The Job (Auctioned) by Cara Dee (highly illogical behavior txt) 📕

“What makes you think he’s like Darius?” Boone asked.

“I don’t know.” I frowned. “Just something about him.”

AJ backed out of the driveway and drove off, and if all went according to plan, he wasn’t coming back until later this afternoon.

“All right, let’s get ready.” I reached for my backpack in the back seat and scooted forward to put it on. Gloves followed. I had a whole box, courtesy of my tattoo artist. Black latex gloves.

“Jay’s ready to cut the security alarm.” Boone pocketed his phone, and I nodded in acknowledgment. Then he started the car and pulled out of the spot to find parking near the end of the street instead. There were four more houses after AJ’s. “I’ve been thinking about ribs since you mentioned it last night.”

“Fuck, bro, me too. We’ll buy ribs on the way home.”

“Deal.”

Boone snagged the last parking spot before the cul-de-sac, and I glanced around us to make sure there weren’t any nosy neighbors around. Noon on a Sunday, anything could happen. We were lucky that AJ lived on the edge of his neighborhood and that there was plenty of nothingness around us. In fact, on the map, his street poked out of Summerlin like a peninsula, with desert on two sides and a golf course to the south. Not the one where AJ was a member.

“All clear. Let’s roll. Don’t forget the iPad.” I stepped out of the car and into the blistering heat. For chrissakes, the triple-digit temperatures should be over for the year by now.

Boone and I left the curb and headed down along the side of the last estate on the street. They’d opted for a six-foot-high stone wall, making us invisible on the outside. A stretch of desert extended between the property line and the golf course too, so at least we had nothing to worry about right here. The nearest golf cart I spotted looked more like a toy car.

Stone wall’s neighbor had thick hedges, and the two houses after that, high picket fences.

We stopped right before AJ’s house, and I pulled out my binoculars. He didn’t have a high wall or fence, because he had an infinity pool. It was elevated to the height of my shoulders, though it wouldn’t be difficult to ascend it. As long as we didn’t tumble into the water.

I peered through the binoculars, starting with every corner on the exterior I could find. Under the balcony, along the terrace, near the roof of the estate. Just double-checking to make sure there weren’t any hidden cameras.

“His car has been still for a few minutes now,” Boone said. “Same spot as the other Sundays.”

Good.

We should have at least four or five hours, because according to our digging around at the exclusive club he was a member of and tracking him for the past few weeks, he finished off his round with a drink or a meal at the club’s restaurant, but it was better to play it safe. We’d only been able to follow AJ to the golf course one time, and we’d had to stay in the parking lot. We’d seen him enter the restaurant with two other men, typical white dudes with fat wallets and bellies, owners of a couple of the expensive cars in the lot. But AJ had reemerged to go home before the other two, and our time had run out. We’d never found out who he golfed with, if they were work friends or other associates. And with more than one loose variable, I wasn’t taking chances. All it took was an angry wife or a work-related emergency for their Sunday fun to get cut short.

“See anything?” Boone asked.

I shook my head and refolded my binoculars, then tucked them back into one of the pockets. “We’re good. Try not to fall into the water.” No time to waste. I flattened my hands against the edge of the elevated pool and hoisted myself up with a grunt. Whoa. Water—right there. My nostrils filled with the smell of chlorine. “Edge’s narrower than you think. Be careful.”

A three-foot jump separated me from the outer edge of the pool to the nearest side where solid ground was. The entire pool area was lined with flagstone, including the “fence,” which consisted of sheets of rock. But closer to the patio, a regular fence took over.

Boone heaved himself onto the edge once I’d cleared the spot, and my breath got stuck in my throat when it looked like he was about to roll into the pool. Man, it woulda been hysterical.

“Nailed it,” he grunted.

I grinned and took a couple steps back so he could jump too.

He made a face and threw me his bag. “If I fall in, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He blew out a breath, then took a big leap and, unfortunately, remained dry.

“Jesus. That’s enough cardio for one day,” he claimed, out of breath.

I snorted and started walking toward the house. My brother liked to say that cardio was for losers who couldn’t lift a twenty-pound dumbbell. He hadn’t complained last night, though, when he’d licked my abs, and I sure as fuck hadn’t lifted much in my day. I liked to run, swim, row, and do sit-ups and chin-ups.

I also liked to pick locks, and this was the fun part. I was ready for whatever AJ would throw at me, dead bolts—single-cylinder or double—latches, digital locks, spring locks, whatever. I had the gear I needed in my backpack, including several bump keys, pins, a code scrambling device, and a high-voltage shocker that could short-circuit and reboot most smart locks.

As I climbed up the patio deck and passed the seating area, I dropped Boone’s bag on the ground and removed my own. The floor-to-ceiling sliding doors revealed a sparsely decorated living room on the other side of the glass. I could see into the kitchen too. No surveillance indoors, thank fuck. And that was where the similarities between AJ Lange and my