Reckless Intentions: CH. 4

CHAPTER FOUR: THE HAMPTON JOB

The voice catches me off guard for a moment and then we both look back towards the door. A girl I've only seen in pictures Everett showed me during our prep week. It's Ashley. Catherine's assistant and most trusted confidante.

"Fuck! Ashley—this isn't what it looks like," says Jack.

"Really, because from where I'm sitting it looks like you're balls deep inside your son's boyfriend," she says.

"She's got a point," I say.

"Shut the fuck up," he says, sliding out of me and grabbing a towel to cover himself.

I try and hide the gasp I make as his cock slides free.

Ashley leaves the room and Jack Sr. stumbles after her trying to put pants on. Only then does my panic set in.

I reach for my phone and dial Everett. He answers on the first ring.

"We've got a problem," I say.

"I know, but I think we can fix it."

Just then, a ping. It's a text from Jack.

"Shit—"

"What is it?" Everett asks, his voice tight with concern.

I glance at the screen, my stomach dropping. "That was Jack. The auction starts in fifteen minutes."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, and I can practically hear Everett's mind racing through contingencies. "Dude, she just became a liability."

"Yes, she did," I say, my jaw clenching. "And liabilities are the one thing we don't have time for right now."

"We're fucked," he says, and there's an edge of genuine worry in his voice that I rarely hear from him.

I take a breath, forcing myself to think clearly despite the adrenaline still coursing through my system. "Everett, until I start worrying, you don't need to. Liabilities can be eliminated." I pause, letting that sink in. "Besides, we literally planned for this exact scenario."

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

"So these are all the major players. You're gonna need to commit their faces to memory—you won't have flashcards and I can't always be in your ear," says Everett, tapping his finger insistently against the glossy surveillance photos spread across the mahogany desk.

His voice feels like it's been droning on for hours, though it's really only been thirty minutes. The leather chair I'm sitting in has started to feel less comfortable with each passing minute, the cushion seeming to harden beneath me. The coffee he made me has gone cold in its mug, a thin film forming on the surface.

"Everett, you've gone over this at least five times," I say, rubbing my temples where a dull ache has started to form. "I could probably draw these people from memory at this point."

"Okay, smart guy, pop quiz then—who is the most dangerous person to you?" He crosses his arms and leans back against the desk, his eyes narrowing with that familiar intensity I've come to recognize as his "test mode." There's a challenge in his expression, daring me to prove I've actually been paying attention.

"Jack Jr.?" I venture, though I already know I'm wrong. It's a reflex answer, the obvious one.

"Alex."

"I know, I know—Ashley Slater." I hate that I got it wrong, even though I knew the answer. My brain is just fried from all this repetition, the names and faces starting to blur together.

"Right—she's the person Catherine trusts the most. She's been with Catherine for seven years, knows every detail of that house, her schedule, every skeleton in every closet." He picks up one of the photos, holding it up so I can see Ashley's sharp features, her calculating eyes. "She's nosy, a narc, manipulative, duplicitous, and if she finds out what you're up to—it's game over. No second chances, no do-overs. You'll be lucky if you just get kicked out instead of ending up in a ditch somewhere."

"Then we'll just need to find a way to take her off the game board before we set up the chess pieces," I say, leaning forward with renewed focus. The threat has sharpened my attention, cutting through the fog of exhaustion.

"I have an idea, but it's a long shot. Could backfire spectacularly if we're not careful." There's something in his tone that makes me sit up straighter, a hint of uncertainty that's rare for Everett.

"What is it?" I ask, my curiosity piqued despite my exhaustion.

He pulls out a case from under his desk, something metallic and official-looking with combination locks on either side, and sets it in front of me with a heavy thud that makes the coffee mug rattle against its saucer.

"It's not gonna explode, is it?" I eye the case warily, half-joking but also half-serious given some of Everett's past "ideas." The last time he pulled out mysterious equipment, I ended up wearing a wire that kept shorting out and shocking me.

He opens it with a deliberate slowness, the locks clicking open one by one with satisfying metallic snaps. When he lifts the lid, my jaw drops.

PRESENT DAY

"You're right," I say.

I run for the door, grabbing my Speedo from the pool deck and run to the guest suite.

"How much time do I have?"

"Well, it looks like Jack has Ashley cornered in the foyer and Catherine's getting ready to speak. You maybe have ten minutes."

I throw on some clothes, pull on some sneakers, reach under the bed, grab the case and head for the door.

"Now what?" I ask.

Use the service tunnel. You can get there from the subbasement off the kitchen. I make a run for it. I open the door, rush down the stairs, and down a long corridor. At the far end is another door. I can see a keypad next to the lock.

"Everett!"

"I'm on it!"

Just as I approach, the red lights turn green. The lock clicks. I turn the handle and open the door. The "garage" looks more like an underground hangar. Like a legit parking lot. On the far wall, every spot is occupied with a car, some modern, others that look like die-cast collectibles.

"Cameras?"

"Already on a loop," says Everett.

I race down the garage. It's longer than it looked. On the far end, I see another door. Only this one looks like a bank vault.

"You're coming up on the vault camera. You'll need to walk. It's the only way I can get a good rotoscope."

Two weeks ago, I wouldn't have known what that meant, but a week with Everett and I know all kinds of things now.

I get to the door and wait for Everett.

"Code?" I ask.

"06884747."

I enter the code as he speaks. The lock disengages. I turn the wheel and open the door. It hisses open.

"Time?"

"The security guys just left the ballroom. They're headed your way. You've got less than five minutes for this part."

"Oh great. When you said vault, I was expecting a big walk-in closet, not an actual bank vault."

"Well, you can chew me out later. We're on a time crunch."

"What am I looking for again?"

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