Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(40)
I hesitate, take a deep breath, then another. I slip one hand into the opening in my skirt and lightly trace the edge of a shuriken, taking comfort in the disc’s sharp points. Closing my eyes for a long moment, I center myself, finding my focus, and when I open my eyes, I’m ready. I use a modified ballet move to leap across the rectangle of light as quickly as possible, dancing into, then out of the danger. I stop just inside the safety of the shadows and press myself against the wall, waiting, listening.
A man barks a belly laugh from just beyond the opening and follows it up with, “Pour me another, Vasili.”
They’re drinking and trading stories. No warning is being called out, no alarm bellowed.
I am still undetected.
Slowly, I peel myself off the wall and dare a glance inside. Two men are seated across from each other at a card table in the center of the large room, both visible in profile to me. They’re playing poker, or the like. As I watch, the smaller one in jeans and a polo with more hair on his face than on his head lifts a crystal decanter and pours something amber-colored into a rocks glass in front of the larger, blonder man. The little one must be Vasili.
Not that he could really be classified as little; I’m at least ten inches and 150 pounds too small to call him “little,” but the other man is a veritable giant in comparison. He has biceps bigger than my thighs and shaggy hair standing out from his head at unkempt angles, contrasting sharply with his impeccably tailored gray suit. He must be the enforcer, the hired muscle. The gun-shaped bulge where his coat covers his hip is proof.
I scan the other guy for weapons, but none are visible. The longer I go unnoticed, the braver I become, and I take an inching step forward to scan the room. Everything about it gives the feel of a bygone era, when such a room was used for evening entertaining, from the floral-embroidered settee under the silk-draped window to the bar cart and crystal glassware in the corner, right down to the ancient card table the men are using to pass the time and their money.
On the far wall, another door is cracked open, but only darkness exists beyond. Just as I’m wondering if that’s where they might be keeping Will, a heavy thud sounds from that direction. Both men perk up.
“Go see what he’s doing,” Vasili says to The Suit in heavily accented English.
“He’s just a dumb kid; he’s probably trying to escape. But he won’t. There’s nowhere to go in there.” The Suit’s accent isn’t as prominent as I first thought it was, or maybe it just seems more subdued in comparison to Vasili’s.
Vasili looks at the room behind him, considering, then shrugs and returns his attention to his hand.
That’s it. That’s where they have Will. Logically, I know I should check out the rest of the house first, get a feel for the layout, find out how many others are in the building with us. But I can’t force myself to step away from the doorway, to leave Will for even a second. He’s right here, so close. I have to get him out.
But I need a plan.
Chapter Eighteen
I sneak away from the open doorway as quietly as I tiptoed up to it and aim for the stairs. I can go down a flight to the first floor, where I know there are other goons, or I can take my chances on the floor above. Up seems like the logical choice, so I ascend the stairs swiftly and stealthily. At the landing, I press myself tight to the wall and take stock. This floor is dark and quiet in all directions, and I waste no time darting into the nearest room to scope out my options for a diversion.
Enough moonlight streams in through a large window at one end of the room to softly illuminate bedroom furnishings, nice ones. A canopy bed made from dark, heavily polished wood matches the oversize dresser and armoire on the opposite wall. Personal possessions are sparse in here, and I’m coming up empty on destruction ideas.
Until a green light flashes on the far corner of the ceiling. The smoke detector. I mentally kick myself for not thinking of this sooner. Setting a fire as a distraction is one of the oldest tricks in the book. I lurch into motion, checking all surfaces, the drawers, everywhere I can think of for something that will create fire or smoke. Nothing.
An open doorway along the side wall leads into a bathroom, and I check there next. I open the top drawer in the long vanity, and score! A book of matches sits neatly atop a small soap dish filled with pocket change. Now, I just need kindling.
I find that easily in the other room, in the form of a notepad inside the top drawer of the bedside table. I tear quickly at the pages, ripping them from the binding and crumpling them on the tabletop, which I then shove into the corner directly under the smoke detector. An image of the fire spreading wildly and the whole building going up in flames flashes through my mind, but I shove it away. One, it’s not at all likely that this little notebook-paper fire will get that out of control, and two, Petrov and his men deserve to lose their hideout anyway.
I light a match, then another when the first one sputters out almost immediately. My hand is steady as I touch the match to the corner of a crumpled piece of paper. The flame catches right away and spreads out from the corner like a wave washing over the paper.
I wait just long enough to ensure that the fire will create enough smoke to set off the alarm, then I book it back down the stairs to the card room. Will’s two guards are still there, and still oblivious to my presence.
The shurikens strapped to each thigh comfort me, cold steel against my skin reminding me that I hold power, even if my enemy doesn’t know it. My fingertips itch to grip them, but I’m careful to keep my hands out of the slits in my skirt. Don’t want to tip my hand too early. Instead, I back myself into the shadows and hope they’re deep enough to hide my presence. If so, these guys will never know what hit them.