churn of anticipation in my stomach.

They arrived on cue, swaggering through the diner door with the kind of confidence that only cops—or criminals—can muster. They slid into the booth across from me, their frames casting long shadows over the worn tabletop.

“Well, well, well, if it ain't little Dakota Chase,” Smith, no, Jorgensen, drawled, a sneer stretched too easily across his face. “Haven’t seen much of you. Pity about your apartment and that unfortunate incident.”

The mention of the fire jolted me like a live wire. The raw edge of my rage, which I’d managed to shove into the background amid the chaos of Sierra's situation, surged to the forefront. “What do you know about that?” I snapped, my hands clenched tight around the mug, knuckles whitening.

Washington quickly intervened, placing a calming hand on the table, his voice a steady force. “Hey, let’s calm down. This is a friendly meeting, right? All on the same side?”

“Friendly's a relative term,” I shot back, my eyes narrowing. “I don’t like crooked cops, and I don’t like his attitude.” I forced myself back against the booth, my body still tense. “As for being on the same side? That depends on what you can do for me, what you can tell me about my apartment burning, and if you’re planning on having us do all the work.”

Jorgensen shifted uncomfortably, looking like he wanted to interject, but Washington gave him a look that sent him retreating to the far corner.

“We’re not crooked,” Washington began, his voice low and firm. “We’re operating independently, you might say.” He paused, measuring his words. “As for your apartment building? I haven’t seen anything come through that would give you a definitive answer. It wasn’t any of our boys.”

“That so?”

“Yes,” he continued. “Look, Chase, we’re not idiots. We know there are cops who take the Families’ blood money and would happily do a little neighborhood redevelopment for them. I also know every one of them is in the BPD, and I can tell you, none of them were anywhere near your place that night.” His words hung in the air, and it didn’t take a genius to understand the unspoken implication.

Washington didn’t think much of my intelligence, because he explained. “That doesn’t mean they didn’t hire it out, but that’s not how the Families usually operate. If you get an order from above, you do it. You don’t outsource. Anyone caught doing that would find themselves swimming with the fishes.”

I nodded, ignoring the insult and processing the information. Washington was right. The Families liked to keep things in-house. They were very territorial and protective of their turf, so I doubted a Family who held sway in Queens would send a team into Brooklyn. Not that it couldn’t happen, but it would take a hell of a provocation. Palms would have to be greased, favors traded, and I didn’t think they’d do that on a whim. So far, we hadn’t done anything which should put us on the Families’ radar, so owing another Family? Wouldn’t happen. Perversely, this relaxed me.

Jorgensen decided it was a good time to talk. “Where are you staying?”

“With a friend, and that’s all you need to know,” I snapped, unwilling to give them anything they could use against me.

Jorgensen's jaw clenched, but Washington was quick to say, “Let it go. It’s not important.”

I nodded to Washington, acknowledging the play of good cop/bad cop even as I despised it. Sensing a shift, Washington leaned in, his voice casual. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

I forced a smile, my insides boiling with tension. “Just thought I'd catch up with a couple of new friends,” I replied, keeping my voice even, hiding the storm beneath a facade of cordiality.

Jorgensen shifted in his seat, clearly itching to get more out of me, but Washington held him back with a look that could freeze hot coffee. He steepled his fingers and fixed me with a gaze too sharp to be friendly. “Alright, Chase, cut the crap. What do you want from us? It's not a social call.”

I took a slow sip of my lousy coffee, buying myself a moment to frame my words just right. I set the cup down and met his eyes. “Look, I'm not here to play games. One of my people has gone missing, and not in a she-tripped-and-fell-off-the-map kind of way. She's been snatched, and it's got the stench of officialdom to it. Federal level. I need to know if you guys have anything to do with it, or if you know who does, and how I can get her out.”

Washington’s eyebrows raised slightly, betraying his surprise. “You gonna tell us who?”

Before I could respond, Jorgensen blurted out, “Why should we help you? You’re looking for us to help you get a suspect released from custody outside the normal channels!”

I smirked, pleased I was getting to him. “Because you need me way more than I need you. Without my crew, this whole ‘cripple the Families’ bullshit is so much talk. Besides, you’re the one talking about criminal acts, not me. Entrapment is bad for the career.” My smirk stretched into an evil grin. “Of course, it’s only entrapment if there’s a complaint, which I won’t make if you help me out. Consider it professional courtesy.” My tone was casual, but my words were loaded.

Jorgensen's face tightened, but Washington chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You're playing a dangerous game, Chase. But alright, we'll look into it. I still need a name, and you stay out of trouble in the meantime. We can’t clean up every mess you walk into.”

I nodded, a hollow promise I had no intention of keeping. I scribbled Sierra’s name on a napkin, folded it, and pushed it across. “Appreciated. And Smith, lighten up. You'll live longer.”

Washington made the paper disappear and paused, his expression more serious now. “This thing with your crew—sounds like you're stepping into a bigger pile of shit than usual.”

“What do you mean?” I pressed, curious.

Washington's demeanor was strained as he continued, his hands clasped tightly on the table as if to steady himself. He shot a quick, pointed glance at Jorgensen, whose granite-like expression didn’t give me anything. “We’re not here to cause trouble, but when something big happens, it’s my job to sniff it out. And lately, your crew? You haven’t been exactly subtle. You’ve been making waves, and waves get noticed.”

I arched an eyebrow, my arms still crossed in a defensive posture. “Waves?” I echoed. “What kind of waves are we talking about?”

“We’ve been following you for months,” he admitted, his look steady, almost challenging. “Not out to get you, understand, but we need to keep tabs. There’s a job that fits your MO, you vanish for a while, then it happens again. The last time you vanished, you popped back up right as things started heating up with this Island business. That can’t be a coincidence.”

A chill ran down my spine at his revelation. Being on the radar of the cops was bad enough, but Washington's boys tracking us added a new layer of complexity—and danger—to our operations.

“Why the hell have you been watching us?” I demanded, struggling to keep my voice even and my face impassive despite the turmoil swirling inside.

“At first, it was pure luck. Random assignment. Then this thing started brewing over a year ago. Your crew is the best in the City. If anyone was going to take a run at it, we knew it would be you. When the higher-ups downtown turned a blind eye—probably because their pockets are being lined—we decided it was time to step up. Not all cops are crooked, Dakota. Some of us actually want to do our jobs, to make things right without having to look over our shoulders, worrying about who’s going to threaten our families next.”

His raw honesty struck a chord, and for a moment, I saw the man behind the badge, not just the officer in front of me.

“What now?” I asked.

“I want to help you, Dakota,” he said, trying to convince me of his good will by using my first name again. “You’ve got to understand what you’re walking into. You and your crew are dancing on a minefield. If you're not careful, you could find yourselves in a heap of trouble that not even God could pull you out of.”

I nodded slowly, absorbing his words. I’d known our little operation had attracted more attention than I'd bargained for. But if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was navigate choppy waters.

“Alright,” I said finally, my voice firm. “Let's hear what you've got to say.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking to this gutter rat,” Jorgensen spat. “We have enough people loyal to our side we could march right out there and shut them down, end this stupid game. Why do we need them?”

With Jorgensen’s ill-timed and ill-chosen words, their plan crystallized in my mind. I knew what they wanted us for, and I had the leverage I needed to turn this on its head. Before Washington could react, I said, “Because we provide deniability. How would it look if part of the BPD makes a huge raid, out of their jurisdiction I might add, only to be denied by their leadership? Do you think anything you confiscated would make it to trial? Or do you think those jewels might make it back into the Families’ hands?”

I watched with satisfaction as Jorgensen processed this, but I wasn’t done. “I’ll bet your idea is something like this: we do the job, then on the way back to Brooklyn are intercepted by you two. No, you wouldn’t get your hands dirty, so it would be a couple of your stooges. They make a show of arresting us, throw the boodle into evidence, splash our pictures all over the news, and generally look like heroes. We get out on bail, maybe even our own recognizance. If we survive, if the Families don’t track us down since we’ll be fucking celebrity cons,  we still have a trial ahead of us. Of course, when it comes time for trial, the loot’s gone missing. Probably in a thousand pawn shops from here to New Haven, and the proceeds? Instead of being in our hands, if we’re lucky we’ll get a taste of it, but we should be grateful for the trial ending in a mistrial because the evidence of a crime has vanished.”

I could tell I’d hit close to home from the expressions on their faces, and I did my best to keep my glee off of mine.

“It’s not a bad plan,” I allowed, and the tension in their bodies relaxed. “Except for one little flaw.”

They exchanged a glance before Washington asked the obvious question. “What’s that?”

“I’m not spending any time in jail, even if I get sprung on a technicality. I also don’t want my past splattered all over the media for maybe-a-payoff, and that’s leaving out the vendetta the Families will take out on us.” I shook my head. “You said it. We’re the best. If you want this to happen, if you don’t want some Keystone Kops routine, we need some things changed.”

“Out of the question!” barked Jorgensen, jumping from the seat. Washington pulled him back down, and Jorgensen repeated, “Out of the question!” in an angry hiss.

“Shut up.” It was the first time I’d seen Washington angry, and he was scary. Jorgensen thought so too, because he listened. It didn’t scrub the hate from his face, though. Washington turned his attention to me. “I get your concerns, Chase. What do you want?”

I folded my arms and fixed both cops with a cool stare. “I'm not some pawn you can move around your chessboard and then toss back into the box when you're done. If we're going to clean up your mess—and let's be clear, it is your mess—then my crew and I need concessions.”

Washington’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed my stance. Jorgensen, still simmering from Washington’s rebuke, looked like he was ready to explode again, but he kept quiet, his eyes darting between his partner and me.

“Concessions?” Washington echoed.

“Yes, concessions,” I repeated firmly. “Four things. First, and most important, we need my person back. If you can’t get her out, find her location and we’ll do the rest.” I thought Jorgensen would pop a blood vessel and I tried to guess which one would blow. Maybe the vein pulsing on his temple? No, the one on his neck. He stayed shut up, though. “You know as well as I that if I don’t have my full crew, this whole heist, all the plans you have, vanish like last night’s dreams. Before you suggest it, we’re not bringing in someone else you vouch for. She’s the best, and nobody less is gonna do.”

“I see that,” Washington temporized, stalling. Jorgensen had heard enough.

“You’re going to let this scum dictate terms? Violate a federal agency’s policies, get information we have no need to know, and suborn a jailbreak? Marcus, we can’t do that!”

Washington shot him a look at his proper name. “Shut your piehole, Nilsen. Chase isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t ask for this if it wasn’t important. Okay, Chase, I’ll get you what I can. If I can spring her, I will.”

“Good. Second, the handover is done on the down-low. No photographers, no arrests, no records. You can tell whatever story you want. Maybe we ditched the jewels rather than get caught, but you’re continuing to track leads? Whatever it is, I don’t care, as long as there aren’t names anywhere. Names will get us dead, and that’s not part of my plan.”

Washington didn’t try to argue. “No problem.”

“Third, we want to get paid before we move. Not the full value of the haul, but a taste of what’s to come. Call it a deposit, or a gesture of good faith; whatever you want, I don’t care. We’re dumping a ton of cash into this, and if we’re gonna look like we’re taking the fall, we’ll need money to live on until it blows over and you can start distributing the proceeds.”

Jorgensen hissed, but Washington nodded again. “How much?”

“Fifty thousand. Each. Half up front, and half on delivery.”

Washington rubbed his chin thoughtfully, while Jorgensen looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “You're asking for a lot, Chase. You know that?” Washington finally said, his voice low.

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” I shot back, my gaze unwavering. “And I know what we’re worth. You guys get to take down a big score, keep your hands clean, and probably get medals pinned on your chests. Meanwhile, my crew and I are out there on the wire without a net.”

Jorgensen really needed to get his temper under control, because he erupted again. “You’re fucking insane! How are we supposed to get hold of a quarter million dollars?”

I shrugged. “Not my problem. You need us more than we need you. Can’t pay us? Fine. We’ll disappear. Oh, and that’s the last thing. Your surveillance?” Both sets of eyes narrowed. “It stops today. All your records get shredded, burned, and recycled. I know how to get hold of you, Marcus—” I relished using his real name, holding his surname in reserve if I needed a bigger hammer. “You have my number now. That’s as close as we get.”

Washington gripped Jorgensen’s arm so tightly the knuckles went white, but it stopped any bullshit from the younger cop. “There’s not much time to get that much money.”

“Like I said, not my problem, boys. Maybe you use something you have in evidence? I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as it’s untraceable. Fifty thousand each by Wednesday. Cash. You know the routine, I’m sure.” I rose. “Nice seeing you again. You’ll be in touch soon.”

With that, I swaggered out of the diner. It felt good to put one over on cops, and even better when I made them serve my needs. Now to see if they came through. It didn't matter whether Sierra's arrest was legitimate or not; what mattered was finding a way to get her out and salvage our plan. If that meant playing nice with Jorgensen and Washington, letting them think I cared about their do-gooder plans, then so be it. But I wasn't about to forget whose side I was really on.

Mine.

24: Breaking Point

I found I was the first back to the apartment, which suited me fine. I showered and changed, then scrounged through the pleasantly full refrigerator. It was nice to have more than mustard and week-old takeout containers.

“Hey.”

I jumped, cracking my head against a shelf. “Dammit!”

A pair of hands clutched my sides, steadying me. “Sorry, Dakota.”

I rubbed the sore spot with one hand. “S’okay, McKenna.” I turned and stopped, unsure if I was seeing things from my head trauma.

McKenna was wearing a power suit in blue, the sharp lines accentuating her slim, athletic frame. It was a startling contrast to her business-like blonde hair, styled in a way that exuded confidence rather than rebellion. Her brown eyes held a twinkle of amusement at my reaction, almost concealing the depths beneath the surface.

I couldn't help but stare, absorbing every detail of McKenna's presence. As she met my gaze, I couldn't help but feel she was a force to be reckoned with, a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it. And the way she was looking at me?

I gulped.

A faint smirk played at her lips. “What?”

“Do you remember the show ER?”

She frowned, which only accentuated the effect she was having on me. “Wasn’t that where George Clooney made it big?”

“Doug Ross. Yeah.”

She recoiled with mock horror. “I remind you of him?”

“No, you ninny. Dr. Weaver. Kerry. Serious boss bitch vibes, and that’s exactly what you’re giving off right now.”

“Is that so?” There was an unmistakably flirtatious tone in her voice, and I throttled the impulse to reply in kind.

“I’ll bet those limp dicks at the DEA were thoroughly intimidated.”

McKenna’s expression cycled from surprised to irritated to disappointed before she burst out laughing. “Subtle, Dakota.”

I curtsied. “That’s me.” But the sexual tension in the room had plunged, and I felt I could breathe again.

McKenna shed the blazer, leaving her looking far more casual, and the temperature dropped again. “About the DEA?” She shook her head. “You’d think we were fucking Jack McCoy coming to hammer their asses. I mostly hung back and let Kalili take the lead, and you’ve never seen such fire and brimstone as she generated! I swear, she was breathing flames on those poor saps.”

I laughed and re-entered the fridge, emerging with two beers, gesturing to her with one. She grinned. “Perfect, thanks.”

Beers opened, we sat looking out over the view for a moment. “Okay, give it to me from the beginning.”

“Well, after Kal did this—” McKenna gestured to herself, hair to shoes, and I goggled.

“Kalili did that?”

“And Faith. Faith did my hair while Kal rooted around in one of her closets until she found this suit. Don’t know why she has it; it fits me perfectly, so it would hang off her or her wife like a tent. Anyway, we got there around two, that slow part of the afternoon where you’re back from lunch and want to nap?” I nodded, knowing what she meant, at least theoretically. “She bullied our way past the front door and upstairs to the Special Agent in Charge. We blasted past the secretary, who followed us, babbling about how we don’t have an appointment and Agent Haadi is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed, right?”

I giggled, imagining the scene, Kal’s energy deflecting any objection that might be thrown at them.

“But we’re in the office, and Agent Haadi is sitting at his desk with his feet propped up.”

“You’re joking!”

McKenna drew a cross over her heart. “Swear to you I’m not. Cliché or no, there he was, suit coat tossed on a rack, and looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. That changed in a hurry, though. Kalili pulls this voice out, and I swear she’s like a Parris Island drill sergeant. ‘Special Agent Haadi, your people fucked up,’ she says, and that puts him right on the defensive. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I mean, they arrested the wrong person, and I want her out. Now.’ They go back and forth like this. Somewhere Kalili came up with very convincing papers showing we were Sierra Rodriguez’s legal representatives, complete with a real, reputable law firm backing it up.”

“What firm?” I asked, curious.

McKenna searched her pockets until she found a business card and handed it over. “She gave me a few of these. I might keep them as souvenirs.”

It said, ‘McKenna Cross, Junior Associate, McKenzie, Brackman, Chaney & Kuzak.’ I whistled as I handed it back. “She went all-out.”

“Hers said Senior Associate.”

“Of course it did. So, what did the SAC do?”

“Once he confirmed our bona fides, which took no time at all, he got really polite and asked a ton of questions. Good thing Kalili was the one doing all the talking; I mean, Sierra’s birthdate? I don’t have a clue!”

I didn’t think Kal knew all that, either, but I was learning my friend had hidden depths.

“Eventually he pushes away from the computer and looks at us. ‘I’m sorry, ladies,’ he said, sounding like he meant it, ‘but you’ve been sent on a wild goose chase.’“

My stomach dropped like an elevator with cut cables. I knew what she was going to say before the words left her mouth.

“’There’s no Sierra Rodriguez in our custody, or even in our system. Not at that address, with that birthdate, or that Social Security number.’ Well, Kal more or less went ballistic, calling him every name in the book and then some I’d never heard before in a language that might have been Greek. But Haadi didn’t budge, finally turning the monitor so we could see and pushing the keyboard to us. ‘Go ahead and search, Ms. Keoka, but you won’t find her.’ She took him up on it, practically pushing him out of his chair and scrolling through pages faster than I could follow. He was telling the truth.”

I slumped. “Dammit. That means someone in the Families staged it.” I waved off the argument I could see coming. “Oh, they might be DEA agents, but they’re freelancing. Did you get a hit on the facial recognition?”

McKenna shook her head. “No. Alex’s recall, and my drawing skills, weren’t good enough for the AI to do anything useful.” My face fell, and McKenna was quick to continue. “I guess Faith is going to give it a try? Kal said something about how she used to do cartooning, which is more than I’ve ever done.”

“She said that to me, too. We’ll have to hope,” I said, draining my beer. “If she can’t come though, I’ll have to ask Sal for another favor, and I’m not optimistic the second time around.”

We drank our dinner, consumed by our thoughts and bouncing ideas off each other, before dropping into bed far earlier than either of us were accustomed to. That was fortunate, as there was a pounding on the bedroom door in the middle of the night.

I bolted upright, dislodging McKenna from her position on my shoulder—I have to think about that later—and froze, conflicting thoughts ricocheting through my mind. Intruder? But why would they knock? Polite home invader? What was McKenna doing on my shoulder, and why did I still feel her there?

“Get decent, Dakota!”

We both knew that voice. “Go away, Kal,” we said in unison.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” I added, swinging my legs over the side and looking at the clock. 2:13 in the morning. Fuck.

“I found Sierra.”

That was enough. McKenna and I barreled out of the bedroom and skidded to a halt before Kal, who was looking at us with amusement. She gestured to our comfortable, and fully concealing, sleep clothes. “You two are crap at the whole friends-with-benefits thing if that’s how you’re sleeping.”

“Ha-ha, Kal. Friends, not with benefits.” Though you wouldn’t mind it, a traitorous part of my mind whispered. “What’s this about Sierra?”

“I found her. Three-story brownstone in Bensonhurst, on East 7th Street.”

I knew the area. It was near a shopping center I frequented when running low on folding money and needed a quick boost. Until this job, I rarely had access to a car, so I knew how to get there on foot and by subway. Even though it was only a few miles distant, the subway could take longer to reach it than walking, so I often hoofed it through the various neighborhoods. I kept myself amused by making up stories about the residents.

“Church to Barclays to King’s Highway,” I said, my mind already in the underground.

“Car,” countered Kalili.

“Hold it. Plan first,” McKenna said, and I blushed. Dammit, I was the planner, and here I was, ready to rush off like a second-rate knight in a third-rate story.

“Right, right. Kal? What do you know about the place she’s in? And how did you find her?” I considered, then said, “Scratch the second. I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter. Do we know anything about this place?”

“Address and owner. I dug into the records, and found that it’s owned by a shell company for the Bonanno Family.”

“Shit. That means I was right and the DEA snatch was a false flag.”

Kal nodded. “DEA’s lousy with agents collecting two paychecks.”

“What was the name again?” asked McKenna.

“Bonanno.”

Better and better. “Bonanno? I might be able to get something from Sal.” Kal shook her head at me, so I asked, “Why not?”

She raised her fingers as she made her points. “Do you think Sal will answer at this time in the morning? And if he did, do you think he’d be willing to help out? Or do you think he might get a bit pissed?”

Fuck. What irritated me more was I’d been thinking along the same lines a few hours earlier. “Fine. We’ll get dressed—”

Kal shook her head again. “Sorry, Dakota, this is a solo run. I came here to tell you, that’s all.” She looked regretful but determined. “Dakota, I love you, but you’re a planner, and McKenna, this is gonna be a smash and grab, not a sneak.” We both stared at our redheaded friend, eyeing her five feet, seven inches. “What?”

“Kalili, smash and grab?” McKenna took a step closer, dramatically illustrating the difference in height and build. “I’ve got four inches and probably twenty pounds of muscle on you, and Dakota’s got you outclassed, too. If anyone should stay behind, it’s you.”

Kal grinned, that stupid, irritating, insouciant grin that had gotten her into and out of more trouble than I could count. “Not a chance. Dakota, we’ve talked about my other gigs, remember?” I nodded, recalling the conversation in the SVG. “I told you then, I don’t do subtle. Frankly, if a Family’s snatched Sierra, I want to bloody their nose. I’ve been behaving myself for far too long, and it’s time for me to let loose a little Hell.”

I rested a hand on McKenna’s arm. She glanced at me, but relaxed at my nod. “Fine. We’ll be here to put you back together when you get back. We’ll give you an hour, and then we’re coming to rescue your ginger ass.”

Kal chortled, and I suddenly felt sorry for whoever she ran into. “Make it ninety minutes, and you’d better have coffee ready when I get back.” She wrote down the address before waving gaily and heading out again.

“Well, there’s another night’s sleep wrecked,” McKenna said. “I don’t know if I like sharing a bed with you enough to put up with this.”

Chuckling to cover the shiver that spread from my core, I went to the kitchen. “Well, if we’re up, we might as well have some coffee before they return.” As I scooped beans into the machine—none of that ground coffee bullshit for Kalili—my wandering mind connected with something Kal said. “Mac?”

McKenna turned. “How did you know I like being called Mac?”

I shrugged. “Seemed logical, and you don’t look like a Ken. Fire up your laptop and punch in that address.”

“You remember it?”

I waved the note. “No, but Kal wrote it down.” McKenna took it from me and logged on while I waited for the coffee to finish brewing. “You hungry?”

“I could eat. Beer for dinner wasn’t a great idea.”

That’s how we ended up eating pancakes and bacon at three in the morning. As McKenna mopped up syrup, she said, “What am I looking for?”

“Kal said she found the ownership. Property records?”

McKenna pushed away her empty plate and started tapping. “I’m into the ACRIS system.” This was the automated system that New York used to store property records. “Oh, that’s interesting.” She turned the screen so I could see.

“Vitale Imports, LLC. No, nothing suspicious about that,” I scoffed. “Can you get an address for the LLC?”

McKenna recovered the computer. “Maybe. Owners are supposed to have a mailing address on file, but, yeah, I thought so. They have one, but it’s a PO Box. Oh, wait.” She tapped more. “Okay, that’s a mailing service I’ve used. Makes it convenient when I’ve acquired something I’d rather not have on my person, just in case.” She looked up and smiled. “The only drawback is their system is so porous a six-year-old could hack it.”

