Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(41)

I wait a few seconds more for the fire to reach peak status and set off the alarm. A second’s distraction could mean the difference between success and failure. Could mean the difference between Will’s life and his death.

The telltale ear-splitting beeping of the smoke detector is music to my ears when it starts, and every muscle in my body tenses in preparation. A thud in the next room and arguing voices precede heavy footsteps coming my way. The giant lumbers out of the room without bothering to look around him and climbs the stairs without even so much as a glance in my direction. That just leaves Vasili. I breathe a silent thanks to the powers that be that it’s the smaller guy who stayed behind, and I step into the room. Vasili is at the window across the room with his back to me and doesn’t initially notice I’ve entered the room. I’m halfway to the door to the next room when he turns around. His gaze lands on me, and his eyes widen, then narrow. He looks me over from hair to heel and back again. Then his expression relaxes just slightly. He must not consider me a threat to be letting his guard down.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Vasili’s wording sounds wary, but his tone belies his curiosity.

I’m suddenly at a loss. My plan didn’t include coming face-to-face with one of Will’s guards and having to identify myself, leaping in with both feet before I’ve fully stopped to consider all the details. “Petrov sent me.” I pause long enough to work up my nerve. “I’m supposed to find out what the boy knows.”

Vasili’s eyes narrow again. He isn’t so easily fooled. “Petrov sent you?”

Suddenly my half-baked plan doesn’t seem like such a good idea. I swallow hard against a lump forming in my throat and nod, hoping I look more confident in my story than I feel, and inch toward the next room.

“Where did he find you?” Vasili takes one slow step toward me, then another, and one more, until he’s standing almost within arm’s reach. Then he crosses his arms over his chest and gives me the once-over for the second time.

Bang! The sound of wood hitting wood and cracking comes from the next room and is so loud, the wall between the two rooms rattles. Something on the other side of the wall has banged into it so hard that even the sconces shook from the impact, making the lights flicker. No longer is Vasili solely focused on me. He’s now looking toward the darkness beyond the open doorway between this room and the next. He places a hand on his gun holster in a way that is strongly reminiscent of a police officer. For a brief moment, I envision him in a cop’s uniform, and the image fits so well, I’d bet good money he has a background in law enforcement.

Vasili looks from the doorway to me to the doorway, then back to me. Then the bang from the next room sounds again. This time, a gold-gilt picture frame slips from the wall and crashes against the wood floor. The frame parts at the bottom corner and a crack slices on the diagonal through the center of the glass, before the whole thing comes to rest facedown. Vasili squares his shoulders, raises an eyebrow, and makes a show of cracking his knuckles. Then to me, “Walk.” He nods his head toward the next room.

I mentally run through the logistics of getting a hand inside a boot to grasp the hilt of one of my daggers. But there’s no scenario I can come up with that doesn’t end in him getting the upper hand before I’ve even got my weapon out. He’s too close. I need to put some space between us.

I reach instead for a shuriken. They aren’t as good for up-close uses; I don’t have enough space to aim or build momentum. And I’m just as likely to cut myself on the sharp edges as I am to cut him if I’m using it for anything other than throwing, but a weapon is a weapon. I walk my fingers into the slit in my skirt and slowly slide the shuriken from the strap keeping it tight to my leg.

As soon as I slip the star free, I flick my wrist and send it spinning in his direction. It slices through the skin of his biceps with a sickening sound and falls to the floor with a tinny thud. With lightning quickness, I reach into my boot for my dagger, and while he’s still just reaching for his injured arm, I bring my other hand up and place the dagger against his throat. I press it into his skin, stopping just short of drawing blood. “Take me to my friend.”





Chapter Nineteen


Vasili is smart. His jaw clamps shut the minute he realizes I have a knife pressed against his carotid. His muscles are tense but not stretched taut like he’s preparing to fight me off.

“I assume that is in fact my friend you have in the next room.” While I’m speaking, I remove his gun from its holster. Guns have never been my first choice of weapon; I usually gravitate toward the sharper, shinier implements, but I know enough about them to disengage the safety before trading my dagger to his throat for his gun to his head.

Vasili’s shoulders slacken on a hard exhale, and I imagine his eyes rolling in disappointed realization. “You’re the girl. The one with the book.” It’s not a question.

I don’t answer.

“How did you get in here?”

I ignore this, too, and press the gun just a hair harder against his skull. “My friend is in there. Yes?”

“Yes.” He grunts the word, and his head bobs ever so slightly as he swallows nervously.

“Take off your belt.”

“My belt?” he asks, even as he moves to obey. In record time, he holds the braided brown leather belt up for me to grab.