Gifted Thief (Highland Magic #1)(4)

‘I’ll always be here,’ he said. ‘If you do want to come back, that is.’

I hugged him impulsively. ‘I might not come back to work but I’ll always come back. You’re my family.’ I meant every word. We’d had a few rough times over the years but who hadn’t? Taylor had been there for me when no-one else was, even if his motives weren’t always pure. I worried about him more than he’d ever know.

He looked abashed at my heartfelt words and ran an awkward hand through his hair. It was no longer the carroty mop he had when I first met him all those years ago. Now it was more silver, far closer in colour to my own locks, which still drew curious looks and the odd question about my ancestry, even amongst the Clan-less underbelly. For the most part I shrugged them off.

It was a very long time since I moved in Sidhe circles. I crossed the road to avoid passing close by any of my kin, no matter how distantly related they were. And one of the reasons I was leaving Aberdeen was because they’d contacted me.

It wasn’t that I was afraid of what they might do if they got hold of me, although that was a part of it. I just wanted a quiet life. My childhood with the Sidhe was little more than a distant memory; in fact sometimes I felt as if it had happened to someone else.

I ignored the gossip mags and whispered rumours about what each Clan was up to. I lived in the underclass, far away from them. I didn’t care whether Aifric remained Steward and was therefore still in charge, or which man Tipsania Scrymgeour was currently stepping out with. I didn’t even care that her father, the Bull, appeared to be making more money than Bill Gates. The Sidhe could spend their days worrying about politics, jockeying for position and doing whatever they could to rise above other Clans. I only cared about me and mine. And none of mine were Sidhe. Or Clan.

I tested my kit, adjusting the harness at my back to ensure it was secure, and skirted round the back of the building. It might be the middle of the night during a bank holiday weekend but I still needed to be circumspect. It would be sod’s law if I got nabbed on the very last day I spent as a career criminal. Tapping my forehead three times with my index finger to signal to my waiting crew, I gave one last look around then sprang up.

My fingertips curled easily around the first ledge. Despite the typical Scottish chill, I was barefoot. It made it far easier to gain purchase on the smooth glass surface of the towering bank. I also admit that I rather enjoyed it when I glanced down and caught a flash of the sparkly nail varnish adorning my toenails. It felt appropriate for this job; we were, after all, going after some more sparkles ? albeit of the more expensive kind.

Clambering up with fluid, nimble ease, I made fast work of my ascent. Beads of sweat were only just appearing on my brow when I reached the assigned floor. Piece of cake. I tightened my grip with my left hand, using my right to reach behind and unclip the glass breaker that was hooked to my belt.

It was a nifty piece of kit, designed to help trapped motorists break out of their cars. While I’d never heard of anyone actually using one to save their own life, I found mine particularly useful. It was a gift from Taylor when I graduated from simple manipulation tactics and dull look-out posts to full-blown thief. The others might scoff at its hot pink colour but I’d had it for seven lucky years and it had never let me down. I might wear black to stay camouflaged against the night sky but that didn’t mean that everything I carried had to be boring monochrome too.

Leaning back as far as I could, I swung it into the centre of the pane of tinted glass, shattering it instantly. Thanks both to the glass breaker’s and the window’s design, all the shards of glass fell inwards just as I wanted.

Flashing a satisfied smile to my inner thief, I heaved myself inside with a leap, landing far enough in to avoid catching my skin on any of the dangerous broken pieces. I pivoted round and grinned, curtseying at the now-gaping hole. Then I checked my watch. Less than ninety seconds from pavement to entry. That was impressive, even for me.

Without wasting another minute, I unclipped my harness and tested the nearby wall. The plaster seemed sound enough so I pulled out my tiny drill, made a hole in the wall and carefully inserted the climbing wire. I gave it an experimental tug; it would hold. Less than thirty seconds later, I was lowering the rope out of the window and whistling down softly.

Three dark shadows broke away from different corners of the street. As the rope grew taut with the weight of the first climber, I surveyed my surroundings. Taylor had insisted that this floor would be the easiest one for entry. Looking around at the low-spec furniture, I was inclined to agree. The employees on this level were clearly not the wealthy bankers who occupied other areas of this building and were universally despised by the rest of the world. The guys who worked here looked like they filled their days with dull data entry whilst suffering zero-hour contracts.

I wrinkled my nose and made my way along the narrow aisle between the cubicles until I reached the office, which was separated by walls rather than flimsy partitions. Frankly, it was a wonder that more people didn’t turn to a life of crime. Working here would drive me insane.

Inside the manager’s office was a heavy walnut desk and swivel chair. It looked considerably more comfortable than the chairs out front. I sat down experimentally and swung myself around. Yup - it was pretty damn fine. I examined the collection of family photos of beaming children and heavily lipsticked trophy wife; I resisted the temptation to find a Sharpie and draw a moustache on them.