I nodded, knowing her situation. “Awkward.”

“Very. Anyway, when you go in and rent a box, you have to give them a real ID. And, yes, we have a winner. Marco DeLucia. Street address, and let’s see where Mr. DeLucia lives. Ah, naughty, naughty.”

She was having entirely too much fun with this, but I wasn’t about to stop her.

“Mr. DeLucia’s address is owned by another LLC, the Russo Trading Company.” She glanced at me over the top of the screen. “It might take me a while to get through all the layers.”

“We’ve got—” I looked at my watch. “—almost an hour before Kal’s supposed to be back. You want more bacon?”

“I never say no to bacon.” I put the plate with the rest of the bacon next to her and snagged a piece for myself.

We went on like this for several minutes, McKenna alternating between munching on slices and digging into the Byzantine structure of the interconnected shell companies. The tension in the air built, a silent dance between professionalism and something more, something undeniable.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping over me as I watched McKenna work. Dammit, I knew better than to let myself get too close. We were co-conspirators, after all, and getting involved would only complicate things. But as I stole glances at McKenna, the lines between professionalism and desire blurred again. There was a warmth in her eyes, a kindness that made me feel seen in a way I hadn't before. I found myself wondering if maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to let my guard down for once.

Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, or the sleep deprivation, or the stress, but I cleared my throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. “McKenna,” I began tentatively. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

She looked up from her computer, her gaze meeting mine, eyes alight with curiosity and hope. “What is it, Dakota?” she asked, her voice cautious.

I hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “It's just... I'm surprised by how comfortable I feel around you,” I admitted, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I mean, we've only known each other for a week, but it feels like we've known each other forever.”

McKenna's lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I know what you mean,” she replied with a hint of vulnerability. “It's strange, isn't it? How quickly we've become close.”

This was getting too deep, too fast, and I was quickly passing from nervous to terrified. My relationships had been sporadic and short, and I knew McKenna’s recent history. What was the saying about pressure and attraction? We’d certainly been under a huge amount of pressure, but that didn’t feel like it was the whole answer. Not even close.

I tried to lighten the moment. “Maybe it has something to do with sharing a bed every night?”

A faint smile crossed her lips. “Maybe.” It faded to a more wistful version. “But I don’t think so. I think we’ve stumbled on something neither of us expected or were ready for. I don’t know where to go with it, but I don’t want it to stop. Does that make any sense?”

I nodded in agreement, a sense of relief washing over me at her understanding. “Yeah, it does,” I agreed. “Maybe it's not such a bad thing, you know? Maybe we're just two adults who enjoy each other's company. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?”

McKenna's smile widened, a playful glint in her eyes. “No, I don't suppose there is,” she replied, her voice light. “As long as we're both on the same page.” McKenna rested her hands on the table, fingers casually tapping a rhythm that seemed to echo my heartbeat. “The thing is, Dakota,” she began, her tone shifting to something more serious, “in our line of work, distractions can be problematic. And feelings? They're the queen of distractions.”

I let out a sigh, admitting the wisdom but wanting to deny her words. “You're right.” I fiddled with a napkin, tearing it into neat little strips. “The last thing we need is something messing with our focus. The heist is complicated enough as it is.”

She nodded, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. “Exactly. And it's not just us,” McKenna continued. “There's the crew to think about. They're counting on you to lead, to be sharp. How sharp can you be if you’re thinking about us? About me?”

The image of the crew, my family by choice, flashed in my mind, each face a reminder of my responsibility. “Does that mean we ignore this?” I gestured vaguely between us, the air almost crackling. “Because I don’t know if I can. Or want to.”

McKenna paused, her expression softening. “I don't know, Dakota. I feel it too. There's something here, something more than professional respect.” She let out a breathy laugh, as if surprised by her admission.

I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “Good to know we’re both feeling it, huh? I suppose the question is, how do we handle it?”

“We handle it the way we handle everything else,” McKenna said firmly. “With care and precision. We keep it under wraps until after the job. We stay focused, and do what we came to do. And then...?”

“And then we see where things lead,” I finished for her, feeling a tingle of anticipation. “No promises, no expectations. Just possibilities.”

She reached across the table, her hand briefly touching mine. It was a fleeting contact, but it felt like a promise in itself. “Possibilities,” McKenna echoed, her smile returning. “I can work with that.”

Her eyes returned to the computer. Whatever feelings we’d discussed, it was time to get back to reality. “BellaForte Enterprises,” she said with a sigh. “Dammit. I’m getting tired of going around in circles.”

Suddenly I was on full alert. “What’s that name?”

“BellaForte Enterprises? Why?”

My stomach clenched, and not in protest at the dark o’clock coffee. “That’s the company that owns the Bella. Uncle Sal’s restaurant.”

25: Echoes in Silence

Kal burst into the apartment with a dirty, bedraggled, and furious Sierra in tow.

“Got her!” she crowed, then noticed our intense gazes at the laptop. “Uh, hello? We’ve got our hacker back?”

I was still in shock from McKenna’s revelation, so it was up to her to react, standing from the table and approaching the two. “Sierra, glad to see you. Aren’t we, Dakota?”

“Yeah, glad.”

McKenna covered for me again. “Coffee?”

“I’d kill for a cup,” Sierra said. The business of fixing their mugs occupied them long enough for my mind to reboot and return to the here and now. When it did, it was all business, with none of the sentimentality of the past few minutes. I’d deal with BellaForte later.

“Sierra, Alex told us about the raid. I need to hear it from you.”

She looked up from her cup, dark circles under her eyes like she'd been coding for days without a break, and I almost took back my question. “Yeah, the raid. It was a nightmare.”

Kalili tried to intervene. “Dakota, give her a break, would ya? I just got her here. Can’t this wait?”

“No, Kal.” My voice was like hammered iron, the fury of the past days combining into a single focus. I needed to hear about it from her, and I needed it now. Too much had happened, and could still happen, for me to wait, even though I knew I should. Too many lives hung in the balance. “Alex said you were working on something important when it happened?”

She nodded, rubbing her temples. “I was deep into cracking Triple-S's systems. All of a sudden, my alarms go off.”

So far it matched what Alex said. “Go on.”

“Well, I look, and see these armored-up figures moving through the hall, so I start dumping data, frying the drives. Standard stuff, right?” I nodded, taking her word for it. “Then I figure, this is too sensitive, so I have to wipe everything clean.”

“That’s when you triggered the EMP?”

“Yeah,” Sierra confirmed, and I could hear her pride despite the situation. “I had to protect the data, especially with what I found. EMP was my last line of defense.”

“Do you have any idea why the DEA would be interested in you? What's their angle in this?” I fixed her with my most severe glare. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” I was almost certain the agents weren’t there officially, but if there was a problem, I had to know.

Sierra shrugged, confused and frustrated. “No way, Dakota! I stay clean. Drugs would fuck with my ability to do my job, both for you and for the Feds. You know that. This feels off.” She frowned. “I don’t think they were DEA at all.”

“Why not?”

Sierra’s frown deepened. “How much have you dealt with the Feds?”

“Not much.” Most of my jobs hadn’t risen to the attention of any alphabet soup agencies, which was something I actively pursued. State laws were tough enough without bringing in Federal charges.

“Well, I have.” I remembered her rocky history with the FBI. “They’re professionals. Cool, almost cold, but polite. Please and thank you, you know? Well, not these goons. Once they hammered in the door, it all moved like lightning.”

“And when they came in? Had you finished the scrub?” I asked, trying to understand the sequence of events.

She took a deep breath. “I was destroying everything I could. Hard drives, USBs, even started on the laptops. But they were fast, Dakota. Too fast for an agency serving a warrant. The EMP should have gotten it all, but I can’t be sure. There wasn’t time to check.”

My mind raced with the implications. “Did they take anything? Any leads on what they were after?”

“Just everything electronic,” Sierra replied, bitterness lacing her words. “I caught a look before they dragged me out, and they left the place a tech graveyard. One of the apes cuffed me and bundled me out, and the other two got all the electronics.”

“What happened next?”

Sierra's eyes flickered with a haunted look, her hands trembling slightly. “Next?” She exhaled sharply, as if the memory was a physical burden. “They blindfolded me and gagged me as soon as they dragged me out. I don't know how long the drive was. Time gets funny when you're scared out of your mind, you know? When it finally stopped, they hauled me out, still blindfolded, and into some building.  It was disorienting, being yanked around like luggage. They finally dumped me in some cold, echoing room. Alone, and waiting.”

My stomach clenched in empathy, imagining Sierra in that helpless state. “And then?”

“They came back,” she continued, her voice strained. “At first, it was all questions. Who was I working for, who was I working with, when the job was going down. They demanded answers about our plans, about HIP, about everything. I kept quiet, but...” Sierra's voice broke, and she took a moment, swallowing hard. “It got rougher.”

“How rough?” I asked, and my voice was harsh. All of the trouble of the past few days had a target now, and I directed the hate at the nameless, faceless minions who abused Sierra. I’d even the score.

Tears welled up in Sierra's eyes. “I... I can't,” she stammered, her composure crumbling. “They didn't hold back, Dakota. It was—it was bad.” She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the memory.

Kal reached out and wrapped an arm around her. “It's okay, Sierra. You don't have to go into it.”

I spun and nearly bit her head off. “Kalili, we need to know!”

“We will,” she said, eyes flashing in response. “But not right now. It takes time. You know that, Dakota.”

It felt like she slapped me. Dammit, what was I doing? Suddenly I looked at my bravado the other night through new eyes. Vengeance for my crew? That wasn’t me. I was all about the clean caper, in and out, nobody getting hurt. Pulling off the heist would hurt the Families badly, and that would be our revenge. I didn’t need to escalate to violence, and I sure as fuck didn’t need to hurt my people when they needed my support.

I returned to the moment. Fortunately, nobody except Kal caught my distraction.

Sierra took a shaky breath. “They tried everything. Sleep deprivation, more interrogations. It was endless. I thought they'd never stop.”

“But Kalili got you out?” Now that I’d come to my senses, I was eager to steer her away from the darker memories.

A flicker of relief passed through Sierra's eyes. “Yeah, Kal did. God, she was incredible. She showed up out of nowhere and took down the guards like they were nothing. Got me out and brought me back here.” Awe and gratitude mixed in equal measure in her voice, and the thoughts of vengeance disappeared.

“Sounds like she got some payback for you. I know it doesn’t make up for what happened, but I’m glad she did.” Truth be told, I was feeling a little awed by Kalili’s prowess. “She's something else,” I said, and I saw Kal tip her mug to me in a salute.

Sierra nodded, a faint smile touching her lips despite the shadows in her eyes. “She saved me, Dakota. If it wasn't for her...”

I needed to reclaim myself, so I squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. “But she did, and you're safe now. We'll figure out our next move. Together.”

Sierra leaned into my touch, her resilience flickering back to life amidst the turmoil. “Together,” she echoed, her usual self-assurance seeping back in. “We've got a heist to pull off, after all, and I want a piece of them for what they did.”

That's Sierra, I thought. Knock her down, and she'll just get back up stronger. It was one of the many reasons I admired her. We were a team, through thick and thin, and nothing was going to change that. “One thing. Alex—”

Sierra’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, God, I forgot all about them! Are they okay? Where are they?”

Kalili answered in a voice very unlike her usual brash self. “They’re downstairs, safe and sound. I’ll bring you down in a few minutes.”

“O-okay.”

“Sierra.” I waited until her attention returned to me. Although the vengeance demon was muted, it still reminded me I needed more from Sierra. Much as I wanted to let her go, I had to ask one more question. “Alex said you said something before they broke in. Do you remember what it was? They thought it was important.”

“Yes!” She came back to life, the master hacker I knew. “The heist.”

I waited for more, but when she didn’t continue I prompted, “What about it?” Were they onto us?

“The information we had said they were shipping the jewels out on Friday, right?”

“Right.” I tried not to think that Friday was now less than four days away, glancing out the window at the pre-dawn dark.

“Wrong. They moved it up, to Thursday.”

“What?” Three voices sounded as one.

“Yeah, one of the Bosses is a superstitious twit and decided he didn’t want them moving a billion bucks’ worth of jewels on Friday the 13th.”

“Oh, shit.” That meant all of our plans were trashed. Unless I did something really stupid...

“We’re going to have to do it tonight.”

26: Cost of Courage

“What?” Three different voices—well, two were the same, but Sierra joined in—sounded.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?” I looked at McKenna. “You said you could get in whenever you wanted.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yes or no, Mac.” My use of a nickname didn’t pass Kalili’s notice, but I ignored her raised eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“Sierra, after you get some sleep, can you reconstruct whatever you need?”

She half-rose before Kal pushed her back into the seat. “She said after you sleep, Sierra.”

Sierra glared at Kalili, but said, “I can. It’s going to be tight, unless—” I saw her disappear into her thoughts and stay there. After a moment, she repeated, “I can,” with more assurance. “Most of the video files got copied to the cloud, so I can retrieve them. Most of my programs are backed up in the cloud, including Cipher.”

“What’s Cipher?” I asked.

“My AI. The biggest problem is hardware. I’ll need a new machine.”

Kalili said, “Before you lie down, write out what you need, as detailed as you can, and I’ll get it for you by the time you wake.”

Sierra started writing on the paper McKenna handed her, so it was Kalili’s turn. “Kal, do we have all the pieces in place? Boxes, smugglers, all that?”

Kalili nodded. “We do.”

“Then we have to tell Chelsea.” I blanched as another thought hit me. “And I’ll update our pet cops.”

Kalili stood and headed for the door, Sierra trailing. “I’ll get her to Alex, then come back.”

I shook my head. “No. We have to move fast, but not that fast. I think we all ought to catch a few more hours’ sleep. Tonight’s going to get late, and we have to be sharp. Besides, your wife is probably pretty pissed. How many middle-of-the-night interruptions is this now?”

Kal chuckled from the doorway. “You’re not wrong, and she’s got a Hell of a temper when it’s aroused. When do you want me here? Ten?”

“Yes,” I said, but I was drowned out by McKenna’s “Bring pastries. I demand pastries.”

Kal laughed, and even Sierra managed a smile. “I’ll be here.”

“Goodnight. Sierra, it’s good to have you back.”

“I’m glad you came after me.”

The uncertainty in her voice struck me hard, and I had to respond. “Sierra, you’re one of mine, part of my crew. As much as anyone in this world, you’re my family, and I don’t leave my family behind. Ever.”

“I know, Dakota. It's hard to believe, sometimes. You know, with the life we lead.”

Kal, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, spoke up. “Dakota's right,” she said, her voice firm. “We're more than a bunch of crooks pulling jobs. We look out for each other. It's what sets us apart from the scum of this world.”

I nodded in agreement, feeling the rightness of her words. “Exactly. We've got something special here, a bond that's about more than the next score. It's about trust and having each other's backs. That's worth more than any heist.” My eyes flicked to McKenna and found her staring right back.

Sierra sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “I guess I'm still getting used to that idea. In my line of work, trust is a rare commodity.”

Kal pushed off the doorframe and took the chair next to Sierra. “Trust is exactly what makes us strong,” she said, softer now. “We've got a good thing going, and we're going to keep it that way. No one messes with one of ours without consequences.”

I caught Sierra's eye, trying to convey reassurance. “We'll sort this out,” I said. “The DEA or Families or whoever it was? The mess they've dragged you into, we're going to make things right. But we do it together, as a crew, as a family.”

Sierra nodded slowly, a phoenix of her usual fiery spirit flickering in her eyes. “Together,” she echoed. I knew that, despite everything, we would come out of this stronger. That's what families do: they weather the storms together.

After Sierra left to be reunited with Alex, I dropped into bed, McKenna in her usual place next to me. She was asleep in moments, but my mind wrestled with the new problem like a terrier with a rat until I had a plan that satisfied me. Then I drifted into sleep. For once, it was a dreamless night, and it seemed only an eyeblink before McKenna was shaking my shoulder.

“Wha?” I burrowed under the covers.

“It’s nine. Kal ought to be here soon, and I thought you’d want to be awake, maybe even showered.”

I opened one eye and looked for her voice. “You’re dressed?”

McKenna nodded. “Working through some tweaks. Been up for a while. The shower’s all yours.”

I groaned and stretched, feeling every year, every job that went sideways, and quite coffee-deprived. “Fine. Whatevs.” She headed out, and I thumped my feet onto the floor. I staggered to the bathroom and dealt with necessities. After my shower, I felt more human, at least enough to emerge and search for coffee, which McKenna already had brewed. Wordlessly, she pushed a mug across, and I clutched it like the lifeline it was.

While we waited for Kal’s appearance, I shot a text message to Washington.

Dakota: Change in plans, need to meet

Washington: Can’t before noon

I didn’t care about his timing. Noon was too early in any case. It would take at least an hour to get off the island since it was a weekday.

Dakota: 1 p.m.

I included the address of yet another dive I knew. I didn’t want to meet, but we needed the cover of the cops, and I wanted their money.

Right on time, I heard the front door open, and Kal bounded in with two boxes.

“Are you expecting an army?” I joked as she set them down.

“No, but McKenna seemed pretty insistent, and I’m not going to piss off our safecracker.”

“I knew you were smarter than you looked,” McKenna said, earning a smack on the arm from Kalili.

As we munched, we reviewed the revised plan. Chelsea was asleep, preparing for a long afternoon and evening of driving. Kal had gotten the computers and other devices Sierra needed. “When I left her, she was hammering away at the keyboard, muttering about worms and other revenge on the Families.” Kal’s tone matched her bloodthirsty smile, and I felt this was all playing right into her larger plans, if inadvertently. “What about you two?”

“Now that I know Sierra’s up and running,” McKenna said around a mouthful of cheese Danish, “I’m going to head down and help fine-tune things.”

“I have a meet with the cops at one. What are you doing, Kal?”

“Want company?”

I opened my mouth to object. Not only would they be reluctant to speak freely in front of someone they didn’t know, but I didn’t want to put Kalili in their crosshairs. Then the glimmer of an idea occurred to me, and when I spoke, I said, “Sure.”

“I saw that. What?” asked Kal.

“You showing up will put them off-balance. I can’t help but think that’s a good thing.”

“Me too, Dakota.” She yawned. “But first, I need a nap. See you in a couple of hours. Are we taking the subway?”

I nodded, all business. I’d rather drive, putting us in control, but there were problems. The sedan I parked in the garage, twin to Chelsea’s, had papers as fake as a three-dollar bill. It was also slated to be chopped for parts come Friday, so it would never be traced back to me. But I didn’t want to drive it more than necessary, New York traffic cops being the unreasonable pricks they are. If the sedan was out, we had Kal’s cars, but I’d wager my last paycheck that Kal’s rides were all above board, registered under her name. Jorgensen and Washington, crooked or no, would have their fingers on the pulse of the DMV. No fucking way I was handing them that kind of leverage on a silver platter.

“I’ll dress down. See ya.”

Two hours ticked by, slow and steady, before she showed her face again. When she did, Kal was decked out like she’d raided my closet: faded jeans, a well-worn tee, and a black leather bomber jacket that had seen better days. I narrowed my eyes at the patches stitched across it. Every one was frayed at the edges, but the colors popped, holding on to their life with the tenacity of a street cat.

“What’s that one?” My finger jabbed towards a patch on her left chest, curiosity piqued.

“Fifinella the Gremlin,” Kal said, her gaze dropping to the emblem as if seeing it for the first time in ages. “WASP pilots wore it on their uniforms during WWII.”

There was a yarn there, no doubt, tangled in history and hijinks. I filed it away for later. “Cool. Let’s go.”

The city swallowed us whole as we made our way to the borough. Our chatter was sparse, clipped by the necessity of silence. Paranoia was my usual dance partner on a job, and with everything circling us? I was doubly cautious. Yet, beneath the rumble of the train, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering to Kal’s recent caper. I heard myself saying, “About Sierra's rescue,” and eyeing her for any telltale sign.

Kal rested against the metal pole, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “What about it?” She played it casual, like she hadn’t pulled off a damn cinematic escape.

“Come on, spill it. How'd you pull it off?” I knew damn well the tale was itching to leap off her tongue.

Her eyes sparkled with a familiar mix of mischief and pride, and I knew I had her. “Alright, if you insist. It was dead of night, right? Even the city's rats were too knackered to scurry. Found their hideout—wasn’t exactly Fort Knox, but those bastards had done their homework.” Kal paused, a dramatic flair entirely lost on me. “Breaching their defenses? Child’s play—a gadget here, a stealthy step there,” she recounted with a dismissive flick of her wrist, as though she were brushing away cobwebs rather than recounting an infiltration. “The guards might as well have been tucked in bed, dreaming of counting sheep rather than keeping watch.”

I couldn’t suppress the grin that broke across my face. Kal was a whirlwind, her energy as irresistible as it was infectious.

“Then, I found Sierra,” she continued, her voice dropping a notch, the slight tremor barely perceptible. I sensed a shadow pass over her usually unflappable demeanor, a rare crack in her armor revealing how much Sierra’s plight had gotten to her. “Poor thing was tied up and shaken up, but damn if she wasn’t ready to bolt out of hell’s gates the second I cracked open that door. I picked the lock—”

“Naturally,” I chimed in, unable to help myself.

Kal shot me a glare, her irritation clear as she wasn’t looking for comedic relief. “—Got her out, and we were almost home free.”

“Almost home free? Did you have any problems with the guards?” I already guessed the punchline, but wanted to hear it from her lips.

Kal’s chuckle rolled out rich and low. “Oh, they made a feeble attempt, bless their hearts. They tried to stop us,” she stressed, the word heavy with amusement and a barely-there scoff. “Tried,” she repeated, her grin wide and wicked, as if the very notion that anyone could halt her storm was ludicrous.

The subway clattered on. I shook my head, in awe of my friend, the redheaded force of nature. “And?”

Kal’s grin turned devilish, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of the memory. “Just as we’re making our graceful exit, one of the suddenly groggy goons managed to croak, ‘Who the hell are you?’” She chuckled, the sound rich with mischief. “I flashed him a cheeky smile and said, ‘Me? Nobody you want to remember.' With that, we vanished into the night.”

My laughter echoed in the nearly empty subway car, bouncing off the cold metal surfaces. Bold and brash—so damn characteristic of her. Silence settled around us, and I sank into it, relishing the anonymity the subway offered. It was a rare pause in the relentless tick-tock of our scheming. Kalili couldn’t let it rest and broke the calm. She leaned against the subway pole with deliberate innocence and fired off a question I’d been dodging like bullets.

“So, Dakota, what’s going on with McKenna?”

I stared out the window, watching the dark walls blur by, and struggled to mask my reaction. “What do you mean?” My voice was flat, a poor attempt at feigning ignorance.

Kal’s laugh cut through the noise of the train—a clear, sharp sound. “Oh come on, Dakota. You think I haven’t noticed? There’s something simmering between you two, and I think it’s about to boil over.”

Uncomfortable, I gripped the seat tighter, my knuckles whitening. “It’s nothing, Kal. We’re colleagues. Just professional.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Professional, huh? Since when do colleagues share looks like that? Or a bed, for that matter? There’s something more than ‘just professional’ going on.”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of her questions settling on my shoulders. Kal was like a shark after blood, and I knew I couldn’t dodge her forever. “It’s complicated, okay? When you work with someone, it’s natural to get close.”

She knew she was onto something. “Close, maybe. But I’m sensing something deeper, Dakota. Are you trying to say there’s nothing there?”

As the train slowed, approaching our stop, the moment demanded honesty. I turned away, watching the station materialize through the window. “Maybe there’s something,” I murmured, the admission freeing. “But it’s complicated,” I repeated. “Our world doesn’t do simple, Kal.”

Her smile was gentle and all too understanding. “I know. But sometimes, the complicated things are worth the effort. Don’t close yourself off to possibilities.”

The train stopped with a jolt, doors hissing open. We stepped onto the platform, the potential hanging between us like the thick city air. “Possibilities,” I echoed, the word holding promise and peril.

We moved through the streets of Little Caribbean, our conversation a stark contrast to the looming confrontation with the cops. Kal’s words echoed in my mind, colliding with Faith’s. In our chaotic lives, might there be space for something unexpected?

