between a violinist playing for change and an opera singer, which kept anyone from overhearing our conversation … or their own, for that matter. That opera singer was really hitting those high notes.
“How do we know the surveillance cameras aren’t capturing us?” I asked Angelo as he handed me a blueprint. “I’d like to keep my face off of the MTA radar tonight.”
“Someone’s running interference tonight,” Angelo said. “We have approximately three minutes before that camera”—he gestured to one just past my head—“goes back online. Now this,” he said, patting the blueprint, “is Dominic’s house. Do you have it?”
I stared at it hard for fifteen seconds. “Yep.”
“Wonderful.” Angelo tucked it back into his jacket. I swear, his jackets were like Mary Poppins’s carpetbag. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he produced a hairless cat and a hat rack from his inside pocket.
“Some things to know,” Angelo continued. “There is a security code, but we don’t know it.”
“Excellent news,” I drawled.
“You’ll have one minute to crack the code before the alarm goes off. If it does go off and we can’t infiltrate it and stop the police, you’ll have five minutes before they arrive and fifteen before Dominic shows up.”
“Good thing I enjoy a challenge. Do we have any idea what the security password is?”
“It changes daily.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
You’re fine
, I told myself.
You’re the best. You can do this.
“Don’t worry, my love,” Angelo said, reading my mind. “You are the best in this business, and everyone knows it.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” I said. “
Everyone
knows. Including our enemies.”
“Ah, yes, but it keeps them on their toes.” Angelo gave me a wink and patted my shoulder. “Always better to chase than be chased.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Let me know when you’re out,” Angelo said. “And don’t worry, darling. You’re like a cat. You always seem to land on your feet.”
That was true, but Angelo was missing the bigger point: in order for the cat to land, it first had to free-fall.
I didn’t say anything, though, just shook my hands and hopped up and down, a player ready to take the field. I had missed this adenaline rush, the warm sensation under my skin, bringing every sense into hyperalert mode. The opera singer was nearly deafening by now. I could feel the subway’s rumble under my feet, the humid subterranean air blowing against my skin. It felt like coming home, and I hadn’t realized until that moment just how homesick I had been.
Angelo smiled to see me. “It’s lovely to have you back,” he said.
“Oh, I never left,” I told him, grinning so wide that I felt it in my cheekbones. “Put me in, Coach. I’m ready to crush them.”
Chapter 13
Pomander Walk was on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a tiny alley between Ninety-Fourth and Ninety-Fifth Streets. If you weren’t looking for it, you could walk right past it. It resembled a little London side street, Tudor-style homes painted in bright colors, surrounded by actual gas lamps and locked security gates. I could see why Dominic had chosen to meet with his mistresses here. Angelo hadn’t said whether or not he was British, but you wouldn’t have to be an Englishman to appreciate reinforced security on a hidden alley if you were hiding something else, something much bigger than a mistress.
The street was a little busy, nothing too unusual for a Friday night in Manhattan. It didn’t matter, though, I knew I could get that lock picked open without anyone noticing. That’s the beauty of working in New York: no one will acknowledge anything you do. If I had tried to open that lock with a blowtorch while wearing a Big Bird costume, people would have kept walking by. (Not that I would everdo that. All those feathers near an open flame? I’d be flambéed in ten seconds and definitely earn top ranking in the Worst Spy Ever
“How do we know the surveillance cameras aren’t capturing us?” I asked Angelo as he handed me a blueprint. “I’d like to keep my face off of the MTA radar tonight.”
“Someone’s running interference tonight,” Angelo said. “We have approximately three minutes before that camera”—he gestured to one just past my head—“goes back online. Now this,” he said, patting the blueprint, “is Dominic’s house. Do you have it?”
I stared at it hard for fifteen seconds. “Yep.”
“Wonderful.” Angelo tucked it back into his jacket. I swear, his jackets were like Mary Poppins’s carpetbag. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he produced a hairless cat and a hat rack from his inside pocket.
“Some things to know,” Angelo continued. “There is a security code, but we don’t know it.”
“Excellent news,” I drawled.
“You’ll have one minute to crack the code before the alarm goes off. If it does go off and we can’t infiltrate it and stop the police, you’ll have five minutes before they arrive and fifteen before Dominic shows up.”
“Good thing I enjoy a challenge. Do we have any idea what the security password is?”
“It changes daily.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
You’re fine
, I told myself.
You’re the best. You can do this.
“Don’t worry, my love,” Angelo said, reading my mind. “You are the best in this business, and everyone knows it.”
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” I said. “
Everyone
knows. Including our enemies.”
“Ah, yes, but it keeps them on their toes.” Angelo gave me a wink and patted my shoulder. “Always better to chase than be chased.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Let me know when you’re out,” Angelo said. “And don’t worry, darling. You’re like a cat. You always seem to land on your feet.”
That was true, but Angelo was missing the bigger point: in order for the cat to land, it first had to free-fall.
I didn’t say anything, though, just shook my hands and hopped up and down, a player ready to take the field. I had missed this adenaline rush, the warm sensation under my skin, bringing every sense into hyperalert mode. The opera singer was nearly deafening by now. I could feel the subway’s rumble under my feet, the humid subterranean air blowing against my skin. It felt like coming home, and I hadn’t realized until that moment just how homesick I had been.
Angelo smiled to see me. “It’s lovely to have you back,” he said.
“Oh, I never left,” I told him, grinning so wide that I felt it in my cheekbones. “Put me in, Coach. I’m ready to crush them.”
Chapter 13
Pomander Walk was on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, a tiny alley between Ninety-Fourth and Ninety-Fifth Streets. If you weren’t looking for it, you could walk right past it. It resembled a little London side street, Tudor-style homes painted in bright colors, surrounded by actual gas lamps and locked security gates. I could see why Dominic had chosen to meet with his mistresses here. Angelo hadn’t said whether or not he was British, but you wouldn’t have to be an Englishman to appreciate reinforced security on a hidden alley if you were hiding something else, something much bigger than a mistress.
The street was a little busy, nothing too unusual for a Friday night in Manhattan. It didn’t matter, though, I knew I could get that lock picked open without anyone noticing. That’s the beauty of working in New York: no one will acknowledge anything you do. If I had tried to open that lock with a blowtorch while wearing a Big Bird costume, people would have kept walking by. (Not that I would everdo that. All those feathers near an open flame? I’d be flambéed in ten seconds and definitely earn top ranking in the Worst Spy Ever
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