Page 156 of Smoke Screen
He spun the dial again. Spin, spin, spin.
“Seventeen.”
Maddy jotted the number, waited for the next.
“Nine.”
Spin, spin, spin.
Eyes glued to the monitor, a noise came from Zeke’s throat. “Come on,” he muttered as he adjusted the scope again.
Knees barking from squatting, Phin was reminded he had no patience for complications.
“There,” Zeke said, jerking his head. “Twenty-eight.”
He let go of the scope and sat back on his haunches, rolling his shoulders before reaching for the dial again.
Phin stood, stretching his legs and Zeke peered up at Maddy. “Read that back to me. Please.”
“Forty-eight.”
He spun the dial left a few times and then to the right a few times more to clear it before spinning counterclockwise to forty-eight.
They continued the process with Maddy reading each digit and Zeke working the dial.
After the last number, he reached for the safe handle, gave it a twist and—boom—opened it.
Transfixed,Maddy stood, watching Zeke pull open the safe door.
Holy smokes, he’d just done that. Broken into a safe. Right in front of her.
How did people learn to do this stuff? Was there some master class for safecracking?
She wasn’t sure if she should be horrified or wildly impressed. Maybe a bit of both.
Was there anything these men couldn’t do?
Phin bent low, peering inside the safe before standing again. He pointed at the safe. “Take a look.”
Stepping up, Maddy peeped in and her pulse picked up, thumping against her skin. Velvet bags in assorted colors sat stacked on top of each other in a tumbled mess.
Whether the transport had left them thrown about or the thieves just didn’t care to store them properly, Maddy couldn’t know.
Please don’t let them be damaged.
She looked back at Phin, then to Zeke as she gestured to the contents. “May I?”
“Sure,” Zeke said.
She lifted one of the bags, working open the drawstring and peeking inside.
Diamond necklace. She blew out a breath, forced herself to take it one step at a time because it might not bethediamond necklace.
Gloves.
Gently, she set the bag on top of the safe. “Don’t touch that. Please. I need to grab gloves. There’s some on the shelf.”
She jogged the ten yards to the shelves near the front door where she’d stored everything from cotton gloves to plastic bags and clips. Each pair of gloves had been secured in a sealed freezer bag, ensuring their cleanliness. When it came to handling the jewels, she donned a clean pair each time to avoid any transfer of dirt or skin oil.
