The Nightmare Thief

“It was the least I could do.” He paused. “Is that your way of reminding me that none of us has unlimited time?”

“You know what it’s like to live a suddenly changed life. I appreciate that too.”

Jo had become a young widow in the time it took to blow out a match. She knew all about being stared at. About being That Girl. That Guy. The one who lost . . . the ability to walk. A lover. The future that they’d never have. Jesse’s friendship, the fact that he understood what she had gone through, meant a lot to her.

He stared at the water. “This cut is deep.”

“When did wounds ever stop you? What did you tell me once?” His smile was thin. “When you can’t change a situation, and can’t get out of it, you have to go forward. It’s a fucking fact of life.”

“I tattooed that statement on my rear end. Thanks for confirming I got the wording right.”

His smile turned wry. “You and Evan are definitely going to hit it off.” He laughed and shook his head.

Gabe called to them. “Guys, I need help on defense. Sophie’s killing me here.”

They headed back toward the basketball court. Sophie was dribbling the ball, bobbing and weaving in a circle around him. Her laugh sounded silvery.

Jo said, “I also remember the second half of that statement, Jesse.”

“The important thing is not to be afraid. Even when you know what’s coming.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

Chapter 3 (#u56a388bd-0a2b-5c12-a4f7-b9292ffe3811)

Friday, October 12

Limo didn’t begin to cover it. They drove south down 101 in a sick beast of a vehicle: a stretch Hummer, black with honest-to-God flames painted on the sides. As if Autumn truly were the queen of a trashy, flashy drug cartel and this was her monster ride. She stretched on the plush bench seat and watched San Francisco rush by.

Dustin pulled a bottle of champagne from the Hummer’s mini-fridge. “Time to toast the birthday girl.”

Lark Sobieski shook her head. “Not a good idea. We need to stay sharp.”

Lark’s punkish black hair swooped over one eye, nearly covering her glasses. Her ouroburos tattoo rolled over the pudge of baby fat above the top of her jeans. The dragon swallowing its own tail was red and sumptuous against her brown skin.

Dustin unwrapped gold foil from around the cork. “Maybe you need to stay sharp. But this is how the narcotraficantes do it down in Juarez.”

Grinning, he shook the bottle and popped the cork. It ricocheted off the driver’s headrest.

Lark ducked. “Careful.”

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. “Watch it, bucko.”

Dustin laughed. “I don’t own this ride. It wrecks, Edge Adventures pays.”

He tilted the gushing bottle to his lips. Champagne poured across his chin. He wiped it off and made a face at the label: VEUVE CLICQUOT.

“Not half as good as the stuff my dad serves on his boat. But Edge didn’t stock Colt Forty-five”—he raised his voice at the driver—“so it’ll have to do.”

He held out the bottle to his housemate. Noah Holloway put up his hands.

“I work for the G. No drinking on duty.”

Noah had a sunny smile and laid-back manner. From across the limo, Lark admired his bed-head hair and uncomplicated surfer’s calm. She seemed unaware that everybody could see her cheeks flush.

Peyton Mackie grabbed the bottle. “I’ll drink on duty. Under-cover agents have to practice holding their booze.” She keeled back on the seat and coughed down a huge swallow.

Laughing, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “And speaking of law enforcement . . .” She raised her hand like a gun, two fingers for the barrel, thumb cocked. “Got you in my sights, Reiniger.”

“Screw you, Fed,” Autumn said.

Peyton’s blond hair slid over her shoulder. She was wearing raspberry velour Juicy Couture track bottoms and a pink cami. She made a ridiculous federal agent.

Autumn snapped her fingers. “Sobieski. Take down Agent Pretty-in-Pink.”

Lark sighted at Peyton down the length of her arm, as if it were a sniper rifle. “Pow. You’ve got no head, Fed.”

Peyton wilted, eyes crossed, tongue hanging out. Lark blew on her fingers.

Autumn ran her hands across the crushed red velvet of the bench seat. The limo had been a surprise, a definite five-star stunner. When her doorbell rang, she’d found a man in sunglasses and a black Edge Adventures baseball cap on the porch.

“I’m the game runner. The clock is now ticking on your scenario,” he said.

She paused, bemused. “We still have an hour to drive to the rendezvous point.”

“Not anymore. Your father sent me.”

Now her stomach fluttered. Her dad had told Edge to pick her up because he didn’t trust her to arrive at the crime spree on time. The game runner, Kyle, was at the wheel of the limo, eyeing her and her friends in the mirror from behind his shades.

Peyton grabbed the champagne bottle and crawled along the bench seat to Cody Grier. She curled herself around him. “Share.”

Grier’s eyes widened in surprise. “The bottle? You trying to bribe me to turn against the syndicate?”

In honor of playing Autumn’s consigliere, Grier had come dressed like a member of the Rat Pack. He adjusted his straw trilby and pulled Peyton against his side.

Lark continued to gaze at Noah, until she sensed Autumn watching. She turned to the window.

“Keeping an eye on the opposition,” she said, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“Good. Tell me if anybody follows us.” Outside, beyond the traffic, Autumn saw weeds and run-down wooden houses slumped against one another by the freeway. Her stomach tightened. “I’m serious about that.”

Lark gave her a funny look. “What’s wrong?”

Autumn gestured at rusting trash cans and busted cars parked on a crumbling hillside. “This is not five-star.”

Get me to the Mandarin Oriental, she thought. Edge had reserved a cluster of rooms at the end of a hall, to emulate a summit being held by a crime syndicate. And all at once she didn’t want to be stuck at the end of a hall. Cornered.

“Autumn?” Lark said.