Connor could feel his nerves tightening the muscles in his neck as he approached the condominium building. He felt like he had been in fifth gear since he woke up. The nervous energy that was making his brain work overtime to put a plan in motion had been ratcheted up even higher when he found the AirTag, and that would not serve him well.

  He needed to slow down. Be calm.

  Calm, cool, and collected, he thought as he parked in a metered spot a block away from the building. If that was not what people saw when he stepped into the lobby, they might take notice—and not in a good way.

  Hey, remember that twitchy guy who showed up yesterday? Maybe he had something to do with the robbery.

  The front of the building was made entirely of glass. On the other side of it, Connor saw a lobby that looked exactly like it had in the pictures online: a leather seating area, a marble desk with a receptionist behind it, and modern chandeliers hanging overhead.

  Connor reached for the door and, as he did, a doorman opened it from the other side.

  “Welcome to the Pearlman,” the doorman said, blocking the entrance. He looked Connor up and down, perhaps judging the tee shirt and jeans he was wearing. “Are you here to see someone?”

  Connor mustered up a look of disdain. “I’m here to buy a condo,” he said as confidently as he could. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  The trick worked.

  Once the doorman stepped out of the way, Connor meandered his way through the lobby, pretending to take it all in. In actuality, he was looking for security cameras. He counted four in total, discreetly positioned behind tinted glass canisters along the ceiling. Between them, they appeared to cover every inch of floor space.

  Connor decided he could safely assume the rest of the building was covered, as well.

  He let his gaze fall back to the doorman and frowned. “It’s not as nice as I was expecting.”

  The doorman looked insulted, which was exactly what Connor wanted. Only a rich, pretentious asshole would talk like that, and rich, pretentious assholes did not break into condos.

  Connor turned and headed straight for the front desk. As he did, he looked around once more, this time for the restrooms, and saw a sign directing him to an alcove beyond the elevators.

  The receptionist smiled at him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, now giving all of his attention to her. “I was wondering if you have any units for sale.”

  “We have a few. They are listed with Pembroke and Associates.”

  “Great. If I gave you my email address, could you send me over their information?”

  “Sure.”

  Connor gave her an email address he had set up using Gmail on his phone before coming inside.

  The receptionist tapped at her keyboard for a minute or so. “Done.”

  Connor thanked her and left. This time, he noticed, the doorman did not bother to open the door.

  CHAPTER 40

  When Connor returned to his apartment building, he stopped by Rebecca’s to ask a favor.

  “I thought I wasn’t going to see you until Friday,” she said with a smile.

  Then he told her what he wanted, and the smile faded. “More secret private investigator stuff?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “All right, I’ll help you. But I want to know what all this is about when you’re done.”

  “I’ll tell you what I can. When can it be ready?”

  She shrugged. “Six o’clock.”

  “Great. I’ll stop by later and pick it up.”

  Once again, he couldn’t decide whether he should kiss her, so once again, he did not.

  When he reached his apartment, he found Dylan sitting cross-legged on the wooden floor, staring at a safe that was about three feet on all sides. “You sure that’s it?”

  Olin, who was sitting on the floor beside her, nodded toward the dining room table. “Your phone’s over there.” He was obviously referring to the burner, since Connor’s phone was in his pocket.

  “What do you mean?” Dylan snapped, circling back to Connor’s question. “Of course I’m sure.”

  “I guess I expected something bigger.”

  “If the kidnapper’s right about what’s in this thing, Drake wouldn’t need a lot of space. You could carry over one hundred million dollars in bearer bonds in a briefcase if you wanted to.” Dylan’s voice had an edge to it that did not seem to match the tone of the conversation.

  “Did you find an AirTag on your car?” Connor asked her.

  “Just where you said it would be.”

  Connor looked at Olin. “What about you? Did you check your car?”

  “When we got back,” Olin said.

  “And?”

  Olin nodded.

  “Good.”

  “I still think we should just pry those things off,” Dylan said.

  “I told you. We’re going to be able to use them to our advantage.”

  “How?”

  Connor pulled an AirTag of his own from his pocket and sat down. “I bought it while I was out,” he said. Then he explained his plan, ending with the email he had received from the receptionist at the Pearlman, the IP address he would be able to get from it, and the security cameras mounted throughout the lobby.

  “You think that’s going to work?” Olin said when he was done.

  “You’re the most cautious one here. Do you?”

  Olin took a moment to consider the plan, perhaps scrutinizing it in ways he had not when Connor had explained it. Eventually, he nodded and said, “Yeah. I think it will.”

  Connor already had a good feeling about his plan, but he knew that if Olin bought into it, it was as good as it could be. Not that there weren’t risks. There were plenty of them. But there was no way to rob a unit in the Pearlman without taking some risks.

  “Of course, a lot of this is riding on you, Dylan. Do you think you can get us past that safe or not?”

  She took a deep breath. “Maybe. Not the way I thought I could, though. There’s no way I’m going to be able to find my way to the combination by touch alone. At least not quickly.”

