She didn’t move, for some reason reluctant to end the moment and leave Damon’s embrace. It was so pleasant to just lie there and pretend they had nothing more urgent to do than make love again.
Pure insanity, of course.
Don’t go imagining things that aren’t there, Aurora diScipio.
This was supposed to be a straightforward business deal. It wouldn’t be wise to get her heart mixed up with her hormones at this late a date.
But what would it hurt to snuggle a little longer? To luxuriate in this little intimacy?
The choice became moot.
Suddenly, Rory realized Damon was awake, though there was no change to his breathing. Temptation stood no chance against professional pride. She didn’t want him to think she was goldbricking.
“Time to get up.” She slipped out of his arms quickly, escaping to the bathroom before he could do more than grunt, to put off revisiting yesterday’s argument until she’d talked some sense into herself. Knowing him, she hadn’t heard the last of it. And in her current frame of mind, she’d read all sorts of caring and protectiveness in his insistence.
Pure insanity.
Leaning against the wall, Damon crossed his arms and gave Rory his best level stare. “I really think I should go with you tonight.”
“No, you won’t, and that’s final.” Not bothering to meet his gaze, she retracted the prongs of her open grapnel, testing the release mechanism.
He glared at her in frustration. She made him crazy! “You need backup.”
“You’re my partner on this job, not my babysitter. I don’t need you to hold my hand.” This time she raised her head to spear him with an obdurate look.
“Not babysitter. Backup,” Damon repeated, the unwonted intensity of his concern leaking into his voice.
“Well, you should have thought of that weeks ago,” Rory retorted—rather unfairly, to his thinking. Weeks ago, he wouldn’t have given her solo jaunt into Karadzic’s base a second thought! “I don’t have the time to give you a crash course in roof-walking. And, anyway, you have your part to play in this production.”
She turned back to her equipment, clearly considering the argument over. “If you want to make yourself useful, keep an eye on what’s going on in the fortress.” Without looking at him, she jerked her pointed chin at her cell phone, which lay open on the bed with its display running video.
He stared at Rory in disbelief at her cavalier dismissal. Shooed off like some . . . irritating gnat. He sighed inwardly. She might have a point. He was hovering as though she were a newbie off on her first solo mission—which technically it was. But why hire a master thief if he was going to micromanage the operation?
Choking down his concerns, Damon picked up the indicated device and fast-forwarded through hours of video. He ignored the whiff of relief coming from her to concentrate on what he was seeing. “No change. It’s still there.”
“That’s good.” She finished checking her equipment and began assembling what she needed for the night. Climbing ropes, night optics, penlight, various lock picks, electronic black boxes, and metal bars of uncertain purpose . . .
His brows rose reflexively when a large gray block emerged from her bag. "C-4?”
“Just in case.” Rory slid the explosive—rather more than what seemed reasonable—into a separate pocket of the small, black rucksack she used on her midnight jaunts.
Damon swallowed his objections. Who was he to tell a master thief how to do her job? Stealth might be their best chance at stealing the nuke, but with the auction set for tomorrow, there’d be no second chances. “And if you have to use it?”
“Grab the booty and run like hell.” The corner of her mouth quirked.
“I still think you ought to have backup.”
Radiating intense concentration leavened by amusement that told him more than anything else that her mind was already on the coming theft, and not on his concerns, Rory didn’t pause in her packing. “You’ll do me more good setting up an effective distraction.”
He couldn’t argue with that, though he dearly wanted to.
Rory adjusted the fit of her skin suit, her muscles quivering with built-up tension. This was it. End game. Fighting down the shakes, she put the final touch to her disguise, Changing her skin tone to a darker hue.
Damon’s reflection joined hers in the bathroom mirror, his face appearing much lighter in contrast. “Damn, I still can’t get over how you do that.”
The murmured comment gave Rory a twinge of concern. “Don’t like it?”
“I wouldn’t say that. What man hasn’t dreamed of having a harem at his beck and call?” His chiseled lips curved in a reminiscent smile, the soft light in his eyes easing her heart.
