Taking Mine (20 page)

“I don’t think alcohol is going to help me take my mind off of it.”

“I beg to differ,” he says, hiding a deliberate look behind his champagne flute.

I take the glass from him and take a sip, ignoring his smirk. “I’m just ready to do this. The waiting is killing me.”

“Patience,” he says. He finishes his drink, disposing of the glass on a nearby table. He does the same to mine, taking it from my hand and setting it next to his before pulling me toward the dance floor. “If a drink won’t help, maybe some dancing will.”

“No,” I say, trying to plant my feet, which proves to be ineffective in high heels. “I’m not dancing.”

“Yes you are,” he says, not bothering to look at me.

By now, a small crowd of people are slow dancing to the twinkle of the orchestra music playing overhead. Justin pulls us right in the middle, making no excuses along his way. He pulls me closer to him, cradling my hand in his, and I’m dancing before I even know that I am.

“You are so stubborn,” he says at my refusal to smile.

“You’re so overbearing.”

He maintains his expression as he sways me out from his body and back in. “Influential,” he counters.

And it’s true. He has the ability to influence the people around him. I’ve seen Lance subdue his antics whenever Justin is being serious. I’ve seen Courtney and Blake pay close attention whenever he talks, like whatever he says is worth listening to. Hell, I’ve seen Kaley stop and acknowledge Justin like I’ve never seen her do with anyone besides her dad.

But it’s so much more than just the people he surrounds himself with; it’s how the maître d’ beamed under his smile. Or how Kip saw the honesty in him when he and Lance brought Kaley and me home. He has a way of gaining reverence and it’s polarizing.

He pulls us closer, fitting me into him. “If you could have any superpower, what would it be?” he says.

I breathe deep, relishing his scent masked by a hint of cologne and cigarettes. “To have the ability to make people happy,” I say, maybe swayed a little by Justin’s abilities.

His arm seems to tow me even closer, closer than I thought we could get. It’s comforting here. The grandiose ballroom is marginally less daunting in his pretend shelter.

“To make other people happy or to make you happy?” he says, looking at me with such endearment it hurts.

I swallow and focus back on the pulse point on his neck, the one right below his ear. “What about you?”

“Mine is much less noble than yours.” He spins me. “You know how when you’re watching a cooking show and the food looks so good, even if you’re not hungry or you don’t particularly like what they’re cooking, you want it anyway? How awesome would it be if I could reach through the TV and pull out whatever food I want?”

He’s so proud of the thought that I can’t help but laugh. “That is a pretty good superpower. You could feed the world.”

“Yeah,” he says, much more subdued. “And I could have steak whenever I wanted. I would record all my favorite dishes.”

We continue to dance in a small circle, watching people come and go during the constant stream of music. We don’t speak but keep a small motion back and forth enough to be considered dancing.

“It shouldn’t be much longer now. People are already sitting. Once they call for dinner, we’ll make our move.”

“Okay. Let me use the bathroom.”

“We can check out the storage room on the way back.”

The stalls are occupied, so I wait at the sinks. I adjust my hair and try to tame frizz and gain traction from my time spent in Justin’s arms. I’m disarmed but slightly less unstable than when the night started. I’ve traded one predicament for another. I use the bathroom and reemerge, finding Justin waiting outside the door.

He gives me a questioning look. “Are you okay?” I nod, not wanting to give voice to my fears. “We don’t have to do this,” he says.

I don’t tell him that stealing the car is only half my problem. “I’m fine. Have they started dinner yet?”

His eyes jump back and forth, trying to gauge my honesty before he gives in. “Yeah,” he says. “They’re on the first course.”

We turn right, following the directions from the copy of the layout we studied. At the end of the hallway, there’s a maid and storage room. We wait until the hall is empty and disappear inside. Justin locks the door behind us. The room is filled with laundry. Most of it is guest towels and robes, but one small hamper is filled with employee uniforms, or most important, valet uniforms.

“Dan said he left a bag behind the washer.”

Justin retrieves it and produces the key fob and keycard to access the garage ramp. I didn’t want to risk bringing them through security, so Dan made a run today to hide them here. Justin takes off his tux and slides on one of the valet jackets from the hamper. He digs around for the gloves to match but comes up empty handed.

“I shouldn’t need them,” he says, and I’m not quite sure if he’s reassuring me or himself.

“Give me fifteen minutes. Hopefully I’ll come up with something by then.”

He hands me the valet ticket, draping his tux over my shoulders. “Breathe.”

“Breathing.”

He smiles and releases my hand.

Opening the door, I step out of the employee room, trying to quiet my shoes on the marble floor. As carefully as I can, I pull the door shut behind me. A soft click resounds through the hallway.

“Can I help you?”

My heart drops as I look up to find a young waiter watching me. I’m not sure what my best smile is, but I put it on. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

The waiter points to the door to his right.

It’s obvious I should have seen it in passing by, and it makes me look like a dumbass. I giggle. “Must be the champagne. I don’t know how I missed it.”

He nods, evidently used to dealing with drunken girls wondering about. He watches me enter the bathroom and I shut the door, hoping like hell he doesn’t go into the storage room to discover Justin. I give it a few seconds before I peek into the hallway and discover it empty.

I make my way to the entrance, making sure to keep close to the building and out of sight of the cameras. I peek around a column and see Dalton and another young valet standing behind the hostess stand. They’re joking about something, their laughter wafting through the air as one of them holds up a cell phone. The maître d’ is gone, but the security guard still holds his place next to the podium, looking incredibly bored.

I take a breath and come into view from the shadows. The sound of my heels gets their attention as I approach. Dalton’s smile grows as I get nearer. Feeling brave, I toss my hair over my shoulder.