By the time we reached the diner, Kal had resumed her teasing, but I brushed it off. Inside, Washington and Jorgensen were already waiting. Their stares turned into shock when they realized I’d brought reinforcements. I slid into the booth, my gaze hard on both of them, the diner’s stale coffee smell setting the stage for this farce.

“Johnson, Smith, meet one of my partners,” I introduced Kalili using their aliases. I hoped this would prove to them that I wasn’t trying to blow up our arrangement. “She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

Washington looked us over, his brow raised. “Didn’t know you brought your partners out on the town,” he commented, suspicious.

Kalili flashed a disarming smile. “I’m here to observe. Consider me a silent partner.”

Jorgensen shifted, looking like he wanted to probe further but hesitated.

I had to grab control of the conversation and steer it. “In our line of work, more eyes, more ears, are better, don’t you think?”

The two men exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Washington nodded. “Fair enough. We don't want any surprises, that's all.”

They were going to hate this, then.

Jorgensen, his sharp gaze fixed on Kal, found his tongue. “Cut the silent partner crap. Give us a name.”

Kalili leaned back, completely at ease under their scrutiny, her smile as smooth as a seasoned con artist peddling dreams. “Name's Dora,” she said with a lie as effortless as breathing. “I'm an old friend of Dakota's. We go way back.”

I sat back, listening as Kal wove a backstory out of thin air, marveling at her ability. Washington seemed to soften slightly, but Jorgensen's expression said he wasn’t buying it. Undeterred, Kal finished with, “I've heard quite a bit about you guys. Dakota tells me you're trying to do the right thing here. That’s something I can respect.”

Jorgensen’s hard gaze flickered, perhaps touched by the compliment or merely reassessing his stance. “Well, we try to keep things orderly.”

Washington, now more engaged, leaned in. “Chase, what's the emergency?” His voice demanding clarity.

I figured I’d start with the good news, but in a way that would put them off-balance. “About my person.” Jorgensen’s face froze, and Washington looked like he’d rather sit down with a divorce lawyer. “Since it’s been over twenty-four hours since we talked, I don’t think you’ve had any luck, but it doesn’t matter. We took things into our own hands and got her back.” They exchanged a worried look, and I hurried on. “No breakage, at least officially. Nothing the BPD will hear about, and it’s one fewer thing for you concern yourself with.”

Washington’s head bobbed, so I continued. “Did you pull your teams? Destroy the records?”

“We did,” Washington said.

I could tell he was ready for me to ask for details, but I thought I’d give him a break. “Good. Thanks.” Then I delivered the news that would change the game. “Gentlemen, circumstances have changed. The heist's been moved up. It's happening Wednesday, not Thursday.”

Their reactions were immediate. Washington’s composure broke like thin ice. “Wednesday?” he echoed in disbelief. Jorgensen’s frown deepened, clearly displeased with the abrupt change.

“And I’ll need our terms settled by then, too. In full,” I added, my voice steady, pushing them as hard as I dared.

Jorgensen slammed his hand on the table, causing the coffee cups to rattle. “You can't switch things up last minute! We’ve got schedules to consider!”

I met his anger with a total lack of concern. “Adjust or I walk. Your choice.”

Kal’s voice cut through the tension, smooth as any politician’s. “Seems fair to me. Plans change, and so do terms.”

The cops exchanged a look, a silent negotiation unfolding between them. Finally, Washington clenched his teeth and nodded. “Fine. We’ll make it work. But this is asking a lot, Chase.”

Jorgensen's frustration broke through, his words sharp as he turned to Washington. “Goddammit. I told you we’d get burned by her the moment we got wind of the accelerated timetable.”

My calm exterior cracked, anger flaring in my eyes. “You knew about the change in their timetable? And you didn’t think it necessary to inform me?” Their expressions shifted, discomfort creeping in as they realized the misstep. Seizing the moment, I laid down new terms. “The price just doubled for this little oversight.”

Washington’s jaw tightened, a clear sign of his irritation, while Jorgensen looked as if he’d like to disappear. They understood the stakes, and Washington knew what Jorgensen’s slip had cost them. But they were overmatched.

“We'll get you your money,” Washington said, resigned to the distasteful fact that I held all the cards.

“All of it. Five hundred thousand, not a penny less.” I didn’t let Washington break eye contact. In this battle of wills, I was going to win.

Washington conceded with a reluctant nod. I relaxed, my anger assuaged by the glorious knowledge I’d pulled one on the cops. “Glad we understand each other.” The dynamics had shifted back in my favor, and the control was delicious. “Come on, Dora. Let’s leave these fine gentlemen to sort out their affairs. I suspect they have a few urgent calls to make.” Kalili and I slid from the booth, their hard stares boring into us as we walked away.

Pausing at the waitress stand, I asked nonchalantly, “Who has that booth?” The waitresses exchanged glances before one stepped forward. I handed her a fifty. “That should cover their bill.”

The small act of defiance left me feeling triumphant as we exited the diner, the cool air brushing against my face. That feeling of victory lingered for a full block, until Kalili’s next words cut through.

“They’re out to screw us.”

“Duh. They’re cops,” I replied, my irritation flaring anew.

“No, you don’t understand,” Kalili persisted. She stopped, ensuring she had my full attention. “Look, we know they planned to snatch the jewels from us. They’ve hinted as much, right?”

I recalled my assessment of their plan. “Right.”

“Think about it,” she pressed on. “If they were aware the shipment was moving up a day, what were they aiming to achieve by withholding that from us?”

I considered the angles, then started working through the logic tree. “We figured they'd hijack the loot post-heist on Thursday. What’s their angle in letting us proceed, only to find the stash gone? Maybe they planned to intercept first, then tip off the Families... No, that doesn’t fit. Washington and Jorgensen want the Families hurt, not gunning for revenge.”

“That aligns with what Sierra uncovered. They're not in bed with the Families,” Kalili added, her thoughts mirroring mine.

“They wouldn’t alert the Families, but they wouldn’t grieve if we were eliminated in the process.” The puzzle began to click into place. “Or maybe they’re setting us up for a crossfire scenario. Caught between the cops and the Families, we’d be another headline. Vicious criminal gang squashed by the valiant defenders of the law, or some similar shit,” I concluded, my voice laced with cynicism and a bitter undertone.

“That’s what I think, too. Eliminates anyone who might know their role, and also clears them of the hefty payout. Half a million, now. Smart play on your part, by the way. How do you reckon they'll scrape together the cash?”

I chuckled, the strategy still amusing to me. “I told them to dip into the evidence locker.”

“That’s ballsy, Dakota.”

“Coming from you, that’s quite the compliment!”

As we continued walking, reality settled in. “Now what?” Kalili queried.

“Now, we prep for tonight. We hit HIP—and hit it hard.”

27: Bound by Blood

“Kal, are you absolutely certain none of these jewels are cursed?” I asked, half-joking but also half-serious, given the way the day had degenerated.

Kal rolled her eyes, her patience clearly wearing thin after a day filled with nightmares. “No, Dakota, no curses, and no heavenly protections either. They’re just shiny rocks that people have decided are worth a fortune.”

I wasn't entirely convinced by her dismissive tone. Superstitions aside, today had felt cursed. By the time we returned to our base of operations, I hoped the worst was behind us. We’d managed to corner the cops and secured double the agreed payout. The heist was scheduled for tonight, but as the day wore on, the complications began stacking up like traffic during rush hour.

First came the call from Chelsea, equal parts frustration and apology. “The sedan's busted, Dakota. I can't get it up and running in time.”

Perfect, just perfect. That sedan was crucial to our elaborate plan. I massaged my temples, feeling the beginnings of a migraine. “Alright, switch to my car. You’ll have to come get it,” I instructed, tasting the bitterness of the setback.

“But what about your part? You were supposed to be me,” Chelsea reminded me, her worry transmitting through the cheap phone's crackle.

I paced the room, mind racing. “I’ll have to improvise. We can still make this work.” My attempt to sound confident did little to convince even myself.

“I’m really sorry, Dakota. The transmission gave up. I’ve tried everything, even that old clutch alignment trick, but it’s no use. It’s like trying to resurrect the dead.”

I paused in my tracks, exhaling slowly. “Don’t worry, Chels. I know you’ve done what you can. Now it’s my turn to support you. See you soon.”

“You got it, boss,” she said before ending the call.

Left alone, I surveyed the sprawling plans on the table. With this little misstep, none of the puzzle pieces fit any longer. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for the creative gymnastics ahead.

With Chelsea driving my car, my original role in the heist—impersonating her and her vehicle—was scrapped. There had to be something we could do, some element of the plan that I could spindle into shape. I couldn’t afford to show doubt, especially not to Chelsea who was already down. Sure, I could mimic Chelsea’s appearance, but without the right car...

That’s when inspiration struck—a desperate, wild plan, but it was a glimmer, and that was all I needed. I grabbed the phone and called McKenna. “I need a favor,” I started, my words clipped. “I need you to hotwire a car.”

McKenna’s response was cool, professional, but disbelieving. “You want me to what?”

“Hotwire a car. You can do it, right?”

“Yes, but...” Her hesitation spoke volumes; it was like asking a master chef to microwave a frozen dinner.

“It needs to be a specific one,” I added quickly. “There’s been a change in tonight’s plan.”

She exhaled slowly. “Go on.”

“It has to be one registered to a rideshare—complete with their decal and stupid light. But not the one Chelsea is using.”

“Why not?”

I smiled, hoping my desperation came across as confidence over the phone. “Because Chelsea’s testing out a different service and doesn’t want the first company catching on to her movements. Hence the vehicle switch.”

“That makes sense,” McKenna conceded. “Alright, I’ll get Sierra involved, searching the rideshare data. Any particular type of car?”

I’d anticipated this question. “An SUV would be ideal.”

“I might regret asking, but why an SUV?” McKenna's curiosity was piqued.

“Because I don’t have time to rig a full smuggler’s hold, so we’ll need to keep the jewels in plain sight,” I explained, knowing how absurd it sounded. “Trust me,” I added, hoping to bolster her confidence in the plan.

“I do,” McKenna replied, her tone softer than before, which I ignored, along with the unexpected skip in my heartbeat.

“Great. Let me know when you have it.” I hung up and quickly sent a message to Kal.

Dakota: Chels, grab the plates when you head over

Chelsea: Will do

Dakota: You busy?

Kalili: Nope

Dakota: Coming up

As I entered the plush apartment, the opulent decor barely registered. My mind was focused, already plotting the next steps. “Kal, we need a batch of high-quality fakes—enough to fill one of the boxes, and we need them now, not after the first round of the job.”

Kalili's expression shifted to a frown, her usual playfulness dimming slightly. “Your mind’s even twistier than mine. Why the fakes?”

“Simple. Well, actually, it’s complicated. When I drive in tonight I need to have gems in the box. There’s no way I can hide them, especially not in the SUV that McKenna’s about to steal for us—”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You’ve got McKenna car shopping?”

“Sort of. More like hot-wiring. Chelsea’s sedan is out of commission—”

“What? When did that happen?” Kal’s brows furrowed deeper.

“Ten minutes ago? She tried to get it running again, but no luck.” I quickly briefed her on my earlier conversation with Chelsea. “Now she’s coming to get my backup, which leaves me without a vehicle. Can I finish explaining?”

Kal sank into a chair. “Fine. Go ahead.”

“The core of the plan remains the same, still a switch right under their noses, but with a twist. I disguise myself as Chelsea, and you and I drive in with a box of jewels in the car. When the guards ask to inspect, we show them the box, and let them test the gems as they wish.”

“Why am I involved with the jewels?” Kal asked, her confusion evident.

I exhaled, piecing the story together seamlessly. This was what I loved. Oh, planning the heist was fun, but dealing with the curveballs? My heart hammered, my pulse throbbed, my mind raced, and I felt truly alive.  “Because you’re also working on this project, and the bosses want to see if there’s anything you can do with these fakes besides scrapping them. They told you to take a box and explore options—like selling them for Broadway shows, to travelers, or even brides—”

“Brides?” Kal interrupted, incredulous.

I nodded earnestly. “Yeah, it happens. When you dropped this on me, I did some research. Imagine wanting a lavish wedding but not wanting to spend a million on real gems. Seriously, Kal. You should look it up sometime.”

“Okay, fakes for brides, got it.” Kal sounded decidedly amused.

“Exactly. And you need to be convincing because you’re going to have to sell this story to the guards.”

Kal’s frown returned. “Wait. I ought to be taking jewels out. Why am I bringing them back in?”

“Because, you goof, you forgot to sign them out, so now you're back to cover that up before anyone notices. You might need to grease some palms, but the guards will buy it. That’s also why it’ll only take us a few minutes.”

“And the SUV? Won’t they find it odd that Chelsea's driving a different car?” Kal’s practical concerns were valid, but I was a mile ahead of her.

“That’s the part I’m proudest of,” I said. “I’m driving for another rideshare tonight. Since I don’t trust either company not to track me, I can’t use the sedan.”

Kal frowned, her mind working through the layers of the ruse. After a moment, she gave a nod, impressed. “You know, that’s pretty sharp.” She clapped her thighs and stood up, energized. “Alright, I’d better start on those imitations. Fortunately, I know just the guy for it.”

“You always do,” I said, a smile playing on my lips as Kal headed out to make the arrangements.

With Kal on her mission, my next task was clear. I needed to transform into Chelsea. But first, I needed to check in with her.

Dakota: On your way?

Chelsea: There’s a reason I do all the driving. I hate public transport

I grinned at that all the way back to the apartment.

Standing before the mirror, the bathroom’s harsh fluorescent lights cast deep, unflattering shadows across my face. I remembered Chelsea's look vividly—a wiry frame topped with short black hair. This transformation would require some effort. I couldn’t do much about the frame, but I wasn’t much heavier than her, and clothes would cover a bunch.

First on the agenda was the hair. Cutting my hair was possible, but if I didn’t have to, I wouldn’t. I retrieved the replacement wig I bought after the disastrous fire—a tidy, short, black piece that could easily pass for Chelsea's hair if styled correctly. As I adjusted the wig, carefully manipulating each strand, I managed to shape the faux hair into a style that looked convincingly like Chelsea’s. It always amazed me when I did a disguise how much difference a change in hair made. I was still me, but with short hair, my familiar features seemed to alter.

Next up were the clothes. Chelsea favored what could only be termed ‘functional chic’: leather, dark fabrics, and always form-fitting. I sifted through the wardrobe, silently thanking Kalili for her foresight in replenishing my wardrobe. I selected a pair of skinny black jeans and a looser leather jacket. It wasn’t an exact match for Chelsea's style, but it was close enough. Since I’d be using a different entrance than she usually used, the guards wouldn’t be familiar with her look. I had a decent chance of pulling it off.

Shedding my usual attire and stepping into Chelsea’s ensemble, I felt a strange disconnection. It was one thing to play a role; it was entirely another to embody someone else. This wasn't just about mimicry; it was about adopting an entirely different persona. But I was a professional, and adaptability was part of the job. Gazing at my reflection, the transformation struck me. Our builds were similar enough, and with the addition of the wig, I could easily be mistaken for Chelsea’s sister.

I spent the next forty-five minutes practicing Chelsea’s mannerisms—her stoic demeanor, her minimalistic gestures, her passion when discussing anything automotive. It wasn’t until I felt I could mimic her naturally that I allowed myself a moment of satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to suffice. At this moment, to anyone else, I was Chelsea.

As I was settling into Chelsea’s mindset, McKenna breezed into the apartment, catching me off guard.

“Hey, Chelsea.” She glanced around, puzzled. “I was expecting to find Dakota here?”

Her confusion was a testament to my transformation. “I guess I pass, then,” I replied, the unchanged timbre of my voice giving me away as she did a double-take.

“No way!” McKenna exclaimed, her eyes wide.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Not bad, huh?”

McKenna stepped closer, inspecting me from a foot away. “Incredible. Are you sure you’re not Chelsea?”

“Pretty certain,” I joked, enjoying the moment of levity.

“Do you do this often?” She gestured at my appearance.

“Not really,” I admitted. “Usually, I’m the one setting things up, and maybe on the pointy end when it’s my job, one I brought to the crew. Chelsea drives, Astrid handles the access, Sierra’s the tech wizard, and Kal—well, Kal can do anything she wants. She’s good enough to run a crew of her own, but she chooses to stick with us. But this job’s different.”

McKenna nodded. “This could change things for us. Maybe even clean up the streets for honest crooks like us.”

Her comment drew a chuckle from me. “Maybe. With all that’s been going on, I’m ready to step away for a while and let someone else do battle with the cops.” Just then, my phone vibrated with an incoming call. Glancing at the screen, I saw it was Uncle Sal. “Hold on,” I said to McKenna as I answered. “Hey, Sal.”

Sal's voice came through laden with fear I hadn't heard from him in years. “Dakota, whatever you’re doing, you need to stop right fucking now. You’re going to get yourself killed, along with everyone else on your crew.”

“Hold on, Sal, lemme get somewhere private.” I quickly muted the call, turning to McKenna. “Listen, but don't say a word. Something’s seriously wrong.” She nodded, her eyes wide, as I switched Sal to speakerphone.

“Sal, sorry, had to move. What's going on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

Sal's agitation was evident in his reply. “You’re all in fucking danger, Dakota. If you go ahead with whatever you're planning at HIP, it's not going to end well. That’s not your uncle talking, that’s what I get from the boys upstairs. This is important, and they won’t hesitate to swat anyone who makes a nuisance of themselves.”

I played it cool, even though my heart was racing. “All I’m doing is a bit of reconnaissance, Sal. Seeing what’s possible, what isn’t.” Lying to him twisted my guts, but the full truth was off the table.

“Then why the hell was one of your crew picked up the other night?”

My breath caught in my throat. “How do you know about that?”

“I keep my ears open, mi bella. I know everything that happens in this part of the city.” His tone softened, but his next words chilled me. “I tried to get her out, but someone beat me to it. I don't know who has her now.”

I forced myself to stay calm and not give away the game. Either Sal was covering up Kalili’s jailbreak, or the guards were. My mind raced as I considered the implications.

“I'm fucking telling you, Dakota, stop this madness!” Sal’s voice grew louder, more desperate. “I’m begging you!”

“Sal—”

He cut me off, his tone fierce. “No goddamn excuses, Dakota. I don't give a shit how much you think you’re gonna score. If it's about the money, I'll double it for you and your entire crew.”

I was speechless, stunned into silence by his offer. He couldn’t know how much we were looking at or he wouldn’t have offered.

“Listen to me, bella. You're heading towards something really bad, and I can't stand by and watch. I’m loyal, but my family, my blood, comes before anything else.”

Finding my voice, I tried to reassure him without making any promises. “I appreciate that, Sal, really. I’ll think about it, okay?” I had a terrible, suspicious thought. What if Sal knew more than he was letting on? I knew how I could trap him, but did I want to? Did I want to know? Or was I better off leaving the possibility open? In the end, it came back to what Sal said about family. That much, we shared. I put my family first, and that was my crew.

“Hypothetically, if I was planning anything, which I'm not, it wouldn’t be until Thursday night.”

“Thursday, huh? You better not be lying to your uncle,” Sal said, relief in his tone.

“Hypothetically,” I repeated, emphasizing the point.

“Alright. I’m relieved to hear that.”

Trying to wrap up the call, I said, “Sal, can we talk more tomorrow?”

He relaxed a bit. “Sure, bella. Tomorrow’s good. How about lunch?”

“I’ll let you know. Bye, Sal.” I hung up, my mind a whirlwind of doubt and concern.

“What was that about?” McKenna's voice snapped me back to reality. I raised a hand to silence her, my mind reeling. I had no answers, not for her, not even for myself.

I pulled a chair over to the window, my thoughts racing as I gazed out into the waning light of late afternoon. Moments later, McKenna came over, her touch light on my shoulder as she handed me a steaming cup of coffee. “Figured you might need this.”

Gratefully, I accepted the mug, feeling the warmth seep into my palms. I took a deep sip, letting the rich liquid cut through the fog of my thoughts. “Sorry I was so abrupt.”

She waved me off. “I could tell you were upset, so I gave you some space.”

I smiled, grateful for her consideration. My smile faded fast as I brought my mind back to my conversation. “Sal's on to us,” I said finally, as the level of coffee in the mug dropped. “He must've sniffed around HIP, found out about the jewels and our timetable. Now, he's all wound up about keeping me safe—his 'bella.' When I mentioned Thursday, he calmed down, figuring the jewels would be gone by then.”

McKenna listened quietly, her eyes on mine, waiting for me to finish. “He loves you, Dakota,” she said simply once I'd stopped.

“I guess.”

“No guessing. He does, and he doesn’t want you hurt.” Her voice was firm, leaving no room for debate.

I considered her words.

“Does it change anything?” she asked, her gaze searching.

I steadied myself. “No. We're on for tonight, and then we deal with tomorrow. Are you and Sierra ready for tonight?”

McKenna nodded, her expression shifting to one of readiness. “Yeah, Sierra’s prepped all the samples. And she gave me this cool radio,” she tapped the earbud, “so she can guide me through anything tricky on the fly. I'm feeling good about our chances.”

“Good. I’ll—” The sharp buzz of the intercom cut me off, and I moved to answer it. “Yes?”

“Ms. Chase, I have a Ms. O’Malley here for you. Shall I send her up?”

“Please.” I clicked off and shot a grin at McKenna. “Getting used to this.”

“Perks,” she smirked back. We stood together, enjoying the moment, before McKenna said, “Hey, I have an idea...”

Before she could say what she meant, there was a knock at the door. McKenna waved me back, grinning and pointing for me to stay put. I let her go, curious about how this would play out.

“Who're you?” McKenna’s voice was a masterful mix of confusion and suspicion, and I knew what she was doing. It seemed that Kal wasn’t the only one with a devilish streak. From down the hall, I couldn't help but imagine the unfolding scene.

“What do you mean, McKenna? It’s me, Chelsea.”

“No, Chelsea’s already here.”

“Cut it out, McKenna.”

“Hey, Chels!” McKenna called. “We got a problem here.”

I took that as my cue. Stepping out into the light, I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Who's this?” I said, pitching my voice as close to Chelsea’s as I could muster.

McKenna, playing along, feigned confusion and dropped a hand to where I knew her gun was holstered. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

Chelsea's head whipped back and forth between us, her expression a picture of baffled irritation. Finally, neither McKenna nor I could contain ourselves any longer, and we burst into laughter.

“Not funny,” Chelsea huffed, though the corners of her mouth twitched in reluctant amusement. “And those pants look better on you than they do on me.”

I shrugged, still chuckling. “Can’t help it if I’ve got better legs than you.”

“Hmph.” Chelsea's half-smile broke through as she played along. “I brought the plates.”

“Good.” I took them from her and set them on the counter.

“Where are the keys?”

I fished them out and tossed them over. “Parking garage, spot 28C.”

“Thanks, Dakota.” Her tone softened, apologetic. “I’m really sorry about the car. If it’s any consolation, I think I know what’s wrong and how to fix it. Might even have it running by tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry too much about it,” I replied, thoughts already turning to tonight’s plans.

Chelsea nodded, taking my indifference in stride. After all, she knew I was the one pulling the strings. “McKenna, I’ll pick you up at eight.”

“I’ll be ready,” McKenna confirmed.

“See you then.” With a final nod, Chelsea was out the door, and McKenna faced me with an expectant look. I leaned against the kitchen counter, mug in hand, watching McKenna. “You want to tell me what the new plan is?” she asked, the steam from the coffee curling between us.

“I’m still ironing out the details. Improvise, adapt, and overcome, right?” I replied, an edge to my voice that hinted at the challenges we'd face.

She laughed—a warm, rich sound that filled the room—echoing the Marine phrase with a knowing nod. “I’m gonna catch some sleep. See you tonight with a billion dollars’ worth of jewels.”

“Damn right,” I shot back, my grin matching her enthusiasm. “Did you get my car sorted?”

