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

Boone and I rarely asked questions when we got gigs like this one, but I couldn’t deny that I was curious about our cousin’s motives. If this was a contract from whatever PMC he’d worked at, he wouldn’t come to us. We worked under the radar for obvious reasons.

“This has got to be related to the human trafficking operation that was on the news last winter,” Boone said pensively.

I didn’t watch the news, so I wouldn’t know. “Why?” Human trafficking was as common as chlamydia, especially in Vegas.

“Because Darius was working that case,” Boone replied. “I heard Ma and Aunt Mary talkin’. I didn’t think about it, though. He’s always off being a superhero somewhere.”

Truth. Okay, so that explained that. We had no reason to dig further. A job was a job.

“Where do you wanna start?” I twisted my body to reach the side table next to the couch—or my makeshift nightstand, I guessed. I kept my weed in there.

“We need a list of priorities,” he answered. Then he turned around to pop the window behind us. “Where does AJ live?”

“Up in Summerlin, of course.” Where most of the rich fuckers lived. “He’s got an estate in The Arbors. It’s not gated, thankfully.”

“So we’ll get a tracker on his car…?”

I nodded and lit up a joint. “Who’s— Fuck.” I coughed at the first drag. Shit, way too dry. That’s what I got for not smoking often anymore. The weed dried out. “Who’s your best source at the Venetian?” Because we needed to see the reservation.

Combined with the Palazzo, the Venetian was the largest hotel complex on the Strip, so we had plenty of friends working there. I’d worked there myself too.

“I don’t have anyone working the front desk at the moment,” he replied with a frown. “I got Geoff in maintenance.”

That was good. We might need him. “I’ll call Laney.” She worked behind the scenes in administration but had access.

After taking another drag, a more careful one, I held it in my lungs and handed over the joint to Boone.

He coughed a little too.

The sweet, pungent smell filled my senses, and my muscle memory kicked in before the weed did. Things slowed down a bit, shit was chill, and I didn’t feel that underlying current that shot sparks of pain through me as soon as I laid eyes on my brother.

I exhaled and switched to an empty document.

“Soon as we get our hands on the reservation, we can start connecting the dots and see if they’ve booked shit under other names, too.” I began typing out some keywords and places where we could pick up clues. If they’d booked a whole block, they were gonna host quite the party. “I’ll ask Willow if she can dig around to find airline tickets somewhere.” The end of October was about six weeks away, meaning tickets should be booked already. If not for Lange himself, then at least the ones he wouldn’t spring for private flights for. “Private airlines, car services,” I mumbled to myself as I jotted it down. “See what kinds of comps they’re looking at from the hotel. Dinner reservations, catering for the party venue, bar service…”

“We need a detailed floor plan too,” Boone added.

I nodded along and added it to the list.

“Figure out the route between hotel block and venue,” I muttered. “Get into AJ’s house, map out his daily routine, look into his finances—maybe I’ll ask Willow about that, too—and connect early arrivals linked to the family.”

“Early arrivals?” Boone asked.

“If Alfred’s traveling with heavy security, I’m banking on a crew arriving ahead of time to make sure everything’s running smoothly.”

“Ah. Yeah. Maybe you should sit down with TJ and get some ideas too. He’d know how these people get around.”

He had a point. I made a mental note to call him later.

“Why’s it always an AJ or TJ with these guys?” he mused.

I chuckled. “Right? Maybe it’s some rule in organized crime—gotta have a bunch of juniors around.”

We knew a DJ too, just as connected as TJ. They were cousins.

“Anyway,” he drawled. “We do all this… What’s in it for us?”

“I assume diamonds.” I furrowed my brow in concentration as I finished my list for now. “Darius said there’d be plenty of opportunities to get what we want from the target.”

Boone let out a low whistle. “We like diamonds.”

We sure did.

It was why I was extra keen on getting inside AJ Lange’s estate. Alfred and his posse wouldn’t travel with an abundance of valuables that weren’t guarded day and night, but AJ would definitely keep some shit at home. Even if it wasn’t diamonds or cash. We rarely went near art, because it was generally easy to trace, not to mention harder to sell. A woman’s $500 shoes, though? The diamond studs in her jewelry box? The gold necklaces? A rich man’s collection of golf clubs? Count us in. An estate like that—fucking gold mine. We weren’t picky.

Just last year, a buddy and I made fifteen Gs selling stolen designer bags and suits.

“Here.”

I glanced over my shoulder and accepted the joint he’d almost finished. Yeah, no wonder he looked high already. He’d been sucking that thing like a dick. Christ.

I pinched the joint between my index finger and thumb, and I took three quick hits before I had to put it out. “Let’s talk gear,” I croaked, holding my breath. “Do you have any fake identities you can still use in this town?”

Boone squinted and scratched his beard. “Uh, maybe three? Only one linked to a credit card—if you’re thinking we gotta get a room at the Venetian.”

I hadn’t come that far, but good to know. “We’ll circle back to that. I was more thinking it shouldn’t be hard to get inside AJ’s house through his cleaning service.” And all rich folk had someone else doing their dirty work. “We’d get access if one of us took a job there.”

He hummed. “Probably smarter to