Page 51 of Broken Mercy
“In theory, yes.”
“If you sayin theoryagain, I’m going to dump the rest of your coffee on your face. Weareworking together, and it’d be nice if I knew a few things so I can actually help you.”
His mouth flattens into a straight line. “What if I don’t want that?”
“You don't want me involved at all, but you might as well get some benefit from the arrangement.”
“I’m benefiting enough already.” His eyes rake down my body and end up on his plate. “Fantastic breakfast, by the way.”
I fight back the heat rising in my cheeks. “Teach me something simple. Start small. I might never have to use it?—“
“You won’t.”
“But it would be good to know anyway.”
“Do you want me to turn you into a master thief?” He stands, bringing his plate into the kitchen. I go to take it, but he slips around me gracefully, opening the dishwasher and clearing his own mess. “You want to learn how to break into a bank vault?”
“I was thinking maybe we could start with lock picking. That’s something you could teach, right?”
“You won’t need that.”
“Says who? Look, I get it, I know what you were doing at that bar. You were using me like a distraction. You wanted to see if I could hold that bartender’s attention.”
His expression darkens at the memory. “You did well. A little too well.”
“And you alreadypunishedme enough.”
“I don’t know. Maybe not.”
“Show me something. Come on, what else are you doing today?”
He glances over toward the backpack. It’s quick but noticeable and he immediately pretends like he hadn’t. I’m about to ask what he’s got in there when he bumps into me as he walks past.
“There’s nothing I can teach you.”
“Don’t be a dick,” I say, rubbing my arm. “You don’t need to be a jerk.”
“You think that’s all I am?” He turns and holds something up. I take a second to realize it’s my phone.
“How the hell!” I check my pocket. Sure enough, empty. “You robbed me.”
“I pulled off a classic bump. Pickpockets learn that shit when they’re children.” He holds the phone out but snatches it back before I can take it. “I’ll teach you something simple, because you’re right, you might be more useful if you have some skills to fall back on.”
“Great. Now give me my phone.”
“No.” He slips it into the pocket of his sweats. “Take it from me.”
“How?”
“Walk past. The bump is the distraction. You want me paying more attention to your shoulder than to your hand. You knock me slightly, and the physical contact masks your fingers sliding into my pocket. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll give it a try, but you know it’s coming.”
“Doesn’t matter. Come on, bump me.”
That sounds oddly erotic, but this is what I wanted, right? It’s a training exercise with real world applications. I walk over, trying to stay confident, but already feeling my heart begin to race.
It’s awkward when I ram into him. I try to snatch my fingers into his hip pocket, but I hit too hard and go careening to the side with a curse. His smirk is infuriating.