“Oh, yeah. An Audi. Electric, even. I have it parked in your other spot, charging, and I pulled the old plates.”

I raised an eyebrow, impressed and slightly incredulous. “How the hell did you find an Audi that’s used for rideshares? Aren’t those a bitch to hotwire?”

McKenna rummaged through her bag and tossed me a key fob. “Not really.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes betrayed her excitement. “This is a state-of-the-art electronic lockpick. It scans for the right frequency, then matches the unique encryption of the car. You walk up to the car you want, press the button on the back, and it does all the work.” I examined the fob, flipping it to reveal a big red button.

“The other side has programmable buttons. For your Audi, the top button locks, the middle unlocks, the bottom opens the trunk, and if you press the lock button for three seconds, the alarm goes off.” She flashed a proud smile, clearly pleased with herself.

I chuckled, still playing with the key fob. “Okay, you were being clever, but how did you even come across an Audi?”

She shrugged, her smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “When I need a car, especially short-term, I always check out the doctor's parking at the local clinic. They’re around pain all day, so they pamper themselves with nice things. Easy pickings. When Sierra was searching, I asked her to narrow it to physicians and nurses. It was a long shot, but it paid off.” She tapped her temple. “See ya.”

As she strutted out, I couldn't help but laugh at her audacity. McKenna had a way of making the impossible seem mundane. I took another sip of my coffee, the weight of the night ahead feeling a tad lighter.

28: Cloak and Dagger

At eight-thirty sharp, Kal appeared in the doorway, her presence as vibrant as ever.

“I didn’t lock it,” I mentioned casually, trying to mask the jittery undertone of my nerves with nonchalance.

“I know. Spoilsport.” Dressed in a suitably nondescript business suit, Kal posed against the doorframe, her gaze sweeping over my Chelsea disguise. “That's quite the transformation, Dakota. Almost didn't recognize you.”

I couldn't quite meet her eyes as I continued pacing the room, the heels of my boots clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. My mind was a drunken beehive of activity, buzzing with the countless ways our plan could unfold—or unravel. “Can you call me Chelsea? Just for now. I need to stay in her headspace.” My voice was steady despite my internal turmoil.

Kal raised an eyebrow but nodded, slipping into the game with ease. “Sure thing, Chelsea. How's the driving going to work without the sedan?”

Halting mid-pace, I groaned. “We're using the backup car that McKenna secured. It's not ideal, but it’ll have to do.” I glanced up, catching her gaze. “What worries me more is everything else. There’s a laundry list of things that could go wrong.”

Kal crossed her arms, relaxed as ever “You’re overthinking it. You always do. We've dealt with worse. Remember the Staten Island job?”

A smile tugged at my lips as I recalled the chaos of that day—a nightmare that ended with us one step ahead of the cops and the loot left behind. “True. But this feels different. The stakes are higher, and there are more variables, more risks.”

Stepping closer, Kal’s confidence seemed to radiate off her, and I took strength from it. “Dakota—sorry, Chelsea—no plan is foolproof. But you’ve got a crew that trusts you, and you’re the best damn planner I know. We’ll handle whatever comes our way.”

Her words were a balm to my frazzled nerves. “You’re right. It’s the waiting, you know? It’s fucking brutal.”

Kal chuckled. “Then let’s not wait. We’ll double-check everything, make sure we’re as prepared as we can be, and then it’s showtime.”

Nodding, I felt the on-the-job steadiness settle over me. “Let’s do it. And thanks, Kal. For the pep talk.”

She winked. “Anytime, Chelsea. Now, let’s get this heist on the road.”

With that, my lingering doubts dissipated into the evening air. We were as ready as we’d ever be, so we headed up to her apartment to get the bait. Together, we grabbed the heavy box filled with costume jewels and wrangled it to the elevator.

“These things are heavy,” I griped, adjusting my grip on the awkwardly sized container.

Kal grunted a laugh in response. “You should have seen me getting them up here.”

Once in the garage, we heaved the box into the trunk of the car. I took a moment to familiarize myself with the new vehicle’s controls, adjusting the seat and finding the rideshare indicator light. Then I started it up and pulled out, into Manhattan and an uncertain destiny.

As we drove toward HIP, I found myself admiring McKenna’s choice of vehicle. Even Kal seemed impressed. “I love my Jag, but you know, I might have to look into getting one of these,” she remarked, caressing the leather interior.

“If this goes off without a hitch, I might consider one myself,” I admitted.

“It will,” Kal assured me. “I have a good feeling about this.”

I snorted, unable to contain my superstition. “Really? With everything that’s gone wrong, you have a good feeling?”

“Yes. We’ve got all the bad luck out of the way, and it’ll be smooth sailing from here.”

“You’re mixing your metaphors, Kal.”

She shrugged, undeterred. “Whatever. We’re in the home stretch, and I can see success on the horizon.”

I groaned at her mangling the language, giving her the applause she expected. Even though I didn’t entirely share her optimism, I kept quiet. If Kal was right, I didn’t want to jinx us by doubting out loud. With HIP a few minutes away, I pulled the car over to regroup one last time.

Dakota: Any problems?

McKenna: None

Chelsea: Just waiting on you. Use the south entrance. I usually go in the north, so those guards know me pretty well

Dakota: South. Got it

McKenna: It’s like god’s own rainbow factory in here

Dakota: Tell me later

Dakota: Kal’s cover set?

Sierra: Duh. She has all the deets

I navigated through the drab, grey labyrinth of the industrial park. The deeper we drove, the more the atmosphere shifted—from consumer-focused exteriors to stark, utilitarian businesses aimed squarely at other corporations. Kal seemed unperturbed, her focus sharp.

“Show time,” she murmured as we approached the inner checkpoint Chelsea had briefed us on. The mundanity of the setting belied the tension that tightened my chest. I slowed the car as we reached the checkpoint, the bored expressions of the guards doing little to ease my anxiety.

One of the guards ambled over, his eyes barely flickering with interest. “ID?” The guard’s voice was flat, uninterested.

Pointing to Kal, I tried to keep my tone light. “I’m just the driver.”

His partner, more vigilant, seemed to scrutinize the car, speaking into his radio—likely checking our plates. My stomach knotted, hoping Chelsea’s craftsmanship on the fake plates and Sierra’s hacking of the DMV held up under scrutiny.

“I need yours, too.” His voice carried a hint of command now. Kal leaned over, her movements fluid, handing him her ID along with a fabricated Global Logistics card Sierra had cooked up. I handed over mine with a shrug, muttering, “Whatever.”

As the guard walked off to check our IDs, his colleague commented, his tone half mocking, “Fancy car for a gig worker.”

“If I was just a driver, sure.” I parroted the backstory I’d concocted, feeling the words roll off my tongue. “Made a bundle in stocks before I quit to consult. Now, I do this for kicks. Love driving and meeting new people, hate working in an office.”

“A rich rideshare driver, huh? That’s new.”

“You’d be surprised,” I countered smoothly. “Lots of us bailed on the corporate grind but didn’t want to turn into hermits.”

“That sounds pretty good.” He seemed to buy it, nodding slowly.

A flicker of movement behind him caught my eye. I forced myself to stay cool, focusing on the guard as his partner returned, our IDs in hand. “They check out,” he announced, a note of surprise in his voice as he looked into the car. “She’s in and out all the time,” he added, nodding towards me.

“Told you, I love to drive,” I replied, my heart pounding as I struggled to keep my relief hidden beneath a casual smile.

“Purpose of visit?” The ID-checking guard was back to business, and now Kal had to take the lead. The other guard wandered around the car, shining his flashlight into the back seat,  inevitably drifting towards the trunk where our fake jewels were stashed.

“I don’t know how much I can tell you,” Kal started, lacing her voice with the right touch of confidentiality, gesturing subtly towards me. “It’s pretty hush-hush, you know?”

“I’m askin’ youse,” the guard pressed, his accent thickening with impatience.

Kal raised her hands in a placating gesture. “I want to, really, but—”

“Hey, what’s this?” The harsh question meant the moment of truth was upon us. Act two of our little drama began.

Kal turned sharply, “That’s why I’m here—”

Our formerly friendly ID guard slapped the roof of the car. “Open it! Now!” The guard’s demand was curt, his Brooklyn accent cutting through the night air.

I popped the trunk, and in a moment both guards peered in at the box of sparkling gems.

“I said, what’s this?”

“They’re fake,” Kal said with forced exasperation.

“Bullshit. I know real jewels when I see ‘em,” the guard challenged.

“Really?” Kal’s tone was calm, soothing, as she slowly exited the car, her hands visible and non-threatening. “Look,” she coaxed, reaching into the trunk and pulling out a gem, deliberately slowing her movements. Getting shot by a trigger-happy rent-a-cop would ruin our night.

“See?” she offered, holding the gem up. The guard shone his flashlight on it, the light refracting wildly.

“Looks like a diamond to me,” he muttered.

“A diamond? Would a diamond do this?” With a swift, dramatic gesture, Kal dropped the gem and stomped on it. Alarmed, the guards pulled their weapons, but before they could do anything regrettable the unmistakable crunch of the fake shattering under her boot echoed in the quiet night. The guards, taken aback, lowered their weapons, their posture relaxing.

“Why do you have a box of glass gems?” Brooklyn's accent softened with his easing suspicion, yet his eyes remained narrow.

Kal exhaled, her frustration barely veiled beneath a veneer of patience. “Look, I’m gonna level with you, but you gotta promise not to shit on me. I could get in a world of hurt for this, you know?”

“Answer me, then we’ll figure out what we do next,” Brooklyn pressed.

“Fine. You know where these came from?” Kal gestured casually towards the box, her movements back to deliberate.

“Yeah. Global Logistics has a shit ton of them.”

“Right, well, since there’s so many, and They paid for everything, They want to know if they can get any return on these.” Kal’s vague reference to 'They' didn’t require further explanation. She ran her hand through the box, the sound of clinking glass underlining her narrative. “I got the assignment to take them into the City and see if there’s a market. You know, Broadway, high-end events, that kind of shit.”

“Okay, but why are you bringing them back in?” the other guard chimed in, his curiosity aroused.

Kal leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, making a show of checking her surroundings. The guards mimicked her movement. “Because I fucked up and forgot to sign them out. I need to go back and do the paperwork real quick, otherwise...” She trailed off, letting the implications of bureaucratic nightmares fill in the blanks.

Brooklyn nodded, his expression easing into understanding. Bureaucracies were the same everywhere, no matter who was in charge. “Yeah, okay, I see. You don’t have to worry about us.”

Kal’s smile then was a masterclass in relief and gratitude, disarmingly sincere. “You two are the best. I’ll be, like, ten minutes, tops, then I’m outta here.”

That was my cue. I leaned over from the driver’s seat and called, with a hint of impatience, “Hey, are you done back there? I’ve got other rides to do.”

Kal looked back at the guards. “Are we?”

“Yeah. You can go,” Brooklyn chuckled, shaking his head. “We all screw up.”

“Thank you!” Kal’s gratitude was effusive as she wrapped an arm around each guard's neck in turn, planting a kiss on their cheeks. “I won’t forget this.”

She shut the trunk with a definitive thud and climbed back into the passenger seat. “All set,” she announced, buckling herself in.

Still playing my part, I poked my head out the still-open window. “Can I go?”

Brooklyn waved us off. “Get outta here.”

I returned the wave and eased the car forward, rolling up the window as we cleared the checkpoint. “Nice work, Kal.”

She was all grins, the tension of the encounter giving way to amusement. “That was a load of fun. I’d like to slip them each a fake fifty for their troubles.”

As we wound through the industrial park's serpentine roads, I turned on the stereo and cranked up the volume again. Sierra had clued us in about the laser surveillance scattered around HIP, devices designed to measure vibrations on car windows, especially at stop signs where minimal vehicle movement would normally make conversations more detectable.

“They can’t decipher shit from the background frequencies of the engine,” Sierra had assured us. But as Kal and I shared a laugh over our encounter, I couldn’t help thinking, better safe than sorry.

Kalili: We’re almost there

McKenna: I’m ready. Heavy as fuck

Kalili: LOL Ain’t it? I’ll help

Kalili: Are the videos gimmicked?

Sierra: Looped

“We’re set.”

As I rounded the last two corners, Global Logistics came into view, its nondescript, squat gray concrete structure blending seamlessly with the industrial monotony surrounding it. The building was unremarkable, a story and a half tall at most, with flat reflective windows and a single utilitarian door that belied the significance of what lay inside. It was hard to believe this place was a linchpin in a Mafia takeover strategy.

I pulled up to the curb and stopped the car. Kal didn't waste any time; she slipped out the door and moved quickly up the walkway. Halfway to the door, it swung open, revealing McKenna framed against the dim interior, a box identical to the one in the trunk positioned ominously behind her. I popped the trunk as they lifted and maneuvered the real deal—the box filled with actual jewels—towards the car.

“All set?” I asked, watching in the rearview mirror between scanning the road for any traffic.

There was a heavy thump as they set the box down in the trunk, and the car’s suspension groaned under the weight before bouncing back slightly when they removed the box of fakes. “We’re good,” McKenna confirmed.

Kal and McKenna then hauled the fake jewels inside, with only a brief pause at the door to allow McKenna to handle the necessary biometrics. Moments later, Kal returned, sliding into the passenger seat with a brisk nod. “We’re outta here.”

The swap complete, Kal quickly messaged Chelsea.

Kalili: Swapped. Give us twenty minutes to get clear

Chelsea’s response was prompt.

Chelsea: I’ll be there

I eased the car back toward the entrance of the complex, my heart rate finally beginning to settle as I spotted the same guards on duty. I rolled down the window, affecting a casual tone. “Do you need my ID again?”

Brooklyn, recognizing us from earlier, shook his head with a slight smile. “Nah. Did you get it sorted out?” he asked, looking past me to Kal.

“I did, thank you,” Kal replied, her charm dialed up as she flashed that winning smile again. “You saved my bacon.”

“Our pleasure,” Brooklyn responded, a hint of camaraderie in his voice. “Go ahead,” he directed me.

I nodded my thanks, waited for them to back away, and pulled onto the road. Only once we had passed the outer ring of HIP and were well on our way back to the city did the tension begin to ebb away.

“We did it!” Kal exclaimed, her laughter ringing with the pure joy of a child unwrapping gifts on Christmas morning. I couldn’t help but share in her exhilaration, a smile breaking across my face. “I knew you were up to it, Dakota. Nobody could have planned a smoother caper,” she crowed, her eyes alight. I was briefly afraid she’d lean over and kiss me in her enthusiasm.

At that, I scoffed. “Smooth?”

“Well, yeah,” she insisted, patting my thigh affectionately. “We’ve got the jewels, the Families don’t, and nobody got dead. Everything else fades, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I replied, the adrenaline slowly dissipating, replaced by a weary satisfaction.

Kal burst into laughter again, shaking her head at me. “You guess so? Come on, Dakota, we’re home-free! And now that the job’s done, you and McKenna can figure out whatever it is between you.”

As the car hummed along the dark, almost deserted roads toward the city, I grappled with the burgeoning sense of what might lie ahead between McKenna and me. The steady drone of the tires against the pavement stood in stark contrast to the storm of my thoughts.

McKenna's image was vivid in my mind—the sharp, determined set of her jaw when she was focused, the fiery glint in her eyes when she challenged the impossible. This intensity drew me to her, kindled something that went beyond professional respect or the thrill of shared heists. But she wasn’t all hard edges, as I’d learned while sharing an apartment and a bed with her. As I mulled over our potential beyond the rush, the uncertainty of the future felt crushing. Could something real and lasting take root in the precarious soil of our lives? Were McKenna and I kindred spirits in crime, destined only to share fleeting moments between the shadows of our risky endeavors?

Glancing over at Kalili, her calm demeanor contrasted the turmoil in my head. It underscored my internal conflict. Did I pursue something deeper with McKenna, potentially complicating our already dangerous lives? Or did I maintain the status quo, where our interactions were defined by necessity and mutual benefit rather than personal attachment? And had we already gone too far?

Navigating the familiar yet always daunting streets of Manhattan upon our return seemed trivial compared to the emotional labyrinth I now found myself wandering. Parking the car in the dimly lit garage felt like a reprieve, a moment to collect my thoughts before facing what came next.

As it turned out, what came next was hauling the jewels to the elevator. Still, questions persisted as I strained with Kal to shift the heavy box. What lay ahead with McKenna? The question lingered, unanswered, as we ascended. The heist might be over, but the real challenge—the dilemma of together—loomed larger than ever.

But there was time enough for that later.

“Remind me to dump the car tomorrow,” I managed to say between breaths, the weight of the box seeming to grow with every step.

“Will do.” Kal’s response was labored, her focus intense as we entered her penthouse. Faith was waiting for us, her expression tight with concern.

“Safe?” she asked, scanning us quickly for any sign of trouble.

“I think so,” I replied, trying to project more confidence than I felt.

“No, she meant safe, like the things McKenna opens.”

“Oh.”

Faith nodded once, smiling, and led us down a hallway to a door I hadn’t noticed on previous visits. She punched in a complex code, and the door responded with a subtle hum and click. Opening it a crack, she turned to face me, her hand still on the door. “No offense, Dakota, but there are a few things in here that I’m not ready to share,” she said.

I nodded, understanding. “None taken,” I said with a tight smile. Everyone has secrets, after all.

She took my place, grasping the box firmly. While they stashed the loot in what I assumed was an impressively secure safe, I pulled out my phone to check for updates. Damn. Six missed messages and three missed calls? That couldn’t be good.

Chelsea: McKenna’s late

Chelsea: I can’t reach her

Chelsea: Dakota, what do I do?

Chelsea: Anyone hear from McKenna?

Sierra: No

Chelsea: I can’t wait any longer, I’m heading out of HIP before they get suspicious

“Shit!” I exclaimed, a knot forming in my stomach as I hit the voicemail button. Chelsea’s voice came through, tinged with a rare edge of panic. “Dakota, I don’t know what’s going on, but McKenna never came out, and I couldn’t wait for her any longer. Call me when you get this.”

“What’s wrong?” Kal’s voice was loaded with concern, green eyes piercing into mine as I replayed the message.

“McKenna,” I murmured, the name tasting like bile in my mouth. “I’m going to call her.”

Kal grabbed my hand, stopping me. “Don’t. If something’s wrong, then she might not have her phone. Worse, someone else might.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” My thoughts were a mess, scattered and frantic. “Sierra, then.” I dialed her number, putting her on speaker as it rang.

“Where are you?” Sierra's voice was calm but my heart raced even faster.

“Kal’s.”

“Kill the burner and call me on your regular one, I already talked to Chelsea.” She hung up before I could respond. I powered down the burner and pulled out my personal cell, my hands trembling as I dialed again.

“What’s going on?”

“McKenna’s been compromised,” Sierra's voice was a sharp contrast to the chaos swirling in my head. “Roving patrol picked her up about ten minutes after you left. I haven’t pulled their report yet, but we have to assume they’ll be able to access her burner.”

My heart felt like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest, the reality of McKenna's situation crashing in on me. I slumped against the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor, the world tilting dangerously around me.

“Sierra, I’ll get back to you,” I managed to choke out before ending the call. The silence that followed was oppressive, almost suffocating. Kalili sat down next to me, her presence a small comfort in the vast darkness that seemed to envelop me. Her fingers intertwined with mine, tight and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, my voice a whisper of despair. “McKenna’s been caught. She’s not supposed to get caught, Kal.” I looked into her eyes, searching for answers. “What do we do now?”

Kal’s expression was grave, but her voice was steady, her grip on my hand unyielding. “You’re our planner, and you’re the best in the business.” She squeezed. “You plan it, we’ll execute it, and we get her back. Simple.”

Her words sparked a flicker of something fierce and defiant within me, latching onto the anger I’d been battling for days and channeling it into something positive. We weren’t going to leave McKenna to her fate. I wasn’t going to leave her, not with all of our questions unanswered, our fate undecided.

We were going to fight back, and they had no idea what Hell we were capable of.

29: A Flicker of Hope

The abrupt pivot from daydreaming to crisis mode was disorienting, and I relegated thoughts of a future with McKenna to a corner of my mind. She was in trouble, and fantasies would have to wait. With a surge of focus, I dialed Sierra again.

“I want you in their system,” I started without preamble.

“I am,” she replied, impatience in her tone.

“No, I mean all the way in. Like when you hacked NASA’s Perseverance Rover and made it spell out 'Eat my shorts' last year.” I pressed on, ignoring her startled gasp. She hadn’t known I knew about that little prank, but I had my sources. “If someone’s even whispering about her, I want to know. I need details on how she was grabbed and where she’s being held. We’re up against the clock here, and it’s gonna take all four of us to pull this off.”

“On it,” Sierra responded, sounding invigorated by the challenge.

“We’re also scrapping tomorrow’s plan,” I continued. “I’ll shoot you details once I figure out what needs tweaking in their system.”

“Okay, Boss.”

I ended the call.

“What’s this, plan C?” said Kal, followed by, “Ow!” as Faith slapped her ass. I ignored them and rang Chelsea. Her voice was shaky, like she'd been crying, but I filed that away for later.

“Chels, clean the sedan, strip the plates, ditch it, then get over to my place.”

“Okay.” Her compliance was uncharacteristic, the absence of her usual fight a clear sign of her stress. “Might take a while, I’m still on the Island.”

“Perfect. Dump the car in JFK’s long-term parking and hop on the E train.”

“I hate the subway,” she muttered.

She loathed not driving, not being in control, but there was no time to cater to preferences. “It won’t kill you. Message me when you’re on the train and I’ll give you the next steps”

I hung up before she could continue her complaints and turned to Kalili. “I’m gonna need to bounce some ideas off you.”

“Will it hurt? Ouch!” Kalili winced as Faith smacked her again.

“Shut up, arima bikia. Anything we can do, we will,” Faith interjected, her tone supportive. “Maybe some coffee first?”

After Faith helped me up, she fixed me a steaming mug of coffee. A few sips in, I laid out the plan as it wove itself together.

“We’re splitting it into two parts. You and Chelsea handle the diversion.”

“Thanks for trusting us with the easy part!” Kal teased, earning another, harder, smack from Faith. “Stop it!”

“Then stop being a bitch to our friend.”

Their easy banter drew a smile, and my innards warmed at Faith’s inclusion of me as a friend. “Easy because all you’ve got to do is swap a box of fakes at the exchange. You know the drill; the guards are familiar with you and the routine.”

“Ah, that explains the sedan switch.” Kal nodded, understanding the need to avoid any links to our earlier activities.

“Exactly. Kal, I need you to tell Sierra exactly how to write the orders into the security system, to avoid any misinterpretation. You can do that after we nail down all the details,” I added, throwing up a silencing hand.

“And what will you be doing, Dakota?” Kal asked, suspicious. She wasn’t going to like this.

“I’m getting McKenna. No, not some damned charge of the Light Brigade; I plan to die peacefully in my bed, thank you very much. After you and Sierra have everything settled, I’ll arrange the timing for the cops’ raid on HIP. That should distract everyone long enough for me to slip in and out.”

Kalili frowned. “That’s assuming you know where she is.”

“That’s why Sierra’s digging into their records,” I countered, clinging to the strategy despite the risks and holes.

Faith leaned forward, her brow furrowed in concern. “What if she can’t?”

“Huh?” I retorted, the suggestion jarring me. “She’s the best; there’s no way she won’t get in.”

“What if the records don’t contain the information? She can be the best in the world, but she can’t find something that isn’t there.” Faith's point was valid and it pricked the bubble of confidence I was floating in.

I sipped my coffee, letting the hot liquid stall for time as I organized my thoughts. “I’ll give her until mid-morning. If she can’t dig anything up, I have one more trick up my sleeve.”

Kal’s eyes widened in understanding, a glint of concern—or was it excitement?—flashing through them. “You said he was adamant you drop the job! Won’t he be furious you haven’t?”

I grimaced. “What choice do I have? He thinks we’re doing the job Thursday if we were doing it. I pointed out I was only investigating, you know, scouting it out, dealing in hypotheticals. If McKenna didn’t have any jewels on her, and she wouldn’t, then maybe I can argue she was scoping out the situation, seeing if it was possible.”