She raised a sardonic brow at his word choice. Probably staying in character but . . . “
Beck and call
being the operative term,” she scoffed. “You would know.”
He chuckled, the deep, lazy sound barely audible but stirring a lightness in her belly like champagne bubbles fizzing. “Nah, it’s definitely
harem
.”
Dismissing the idle questions he raised, Rory picked up the backpack at her feet and performed a final check to make sure she had everything she might need. Electronics, burglary tools including plastique, climbing gear, tool belt. She was good to go. Everything else was in her head. “All set. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Catching her lapels, Damon pulled her close and took her mouth urgently, surprising her with a heated kiss that conveyed a message she wasn’t certain he meant to convey. He released her with gratifying reluctance. “Be careful.”
She licked her lips, tasting coffee and Damon. How to answer that?
Thankfully, familiar excitement stirred now that the final phase of the job was in motion. The zest was still there. Rory gave him a cocky grin. “Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rory ran lightly, quickly, along the coping-bricks, the exercise keeping her warm in the cold night air despite a fitful breeze. The nights she’d spent learning the best overhead routes to Karadzic’s fortress now paid off, making the rooftops a virtual highway for her.
Normally, she wouldn’t risk silhouetting herself against the skyline, but although the fat crescent moon was still up, thick clouds gathering around the mountaintops blocked its light, and soon even that little bit of illumination would be gone. In the interest of time, since she had to be in place to take advantage of Damon’s diversion, she ran.
Traversing the darkness at speed didn’t bother her. The games she’d played when first Lucas, then Felix, had taken her roof-walking had seen to that. The need to maintain her balance on the rounded tiles was just another game that brought a smile to her face.
An icy blast of air slammed into Rory as she descended a wall, shoving her into coarse bricks and snapping her out of complacency. Grateful for the tough material of her skin suit, she clung to the wall, digging her fingers into its narrow crevices for traction, while she studied the dark sky. The streaming clouds looked like they were moving faster. Possibly a storm brewing.
Damn.
Wind was one thing; rain was something else altogether. She didn’t need that complication on this night of nights when timing was everything. Patting her tool belt automatically, she checked her watch. There was still more than an hour to go, but she didn’t like the look of the weather. Best she got into position.
Conscious of the minutes ticking away, Damon lurked in the shadows of a pub filled with Karadzic’s out-of-town guests, nursing a beer. Low, dark, chilly, the atmosphere fit his mood and his thoughts. Timing and the difficulties of synchronization were at the top of his mind as he watched fellow predators wordlessly jostle for dominance. He’d never been in a position to have to coordinate attacks before, and the many random factors that could throw a wrench into the works worried him now that he had Rory to consider.
The arms dealer was supposed to make an appearance tonight, which accounted for the large pool of targets present, here if only to keep track of their competition. Suspicion and aggression were running high—and KFOR distinctly absent. But so far the various terrorists were keeping themselves and their bodyguards in hand.
Their control didn’t bode well for Damon’s part of the plan. If he didn’t get a riot started soon, his master thief would encounter alert security when she went in.
Hardly any streetlight penetrated the shadows where Rory waited, crouched in a back alley a few buildings away from Karadzic’s fortress. The gathering storm only contributed to the darkness—its scudding clouds reflected little and obscured the setting moon. Perfect for her purposes.
She checked the time again, then studied the weather, trying to gauge wind speeds. The storm was coming on faster, which meant she’d have to make her move earlier than planned— possibly even before Damon’s diversion started.
Rory gritted her teeth, cursing silently. The fitful breeze was strengthening, the sudden gusts forerunners of what promised to be a powerful storm. She could only hope the rain would hold off until she was inside; dripping water on Karadzic’s floors wouldn’t be conducive to stealth.
A chill ran up her spine as she set off, a shiver of foreboding she really could have done without. Hopefully, it was just her gut’s reaction to relying on a partner.
