Page 6 of Steal My Heart

Something scurries past my feet, and I suppress a squeal. With the charm of the French Quarter comes the reality of the French Quarter: rats.

Really big rats.

Shuddering, I pick up my pace until I reach the service entrance and ring the bell.

The door opens, and my contact motions me inside. He closes the door behind me, and I reach into my clutch, handing him a wad of cash. Gotta spend money to make money, and I’m expecting a nice return on investment this evening.

He unfolds the bills and counts them; not that I blame him. ‘No honor among thieves’ is a maxim for a reason. Satisfied, he folds the money and sticks it in his pocket. “You’re taking Dr. Laurie Kole’s place. She had some kind of work emergency.” He hands me the woman’s name tag.

“Thanks.” It gets dropped inside my clutch.

“Get busted, and I’ve never seen you,” he warns.

“Understood.” I nod.

Through the kitchen and down the hallway, my first stop is the restroom. Entering a stall, I lock the door and retrieve my phone, searching for Dr. Laurie Kole. Her name pops up on a local hospital website, and I click the link, examining her staff photo. Fuuuuck, she’s my polar opposite. Late thirties to early forties. Stylish black bob. Tall with a lean, athletic build, this woman looks like the type who runs a 5k on Thanksgiving.

No, thank you.

I adjust my mask, giving myself a mental pep talk. It’s a themed masquerade ball, so I’ll have that to my advantage. Plus, I’ll keep Dr. Kole’s name tag in my purse, just in case she has any acquaintances who could out me. Having seen for myself the underbelly of the rich world, I know these kinds of people have acquaintances, not friends.

Bump and grab a wallet, and then bounce. I’ve got this.

Taking a deep breath, I exit the stall and give my lipstick a touch up before joining the party.

“Miss, excuse me. The sign-in table is down the hall at the main entrance.” An officious-looking woman with a clipboard stops me at the entryway of the grand ballroom.

“I’ve already signed in,” I assure her with a pleasant smile.

“Oh, they didn’t give you a name tag?” she asks with concern.

“It’s in my bag. I didn’t want to poke a hole in my vintage gown.” I smooth the fabric of my gown for dramatic effect. Being that it’s a thrift store find, it’s vintage to me.

She smiles triumphantly, reaching inside her pocket. “Double-sided tape to the rescue.”

“Aren’t you prepared?” I mentally curse this woman as I rummage through my clutch, producing my name tag with the pin side facing out so she can’t read the name.

She applies the tape with a little too much gusto, but thankfully, her attention’s snagged elsewhere. “Mr. Calvani, welcome.” The woman’s cheeks flush at someone behind me, and it’s the perfect opportunity to make my escape.

I weave my way through the crowded ballroom, making sure to lose clipboard lady. Reaching the bar, I take in my potential marks before landing on a balding man with flashy diamond rings on each hand. He’s seated at the end of the L-shaped bar, his back to the wall. Couldn’t have scripted a more perfect scenario.

I glide to the end of the bar, “accidentally” bumping into my mark. There are ten different pockets a man could stash his wallet, but lucky for me, my fingers fan over that telltale bulge in his back right pocket on my first go.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him sheepishly, grabbing a cocktail napkin and patting his wet tuxedo shirt where I spilled his beer.

“Cher, feel free to bump into me any time.” My mark flashes a big grin.

“Aren’t you the charmer?” I bat my eyes.

“Guilty as charged.” He winks. “What’s your name?”

As I lean in, my tit bumps his chest. He’s focused on copping a better feel, while I’m focused on sneaking my left hand into his back pocket. “Depends,” I say with a pout, ghosting my fingertips over the edge of his…nota wallet?

“That your wife?” I nod across the ballroom to a random woman, and while his attention is on her, my fingers are lifting the envelope. My eyes remain focused ahead as I drop the score in my open clutch, silently closing the snaps.

“Her?” He turns his attention back to me, taking my hand. “Nah, that’s my second ex-wife. How’d you like to become ex-wife number three?”

That earns a genuine laugh as I extract my hand from his. “Hard pass, but thanks for the offer.”