Faith, still a bit confused, asked, “Who?”

“My Uncle Sal.”

We batted around a few more ideas before my phone buzzed again. It was Chelsea, grumbling about the subway and asking what next? I told her to come straight up to the penthouse, figuring it was easier than moving our entire setup downstairs. Sierra, tethered to her computers on the ninth floor, would join us virtually.

We were on our third recap of the night’s events when the intercom buzzed again. Faith answered.

“Ms. Burroughs, Ms. O’Malley is on her way up.”

“Thank you, Lawrence,” she acknowledged. I felt a stir of anxiety at what Chelsea might report.

Kalili was already at the door when Chelsea arrived, her usually composed demeanor shattered, making Kal gasp audibly, “You look terrible! Get in here.”

I found Kal and Chelsea in the foyer. It was an odd scene—Kalili, not much over five and a half feet, comforting Chelsea, who towered over her like a solemn statue. Yet, there was nothing absurd about it; Kalili exuded strength and empathy, and Chelsea was visibly drawing comfort from it. I hesitated to step in, giving them a moment. Finally, with a gentle pat from Kal and a nod from Chelsea, they parted and turned to the penthouse.

“I’m sorry, Dakota,” Chelsea started, her voice rough around the edges.

I was quick to interject, racing Kalili to the punch. “Don’t apologize.”

Kalili chimed in at almost the same time, “We just talked about this. You didn’t do anything wrong. Sierra said it was a roving patrol that nabbed McKenna before you arrived. You were right on time. If you’d been early, they would have grabbed you, too.”

Chelsea’s nod was almost imperceptible, and then, as if shedding a weight, she straightened up, the familiar stoic mask slipping back into place. “What am I driving?”

“An electric Audi SUV. Comfortable,” I responded, trying to move back to professional concerns.

She chuckled, a sound that seemed to echo oddly. “Yeah, but they’re a pain in the ass to maintain. Nothing in them is simple, so your local garage or tinkerer is gonna be lost. That means a dealership, and paperwork and records and questions.”

I laughed, though the humor felt a bit forced. “We’re not keeping it long, Chels. We can ditch it tonight if we need to, but it is easy to drive.”

“Hmmph. What’s the plan?” she asked as we moved into the dining room where Kal’s laptop was set up, ready to handle the logistics of our operation.

Sitting down, I spread out my notes and started sketching an improvised plan. Kalili chimed in now and then, adding details from our first encounter, ensuring nothing was overlooked.

“No problem,” Chelsea said, clearly getting a handle on the tasks ahead. She paused, her practical side kicking in. “What do you want me to do about the other car? The one with the bad transmission.”

“Is it worth fixing?” I asked, distracted, my mind still leaping back to McKenna. I tried to pay attention to her expert opinion, but it was tough.

She shrugged. “It’s nothing special, but it’s all registered and legal. Not under my real name or address, of course, but it’ll stand up to a routine stop.”

“Your call then,” I decided, turning my focus back to the issues at hand. “Kal, you and Chelsea keep hammering out the details. Sierra, you there?”

The figure on the screen swiveled around to face us. “I’m here. Chels, before you go, can you confirm the VIN of the car you dumped? I wanna make sure I wipe any connections back to us.”

“Sure, Sierra.” It only took a moment, but it seemed longer as I waited.

“What have you found, Sierra?” I needed to gauge where we stood before deciding to confront Uncle Sal with the details.

“The guards made a full report once they handed McKenna over to the higher-ups, and I’m still piecing together their movements,” Sierra began, the screen casting a glow on her focused face. “It looks like a case of bad timing. McKenna was outside the building when there shouldn’t have been anyone, and she was there right as the rovers drove by. She didn’t resist. So far all of her IDs are ticking the right boxes, so they don’t know what to do with her yet.”

“What does that mean for us?” I asked, my patience wearing thin. Sierra’s brilliance often saved our skins, but she loved to over-explain, and I didn’t have the bandwidth for it. Not tonight.

“It means they shouldn’t be doing any extra patrols, and haven’t made her as a plant yet. How long that lasts, I can’t say. HIP security held her for an hour before turning her over to a pair of goons from the City. I got a shot of their plates, and I’m tracing it, but there are so many shell companies it’s taking a while.”

“Do we have any names? And what did they do with her phone? Can we geolocate her?” I needed something more concrete.

Sierra beamed. “Look at you with the techie word. Yes, we could if they weren’t paranoid. They dumped it into a Faraday bag.” Seeing my puzzled look, she added, “It blocks signals. I can’t track it. When they pull it out, I’ll know where they are, but they haven’t tried to unlock it yet.”

“That’s something. And the rest, Sierra?”

“Slow. I’ve pulled all I can out of the HIP systems. Now, I’m poking around the servers the Families use. Those creeps hire people nearly as good as me, which means their system architecture is no joke. I have to move carefully or risk setting off alarms from here to Sicily.”

“Keep at it,” I urged her. “We’re on a tight timeline. Oh, and I need you to put something into HIP for tomorrow’s, no, tonight’s plan.”

“Easy. I’ll handle that next. My only worry is going in and out so much, I’ll start to leave traces.”

A thought struck me. “You’re still consulting for the FBI, right?”

“Yeah.”

“If it comes to that, can you make it look like any trail leads back to an FBI account? The Families have reach, but even they’re not dumb enough to mess with the feds.”

Sierra grinned. I think she was impressed. “Clever. I’ll make a hacker out of you yet.”

“Not a chance!” I retorted, signing off to let her focus on her tasks. I turned back to Kal and Chelsea. “How are you holding up?”

“This sounds simple enough,” Chelsea said, though the weariness was evident in her voice. “And if it’s just the one run, I won’t do any others. My cover’s solid now. Doing more pickups won’t add anything, so I’m gonna crash.”

“We have a spare room,” Kal offered generously. “And I’m sure I can find something comfortable for you to change into.”

Chelsea nodded, her exhaustion visible even as she mustered a grateful smile. “Thanks, that’d be great.”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Kal said, leading Chelsea away to get some much-needed rest.

They left, and I sagged into a seat in the living room, catching a glimpse of a clock. Nearly one a.m. It had been a hell of a night, and I still had things to do, starting with the cops. Plus, I wasn’t ready to face my empty apartment. Not yet.

Dakota: Meet to go over details. Noon. You’d better have our money

I shot them the address of yet another diner, not caring how annoyed they might be. Professional paranoia for the win.

Washington: We’ll be there

I was pretty sure Sal would still be up. He was a night owl, even if he was semi-retired.

Dakota: Sal, I’ll take you up on that lunch

Sal: Good, good! When?

Dakota: 1 or 130 work?

I didn’t think what I had to discuss with the cops would take long.

Sal: Perfect, bella

After I messaged Sal, I went back to the new plan, poking holes in it and thinking of fixes.

“You okay?” Kalili's question snapped me back to the present, her voice piercing the dense fog of my thoughts.

Somewhere along the way I’d stood. Now I was pacing the length of Kalili's living room, like an animal that knew it was in a cage but hadn't figured out whether to lie down and sleep or start chewing the bars, trapped in a whirl of anxiety and strategy. “Yeah. No, actually. I’m not,” I admitted, the words tumbling out and echoing off the décor.

Kal watched me from the edge of the room. “Dakota,” she began, her voice insistent, “you gotta sit down, or at least stop moving. You’re making me dizzy.”

Halting mid-stride, I faced her, the restlessness still churning inside me. “I can’t, Kal. It’s McKenna.” Just saying her name felt like a confession, a dark acknowledgment that went deeper than mere concern for a crew member. “The Families got her. And here I am, just pacing around your damn apartment.”

The wry twist to her lips didn't quite reach her eyes. “What exactly are you planning to do about it? Charge in like some knight in shining armor?”

I let out a bitter chuckle. “More like a knight in dented, second-hand armor. But yeah, something like that.” Sighing, I dropped into a chair, the springs groaning under the sudden weight. “Here’s the thing that’s got me all twisted up. Am I thinking like a planner, or am I thinking like someone who’s, you know, interested?”

Kal raised an eyebrow, a silent oh hanging in the air between us. “That’s what this is about?”

“Yeah.” Funny how such a small word could carry so many implications I’d barely admitted to myself. “Sure, McKenna’s part of the crew. We don’t leave anyone behind—that’s the code. But this feels different. I’m worried I’m not thinking straight because of feelings. And I don’t do feelings, not usually.”

The smile that had been playing at the edges of Kal's expression finally crept into her eyes, warming them. “You’re worried you care too much?”

I glanced down, studying my hands as if they might hold answers. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

A thoughtful silence enveloped us, dense with words neither of us expressed. Finally, Kal's voice softened, slicing gently through the tension. “Dakota, caring about someone isn’t a weakness. It’s... it’s human.”

A sharp laugh broke from me, more of a scoff than anything mirthful. “Human, huh? Haven’t felt that in a long time.” Standing again, restless energy coursing through me, I added, “But what if it screws up the plan? What if I make a mistake because of these feelings?”

Kalili approached me. “Then you’ll be making the kind of mistake that humans have been making since forever. And you’ll handle it.”

Her words, simple yet striking a profound chord, began to unwind something tightly coiled. I nodded slowly, a decision settling within me. “Okay, then. We stick to the plan. A plan where we get her back, and I don’t let being human mess it up.”

Kal clapped a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “That’s the spirit. Let’s start with the basics and work our way up. And Dakota?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay to care. Really.”

I paused, absorbing her words, the possibility that she might be right. At that moment, I wanted to believe it more than anything.

30: Descent into Chaos

Riding the subway through New York’s underbelly, I was wedged uncomfortably between a man reeking of garlic and a woman arguing furiously on her phone. Despite the less-than-ideal company and the subway’s relentless jolting, I gathered my scattered thoughts and focus on the task ahead.

The plan, such as it was, resembled a farm horse in a steeplechase—it limped along, unpredictable and ungainly, but somehow still moving forward. We had secured the jewels. By any conventional measure, that should have been a win. But conventional measures and I were currently on the outs.

My mind, treacherous and uncooperative, kept circling back to McKenna. She was held by the Families’ guards, probably wondering if we’d come for her or if the jewels had been enough to satisfy our greed. The pragmatic part of me, the planner who excelled in heists and escapes, the part that had ruled my life for years, argued we should be satisfied. We had the jewels. Mission accomplished. But there was the other part, one I’d ruthlessly crushed for just as long, a part that couldn’t remain detached and was emotionally entangled. She didn’t give a damn about the jewels. She was fixated on an image of McKenna laughing, her eyes alive with something warm and irresistibly genuine. An image that stubbornly refused to fade into the background.

Stepping out into the brisk Brooklyn air, I headed to the diner to meet Washington and Jorgensen. They’d likely be there already, sucking down cups of stale coffee, maybe questioning their life choices. I needed to lay out their role and make it sound like I had everything under control. I felt about as in control as a kite in a tornado. This operation had evolved into something far beyond a simple heist and was still changing. Now, it was about getting McKenna back.

I paused just inside the door, taking a moment to survey the scene. I spotted Washington and Jorgensen in a booth at the back, their expressions as grim as cat burglars at a tax audit. Without any preamble, I slid into the booth across from them. Pleasantries weren’t going to get McKenna back, and right now, every minute counted.

“Let’s see the half mil,” I said. They exchanged a wary look, the kind that suggested they'd rather be anywhere but here. Reluctantly, they pushed a backpack under the table toward me. It was heavy, and I grunted under its weight as I hefted it onto the seat beside me. I opened it enough to confirm—yep, it looked about right. “How’d you get it?” My curiosity had a way of getting the better of me, even when it shouldn't.

Washington shot me a look sharp enough to make me bleed. “None of your business, Chase.”

Fine, keep your secrets. I let the topic drop like a hot rock and shifted gears to tonight. “Here’s the deal. With the new move date, the job goes down this evening. You’re responsible for creating a distraction at HIP, the big, hairy, impossible-to-ignore kind. Meanwhile, my associates will be doing the heavy lifting.” I kept Chelsea and Kal's names out of it. “After we secure the jewels, they’ll rendezvous with you two outside HIP. We’ll hand over the gems, and you make sure our share reaches me. I don’t care what you do with the rest. Do we understand each other?”

Jorgensen, whose default expression was a scowl, grunted something I took for assent. Washington piped up. “What if something goes sideways?”

I let the old leatherette of the booth creak under my weight, giving nothing away, least of all things that had already gone foom. “Then you improvise, but keep your focus. If those gems don’t end up in our hands, then all of this has been for nothing, and you’re gonna be answering to new bosses. You do your part, and I guarantee my people will do theirs. We all walk away happy.”

They nodded, a bit too eagerly. It was unsettling. They were a necessary part of the plan, sure, but about as reliable as a paper umbrella in a hurricane. I stood, hoisting the heavy pack onto my shoulders. “I’ll message you the time later. Remember, this is our big play. Don’t mess it up.”

Stepping out of the diner, a blast of unseasonably cold air hit me full in the face, like a wake-up call from reality. The day was half gone, and with it, the countdown to a heist that would either set us up for life or send us scrambling for cover. I felt the reassuring weight of the backpack—a good kind of heavy, the kind that whispers you're still in the running.

Bella Napoli was only a few blocks away, but trekking there with half a million dollars strapped to my back felt like a risk I didn’t want to take. I detoured, ducked into Chelsea’s garage, slipped the backpack into the trunk of an out-of-commission sedan, and pulled out a few hundred for walking-around money.

The walk to the Bella had my stomach in knots. It wasn’t just any rendezvous—it was a confrontation with Uncle Sal in his stronghold. I reviewed all the pieces as I moved, my mind a carousel of the recent catastrophes that seemed almost choreographed in their precision. I didn’t want to accuse Sal of anything if there was a chance I was wrong, but I didn’t think I was.

My mind ran through all the screwy events of the past week-plus. My parole officer popping up unexpectedly right when we were knee-deep in planning. Then, almost comically timed, my apartment deciding to impersonate a bonfire, giving my ever-helpful parole officer the perfect excuse to threaten a return to incarceration. But the true pièce de résistance? Sierra’s unexpected detour courtesy of DEA agents on the Families' payroll. Not a casual pickup, but a direct delivery to a location suspiciously tangled with Bella Napoli through a labyrinth of shell companies.

As the pieces tumbled into place, an uncomfortable picture formed. Uncle Sal’s incessant warnings, once background noise, now screamed with clarity. Sal knew my playbook—hell, he helped write it—and used every bit of his influence to turn my plans against me. It was almost admirable, in a twisted sort of way. He’d been orchestrating my downfall; the only question was why.

The Bella loomed ahead, its façade welcoming as ever. Inside, the scent of simmering tomato sauce and aged garlic promised a veneer of normalcy, but today, it was the stage for a much darker drama. The familiar sounds of clinking dishes and subdued conversations washed over me. Sal was ensconced in his usual booth, engrossed in something, the dim lighting casting long shadows across his face, giving him the look of a benign patriarch. I knew better. Approaching him felt like stepping into a well-laid trap, yet retreat wasn’t an option.

I stopped short of the table, my hands instinctively tightening into fists at my sides. This wasn’t about recovering jewels or even rescuing McKenna.Not here, not now. This was about confronting the betrayal of someone who was supposed to have my back. Staring down the man who’d taught me nearly everything I knew about the art of the heist, his orchestration of my potential downfall was a bitter pill. It all boiled down to a simple, painful truth. I had to play this smart to protect those I cared about and unravel the web Sal had woven around me, a web I’d been too blind to see.

“Uncle Sal,” I said, my voice surprisingly normal, cutting through the din. Sal looked up, his face cracking into a wide, if not entirely sincere, smile.

“Dakota!” Sal exclaimed, pushing papers aside and spreading his arms wide as if I’d returned from war instead of walking into a firefight. “Sit down, sit down. You want some cannoli? Best in Brooklyn.”

I dropped into the booth opposite him, brushing off his culinary peace offering. “I'm not here for the cannoli, Sal.”

He shrugged, the twinkle in his eye not quite reaching the rest of his face, which seemed to tighten. “Your loss, they're delicious. How's everything else? You staying out of trouble?”

The casual chit-chat grated on my already frayed nerves. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Sal. We’ve got more pressing things to talk about.”

Sal regarded me with a look that betrayed his nerves. “Always straight to business with you, huh?”

“Yeah, well, business is kind of pressing right now,” I shot back, locking eyes with him in a way that I hoped would convey my unspoken accusations.

He sighed, giving a subtle nod to the waiter lingering nearby to give us some privacy. “Alright, Dakota. What’s eating you?”

I slammed my hand down on the table, a little harder than I intended, drawing a few startled glances from nearby diners. “Let’s cut the crap. My parole officer popping up out of nowhere, my apartment spontaneously combusting, and Sierra getting nabbed by DEA goons? This reeks of your handiwork.” I deliberately left out any mention of Jorgensen and Washington., Sal didn’t need to know they were on my radar, or how I was using them.

Sal’s expression darkened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Dakota, you’re chasing shadows. The parole officer? Unfortunate timing. Your apartment? You know how these old buildings are—a bonfire waiting to happen.”

“And the DEA?” I pressed, my voice tight with frustration. “Sierra happens to get picked up by agents on the Families' payroll? Don’t treat me like an idiot, I’ve been doing this for years. Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and you know what they say about three times—it’s enemy action.”

He rubbed his temples, looking for a moment like the weight of the world—or maybe the Family business—was on his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Maybe I had a hand in some of that. I might’ve sent Nicolo to do a little convincing at your apartment, but I swear, it was only supposed to scare you, not take down the building. As for your PO? He got an anonymous tip. But you’re missing the why, Dakota, and I’m not your enemy.”

I didn’t stop the sarcasm. “Oh, do enlighten me.”

“It’s protection, kid,” Sal said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “You think you can go up against the Families with your little band of merry misfits? They’re ruthless, Dakota, and you’re stepping into the major leagues.”

I’d heard that way too often, and the anger in me boiled over. “Protection? By undermining my operation? By putting my crew in danger?”

Sal’s eyes reflected a sincerity I hadn’t seen in a long time. “No, by pulling you out of it! I’ve been in this game longer than you’ve been alive. I know what the Families are capable of. I couldn’t stand by and watch you walk into that slaughterhouse.”

The urge to scream was overwhelming, to unleash all the pent-up fury and frustration. But there was genuine fear in his voice, a concern for my well-being that I hadn’t anticipated, which almost balanced out the disrespect. He didn’t think I could pull this off. “So, you thought you’d play god? Manipulate my life from the shadows?”

“It was the only way I knew how to keep you safe,” he replied, his gaze almost pleading.

Safe. The word lingered in the air, heavy with the burden of his choices. My reply came out in a harsh whisper. “Yeah, well, fuck all that. I don’t need your protection and I don’t want it.”

“Then why are you here, Dakota?”

A day earlier, this would have thrown me off. With what I knew now? My demand was brutal. “Information. Where is she, Sal? Where’s McKenna? And don’t pretend you don’t know who she is and where they have her stashed. You told me yesterday you know what’s going on in this part of the city. Prove it. ”

Sal hesitated before steeling himself to meet my eyes again. “She’s at a safe house in Queens. I can get her out, Dakota.”

I shook my head, an uneasy, uncomfortable mix of distress and anger swirling inside. “No. I’ll handle it. She’s my responsibility.” I didn’t say that I didn’t trust him. I didn’t have to.

He scribbled the address on a napkin and slid it across the table. I snatched it up, giving him a curt nod and starting to rise. Halfway up, Uncle Sal’s voice took on a softer timbre, a stark departure from his commanding persona. “Dakota, wait. Please.”

The abrupt change stopped me in my tracks, and I hovered awkwardly, my emotional gears grinding.

“Can you forgive an old man's foolishness?” His voice nearly cracked, revealing a fracture in the armor I’d never seen before. “I was trying to protect you. You have to believe me.”

Facing him fully, I didn’t see my uncle, the savvy old schemer, but a man wrestling with his decisions, and my anger tempered a fraction. “Uncle Sal, I understand you thought you were looking out for me, however twisted that was. But the line—you didn’t cross it; you obliterated it. It wasn’t a job you messed with; it was my life, my crew’s lives.”

He reached out across the table, his hand shaking as he pressed it to mine, though whether from emotion or age, it was hard to tell. “I know I made mistakes, big ones. I can't bear the thought of losing you to this life.”

Withdrawing my hand, I stood up fully. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sal, but it’s too late. You made your decisions, and now I’ve got to make mine.”

Sal looked up at me, eyes wide. “Dakota...”

“You had to choose between your Family and your family,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And you chose. We’re done here.” Turning, I felt each step weigh more than the last, heavy with the finality of my words. The restaurant noises dwindled as I moved, fading into a backdrop for the tumult of my thoughts. Sal had been a constant in my life, a mentor, even a protector in his flawed way. As I pushed open the door of Bella Napoli, the soft jingle of the bell marking my exit felt like the end of an era.

Outside, the brisk air felt sharp, as if slicing through the remnants of my former life. There was so much to do—save my crew, pull off the heist, start anew. As I stepped into the unknown, a strange lightness took hold. Maybe it was relief, maybe resignation, or perhaps the first hint of genuine freedom.

Fishing out my cell, I hit speed dial for Kal. “I know where she is,” I said as soon as she picked up, cutting off her inevitable barrage of questions.

“Where? Come on, Dakota, spill. What’s the word?” Kal’s urgency came clearly through the speaker.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself against the emotional undercurrent. “McKenna's being held in Queens.”

“Queens?! That godforsaken place? The traffic, the pizza—it’s a culinary and cultural wasteland!”

I rolled my eyes, a brief smile flashing despite the situation. “Focus, Kal. It’s not about Queens’ lack of charm. McKenna’s in trouble.”

She sighed heavily. “Alright, alright. What’s the plan?”

“Sal gave me an address, near the docks,” I continued, the practical details grounding me. “He said it’s a safe house.”

I could almost see Kal nodding as she mulled it over. “We need to move fast, then. They might relocate her if they sense trouble.”

“Agreed. I’m heading there now. Check with Sierra. See if she can pull up anything else on the address. I’ll message it to you.”

“Will do.” Kal was all business now, her disgust with Queens put aside. “Be careful, Dakota. This isn’t a rescue—it’s personal.”

“Thanks, Kal. I appreciate it,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. We ended the call, and I was left alone with the bustling noise of the city—an indifferent soundtrack to the turmoil inside me.

Regret for cutting out Uncle Sal gnawed at me, but there was no room for second-guessing, not with McKenna's safety on the line. As I marched toward the subway, the air cool against my skin and the city's streets beneath my feet like a chessboard, I forced back a rising tide of emotions and locked them away. This was more than a rescue; it was a promise made with every step I took.

Nothing would stop me. I would bring McKenna home safely. We would survive this, and when dawn broke, it would find us stronger than before.

The Pieces Fall Into Place

31: Edge of the Abyss

Emerging from the subway station, the bite of saltwater mixed with diesel fumes hit me hard, the kind of welcome only Queens could offer. The neighborhood stretched before me like a backdrop to some noir film, each building a testament to decay and the slow, relentless grind of neglect. Sidewalks were webbed with cracks, and the storefronts, long forgotten by any thriving commerce, loomed like hollowed-out reminders of a more prosperous past.

Kalili: Sierra dug into the area. It’s all shell companies and fronts. Be careful!

As I moved deeper into the neighborhood, I couldn't shake the feeling that everything was a little too staged, as Kal had warned. Men and women walked around in outfits that had no business on these broken streets, looking like they’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine. They were anomalies in this landscape, their sleek presence an unnerving reminder that the Families didn't just run this place; they owned it, using these crumbling facades as fronts for their operations.

“Dammit,” I muttered. Looking to blend in, I ducked into a bakery that seemed less dilapidated than its neighbors on the street I needed. The bell above the door tinkled feebly as I entered, and I ordered a coffee and a blueberry muffin from the disinterested teenager behind the counter. Coffee in hand, I took up a position by the window, giving me a clear view across the street to where McKenna was supposedly being held.