  “That safe might not be big, but it’s formidable,” Olin said.

  Dylan looked at the time on her phone. “Speaking of which, I need to go. I found someone online who can get me what I need to give us a shot. I’m supposed to meet him in thirty minutes.”

  By “online,” Connor assumed Dylan meant the dark web. After all, where else would she find someone who would sell her the tools to crack a safe?

  She stood up. “Besides, sounds like you’ve got some work of your own to do while I’m gone.”

  Connor did, indeed. He moved from the floor to the table, where his laptop was still sitting. Olin, who was nothing but a spectator so far in this crime, moved with him.

  CHAPTER 41

  Connor hardly slept that night, even with the IEN news anchor monotonously droning on in the background. He kept replaying the plan in his head. There were no guarantees this was going to work. Dylan still had not managed to break into the safe, and she had damaged it to the point that there was no longer a reason to keep trying. He would just have to hope that she was right when she said that, although she hadn’t done it, she had figured out how.

  And that wasn’t the only new obstacle they had encountered.

  Still, they only had today to pull this off. They did not want to take the risk that the kidnapper might decide to cut his losses if they postponed since they all knew what that might mean.

  Dylan and Olin were supposed to show up at 11 a.m. True to form, Olin arrived three minutes early. Also true to form, Dylan arrived twenty minutes late. It did not look like they had slept any better than Connor.

  They sat around the dining room table, drinking coffee and talking through the plan one last time. Then Connor called Detective Pierce on the off chance the photo on the news had produced a lead. Since it had not, he logged into his laptop, reviewed with Olin what he would need to do, and left with Dylan.

  They took Connor’s car to the Pearlman, where Connor once again parked on the street. He looked at the time on his burner. 11:57 a.m.

  Dylan waited in the car, a large backpack by her feet, and Connor walked the last block to the lobby entrance. The same doorman was there. This time, he must have known Connor had an appointment, because he opened the door and stood aside without saying a word. Although his expression said plenty.

  Connor barely acknowledged him as he stepped inside. He looked around a space that seemed as vast and impressive as the first time he had seen it. The only person within sight besides the doorman and the receptionist was a woman sitting in a chair to his left. She was wearing a gray and white suit and was staring intently at something on her phone.

  Connor figured she must be Leslie Shade, the real estate agent from Pembroke and Associates who represented the units in this building.

  “Mrs. Shade?”

  Leslie looked up from her phone. Now that Connor could see her straight on, he could tell she looked exactly like she did online. Long black hair hung to her shoulders. A sharp jawline. Sculpted nose. Makeup so carefully applied it almost looked painted on.

  “Mr. Tucker?” she asked.

  “Tucker” matched the surname on the fake email address Connor had given the receptionist yesterday, and he had decided he should stick with it. A lot was going to happen before Connor left the Pearlman. The fewer clues he could leave behind that he had been here, the better.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Connor said.

  A disarming smile stretched across her face. She stood up and shook Connor’s hand. There was a bit of small talk about why Connor wanted to move in and what appealed to him about the Pearlman. Connor responded with answers that were specific enough to sound convincing but did not open up a lot of avenues for follow-up questions.

  Then Leslie held out a hand, directing Connor to the elevator.

  The condominium was what Connor expected it to be. Polished hardwood floors, marble countertops in the kitchen and bathroom, and stainless steel appliances. “All of it top of the line,” Leslie pointed out as she placed her purse on the small wooden table by the door.

  Connor doubted anyone would dispute that. Still, he would be hard-pressed to say it was worth the price tag.

  Halfway through the tour, they reached the master bedroom. The space was staged with a massive canopy bed that looked like it might once have belonged to a king and a pair of matching side tables.

  Leslie made sure to point out the view, told him the windows faced north so he would not have to deal with direct sunlight in the morning or the evening, and asked if he had any questions.

  He shook his head, and Leslie turned to step back into the hall.

  Throughout the tour so far, she had ushered him into and out of rooms ahead of her, meaning he was always within her line of sight. This, he realized, might be his only opportunity to do the single most important thing he needed to do before he left the apartment.

  Connor pulled the small black device Rebecca had made for him from his inside jacket pocket and tossed it behind the bedroom door. Since this was the only room with carpet he had seen so far, he did not have to worry about it making any noise when it landed.

  Connor checked the clock on his burner when he finished the tour. 12:23. He realized he was fixating on the time in a way that didn’t matter yet, but he still couldn’t help himself. Perhaps because soon it would matter a great deal.

  “So, what do you think?” Leslie asked now that they were back in the living room.

  “It’s nice.” Connor glanced once more around the space. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Well, don’t take too long,” Leslie said, as she led him to the door. “These condos go fast.”

  He smiled. “I’m sure they do.” Then, on the way out, Connor discreetly reached into his jacket pocket again, found the second item Rebecca had given him, and pushed the button on the device.

  12:26.

  They waited for the elevator together in silence and rode down together in silence. When they reached the lobby, Connor asked, “Do you have a restroom I can use before I go?”