Crouched on all fours, Rory picked her way across a low roof, careful to spread her weight between her hands and feet. The wind helped muffle any noise, though it also made balance on the rough tiles more chancy. But that couldn’t be helped and she didn’t waste time bemoaning that pesky detail.
Cigarette smoke slashed past her nostrils, shredded by the wind almost before she smelled it. Freezing in position, she eased her IR goggles off her forehead and over her eyes to scrutinize her surroundings, searching for its source. A soft glow on the rooftop of Karadzic’s fortress suggested a smoker. As she watched, he was joined by another man who cadged a light.
More heat signatures appeared as she made like a gargoyle: three sentries on ground level; at least five on the top roof four stories higher; someone at a second-story window, which was unexpected; and several warm bodies milling around on the streets. The guards were packing what Damon had said were AK-47s, something she’d never encountered in previous jobs.
The cadger walked on, clearly the roving guard. If he kept to schedule, he’d show up again in another hour.
Though much reduced in number, Karadzic’s security were on the ball, as she’d feared. Damon’s diversion was supposed to keep the guards’ attention down and out and away from the rooftops—but because of the storm, she was nearly an hour early.
After several minutes’ observation, Rory continued on, aiming for a dormer gablet and making glacial progress. Oozing like molasses on a cold day. Nothing to catch the eye. Not here.
Matching wits with Karadzic’s tight security had blood rushing through her veins so that her perceptions took on a crystalline clarity. Her senses sharpened until she felt as though she could see, hear, taste, smell
everything
if she concentrated hard enough. A familiar state of exaltation she got when cracking a tough system.
This time she had added incentive.
An eternity passed before she reached the meager protection of the dormer, the small ridge barely shielding her from the guards’ line of sight.
A sudden gust and a spattering of rain told Rory she’d run out of time. She had to go in now—or risk dripping inside later. The distraction alone of keeping water off her electronics wasn’t worth the added safety of waiting.
Tapping the appropriate commands on her cell phone, she initiated the video loop that would blind the exterior cameras to her approach. She smiled behind her ski mask when Karadzic’s security reported all-clear. Now, all she had to worry about was the human factor.
Rory crossed to the next roof, now physically on Karadzic’s home ground and in full view of his guards. Fifteen feet to the wall of the second story of the fortress. Fortunately, someone looking down from the roof would get light in their eyes. But if anyone took the time to really look, she’d be seen.
She crawled slowly, her chest inches from the rough tiles. Only the bricks existed. The rising wind was nothing. The guards were only a minor irritant, something tracked out of the corners of her eyes.
Luck was on her side, allowing her to cross the open space undetected, until she gained the dubious security of the wall. With her back to the wall, she pulled out her cell phone to double-check the activity on the second floor while she’d been roof-walking. The security video showed no change. No one was in the corridor and—more important—no one had entered the office behind her.
Of course, the situation could change at any time.
Slipping her phone back into her tool belt, Rory jimmied a window open, conscious that the adjacent room was occupied.
Karadzic was something of a technophobe, depending on his reputation and hired guns to secure the premises. His reliance on manpower made entry a breeze since the windows weren’t alarmed. However, that didn’t mean there weren’t more primitive dangers to confound an overconfident thief.
An electronic pass of the empty office and a careful follow-up scan with IR goggles and her own Mark One eyeballs showed that her info had been dead-on: no sensors, not even an infrared tangle field to thread. For all his dealings in high-end weaponry, the arms dealer seemed as little removed from the last century as his fortress. However, she didn’t encounter any false floors or trip wires, either.
She went in, then relieved the external cameras of their blindness. No point in risking detection, especially when the weather was shifting.
Crossing to the door, Rory checked the system to make sure the corridor outside was still clear, then triggered a similar loop to blind the first set of a series of interior cameras that covered her route. Surveillance had shown her the general location where Karadzic stashed the nuke: a suite of rooms in the basement. From the second floor, she had to get to the target area unseen. The loop would give her a minute’s protection to negotiate the zones of each set, with some overlap between multiple zones to allow for speed or delays.