From here, I could watch the comings and goings, the subtle exchanges that spoke of deals and dangers hidden in plain sight. Each passerby might be a resident or someone more deeply entwined in the web the Families had woven throughout Queens. As I sipped the mediocre coffee, watching the street, the scope of what I was about to do settled in. I wasn’t on a rescue mission; I was walking into the heart of enemy territory, and every step had to count.

I hastily typed a message to Kalili, my fingers racing as I laid out the needs of the moment.

Dakota: Located the house. Need details ASAP. How many guards? Any alternate entrances?

If I could smart my way in, I would. As I’d said, I wasn’t planning any foolish charges into the enemy stronghold. Time dragged as I waited for her to respond, and with each second stretching out, my heart hammered in anticipation. Finally, my phone vibrated with her replies, four in rapid succession.

Kalili: Three guards total. One watching the front, two out back. No clear additional ways in, but there’s a fire escape on the side. Might be your best shot

Kalili: Sierra has tapped into their surveillance, searching for McKenna

Kalili: McKenna’s held on the ground floor, rear right. There’s a single interior door and two windows, but they’re boarded up

Kalili: Scratch the fire escape, it’s rigged to an alarm system. Sierra hasn’t bypassed it yet

Dakota: Need something better!

I kept watching, hoping my eyes would pick up a clue Sierra’s tech wizardry would miss.

Kalili: On it. How are you with hand-to-hand?

Dakota: Remember, I plan the heists? I don’t do stunts

Kalili: Right, and you’re unarmed, I assume

Dakota: When am I not?

There was a considerable delay before her next message, during which I distracted myself with the remnants of my muffin and nursed my coffee, which didn’t improve as it cooled. By comparison the muffin, even though it was probably out of a box, was a pleasant surprise. After several minutes I couldn’t wait any longer.

Dakota: Any updates?

Kalili: Still figuring things out. I could always come down there and handle it myself

Dakota: Stick to the plan. You and Chelsea have a timed date at HIP. I can do this

Kalili: Figured you’d say that

The guard at the front door was so laid-back he was practically horizontal, but that casual demeanor smelled fishy to me. Still, his slouched posture sparked a flicker of inspiration—was it brilliance or boneheadedness? Time would tell. I downed the remainder of my coffee with a grimace.

I had a few strings to pull.

Dakota: Need a blackout on their surveillance ASAP. Rip it down and cut off their alarms. Leave the radios up. I want them isolated but not worried

Sierra: Going dark in 3, 2, 1, down

Dakota: Thanks. Moving in to extract McKenna

Kalili: Hold up, this is madness, Dakota

Kalili: Dakota??

Kalili: DAKOTA!!!

I pocketed the phone with a satisfied smile, feeling the adrenaline percolating through my veins. Confidence was key. I adjusted my weathered leather jacket—a touch not out of place for a typical Family enforcer—and sauntered up to the safe house like I owned the block.

The guard, a mountain of a man who snapped to alertness at my approach, looked me up and down as I mounted the steps. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he growled, his hand creeping toward the gun holstered at his side.

Locking eyes with him, I mustered all the calm authority I could. “Name's Dakota Chase.”

“So what?” he grunted.

“I’m here on business. My uncle sent me to move the package,” I stated flatly, almost bored.

His lips twisted into something that was probably meant to be a smile but came off more as a snarl. “Get outta here and I’ll forget you,” he sneered.

I expected his response and was prepared. “Let’s try that again. The Shadow wants the package moved. Now.”

That got a better reaction. His posture straightened slightly, a hint of recognition flashing across his face before he schooled his features into indifference. “Where’s the boss want it taken?” he asked, his voice rough but touched with respect.

“Who are you?” I retorted, mirroring his earlier defiance, then quickly softened my approach. “Listen, you know the drill. I’m the middleman. You hand over the package, I get it where it needs to go, and we all keep our hands clean—plausible deniability, right? Can’t testify to what you don’t know.”

The guard's hand moved toward the radio clipped to his belt. I held my breath, knowing this was a crucial moment. He murmured a few clipped phrases into the device, his voice a low rumble barely audible over the hum of the city. After a terse exchange, he stepped aside, nodding curtly, allowing me access to the building's dim interior.

Crossing the threshold, my senses sharpened, nerves fueling every step I took. The dim lighting cast deep shadows along the corridor, turning the hallway into a labyrinth of potential dangers. With each quiet step, the soft echo of my footsteps against the worn floorboards seemed amplified, a reminder of the danger enveloping me in this maze. Despite my nerves, I moved forward.

Reaching the door of the back room where McKenna was being held, a wave of relief momentarily softened my worry. I picked the lock and pushed the door open, the slight creak sounding thunderous in my ears. Inside, McKenna looked up sharply, her initial surprise giving way to recognition. Her eyes flickered with a complex mix of emotions—confusion, relief, and something I relished but didn’t want to think about too deeply.

“It's time to go, McKenna.” I kept my voice low, certain there’d be microphones. “We have to move fast, but we need to play it cool. Trust me.”

Her eyes locked with mine. “Got it,” she responded.

For the benefit of any unwelcome listeners, I raised my voice, ensuring it carried. “Don’t give me any trouble.”

“Fuck you,” McKenna shot back, playing her role perfectly.

I fought back a grin, appreciating her spirit. “If that’s your idea of no trouble, I can’t wait until the Bosses see you.”

“And fuck them, too,” she retorted, even more heatedly.

With McKenna shadowing me, we left the room behind, our movements crisp and senses alert as we navigated the dim corridors.

“I could tie you up, you know. It would be easier,” I said for any listeners.

“Oh, really? Is that how you get your rocks off?” McKenna shot back. I smothered a giggle. She needed to cut it out or I was going to lose it.

“Don’t you wish you knew?” I managed around my grin. “Stick by me,” I whispered, touching her arm lightly.

McKenna pressed her hand to mine, her silent grip telling me she got the message. For the audience, she added, “Getting turned on? Maybe I oughta let you cuff me.”

“You’d like that, would you?” I put just the right amount of suggestion into my voice, faking barely any of it. I added in a murmur, “A bit further to the exit. Stay cool and for god’s sake, stop making me want to laugh.”

“Am I getting under your skin?” she teased.

“I’ll tell you later, but for all that’s holy, can you focus on the plan now?” I pleaded.

Her face sobered. “Yeah, sorry. I won’t mess this up.”

“I know you won’t.”

With McKenna so close she was almost in my jeans, I moved towards the exit, my heart racing as we neared the final barrier—the guard by the door. As I pushed the door open, he eyed us suspiciously, his hand on his gun. I was getting bored with his one-note response to things he didn’t understand. “Why isn’t she secured?” he challenged.

I met his stare without blinking, my face set. “The Shadow said no cuffs. He doesn’t want her damaged. Get out of the way.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he remained stubbornly planted in front of us. “Where’s she going?” he demanded, his hand tightening on his weapon.

Keeping my cool, I stared him down. “That’s above my pay grade,” I shot back. “But you’ll be thanked for cooperating. He values that.” I had another thought. It was a risk, but I had to try. “Where’s her stuff?”

“Why?”

“Because the Shadow said to bring everything.”

Invoking Sal’s alias worked again. The guard slowly nodded, stepping like his feet were glued to the floorboards and squeezing past me. He was only gone a moment, and he brought back a nearly empty grocery bag. “This is everything. Don’t make me regret this.”

I took the bag without a word. Escorting McKenna past the guard without further incident, I kept my senses razor-sharp for any signs of trouble. Once we were on the street, a wave of relief washed over me but the pounding in my chest persisted. I stole a glance at McKenna. Her face, still etched with stress, seemed to relax as I smiled. “We made it out,” I murmured, the words floating between us like a fragile promise.

McKenna's smile was a flicker of light in the dimming evening. “Yeah,” she whispered back, the weariness in her voice mirroring the fatigue in her eyes. “But we're not clear yet.”

Her reminder was a cold splash of reality. Freedom was an illusion as long as the threat of pursuit loomed over us. My head bobbed in agreement as we quickened our pace, every shadow and every sound a potential harbinger of danger.

Fifty yards passed, then a hundred. The corner, and temporary safety, was in sight when McKenna spoke next. “How did you manage to get me out?” I heard the wonder in McKenna's voice.

“Sal gave me your location.”

“He knew? He let me go?”

I checked over my shoulder; the street behind us remained empty. “He didn’t really 'let' you go. Let’s just say he owed me one.”

McKenna's stride hitched, her surprise nearly halting her mid-step. “Owed you? For what?” The confusion was evident in the slight tilt of her head.

Realizing I hadn't shared the details of my showdown with Sal, I deferred the explanation with a shake of my head. “It’s a long story. I’ll fill you in later. Right now, we need to focus on getting out of Queens.”

That drew a half-hearted chuckle from her. “Yeah, their version of hospitality leaves a lot to be desired,” she said, a trace of her usual fire returning.

Only a few yards away from safety, I sent a quick message.

Dakota: Got her. On our way back

Kalili: You have balls of steel

I held back my laugh until we turned the corner, out of the guard's line of sight, then released it. McKenna said, “What?” so I showed her Kalili's text.

“She’s not wrong.” McKenna sighed, the tension of our escape subsiding into a rare moment of calm. “Thank you.”

The warmth of her gratitude washed over me, stirring emotions I'd been trying to keep at bay. Now wasn’t the time, and I pushed back at them. McKenna wasn't about to let me retreat into myself. She tugged my hand from the pocket where I’d tried to hide it, intertwining our fingers firmly. “Seriously, Dakota. What you did? Nobody’s ever done that for me before. Since grandpa passed, I’ve felt pretty much on my own, drifting from job to job, crew to crew. This past week, despite everything, made me realize how much I value having people I can rely on, who have my back.” She inhaled, and added, “People like you.”

We stopped walking, and I turned to face her fully. “What are you trying to say, McKenna?”

Her eyes, earnest and a little vulnerable, met mine. “You, Dakota Chase. I know it's not like me to open up about how I feel—might even lose my butch card for this—but...”

She kissed me. It was swift and sweet, her lips pressing against mine just long enough to make my heart skip a beat before she stepped back, releasing my hands.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “We said we’d wait, sort this out after the heist, and now I’m probably confusing things—”

“Shut up, McKenna,” I whispered, my voice low, tightening my fingers around hers, drawing her close again. This time I initiated the kiss, letting the moment linger, letting the world narrow down to the two of us. “What we agreed on still stands,” I said as we finally broke apart, though every fiber of my being screamed to keep her close. “But I'm not going to pretend I haven’t wanted this since you first walked into SVG.”

“So, what now?” Her voice was hopeful yet cautious.

“We finish the job,” I stated, stepping back. It took all my strength to muster that one step. “And then? Who knows?” McKenna looked down, then back up at me, a spark of something flaring in her gaze. I reached out, gently lifting her chin. “We finish this, together,” I emphasized. “We take down the Families, we outsmart the cops, and we laugh all the way to the bank.”

She nodded, more firmly this time. “Sounds like a damn good plan.”

I started walking again, pulling her along gently, hands still entangled. “Let’s get the hell out of Queens.”

As we moved towards our escape, our unfinished business hung between us, but so did the promise of something new. Something that might be worth all the chaos.

32: Last Stand

“Geez, Dakota, that’s a bitch,” McKenna said, slugging back an inch of whiskey.

We were back in the apartment, having survived the trek across the wasteland of Queens, the detour to Chelsea’s garage, and the vicissitudes of subway travel. I’d deferred explaining my encounter with Sal until everyone could hear it, and McKenna had similarly demurred when I pressed for details of her abduction. As a result, we’d spent the hour-plus journey talking about everything except the job and our maybe-future: our pasts, our families, our exes. We’d gotten into a bit of a contest, trying to one-down the other when it came to terrible exes.

As I leaned back into the uncomfortable plastic subway seat, I turned to McKenna and said, “Okay, top this: Frank used to steal my socks. Not for any kinky reason, mind you, just to watch me hop around looking for them.”

McKenna laughed, imagining the scene. “Socks, huh? Trish took my car claiming she needed to grab groceries. Next thing I know, she’s crossed into Canada and my car’s making a cameo in a high-speed chase on national TV. Sorry, international TV.”

“Canada?” I chuckled. “That’s hardcore. But listen to this: Janine, bless her heart, thought my apartment needed a ‘feminine touch.’ So, she painted everything pink. I’m talking walls, ceiling, sneakers... even my toaster wasn’t spared.”

McKenna snorted. “Pink? That's pretty out there, especially for you. But Leslie had a thing for animals. She started small, you know, a cat here, a dog there. One day, I come home, and there’s a mini petting zoo in my living room. I had goats on my sofa, Dakota. Goats.”

I burst out laughing. “Okay, you might be winning. But wait, there’s Liz. She was convinced I was cheating on her with the mailman, so she set up a sting operation with her friends. They jumped out at him one day, screaming accusations. The poor guy was delivering bills and junk mail. He transferred to another borough the next week.”

McKenna shook her head in disbelief. “Oh, god, Dakota, she was priceless! But I think I've got the topper. My last ex, Shanna.” I remembered McKenna mentioning her the night we met, but didn’t remember anything other than she ran off with McKenna’s money. She was happy to provide the details now. “Smart, charming, a real catch, or so I thought. We were planning this big future together, right? She knew what I did, but said, over and over, she didn’t care. Well, I guess she didn’t, because there was that job, and we were over the moon. I mean, we were set, right? Next thing I know, she’s vanished, and so has almost all of my take. Two million, Dakota. Beat that.”

I stared at her, my mouth agape. I realized McKenna had never told us what her share of the job was, and this was a stunning figure. “Two million? McKenna, you win. Hands down, you win.”

She grinned, raising an invisible glass. “To terrible exes and the lessons they teach us.”

I clinked my imaginary glass against hers. “And to being smart enough never to make the same mistake twice.”

We both laughed, knowing full well we'd probably make a dozen more mistakes, but hoping none would cost us two million or a petting zoo in the living room. The light mood lingered the rest of the trip home. Once we were there, McKenna hit the booze while we waited for everyone else. It didn’t take long, and soon I was laying out the messy details of my standoff with Uncle Sal. After McKenna’s comment, Sierra couldn’t help playing devil’s advocate.

“Are you sure cutting him off is smart?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Sal’s powerful enough to stir up major trouble. If he decides to get vindictive, I’m not fully prepped to scrub clean whatever mess he throws our way. He’s pretty old school, which means he’s unpredictable and tricky.”

“He won’t go down that road,” I assured her, hoping I sounded more convincing than I felt. “Sal did what he believed was necessary—right or wrong, he thought it was for the best. As long as I keep breathing, there’s a chance he’ll think he can mend fences. Hurting me or any of you would torch whatever hope he’s clinging to.”

Sierra seemed to buy my bravado, nodding slowly. Then the focus shifted to McKenna and her ordeal.

“What exactly happened with you?” Kal opened, going right for the details.

“It was my stupidity.” McKenna paused, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. “Well, I was done, right? You and Dakota had the real gems. All I had was a bin full of knock-offs. I wiped everything down, no prints, no evidence—except the digital logs of my entries. Sierra, you cleared those, didn’t you?”

Sierra hesitated. “I left them. Wasn’t sure if we'd need to back up your story, but they’re ready to disappear whenever.”

McKenna seemed about to object, then shrugged. “Not a big deal if you don’t think it is. You’re the tech whisperer. Anyway, I was waiting to go, standing outside the door for some fresh air, when suddenly I’m face-to-face with a couple of goons. I didn’t notice them pull up in their pigmobile, but there they were, demanding my ID. I stayed calm and handed it over, but when they started saying I wasn’t supposed to be there, I shut up.”

We all nodded. Pleading the Fifth might not work with other crooks, but not digging yourself a deeper hole with your words was always a good strategy.

“Before I knew it, I was shoved into a car. I stuck to the story, repeating that I didn’t know what was going on, but not giving them anything else. They took me to a security office and dumped me in a glorified broom closet while they figured out what to do. I could’ve picked my way out in about two seconds, but I’d still be in the middle of Long Island. Next thing I know, I’m hooded and being driven to the house you found me at, Dakota.”

My concern burned through the façade of professionalism I’d erected, and I found myself asking, “Did they hurt you?”

McKenna shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Nah, they seemed more confused than anything. Sierra’s cover for me was solid.”

She lifted her glass in a silent toast to Sierra, who managed a modest smile in return.

“Well, I’m glad we got you home,” I added, and if there was a little extra meaning in my words, nobody called me on it. The moment felt ripe for shifting gears. “Kal, Chelsea, you both clear on what’s going down tonight?” I asked, eager to pivot back to familiar ground.

Both nodded, ready to drop the emotional stuff and gear up for action.

“Sierra, you've set up a fake work order?”

She nodded. “In their system.”

“Excellent. Chelsea, you'll drive the Audi in just past nine, with Kal as your passenger. She'll be carrying an empty box, and you’ll go straight to the Global building.” I turned to Kal, “Any concerns about gaining entry?”

“Hardly,” Kal replied with a confident grin. “I may not match McKenna's finesse or experience, but I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Remember, no lock has kept me out yet.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What about the biometric lock?”

“Bank of England, remember? Biometrics out the ass. Walked in as if I owned the place, and that was without Sierra's help.”

I nodded, recalling the event Mort had brought up last week. Idly, a part of my mind wondered how accurate the rest of his list was, since she admitted to this, but that was a question for some other time. When? Who knew? Not now, though. “This time you've got backup.”

“Then you've got nothing to worry about from me,” she said, her grin unwavering. “I'll be in and out without a fuss.”

“Good. I need to coordinate with the police on where they'll intercept you to take the fakes. Chelsea, I’ll fill you in soon.” Chelsea, always composed, simply nodded. “Once you hand them over, we can all think about what's next.”

A wave of excitement swept through the room, everyone sensing the end of the line. I caught McKenna's eye, her expression mirroring the high stakes and our mutual anticipation.

“Kal, do you need anything else from us?” I asked. She shook her head, as did Chelsea when I posed the same question. With McKenna’s burner back in our possession, and verified they hadn’t broken the lock, we were back to the disposable cells for communications. “Alright, I'll send you both the details for the meetup. Sierra, you'll monitor everything?”

“Count on it,” she said, sounding like her usual self.

After everyone left, McKenna stood, stretching languidly. “I think I'll shower, maybe get rid of these clothes for good. They didn't rough me up, but it wasn’t exactly a spa experience either.”

“I understand,” I said, though my own jail time was the closest I'd come to what she’d dealt with. “If you feel like eating later, let me know.”

“You? Cook?” Her voice was teasing, and her look was laden with unspoken thoughts, but I busied myself tidying up. When I glanced up again, she was heading out, leaving me with a mix of relief and regret.

It promised to be a long night. I sent a text to Washington.

Dakota: Call me

Just two minutes after I messaged, Washington’s number popped up and I answered.

“Hello.”

“Chase, we’re a little busy here.”

“I just need a minute. Kick off your end at nine. Is everything set for our little pantomime tonight?” I asked, masking my anticipation.

“The distraction’s in place.” His impatience was as noticeable as a tomato stain on a white blouse, but I had to nail down the details. “Anything else?”

“Where’s the handoff?”

“Outside the Park as we wrap the op,” he said.

“That’s not going to work, Washington.” I dropped the pretense of his alias to press my point. “Too risky, too public, too many itchy trigger fingers. My people need to stay ghosts, so that means no reports, no matter how unofficial. Do better.”

He sighed heavily. “Islip airport,” he shot back, a bit too quickly.

“Still too many eyes. We need somewhere quieter,” I countered, feeling the tension mount.

“Damn it, Chase, you pick then!” His frustration was evident, but this was exactly where I wanted him to go.

“King Park, over in Jamaica. It’s low-key, and it’s on our turf. No one's looking for a swap there.”

He paused, possibly mulling over the logistics. “What time?”

“Let’s say ten-thirty.” I knew it gave us the necessary window.

“Ninety minutes to get there? That’s a big delay. You playing games with us, Chase?” His suspicion wasn’t unwarranted, but I’d never taken him for stupid.

“Not at all. As proof of our good will, I’ll make sure you get a feed of our route from HIP, plus video of the gems from the moment they’re in the car, but I have to allow for traffic delays. If we show up late, you might get itchy fingers, and then where would we be?”

He grunted. “Alright. How will I recognize the vehicle?”

“I’ll text you a photo.”

“Make sure you do.”

“Always a pleasure, Detective.” I hung up before he could push further and sent a quick message to Sierra to prep the vehicle’s photo and ensure our tracks were covered.

Dakota: Need you to install the dashcam. Cops aren’t trusting us not to switch boxes

Sierra: Shocker

Dakota: Also need a photo of the car, no plate

Sierra: Not born yesterday

I sent back an emoji waving a white flag. A quarter-hour later, the phone buzzed again with the photo and another message.

Sierra: Geocoding scrubbed

Dakota: Didn’t think of that

Sierra: Duh, that’s why you have me

After sending the photo to Washington, I decided to distract myself with some cooking—not because I was hungry, but because I needed something mundane to focus on. My thoughts kept wandering towards McKenna and the possibly shared future neither of us was ready to grasp. It wasn’t fear holding us back; we had always found some excuse, clinging to the rule of not dating during a heist.

In the kitchen, I rifled through the refrigerator, choosing eggs, some spinach, and a block of upmarket cheddar that I never would have tried on my own. As I whisked the eggs—perhaps more aggressively than necessary—I reflected on our undeniable chemistry. We were volatile together, like mixing nitric acid and glycerol; potent and explosive. Yet, every time we edged closer, the adage of not mixing business with pleasure surfaced, reminding us that in our line of work, distractions could lead to disastrous, even deadly, consequences.

I poured the eggs into a sizzling pan, tossing in the spinach which shriveled quickly, mirroring how fleeting our chances could sometimes seem. Grating the cheese, I wondered if I was truly prepared to blend our lives as smoothly as these ingredients. Could I handle the intensity, or would I end up scorched by the affair? Plating the slightly overcooked omelet, I sat down to face the steaming, imperfect concoction. Tasting the first bite, it wasn't half bad. Perhaps there was a chance for McKenna and me to create something worthwhile if we ever decided to face the heat instead of flirting with the flame. But that was still an if, a big one.

Midway through my meal, the sound of footsteps echoed softly. McKenna appeared, her hair damp from the shower, clad in a robe that softened her usually sharp edges. Seeing her like this, so relaxed and vulnerable, was rare. It made the kitchen feel warmer, the night less daunting, and the future a tad more inviting.

“Hey,” she said casually, a small smile playing on her lips. “Something smells good. Did you cook, or order in?”

I watched McKenna from the corner of my eye, as I fumbled with my fork, trying not to drop it in my sudden rush of nerves. “Uh, whipped up something quick. You hungry?” I managed to say, striving for casual but hitting anxious instead.

McKenna nodded, pulling out a chair at the small table. “Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks, Dakota.”

I got up too swiftly, maybe revealing the flutter in my chest, and began to gather ingredients again. My thoughts were a chaotic mix, jumbling over themselves. McKenna, here in her robe, seemed so out of place from the world we lived in—less like a box jockey and more like someone from a quieter, far gentler life. Vulnerable. Real. As I cracked more eggs, sneaking peeks at her seemed almost necessary. She was casually running a hand through her damp hair, looking around the kitchen with an ease that sent strange flips through my stomach. I focused on beating the eggs, as if I could whisk away my swirling thoughts.

“So, how was the shower?” I ventured, aiming for normalcy and running right into awkward.

“Good, good. Nothing like a hot shower to make you feel human again,” she answered, relaxing in her chair.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I replied, turning back to the stove. The sizzle of the eggs hitting the hot pan felt like a necessary barrier, a safe background noise for the conversation.

As I cooked for her, we drifted into talking about inconsequential things—weather predictions, the eternal emptiness of the fridge in her apartment, snippets of news neither of us cared about. It was a dance around the edges of what we needed to talk about: the 'us' that lingered persistently beneath every interaction. I served up the omelet and placed it before her. She offered a smile that tugged insistently at something deep inside me, something I tried to ignore.

