Page 53 of Bad Attitude
Dario laughs and slaps his back. “All right, Jarhead,” he says to me. “Next target is yours. Are you going to let some Limey show us up?”
Yes. Yes, I am. Imightbe able to out-shoot Cole, but that would tip my hand too much. I left the Marines at twenty-two—ten years ago—and there’s no need to show my more recent FBI training.
I manage a decent ten-inch grouping into the target, enough to earn a nod from Cole but garner no suspicion. Ten years of rust, as far as they’re concerned, while every round I pulled felt like adeliberate betrayal of my training.
“Fucking Brits,” Dario laments, then shakes his head at Cole. “It’s a good thing you guys only have an army the size of Wyoming’s.”
Renner’s in the Art District unit when I get there on Wednesday morning, talking to Tasha across the table.
He greets me with a nod, which I return, then walk past him to get a coffee.
My pulse picks up. This might be the chance I need to get some more intelligence on the leader of this crew, enough to keep Mercer off my back.
“How did you get on in San Fran?” I ask casually, as I walk back in and take a seat on the sofa.
“Well enough,” he says, regarding me with those cold green eyes. “You’ll get paid, but it’ll be another week before we see it all.”
I wave it off. “I’m not in a rush. I know you’re good for it.” I take a sip of coffee, then ask the question he would expect. “What was the total haul?”
“About nine hundred grand raw—rings, necklaces, some investment Rolexes, which are worth half that after they’re fenced. But we got lucky on a hundred grand of bearer bonds. So the total is half a mill, of which your share is twenty grand.”
“That’s what, four percent?” I sniff. “There’re seven of us. How does that work?”
“It’s an even split, after costs and budget for future jobs.” He tilts his head. “Is that a problem?”
“Not at all.” I toast him with my coffee cup. “Future jobs work for me.”
“Good. Because we’re looking at another.”
I let my eyebrows come up. “So soon?”
“Yeah.” His gaze is steady, assessing me as much as I’m assessing him. “This one was mostly to get the kit we need for something else I’m planning, and we’re still short.”
“Really?” I say. “That sounds like a big job.”
“It is. That scare you off?”
I take my time replying. “Depends what you’re pulling,” I say at last, knowing he won’t give me any details and not making the mistake of asking for them. “If the plan is thorough and covers what it needs to—sure, I’m in.”
Renner nods. “Good. In the interim, we’re meeting this Friday to discuss the next job.”
“Will Raven be there?” I ask, before I can stop myself.
Fuck, Declan. Get your head on your goddamn job.
Renner seems to still, and his gaze goes even colder. Tasha glances away. “You need to know she’s already been hurt more times than I’m prepared to tolerate,” he says in his flat voice. “Fuck with her, and I won’t hesitate to burn you.”
This is the third time someone in the crew has threatened me while protecting Genesis, but it’s an opportunity as a much as a threat.
She’s nothing more than a tool,I remind myself.
“Cole said the same thing,” I reply, then nod to Tasha. “As did you, in your own way.” I meet Renner’s gaze. “My relationship with her is none of your business, but I will say this: hurting her is far from my intentions.”
“Too late,” Tasha mutters.
“That was a mistake,” I respond sharply, knowing she’s right and hating it. As much for the truth of it as for the damage it does my relations with them. “I told you already.”
She shrugs. “Just saying it like it is.”
