Reluctant thief Baz Barret is tasked with stealing from the formidable archaeologist Rei Collingwood--who happens to also be his college crush and rival--but when Rei goes missing after the burglary, Baz must find her before he's blamed for her disa...
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Chapter One: The Job
Baz was not a dog person.
If anything, he was a cat person. Cats were self-sufficient. If he left his cat alone for a while, she found a bird or something to entertain herself. They were agile, quiet, and, most importantly, did not stare him down while barring dripping, yellow teeth.
The rottweiler snarled and Baz stood absolutely still in the garden of a house that wasn't his. The dog's eyes shone yellow. Baz remained motionless The way he came in would not be the his way out, not while the family dog stood between him and freedom.
The dog's nose twitched, lips curling back to reveal more teeth.
Baz did not twitch.
The dog growled.
Baz didn't dare breathe.
The dog stood its ground.
Baz stayed still.
The dog finally lunged. And so did Baz.
He leapt to the side, shoes slapping against the walkway to the garden. Rich people always had gardens tended by underpaid immigrants. It didn't matter if they had penthouses or suburban sprawl mansions.
Baz sprinted across hand-picked cobblestones through the thorned rose bushes to the eight-foot garden wall. It was well-lit, at least, by the glowing solar rope lights weaving around the flowerbeds.
The rottweiler tore through the garden, claws raking up the imported cedar mulch.
Baz sprung up.
The dog launched its 120 pounds of mighty guard dog muscle at him, teeth first. It snapped at his feet, close enough to snarl hot breath on the soles of his shoes.
The ledge was enough. His gloves gripped the polished marble or granite or whatever outrageously expensive rock these millionaire collectors picked their garden wall. For every millisecond it took to pull himself up and out of reach, it felt like an hour. A dog minute, maybe. Seven times the human time it took to heave himself up and over the wall.
Baz perched atop it, looking down at the snapping jaws of the dog, panting. Another day, another dollar.
He let himself drop over the safe side of the wall, landing on his feet and springing up immediately to dash away through the private country club golf course. It was much easier to slip unnoticed over the greens.
The code Baz had been provided to disable the security system of the estate did not disable the security for the course, but in his black clothes, his lean frame would barely pick up on the low resolution footage anyway. Guards might scour the footage for clues. They might guess he was white, but there would be no confirmation of that on tape. His black facepaint masked that. His gloves hid his hands and his fingerprints.