As we ate, I mulled over the ease of our interaction, and how simple it would be to let go and speak my mind. But then, the walls we had built around ourselves, the rules of engagement in our risky lives, came surging back. We were professionals first, entangled as we might be. I remained silent, allowing the mundane clink of forks against plates to fill the growing void between us.

“Thanks, Dakota,” McKenna said as she pushed her plate away and stood. The lingering smile she gave me held traces of something more—maybe a wish, maybe regret. “I’m gonna lie down.”

I nodded, keeping my voice locked down deep, where it couldn't betray my wish to follow her. Did her smile seem more wistful? Possibly.

As I began cleaning up, the realization dawned painfully clear: it was going to be one long night, filled with too many thoughts and not enough sleep.

33: A New Beginning

I was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing the end of yet another cup of coffee, when Chelsea and Kalili burst through the door, followed by Sierra. It was late, the kind of late that makes everything seem a little more dramatic. Kalili couldn't contain her enthusiasm; her words tumbled out rapid-fire. “It was like taking candy from a baby, Dakota. You should have seen us!”

She flung the keys onto the counter with a satisfying clank, drawing a rumpled McKenna out from whatever rest she’d managed. McKenna’s movements were sleepy but curious as she poured herself some much-needed coffee.

Chelsea followed Kalili's lead, her excitement barely contained. “I'll tell you, the roads were hell. The LIE was a parking lot and the Northern State? Might as well have been an obstacle course.”

I crushed my anxiety and need to demand answers. “Smooth operation at HIP?” I said, masking the intensity of my curiosity with a casual tone.

Kalili, ever the storyteller, hopped onto a stool with theatrical flair. “As smooth as it gets. Rolled up with the Audi, flashed our fake clearance, and we were in. It’s incredible what you can accomplish with a little confidence and some well-forged documents.”

“And don't forget the charm,” Chelsea added with a smile. She started mimicking Kalili's interactions with the guards, complete with exaggerated hand gestures and winks, including the fake fifties Kalili, true to her word, slipped them for their help the night before.

Their laughter filled the room, lightening the atmosphere further. “And how about the pick-up at Global Logistics?” I asked, steering them back on topic.

Kalili brushed off her hands. “Easy in, easy out. Honestly, with what McKenna told me about the place, it was a cakewalk. Loaded the box with those dazzling fakes, and nobody was the wiser. Acting like you belong does most of the work.”

“Then came the real fun at King Park with the cops.” Chelsea’s tone suggested a story worth hearing.

“Oh? What happened? They didn't suspect anything, did they?” I needed to be sure; our future steps depended heavily on their ignorance.

Kalili shook her head. “Not a bit. Well, they did at first; I think it’s their default setting. But when they saw the dashcam footage? Watching me enter with an empty box and leave with one full of gems evaporated all their doubts.”

I found myself appreciating their antics. It was a risky game we played, but moments like these, with the camaraderie and the thrill of a job well done, made it all worth it. Chatter echoed around the kitchen, bouncing off walls that felt more alive tonight than they had in days. McKenna, still lingering by the coffee maker, joined in with a small, contented chuckle. It was a sound that didn't come often from her, and it warmed the room more than the coffee ever could.

“And that was it? Nothing on the way back?” I forced myself into a relaxed demeanor.

Chelsea sank into a chair with a sigh. “Traffic was a nightmare, but we handled it. And, Dakota?”

“Yeah?”

“You were right. The Audi’s a beaut.” She sounded pained at the admission. “Handled the roads like a teenager’s wet dream. Not knowing what waited for us in Jamaica? That was more tense than the heist itself.”

Kalili gave a lopsided grin, her energy undiminished by the late hour. “Speak for yourself. I thrive on that part. The drive, the chase—it's all part of the thrill.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at their contrasting styles. “Well, it sounds like you both did what you needed to. I knew I could count on you.”

Their grins widened at the praise, a welcome sense of accomplishment filling the room. Remembering the backpack stuffed with cash, I excused myself to retrieve it. When I came back, the room was alive with high spirits.

“I think you all deserve a preview of what’s to come.” I swung the backpack onto the table and unzipped it, letting the cash spill out—bills cascading over the edge like a waterfall of green. A hush fell over the room as everyone's eyes widened.

“Five hundred thousand,” I announced, spreading the money out. “One hundred grand each, a little taste of what’s ahead. Courtesy of Brooklyn’s finest. Seems like as good a time as any for a celebration, don’t you think?” I grinned, watching their reactions.

Cheers erupted around the room, the initial shock quickly turning into jubilation. McKenna stepped forward, her smile wide as she pulled me into a hug that was both a thank you and a personal celebration. Kalili took on the role of bartender, mixing drinks with a panache that matched her personality, while we counted and divided the cash. The drinks might have slowed our efficiency, but they certainly didn't dampen the festive mood. An hour later, Chelsea and Sierra decided it was time to head out, their spirits high. Chelsea had stuck to a single full-strength Hurricane, while Sierra compensated with an extra glass of rum.

Kalili was gathering her things to leave too, but I caught her arm gently. “Stay a bit longer?” I asked, hoping she’d sense the genuine desire for her company. There was something important I had to discuss, and I had to do it while I was still capable of speech.

She paused, then smiled and set her belongings down. “Sure, why not? It’s not every night we pull off something this big.”

I gathered my thoughts, leading her out to the sitting area. “Kal, we have to be ready for them to figure out the fakes. That we faked them. The switch.” My words slurred slightly, evidence of one or two too many drinks.

“Don’t worry, Dakota. I’ve got it under control,” Kal assured me, her voice steady.

Despite her words of understanding, I felt the need to clarify further. “Make sure to layer some real gems right on top of the fakes,” I instructed, my focus wavering. Maybe it was three too many. Or maybe it was that I’d been drinking coffee all night, waiting, and was so wired that the alcohol knocked me on my ass.

“I remember,” Kal responded, her tone patient but amused. “I’ll handle it tonight. By morning, those costume jewels will be on the way to Africa, and your cops will have to find something else to chase.”

“That’s my name.” I giggled, losing the thread of the conversation.

“McKenna?” Kal glanced to where McKenna stood, arms crossed, shaking her head with a smile.

“I’ll make sure she gets to bed,” McKenna said, amused.

“Wait, wait! Important!” I blurted, causing both to pause and look at me. “I gotta pee.”

“Goodnight, Dakota,” Kal laughed, shaking her head as she prepared to leave. “I’ll see myself out.”

“Come on, Dakota, let’s get you to bed,” McKenna coaxed, her tone gentle.

“Pee first,” I insisted.

McKenna sighed, half laughing, half exasperated, as she helped me navigate to the bathroom. She waited, a guardian against drunken mishaps. Once in the bedroom, McKenna maintained a respectful distance as I clumsily shed my clothes, leaving a trail from the door to the bed. In my unmatched underwear, clarity momentarily cut through the fog of alcohol. Did I want to cross this line now? The alcohol’s boldness won. “Yes,” I muttered, decisively shedding my inhibitions along with my bra.

McKenna hesitated at the door. I read concern in her eyes, yes, but there was something else, something more charged. “Are you sure about this?”

“Absolutely not,” I admitted, with more honesty than I intended, the alcohol smoothing over the edges of my uncertainty. “But yes, because... because I think so.” Not my most coherent argument.

McKenna stepped closer, her presence filling the room. “Dakota, you’re drunk,” she said softly, her voice laced with worry but not devoid of interest.

“And you’re beautiful,” I retorted, the words slipping out before I could catch them. Her blush was enough to tell me she wasn’t indifferent to the comment.

“Maybe we should wait until—”

“No more heist. That means no more waiting,” I interrupted, my voice firm despite the room's slight spin. I reached out, fingertips brushing against her arm, grounding myself with her solidity. “No more hesitating.”

Her resistance waned, the tension between us shifting, morphing into something fraught yet tender. She stepped into my space, her hands tentative but purposeful as they settled on my hips. “Dakota, if we do this—”

“We do this,” I confirmed, pulling her towards me, our lips meeting in a clumsy yet earnest kiss that was all teeth and misplaced enthusiasm.

The kiss deepened, smoothing as we found our rhythm, and the world narrowed down to the feel of her lips on mine, the taste of alcohol on our breaths mingling with the promise of something more. This wasn’t about the job, the danger, or the future. It was just us, here and now, making a choice that felt reckless yet right.

When we finally broke apart, our breathing heavy, the room was silent except for our staggered breaths. McKenna looked at me with eyes wide, a question in them that needed no words. I nodded slightly, the smallest affirmation, but it was enough. We moved together, the bed welcoming us as we let go of the boundaries we’d so carefully maintained.

As I settled into the warmth of her embrace, I could feel my desire being overwhelmed by exhaustion. All the tension of the past days evaporated in the heat of her body, the strength of her arms. Here, I could be me. Here, I could be safe.

My last coherent thought was tomorrow would bring consequences, but tonight? Tonight was ours. “Let’s not think about tomorrow,” I murmured against her skin, and McKenna’s quiet agreement was the last thing I heard before drifting off, a smile tugging at my lips.

I don’t know how long it was, but I awoke with a start, no longer wrapped in McKenna’s strong arms. I pried my eyes open and peered around, seeking and finally finding her. She stood at the edge of the bed, her posture tense as if ready to flee. “Dakota, you need to sleep this off,” she said, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

With the remnants of drunken boldness fueling me, I reached for her hand. “Stay,” I slurred slightly, hoping it sounded more persuasive than desperate.

“Dakota,” she started, a clear warning in her tone, but my impulsiveness outpaced her caution. I tugged gently, drawing her down for a kiss that crackled with a promise of more. Our kiss was a live wire, sparking a surge of intensity that jolted us both. As quickly as the connection flared, McKenna broke it, pulling away with a startled gasp. She stood, her breathing ragged, her expression torn between desire and responsibility.

“No, Dakota. This isn't right. You're drunk, and I don't want to start whatever we might become like this.” I watched as she grabbed a pillow and blanket, my heart sinking but knowing she was right. “I'll be on the couch,” she said, her tone impassive. Yet her gaze lingered on me, heavy with meaning, before she turned away.

The room suddenly seemed colder, emptier. I pulled the covers to my chin, left to stew in a mix of alcohol-fueled warmth and a cold realization. As I plunged toward sleep, haunted by the 'what-ifs' and 'might-have-beens,' I pondered the new day ahead. Would we act as if the kiss had never happened? Or had that fleeting moment irrevocably altered the course of our tentative relationship?

Falling asleep, McKenna’s taste lingered on my lips, blending with memories of her hesitation, desire, and disciplined withdrawal. The future was murky, yet for the first time in a long while, I found myself eager for the morning, curious to see what it might hold.

Waking with a hangover was a reminder of why I usually steered clear of heavy drinking. Fortunately, someone had thoughtfully left a glass of water and a couple of aspirin on the nightstand. Gratitude washed over me—it was most likely McKenna's doing. After swallowing the pills and chugging the water, I shuffled into a tee and stumbled toward the kitchen, shielding my eyes from the offensive morning light that seemed far too cheerful for my current state.

“Coffee?” I muttered hopefully, eyes squinted shut.

“Sure.”

The voice wasn't McKenna's. Startled, I blinked open my eyes, wincing as a jolt of pain shot through my head. It took a moment, but my vision adjusted to reveal Kalili leaning against the counter, an unusual seriousness shadowing her features.

Gratefully, I reached for the mug she slid across the counter, pressing it to my lips without hesitation. It wasn’t her presence that felt off; there was a tension in her voice that tugged at my already frayed nerves.

“Where’s McKenna?” I asked between sips of the life-restoring brew.

“Not sure,” Kal replied, her tone flat, lacking its usual vibrancy.

That’s when it clicked—Kal seemed down. It was subtle, but the absence of her typical energetic buzz was disconcerting. “Kal, you’re... sad? What’s wrong?” It was odd seeing her so deflated.

“I fucked up, Dakota.” The weight of her words hung between us.

The bluntness of her confession made me pause, coffee halfway to my lips. Panic was an option, but my throbbing head and the swirling room advised against it. “What happened, Kalili?” I asked, steadying myself against the kitchen counter, bracing for the worst.

As she began, I had a sudden flash that this was typical of the luck that haunted my bigger heists—when the plan was grand, the fallout matched. “This may take a bit.” I nodded, regretting the motion immediately. Kal could take her time. “After I headed upstairs to handle the handoff, I put a layer of real ones on top, just in case, then got the fakes to the boat like you said.”

“Right, so far so good,” I said, trying to pinpoint where this was going sideways. The hangover headache was subsiding, but another one was queued up to take its place, and it promised to be a doozy.

“I came back, then caught some sleep before dropping by about seven this morning to touch base about the next steps.”

“Was McKenna around?” My focus shifted sharply; I wanted to know where McKenna was. We had unfinished business and a future to explore.

“No, she wasn’t. She left you a note, though.” Kal pointed towards the coffee table. Before I could reach for it, she added, “Wait, Dakota. Let me get this out first.” I steadied myself on the stool, nodding for her to go on.

“I was leaving when your burner started chirping. I took a look, and there were a bunch of notifications, coming at you all night long. Calls, messages, the works, all from your favorite detective, Crooked Dick.”

I managed a strained smile. “Washington.”

“Yeah, him. I screwed up, Dakota. I answered it. He was livid, ranting about being duped with fake jewels. I stuck to the script, and told him the plan was always to get the jewels out of the City, away from the Families.”

“That’s not too far off,” I murmured, though a knot of anxiety started tightening in my stomach.

“But then I...,” she paused, swallowing hard, “I told him the name of the ship they were on. I thought it would get him off our back, make it all more believable.”

“Oh, Kal,” I sighed, her revelation making me momentarily deflate before my instinct to salvage the situation kicked in. After a lifetime of dark clouds, you get good at finding the silver linings, no matter how dim. “Wait. No, it’s not a disaster. It lends credence to our story, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly! That’s what I thought!” Kal’s relief was a physical thing, but it faded quickly. “So, I immediately contacted the smugglers, warned them about potential heat from the Coast Guard, and advised them to stay sharp, and if they thought shit was going down, dump the gems.” At my questioning look, her face grew serious again. “They’re good people, Dakota. I didn’t want them caught in this mess.”

I nodded, understanding her concern. “Of course, no complaints here. What did they do?”

“They were already fifty miles out at sea, way past the territorial waters. They decided to dump the fakes overboard before anything could happen.”

“Hold up, fifty miles? And they dumped them? Threw the box overboard?”

Kal’s grin returned, but a pale version of its usual vibrance. “Oh, they didn’t dump the whole box. I told them to scatter the jewels. Tossed over twenty fathoms deep into the Atlantic.”

I paused, processing the numbers. “Fathoms? How deep is that in normal terms?”

“Six feet per fathom, so at least one hundred twenty feet deep,” she clarified.

“Okay, not shallow, but not Titanic deep either,” I mused, piecing together the visual. The mental image of jewels slowly sinking into the ocean’s dark depths was oddly poetic, glittering until they passed out of the sunlight.

“Yeah. When I talked to them, I thought about asking them to take the real ones off the top. The idea of letting the real gems going down with the fakes hurt, but if they were stopped and searched?” I nodded, approving of Kal’s foresight. “Dumping them all was the safest bet. They’ll just sink into the muck, and all the smugglers have is an empty box. Nothing illegal about that.”

Considering the depth and the chaos of scattering them, I couldn’t help but agree. While the loss of the real gems stung—a painful but necessary cost—it was a smart move. “Well, under the circumstances, you did what you had to do. It’s a tough call, but the right one.”

Kalili visibly relaxed, reassured by my response. “Thanks, Dakota. I didn’t want to screw this up.”

“Hey, it’s done, and you handled it with the brains I know you’ve got,” I said, offering a grin. “Besides, we’ve still got a billion in play, right? What’s a few million among friends?”

Kalili tried for her usual levity, saying, “Exactly, it’s just a drop in the ocean.” It fell flat, and I could tell that this wasn’t the fuckup she’d feared.

“Okay, Kal, come on. So far I’m not hearing anything that could make for your long face, and I’m way too hung over to play guessing games.” I drained the mug and pushed it across for a refill. Kalili took advantage of the momentary break but met my gaze squarely after I had the mug again.

Her words fell on me like the cold rain of March. “They dumped the real gems, Dakota. I mixed up the boxes.”

I stared at her, the coffee suddenly forgotten. “Kal, please tell me you’re messing with me, because this is a fucking terrible joke.”

Her face was somber, her usual spark dimmed. “I wish I was. It was dark, I was rushed, and yeah, maybe a little buzzed—the boxes looked the same. By the time I realized what happened, it was too late.”

It was like someone had sucker-punched me. All the air left my lungs. The real gems, our ticket out of this life, were now at the bottom of the ocean. This wasn’t a hiccup; it was advanced stage four cancer diagnosed after a heart attack with a side of stroke. “How could this happen, Kal? Wait. Was this your plan all along?” My voice was a whisper. I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but Kal made it clear that her goal was to keep the gems out of the Families’ hands. How better than to throw them into the briny deep?

Kalili didn’t shout, but she looked hurt. “No! Dakota, once I brought our crew in on this, I was as committed to holding those jewels in my hands as anyone else.”

I grimaced, ashamed for doubting her. “Sorry. It’s a big blow, and it’s messing with my mind. I know you wouldn’t screw over your crew.” I inhaled, clearing my mind of the unwarranted suspicion, and forced a smile. “But how did it happen?”

Kal paced a small circle before responding. “I got complacent. Thought I had it under control. I was wrong.”

Sitting back, I rubbed my temples, trying to stave off the pounding headache that threatened to split my head open. This was typical, wasn’t it? Every time I thought we were close to a clean getaway, something had to go wrong. “Walk me through it, Kal,” I said, finally looking up at her. “Maybe it’s not what you think it is.”

Kalili started, wringing her hands like she was in a confessional rather than a kitchen fit for a gourmet chef. “Middle of the night, me and a box of the world's most convincing fakes. Then I started adding the real jewels, like we talked about.”

I grunted, taking another sip of my black, bitter lifeline, waiting for her to get to the good part. Bad part. The shitty part that I wished was part of a hangover-induced nightmare.

Kalili's voice lowered as if to prevent the walls from overhearing. “I was layering them—diamonds, emeralds, the kind you'd swear were just too perfect to be genuine.” I cocked an eyebrow. It was unusual for Kalili to wax poetic about loot. She was all about the thrills, not the beauty. “Then, as I was set to head out, I saw Faith waiting for me, and I asked for help with the box. You remember how heavy it is.” Kalili paused.

Guilt was an odd companion in our line of work—unwelcome and intrusive, yet sometimes inevitable. “Yeah, you asked for help. So?”

Kalili let out a sigh that seemed to carry all the torments of the damned. “This morning, after I talked to Washington and warned the smugglers, I needed to double-check. You know how you get that feeling, like you left the burner on, or the door unlocked?” I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. “I rushed upstairs and picked up a handful of these gems, the light catching them like stars caught in a net. And then, clumsy me, I drop a few. They scatter across the floor like raindrops, clattering and then...”

I opened one eye, peering at her.

“One hits the tile just right,” she continued, her voice tinged with the regret usually reserved for missed lottery wins. “If it was a real gem, it wouldn’t be bothered by something like being dropped.  Instead, it crunches. Crunches, Dakota. Tiny shards of glass scatter all over the floor, and that’s when I knew.”

I sat up straighter, the pieces coming together in my head like a jigsaw puzzle from hell. “You told her the wrong box,” I stated, not a question but a cold, hard fact.

“Yeah,” Kalili admitted, her gaze dropping to the gleaming countertop. “I told Faith we were taking the box on the right. But it was the one on the left we were supposed to take. The one on the right had the real thing. My screw-up, not hers. Near as I can remember, I was kneeling on the other side of the boxes when I was swapping gems, from the left to the right.”

I let out a breath, feeling like a tire with a slow leak. I could see it. Kalili playing with the priceless jewels, standing up, moving to the other side, and we were done. A simple left-right mix-up, and suddenly we were knee-deep in fakes instead of swimming in a sea of riches. It was the kind of mistake that made you wish for a time machine. Or a stiff drink.

Kalili looked equally deflated but nodded, understanding the need to keep moving. “I got in touch with the smugglers as soon as I knew, but it was too late. They’d scattered the gems before I realized the mix-up. At least there won't be any gems floating around to trace back to us.”

I rubbed my temples, feeling the throbbing headache merge with my disbelief. “So, you're telling me,” I started, my voice as flat as week-old soda, “our billion-dollar score is now sleeping with the fishes?”

Kalili nodded, her face a picture of frustration. “Yeah, Dakota. At the bottom of the ocean. And no, before you ask, we can't go scuba diving for them.”

I let out a long, slow breath, trying to wrap my head around our spectacular misfortune, searching for a positive. Something to take out of this disaster. “Okay. Well, first off, we’re all alive and in one piece. That’s huge, considering who we’re up against.”

“I never doubted it.”

“I appreciate your faith, Kalili.”

“So do I, especially—oh, wrong Faith.”

It felt good to banter, even a little bit. “And we have the cash. That’s better than a lot of our jobs.”

“Covers my expenses,” Kal agreed.

“And we can’t forget the gems. How many of the real deal did you mix in with the fakes before our undersea donation?”

Kalili started ticking off on her fingers. “A few handfuls? Plus the fakes have some value. Add it all up? There might be enough to give us two, maybe three million each. Not the dream payday, but not a kick in the teeth either.”

I pondered the silver lining - a couple million each was still a tidy sum. We could come out of this smelling like roses, albeit slightly wilted ones. “You’re right. You know, this might work out better.”

Kalili’s disbelief would have done credit to a teenager told her parents were right. “How do you figure?”

“Well, we don’t have to try to fence a billion in gems. That would have marked us for anyone in the biz. You know how fences like to talk.” Kal nodded, but I wasn’t done. “The only people who know for certain we were involved are the cops, and they think the jewels went out to sea. They’ll never find them, and the crew thinks they tossed real gems overboard. Hook ‘em all up to lie detectors, and they’ll come back clean, which means the cops will never break the crew’s story. As for the Families? Their sources in the BPD will tell them that the gems were dumped. They don’t have a clue who took them, and since the gems will never surface—” I winced at my inadvertent pun but continued. “—they won’t know where to start.”

I nodded, a slow smile spreading across my face. In a world where everything had gone sideways, we'd managed to pull off the ultimate sleight of hand. Sure, we weren't billionaires, but we'd kept the real treasures out of the wrong hands, and we were walking away with enough to keep us comfortable. Maye I could get out of this crazy life, stop planning heists and maybe plan a different future. The headache started to subside. “In this game, a couple million and your freedom is a win. Let's start sorting through these gems, Kalili. We've got a payday to salvage.”

“Don’t you want to read McKenna’s note?”

I’d forgotten all about it. “Yeah. While I do that, I have a job for you.”

“Anything, Dakota.”

“You’re in charge of figuring out how to tell Sierra and Chelsea.”

All the color drained from Kal’s face at the prospect, and I felt a measure of satisfaction at my petty revenge. I slid from the stool and grabbed the note. I needed the pick-me-up because no matter how I spun it, I felt like my luck had gone for a long swim with the loot. I noticed McKenna's note was folded neatly, like a letter from a long-lost lover, my name written on the outside. I picked it up, the paper feeling too thin for the weight of the words I read:

Dakota,

I’ve been turning over the words to say this for hours. Every way I phrase it, it sounds like a cliché, like something ripped out of a bad movie. But there’s no easy way to do this, no smooth words to mask the jagged truth. So, here it is, in the simplest terms I can find.

This letter is my coward’s way out because facing you would shatter what little resolve I've scraped together. You know as well as I do that our world doesn’t do favors for those who wear their hearts on their sleeves. From the moment we started, everything was a thrill, a high-wire act without a net. We’ve always been just a breath away from disaster, and somehow, that edge, that nearness to danger—it made everything more intense, including things that should have stayed simple. Uncomplicated.

There's a fire that burns between us. It's as real as the stuff we lift and the shadows we slip through. But fire, as much as it warms, as much as it mesmerizes, is something I’ve learned to fear. Not just for the way it can consume all it touches, but for how it can blind us to the burns we collect even as we bask in its heat.

