Someone To Steal by Cara Nelson Page A

wrench against the lock’s opening to lever against the lockpick—just as a key would have worked.
    “I’m in,” she breathed, sliding the heavy narrow box forward and opening the top of it. She picked up the tiny flash drive with a small smile. Beneath it was a sticky note with a Russian scrawl on it.
    “There’s a note inside,” she said hastily, glancing at the alien characters.
     
    Тебе не спастись
     
    “What does it say?” his voice came quickly.
    “Looks like ‘T-e-bubble-e h-e c-table-a-c-m-”
    “Read me the letters,” he barked, exasperated.
    “T-e-bubble-e space h-e c-flat thing-a-c-m-u-c-little b.”
    She waited in silence, gripping the flash drive and hoping it meant ‘free ticket out of the mob’.
    “Fuck. Get out of there, Riley. Right now. Go up. Drop the box and go.”
    “Why? What does it say?”
    “It says ‘you’ll never get away’. Now GO !”
    She’d never heard him sound that panicky before, ever. Riley tried to shove the box back in its space, but she was shaking and dropped it. Bending to pick it up, she fumbled, dropped it again, and as she lifted the safe deposit box, trying to align it with the hole as fast as she could, she felt hands on her head, her arms.
    “Shit,” she said, and the world bent down and went black.
     
    Oo00oO
     
    Cain Booth dropped his tablet on the street and ran hell for leather into the building he’d just unlocked. Lacking the proper facsimile fingerprint, he punched the sensor as hard as he could and yanked on the wires. The door clicked locked-unlocked-locked-unlocked as the sensor malfunctioned. He counted clicks, losing seconds until he could get the outer door open. Finding the grate hanging open where she’d entered the ductwork, he felt a sick pain in his chest, like he had only just missed her. He poked around in the reception desk until the found the loaded gun. Ukrainians weren’t much on keeping armed guards when the manager could do the job with a well-placed automatic weapon. He shot off the locks and burst through the first room of the vault. The door was standing wide open to the second.
    Charging in through the opening, he took in the scene. It was empty of all life. The black and brass rectangular lock box lay askew against the wall beneath its proper place, jagged as a tooth knocked out. One of Riley’s gloves lay on the ground, and fresh blood spattered the floor and two rows of boxes. Her cable still hung from the vent. He grabbed it in his fist, yanked it down with force, breaking the magnet’s seal and sending it toppling down into the vault. He didn’t care that the steel cable cut his palms when he pulled on it, didn’t care when it tumbled in a heap at his feet.
    He kicked the magnet against the boxes, rammed his fist into the wall with a howl. The pain cleared his head, made his rage colder. He was ready to burn down the world, to start at the top of the Ukrainian’s organization and cut throats until he had someone’s attention and got her back. Cain ground his teeth, looked up as he heard the sirens brought by his reckless annihilation of the bank’s security doors. He tore back the way he’d come, ducked out a side exit, and climbed the building next door to evade notice.
    As he picked his way across roofs and finally down to street level, he decided to return to the hotel. God knew the Ukrainian had his cell number. Whether the man would name a ransom or simply make him listen while they killed Riley remained to be seen. He’d hazard a guess it was the latter. Numb with rage, he moved through the byzantine streets, ignoring prostitutes and loud music and traffic. Back at his room, there was a package waiting for him. When he ripped open the envelope, her shirt, still wet but stiffening with blood, fell into his hands.
     

Chapter 8
     
    His eyes were livid with waiting, with the dry unblinking stare of a man half-dead of grief already. He sat, elbows on his knees, gun in hand, watching his