“Hi.” Dalton smiles. “Do you need us to fetch your car?”

“I do.” I hand him my ticket.

Dalton nods to his coworker. “Hey, Jess. 233.” Jess opens the lock box and produces the key to the Jeep, disappearing into the outlet of the parking garage. “Didn’t stay very long,” Dalton says, taking notice of my early departure.

I catch a glimpse of Justin rounding the corner behind the guard and know I need to come up with something quick. “Um,” I say distractedly. “Yeah, kind of boring.”

Dalton gives me a grin that’s all cheese, and I cringe. “What happened to your date?”

“My date? Oh, no. That’s my brother.”

He pulls a lock of my blonde hair out from under the tux. “You don’t look anything alike.”

“Adopted.” It’s the first thing out of my mouth, and I instantly regret it. It’s an obvious lie.

Dalton’s smile only grows. “Want a private tour of the spa?”

This kid is a sleaze, probably used to getting attention from rich socialites. “I don’t know,” I say, trying to draw out my time. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Jesse will cover for me. We’re slow right now.”

He slides an arm around my waist, and I internally fight the urge to punch him. We’re about to enter the lobby and I’m in full panic mode, trying to figure out some way to distract the guard, and quickly. The heel of my shoes catches on the edge of the red carpet, and I fall forward. Dalton tries to catch me but fails against the flailing of my arms, and I land on the palms of my hands.

“Are you okay?” the guard asks, helping Dalton lift me to my feet.

“Yeah,” I say, straightening out my gown.

“Are you sure?”

I look up at the guard and catch a glimpse of Justin disappearing around the side of the building, just in time for Jesse to pull up in the Jeep, and for the first time in my life I am appreciative for having no idea how to walk in high heels.

“Yup,” I say, my face about to break from my smile.

“Ready?” Dalton is pleased I’m not hurt, ready to continue on with his “private tour.”

“Actually,” I say, pulling away from him. “I should probably just go. I’m feeling a little tired.” His face falls and I smile apologetically.

“Sure,” he says, stuffing his white-gloved hands into his pockets.

My heart is jack-hammering; the thrill of possibly getting away with this is making me giddy. I walk to the Jeep, or skip, basically, and get in, trying to suppress my smile. It’s the first relief I’ve felt in two days, and I breathe it in. I pull away from the curb and dial Justin.

He answers.

“Everything’s okay?”

“So far. I’m headed to the shipping yard. Are you on your way?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there right behind you.”

The good thing about leaving cars at the docks is that it’s only ten minutes away from Toby’s. The river flows directly between the city, and it puts us driving on the outskirts, away from traffic cameras and businesses.

The shipping yard is on the smaller scale, a stopping point along the river, mainly used for storage. It’s privately owned, and the owner has never had much incentive for high security measures. It’s unmanned at night with a minimal chain link fence as its best line of defense. It's about a two-mile drive from the main road, and the drive turns from pavement to gravel along the way. The gates are open, but I park across the street, deciding it's best to wait on the outside just in case.

Ten minutes pass and I'm starting to worry. I text Justin, asking him what's taking so long. I keep my eyes peeled for any movement nearby, but nothing is visible except for the one small light pole near the entrance. I decide I can't wait any longer and get out. I remember the container number and keep to the far side of the light pole, wanting to keep my face obscure. Not that the gold dress I'm wearing wouldn't give me away or anything.

Using the flashlight on my phone, I search down the first row of containers, holding the train of my dress in my other hand. It's dead silent, not a single sound, and the ringing in my ears only accentuates my anxiety. I'm just about to give up and head back when I turn down a row and see a crack in one of the containers, light pouring into the darkness. I check the number, confirming it's the right one, and step inside.

Justin's back is to me and he's pulling at the trunk of the Italia.

“What are you doing? What's taking so long?”

He turns at the sound of my voice. “Lilly, you shouldn't be here. The plan was that you’d wait outside. There's no point in risking both of us being seen.”

“I didn't know if you were okay. You never responded to my text.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks at it. “No reception.”

“Is it nice?” I ask, rounding the side of the car, checking out the interior.

“Oh yeah,” he says, his voice full of awe. “But look, there’s already another car here.” Another Corvette, a Grand Sport, is parked in front of the Italia.

“Do you think Jimmy has someone else pulling cars for him?”

“I don’t know.” He cups his hands and tries to peek inside the passenger side window. “Or maybe whoever was working for him doesn’t anymore.”

“Why would someone quit?”

“I don’t think it would be voluntary.” The meaning of his words sinks in and a new onset of nervous energy runs through me. “Come on, we shouldn’t hang around too long.”

He shuts the door to the Italia and flicks off a switch, cutting the lights, and waits for me to exit before locking the doors behind us.

“Were you trying to open the trunk?”

“Yes,” he says. “The key we were given is a valet key. It only opens the driver side door and starts the ignition. I couldn't access the glove box either.”

“You think that means something?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Jimmy might know someone at a dealership that ordered the key for him and that's how he gets access to transponder keys.”

“Or,” I say, knowing there's another theory.

“Or he's hiding something and he doesn't want us in the storage compartments.”

IT’S NOT UNTIL WE’RE BACK
in Justin’s apartment that we speak again. We were told that Jimmy would contact us when he confirmed our job was complete and that a package of cash would be dropped off to Taylor immediately following. Kip insisted I wait it out here. He doesn’t want me to move around too much just in case.

Justin smokes one cigarette after another in the open doorway of his apartment. His dress shirt is unbuttoned with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his bowtie hanging undone around his collar. He's paced the living room since we arrived over an hour ago.