In our line, the fire is more than a distraction—it’s a potential catastrophe waiting to happen. It clouds our judgment, makes us hesitate at the wrong moment, and take risks we shouldn’t. I can’t—no, I won’t—let that happen to us, to you. I won’t be the reason you miss a step or overlook a shadow that’s out of place. I can’t bear that weight.

So, this is me, stepping back, stepping away. It's for the best, though those words taste like ash in my mouth. Don’t try to find me. Don’t think I’m doing this lightly. Every word I write is laced with what feels like a betrayal of what could have been something remarkable.

I’m leaving my share of our last job for the crew. They’ll need it, and I won’t have use for it where I’m going—away from the fire, trying to learn not to feel the burn. Keep them safe, Dakota. Keep yourself safe. If there’s one thing I’ve come to admire most about you, it’s your passion to protect those around you. Never lose that.

Stay sharp, stay smart, and above all, stay alive. That’s how I want to remember you, not clouded by what might have been, but as the force of nature you are.

Forgive me, if you can. Remember me, if you want. But more than anything, stay you.

Always yours.

McKenna

I read it once, twice, then a third time, each word another chip to my crumbling armor. Crushed? Sure, but there was something in McKenna's tone, something that was louder than the ink on the page. She cared, maybe too much, and that's why she was stepping away. McKenna was playing it smart, even when it hurt.

Now it was my turn. Life doesn't stop for a broken heart, especially not in our world. I folded the note, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the ache. McKenna was right about one thing - staying smart was the only way to survive. I found Kalili, her face a mask of worry mixed with her guilt. Handing her the note, I watched her read it, her expression softening into sympathy.

“Sorry, Dakota. That's rough,” she said, handing back the note.

“Yeah, but we've still got a job to finish,” I replied, more to myself than to her, folding the note in half and putting it under the mug. “Let's sort this mess out. We've got some real gems to find among the fakes.”

Kalili nodded, a spark returning to her eyes. “Hey, we outsmarted the Families and the cops. That's something.”

Her words, meant as comfort, served as a stark reminder: in our line of work, survival and scraping by were victories. We'd lost the grand prize, sure, but we could still salvage something from the ruins. In our world, that was almost a triumph.

“Not all losses are complete losses,” I muttered, half to myself, half to the universe. “But damn, they still sting.”

Epilogue: Beyond the Shadows

Four months since the big splash – literally – and here I am, Dakota Chase, once a grand heist planner, now the proprietor of Brooklyn's most unexpectedly charming bar in the Little Caribbean. The joint, once a gritty nook where I would occasionally sling drinks, is now officially mine, courtesy of a few crooked cops and some precious gems that miraculously didn't end up at the bottom of the ocean. I've given the place a facelift—think chic meets dive bar grunge—and surprisingly, it's a hit. These days, my biggest challenges involve evading overly affectionate barflies and mastering the art of bookkeeping, which, believe it or not, is more complex than a midnight jewel swap. That, and coming up with a new name. The Sandy Parrot just won’t cut it, but it’ll do for now.

Upstairs, my new apartment comes with a cat who mistakes herself for the landlord. Retirement fits me like a glove, odd as it sounds. I expected to miss the adrenaline rush and the cat-and-mouse games with the law. I don’t. There’s something inherently satisfying about crafting the perfect cocktail and watching a packed room enjoy my handiwork. I’ve got some regulars now who straddle the line between customer and friend, too. Sarah and Rebel, especially, despite their obvious infatuation with each other that hits me a little too hard. But I’ve put what I could have had with McKenna behind me. Mostly.

Mort, my parole officer, was a persistent nuisance for a few days, sniffing around with hopes of tying me to the Long Island debacle. His career took an abrupt plunge after a rather humiliating incident involving handcuffing my ‘associates’ from his precious list. Funnily enough, every one of them had airtight alibis spanning three states. Last I heard, he’d been relegated to a less exciting life, possibly tending to geraniums and shouting at daytime television. My current parole officer? Might as well be a ghost. A check-in here, a thumbs-up there, and he’s practically my fan club president, lauding my ‘remarkable reform’ and calling me ‘an example of the successes of the correctional system’ and other bullshit.

We split the cash, and the money from the gems. Chelsea, ever practical, still drives her blue Volvo, with some serious modifications under the hood. I was there the day some young idiot in a flashy foreign sports car challenged her to a race. Classic Chelsea. She put her money into her legit business and the high-end modifications she does. Her garage is a gearhead’s paradise, lined with vehicles shiny enough to blind you on a sunny day. The sedan has a place too, as she keeps trying to resurrect it.

Sierra, our tech wizard, still straddles the line between corporate cybersecurity gigs and her alter ego 'Raven' by moonlight. She and Alex moved into Kal’s building, the apartment Alex stayed in. Now I’ve heard that she and Kalili spend off-hours planning cyberpranks, which ought to worry any sane person. I keep my distance, preferring to read about their hijinks in the papers. Deniability is priceless.

Kalili and Faith are regulars here, though it’s a far step below their usual haunts. Faith brings a touch of class to my joint, and Kalili? Well, her stories spin heads faster than my strongest whiskey. We don’t talk shop, at least not much, and though she tiptoes around my history with Uncle Sal, we don’t go there, either. Faith’s mentioned forgiving him, and Kalili’s suggested I put it behind us. He’s reached out a half-dozen times, even shown up unannounced at a Sunday dinner. I walked out. Maybe one day I’ll thaw enough to let him back in. But not today.

The Families and my favorite detectives, Washington and Jorgensen, are stuck in an endless loop, each convinced the other walked away with the loot. They mostly leave me alone, a mutual nod to the intricate dance we all performed. No gems, no glory—just a peculiar kind of stalemate that keeps everyone off my back.

So, here I am, slinging drinks instead of dodging laser grids, living a life that somehow manages to be as unpredictable as any heist. Who knew that hanging up the lock picks and plans and stepping behind the bar would be the most exhilarating job yet? Retirement, it turns out, is the grandest heist I've ever pulled off.

The door to the bar creaks open, slicing through the muffled hum of a sleepy afternoon. I’m elbows deep in inventory, wrestling with the chaotic system left by the previous owner. “Be with you in a minute!” I call out without looking up.

“Do you have any Johnny Blue?”

That voice. It stops me cold for a heartbeat before I force myself into motion. I turn, reaching for the top shelf where the fancy box of Johnny Walker Blue sits—bought the day I signed the papers for this place, yet never cracked open. “I do,” I manage, aiming for casual. “Been looking for an excuse to open this.”

A million questions jump to my lips, but none escape. I turn, bottle in hand, and can’t help but drink in her appearance, comparing her to my memories. McKenna looks the same as she did, same hair, same attitude. Maybe she’s a little worn around the edges, but it gives her character.  I pour her a glass of the Blue, my hand steadier than I feel. It’s not every day a ghost of what could have been walks in.

“Looks like you’re taking care of yourself.” I slide the glass across the bar, striving for disinterested and missing by a country mile.

She takes a sip, holding my gaze. “Yeah, Dakota. Safes from coast to coast have kept me busy. But there’s something about Brooklyn,” she muses, her expression softening. “It has a pull I can’t escape.”

A warmth spreads through me again, the kind that whiskey can’t mimic, the kind I haven’t felt since... “Brooklyn has a way of doing that,” I reply with a half-smile, hoping it wasn’t the borough that pulled her back.

We slide into an easy conversation, swapping stories like we last saw each other a week ago. I share tales of turning this dive into something halfway respectable, while she recounts her travels, the places she’s seen, and the locks she’s picked. It’s comfortable and familiar, and it’s the strongest drug in the world, aching and sweet. I feel alive.

Then, she shifts in her seat, the movement subtle. “Dakota, about that note I left...”

My heart skips a beat, though I try to maintain an even expression. “Ah, the note,” I say, waving a hand as if to brush away the pain of the memory. “Yeah. I get what you meant, and I respect you for making the tough choice.” But not the right one! I want to scream.

She nods, a flicker of relief passing across her features, mingled with a touch of hope and a measure of sadness. “I'm glad you see it that way. Times change, huh?”

“They sure do,” I reply, the air between us charged with the tension of words neither of us dares to say. “Some things don’t, though.” I pause, and I can see the hope rise in her eyes. I want to say what she needs to hear; instead, I say, “I held onto your share from our last job.” I hold up a hand to stop her protest. “I know what you wrote, and I offered it to the others, but they turned it down. I guess they hoped you’d come back for it.” Just like I did. “It's not as much as we dreamed, but it’s a nice chunk.”

McKenna nods. “Kinda figured. This doesn’t look like a multi-million dollar joint.”

That pulls a smile to my face. “No, not hardly. I’ll fill you in later with what happened, but your share was a little over two million, which I felt was appropriate. Maybe you can retire now. It’s not a bad life.” I leave everything else unspoken, offering a prayer to whatever sadistic god is in charge of my life to give me this one thing.

Her eyes widen, surprise etching her features, hinting at deeper emotions roiling beneath the surface. Before I can say anything that could ruin the moment, she does something unexpected—she leans across the bar and kisses me. It's a deliberate, heartfelt kiss that speaks volumes, conveying apologies, longing, and the possibility of dreams fulfilled all at once.

For that suspended moment, it's only McKenna and me, the world outside fading to a distant hum. The noise of the bar, the clink of glasses, even the distant sound of traffic—it all dissolves into the background. This kiss, fervent and revealing, feels like the first moment of us. It’s a connection that transcends our complicated past, hinting at a future we both crave. Our hands find each other across the bar and fit together, puzzle pieces too long separated.

We're still basking in the afterglow, foreheads touching, when Kalili bursts through the door, her presence a sudden gale of enthusiasm. “Hey, Sarah, Rebel, how are you doing?” I hear a garbled response from them, but Kal hasn’t stopped to hear their reply. “McKenna, when did you hit town? It’s good to see you back. Dakota, I’ve stumbled onto something you’ll want to hear about.” My initial reaction is to reject her half-baked idea—I’ve retired from all that, put it in my past.

But then she drops a name that rouses my interest: “It’s a Renoir,” she announces, and suddenly the pulse of the old life throbs again. “It was looted in Germany during WWII, and I think it would look good back with the original family.”

A Renoir? War loot? “Kal, are you going all Robin Hood on me?”

She shrugs. “I do this for fun, Dakota. If I can do some good at the same time, it’s a bonus.”

I steal a glance at McKenna. The spark in her eyes, that familiar gleam of excitement and mischief, mirrors my own. The silent exchange between us speaks volumes. Could we? Should we? Why the hell not? But only with you. In an instant we’re of one mind, wanting the thrill, but only on our terms, and that means together or not at all.

“Tell us more,” we say together, hands clasped, my earlier resolve smothered by the allure of a new challenge. It seems no matter how far we try to get away, the lure of another heist, another unbeatable challenge, pulls us right back in.

Maybe you can take the thief out of the game, but you can't take the game out of the thief. And games are more fun with two.

Playlist

As I was writing this novel, I wanted to capture the right tone. I could visualize it easily enough – the grime and glitz of Ocean’s Eleven. I could hear the words – thank you Donald Westlake for your Dortmunder books! But I can’t write while watching a show, nor can I write while listening to an audiobook.

These songs – mostly movie and television themes around crime and criminals, usually with a humorous overtone – were instrumental in creating that. Oddly enough, most of them seem to come from the Sixties, which I found unexpected. They’re not in a strict order, with the exception of the final song, which I feel is perfectly matched to the epilogue. But you can decide for yourself. Enjoy!

The Inspector Clouseau Theme

Henry Mancini

The Pink Panther Theme

Henry Mancini

From Russia with Love

John Barry

$160 Million Chinese Man

David Holmes

The Entertainer

Marvin Hamlisch

Pineapple Rag/Gladiolus Rag

Marvin Hamlisch

Easy Winners

Marvin Hamlisch

Surfing in a Hurricane

Jimmy Buffett

Baby Elephant Walk

Henry Mancini

Hill Street Blues

Mike Post

Law & Order Theme Song

Mike Post

Would I Lie To You?

Eurythmics

Barney Miller Theme

Allen Ferguson & Jack Elliott

Everybody’s on the Phone

Jimmy Buffett

Macgyver Theme

Randy Edelman

The A-Team Theme

Mike Post

Mission: Impossible Theme

Lalo Schifrin

A Shot in the Dark

Henry Mancini

The Magnificent Seven

Elmer Bernstein

A Swingin’ Safari

Bert Kaempfert

Theme from Dr. No

Monty Norman

Theme from The Man From U.N.C.L.E.

Jerry Goldsmith

History Repeating

Propellerheads feat. Shirley Bassey

Secret Agent Man/James Bond Is Back

Bruce Willis

The Prisoner

Ron Grainer

Theme from The Avengers

Laurie Johnson

Soul Bossa Nova

Quincy Jones & His Orchestra

Magnum PI

Mike Post

Alley Cat

Bent Fabric

Pulp Fiction Theme (Misirlou)

Nick Roubanis

Lost In Space Movie Theme

John Williams

Easy Money

Billy Joel

Peter Gunn Theme

The Blues Brothers

Hogan’s Heroes

Jerry Fielding

Sing Sing Sing

Benny Goodman

Take Five

The Dave Brubeck Quartet

Burn That Bridge

Jimmy Buffett

Theme from The Saint

Edwin Astley

A Taste of Honey

Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass

Green Hornet

Al Hirt

Someday I Will

Jimmy Buffett

Afterward

You made it!

Thanks for sticking around this long. I promise, I won’t take too much of your time. After all, you’ve just read a nearly 100,000-word novel, diving deep into the criminal underbelly of a Brooklyn which, I’m pretty sure, exists only in my mind.

Though you never know. Pantheistic multi-person solipsism, doncha know. The World as Myth. (Want to know more? Read Robert Heinlein’s later books – “The Number of the Beast” and “To Sail Beyond the Sunset” especially, but also “The Cat Who Walks Through Walls.”)

So this is the part of the book where an author is supposed to get all maudlin and gratitude-y and tell the world how his book couldn’t have happened without this person and that, and I’ll get there eventually. But what I wanted to tell you – and this has to be between you and me, got it? – is I wrote this because damn, I wanted to.

My inspiration is funny that way. I’ll come up with a line, or a scene, and simply have to follow up. With “The Cassidy Chronicles,” it was Kendra and Aiyana’s wedding and the minister who takes a shot at Aiyana. With “The Ghosts of Tantor,” it was the idea of a massive starship being sent into deep space for three years. In this case, it was the first line – “Don't worry; my plans hardly ever fuck up.” – that set me off. See, I knew who said it, and if you’ve been reading my books, you know her too.

What I couldn’t figure out was who she was saying it to, and why.

Okay, spoiler alert. If you don’t know any of my other books, especially the Godsfall series, and want to save the surprise, you’ll want to skip ahead.

Go on, I won’t be offended.

Are they gone?

Oh my god, I had so much fun putting Kalili and Faith into OUR time! Now, you all knew they were still hanging around – being immortal and all that – but what they were doing? That was a mystery, aside from Kal’s occasional allusions to troubleshooting. But that couldn’t possibly be the only thing they did. Right?

When I heard what Kalili said, I knew that she was up to her wingtips in something she really ought to leave alone. I also knew the odds of her doing that were zero.

But again, who was she talking to?

It had to be someone on the wrong side of the law, but not someone so crooked they weren’t likeable. Kal has standards, after all. I guessed she’d probably be talking to a woman, because while Kal could talk the stripes off a tiger, it sounded like she was talking to a friend.

Then my mind flashed back to the Dortmunder books.

If you don’t know them, lucky you! You’re in for a treat. Donald Westlake created a character who is a master planner but his plans never quite pan out. I discovered them about thirty years ago, with “What’s the Worst that Could Happen?” and haven’t looked back.

Dortmunder morphed into Dakota, and I had the skeleton of a story. Fleshing it out took a bit longer, as well as figuring out how to include Kalili and Faith in a way that would make their natures clear to my Godsfall readers without raising too many questions in the minds of everyone else. Adding to the challenge was not allowing Kal to take over. She does that, you know? But this wasn’t her story. It was Dakota’s with a heavy side of McKenna. Is it a redemption story? Maybe. Maybe not. Dakota definitely evolves through the story, becoming less self-centered. She’s also desperate to find a way out of her life, or at least make the heists a choice, not a necessity. That was a tricky balancing act.

I also couldn’t have Kal or Faith miracle obstacles away. Everything they did had to be within the realm of human possibility.

Kalili had some salty words about that.

I eventually figured my way and the rest? Well, you’re holding it in your hands.

Okay, that’s the end of the spoilers. The rest of you can come back now!

Thank you and appreciation time. I’m going to begin with Cassia Hall, a fantasy romance author whom I’ve known for a few years and who keeps trying to get me to write romance flash fiction pieces. Kalili and Faith started in one of those, and without them, Dakota’s story wouldn’t have been told.

The late Donald Westlake deserves another nod, too. As he recounted, he never intended to write a comic caper novel. No, he wanted to write another Richard Stark “Parker” novel but found himself giggling at the manuscript. Since Parker was a no-giggling kind of character, Westlake was left with little choice but to rework it, and so Dortmunder – John Dortmunder, aka John Diddums (it’s Welsh) – was introduced.

The rest is history. If you want to jump into his books where I did, you can find him just about anywhere!

Charlie Hope needs to be mentioned here, because she fell in love with Kalili and Faith in the Godsfall books and demanded more of their adventures. When I had Vixen nearing completion, I asked her if she wanted to head up my street team, and she said yes. Coordinating schedules has been tough, as she’s in Australia and I’m definitely not, but we’ve managed.

My wife, for not only putting up with my incessant tap-tap-tapping but then being subjected to nightly readings of the chapters as I pound them into shape. I couldn’t ask for a better First Reader. What you have in your hands wouldn’t be half as good, or entertaining, without her feedback and suggestions.

And you, my readers. I know that this book is rather a departure from my usual genres. Comic caper novel has no real connection to fantasy or science fiction – or does it? Well, Kal and Faith are part of the fantasy universe. Kendra and Aiyana have had their encounters with the fae, and it’s canon that Kalili and Kendra exist in the same universe. I’ve already had ideas about how I’m going to integrate them into Kendra’s world, so I suppose, in a technical sort of way, this is part of the Cassidyverse... But it’s still a far different world, language, and style, from what I usually explore. I’ve also tried to balance action, humor, tension, and romance, so hopefully it’s all worked out. In any case, thank you for taking a chance on this book.

Oh, before I forget. I have a little something-something for you. It’s a deleted scene that was meant to go in after chapter eleven, but it didn’t quite fit. While I wanted the relationship between Dakota and McKenna to develop, I also needed some humor at that point (chapter twelve). Unfortunately, the deleted scene didn’t have them drunk enough, and it pushed their not-quite-relationship too far, too fast. A clever reader (like you) will notice the bit I recycled later, though. You can pick it up for free here: https://dl.bookfunnel.com/39ftqflqxz

And that’s it. Thank you for reading, and I can’t wait to see what I produce for you next!

Adam Gaffen, Trinidad, CO

PS Sign up for my biweekly newsletter at www.cassidychronicles.com so you stay in the loop about new books, sales, and goodies from other authors!

“Writing is antisocial. It’s as solitary as masturbation. Disturb a writer when he is in the throes of creation and he is likely to turn and bite right to the bone... and not even know that he’s doing it. As writers’ wives and husbands often learn to their horror...There is no way that writers can be tamed and rendered civilized. Or even cured. In a household with more than one person, of which one is a writer, the only solution known to science is to provide the patient with an isolation room, where he can endure the acute stages in private, and where food can be poked in to him with a stick. Because, if you disturb the patient at such times, he may break into tears or become violent. Or he may not hear you at all... and, if you shake him at this stage, he bites...”

– Robert A. Heinlein

A Rogue’s Gallery

DAKOTA. HARD AT WORK. She’s always preferred paper to computers, which is a risky road when it comes to involving the police, but adds a layer of protection in a perverse way. Why? Because it has to be physically accessed, not remotely, and so is immune from hackers like Sierra.

You’ll notice she’s not young – fortysomething (she refuses to tell me exactly how old she is). Crime isn’t a kid’s game, and Dakota’s been working it all her life. I also like having my human characters be fully adult, with life experience and battle scars. They’re more real that way.

MCKENNA. JUST LIKE Dakota, she’s been around crime and criminals all her life, being a third-generation box jockey. She is a few years younger than Dakota, but don’t mistake youthfulness for naivete. She’s also a bit more jaded than Dakota, having just been burned by her ex for a couple million dollars. Ouch.

Fast fact: she’s known Kalili longer than Dakota.

KALILI. EVERYONE’S favorite bad girl and former demon, she’s really found a home in the 21st Century. Energy and chaos personified, she’s utterly unafraid and won’t be intimidated by anyone, or anything.

Given her inability to plan her way out of a paper bag, I have to wonder if her friendships with Dakota and McKenna were part of some matchmaking plan or just blind luck?

Sierra. She’s the youngest member of the team, and the heaviest drinker. But she’s almost unflappable and an utter genius at what she does.

Chelsea. She’s known Dakota the longest, and might be older or younger; she won’t say. What’s certain is she’s the most skilled driver in the five boroughs, and absolutely rock solid when it comes to a job. She doesn’t talk about her life outside driving, and would rather talk traffic than feelings. Yuck.

Mortimer Granger. Mort, to Dakota and probably nobody else. A dedicated public servant – ha! – his job is his entire life. Keeping his cons from returning to their old ways is his mission, and if that means they end up back in prison? So be it. Distrusts any technology newer than the rotary phone.

Johnson and Smith, or Washington and Jorgensen. They’re either the bravest, most dedicated cops in the BPD, or running the deepest con anyone’s ever seen. Either way, they’ve got their hooks in Dakota – or did she have hers in them?

I can’t look at Washington without thinking of Danny Glover in Lethal Weapon. You know the line, I know you do.

Uncle sal. No leisure suits for this semi-retired made man. No, he takes his business – and the Family business – dead seriously. He loves his niece-by-choice, and though he’s secretly pleased she’s followed him into crime, he can’t help but worry that she’s going to end up over her head. So far, he hasn’t had to intervene on her behalf.

So far.

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Did you love The Vault & The Vixen? Then you should read

The Book of One by Adam Gaffen!

Angels and Demons don't mix. That's what everyone believes, at least.

In the heart of 10th Century Rome, where corruption thrives and dark forces play their wicked games, Kalili, a six-thousand-year-old demon, is handed a deceptively simple task: seduce a teenage boy named Octavianus, who possesses the potential to ascend to the papacy. But her world unravels when she discovers that an inexperienced angel named Faith has been sent to execute her, an unprecedented twist of fate that thrusts them into a battle they never anticipated.

Fueled by their unusual connection and undeniable attraction, Kalili and Faith must navigate a treacherous path, their lives hanging in the balance as they uncover the shocking truth that they are the last Thirteens, destined to settle the age-old contest between good and evil. With Heaven and Hell both seeking their destruction, they must harness newfound powers, evade sinister adversaries, and unravel secrets that could alter the very fabric of existence.

The consequences of their choices may change the course of history, as they embark on an epic journey in a gripping tale of love, destiny, and the ultimate battle between light and darkness. This is the beginning of a mesmerizing saga filled with unexpected alliances and discoveries, propelling them toward an uncertain and perilous future.

Read more at Adam Gaffen’s site.

About the Author

“You know me. Jump first, knit a parachute on the way down.” Kendra Cassidy, A Quiet Revolution (Cassidy 4)

Adam Gaffen is the author of the near-future, hopepunk science fiction universe that began with The Cassidy Chronicles. The Cassidyverse includes the epic saga of The Artemis War (which starts with The Road to the Stars), as well as The Ghosts of Tantor (the first book in the follow-up series) and two collections of stories. He's active on the convention circuit and loves talking to fans.

He's a member of the Colorado Authors League, Science Fiction Writers of America, and the Heinlein Society. He lives in Southern Colorado with his wife, five dogs, five cats, and wonders where all the time goes.

Read more at Adam Gaffen’s site.