  “There’s one over there,” Leslie said. “Would you like me to wait?”

  “It’s not necessary.”

  Leslie nodded. “Okay. Let me know if you decide you would like to move forward.”

  Connor assured her he would and then stepped into the bathroom. He pulled out his burner to call Dylan.

  12:28.

  “Three minutes and counting,” he said when she answered. “Get ready.”

  CHAPTER 42

  The next three minutes seemed to take an impossibly long time. When they were up, the minute that followed moved even more slowly. Connor was beginning to wonder if the device Rebecca had made for him had worked. Then the fire alarm went off.

  Just as it should have.

  This little bit of trickery was inspired by the remote-activated smoke bomb Rebecca had made to get out of a history test years earlier. He figured since she’d made one before, she would have no trouble making one again, and it looked like he was right.

  Connor pulled out his burner and called one of only two numbers programmed into it: Olin’s.

  Olin was sitting on Connor’s sofa watching a baseball game on ESPN when his burner rang. He muted the TV, clicked to answer, and was already on his way to the dining room table by the time he spoke. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” Connor said. “Do it now.”

  Olin hung up. He sat down in front of the laptop. On the screen was a black window with a blinking cursor. Next to it was a small piece of paper with a series of handwritten commands for Olin to enter at just this moment.

  Although the interface did not look like much, it was in fact a direct tunnel into the Pearlman’s security system. While Dylan was out getting the equipment she needed to break into the safe, Connor had used the IP address associated with the email the receptionist had sent him to find a way into the building’s network. Olin had seen him do stuff like this before. It was as amazing to watch as it was tedious. Hour upon hour of seemingly meaningless strings of text entered into a screen just like this, with equally arcane responses from the machine.

  Olin placed his hands on the keyboard, hesitated. He was about to become an accomplice to a crime that might just go down in history as one of the largest thefts of all time. If Dylan was wrong, if Drake did go to the police, Olin might find himself in jail for the rest of his life.

  Then he reminded himself that it was stealing from a thief, that it was for a greater good, that Connor and Dylan were counting on him, and he started typing.

  Connor stood close to the bathroom door, listening for the roar of angry and confused residents leaving the building. Because of the piercing alarm, though, he never heard any.

  After thirty seconds or so—long enough for Olin to enter the commands into the computer, disabling the CCTV—he pulled the door open an inch to take a peek. The residents he was waiting for were already swarming out of the stairwell. Leslie was nowhere in sight.

  Good. So far, everything was going exactly as it should have been.

  Connor pushed his way into the stairwell, apologizing and claiming he forgot something in his unit.

  Aside from the restrooms and the security cameras, there were a couple of things Connor had taken note of when he’d scouted the lobby the day before. In particular, he had noticed the scanners in front of the stairwell and by the elevators. The intention was to keep anyone who didn’t live here from getting upstairs. Even Leslie, who probably had cause to be in this building frequently, wasn’t getting upstairs without a temporary badge from the receptionist.

  However, Connor noticed, she hadn’t needed to use the badge to come back down. He’d expected this, as well. Many security systems seemed to assume that once you were inside, you belonged.

  Thus, setting off the smoke bomb got him into the stairwell. The stairwell would get him to the penthouse. And once the fire alarm stopped, the elevator would get him back down.

  Connor looked at his phone again when he rounded the landing for the ninth floor.

  12:36.

  He did his best not to think about how many floors he still had to climb. At least the foot traffic was starting to thin a little bit.

  Another seven floors up, and he walked right past Drake Hartfield. Connor recognized him from their research online. He was sure this would happen sooner or later if Drake was in the building. Drake looked at him, perhaps wondering what Connor was doing heading up when everyone else was heading down, but Connor did not make direct eye contact. If Drake or anyone else had asked, he would have repeated his story that he was going back to grab something important from his condo.

  The explanation was weak, at best. But with everyone moving, there wouldn’t be any follow-up questions. And with the CCTV out of service, there would be no way to prove that the man people saw in the stairwell was actually Connor.

  Besides, Drake—who mattered most—was also the least likely to ask.

  Connor had been after two things when he hacked into the Pearlman’s network. The first was access to the CCTV. The second had been Drake’s email address. It wasn’t unusual for a building like the Pearlman to keep those on file in case they needed to notify the residents about upcoming maintenance or any number of other items that might affect their daily lives. Like a fire drill. Connor was sure Drake was mildly annoyed by the inconvenience, but he also figured that as long as Drake thought it was a drill, he wouldn’t bother removing the bearer bonds from his safe before leaving the building.

  Connor didn’t know the address the Pearlman would normally use to send those emails, but he’d dummied up something that looked official and hoped for the best.

  Since Drake’s hands were empty, it must have worked.

  Connor’s legs began to ache as he trudged his way from one landing to the next. By the time he reached the top floor, he was sweating and out of breath. He had not seen anybody else coming down the stairs in a while now.

 

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