Heists and Vengeance

Twenty-Six

Ryder

Black clothes? Check.

Crowbar? Check.

Fake IDs? Check.

The evening air was cool and was slightly salty as Ryder and Lana walked down the length of the marina. There were not many boats docked there, giving them a wonderful view of the smooth Atlantic waters. The vast expanse of ocean was tinged pink, a paler version of the bold colors streaked across the sky, the perfect setting for the first night of the gala event.

But Ryder barely noticed all of that – his mind was too preoccupied with the task just ahead. Instead of directing his view at the beautiful scene before him, his eyes were laser-focused on the yacht docked at the last berth – The Maynes.

Ryder may have hated Carmichael, but he held a grudging respect for his ability to impress. The yacht was sleek and luxurious, its name embossed on the side in a large sweeping font. From afar, he could see the glow of the water around it, the result of some underwater lighting on the bottom. There were a few guest milling about on the upper deck, and he could also the odd waiter, dashing inside to get glasses refilled.

But even that wasn't enough to distract him from his growing unease. He was hyperfocused on everything around him – the feeling of the luggage handle clenched in his left hand, the slight scratchiness of the suit Erin had forced him to wear, the faint body heat radiating off Lana on his right.

He blew out a controlled breath as he revisited the plans in his head, for the third time in the past five minutes.

Black clothes? Check.

Crowbar? Check.

Fake IDs? Check.

Erin and Cole had joined the catering company a few hours earlier, and Ryder could only hope that everything had gone smoothly for them (they'd decided against earpieces – the security would notice and be suspicious). He'd find out in a few minutes how they'd fared – but that was dependent on his ability to pull himself together.

Lana glanced at him, seeming to have notice his disquiet, but Ryder fought the urge to turn towards her. She was quiet, and he heard the sound of her shifting the luggage to her other side before she slipped her hand into his.

Ryder maintained his calm exterior, but inside a rush of calm filled him, blanketing his nerves. They walked like that, in silence, neither willing to acknowledge their joined hands, but both finding comfort in it.

Eventually, she squeezed his hand, and made to pull away, but as soon as he felt her palm slip out of his, he gripped it again with a sudden desperation. It was like her hand was a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from descending into the depths of panic. He tried to smooth over this movement of vulnerability by keeping his face carefully averted, though that did nothing to block out her soft laughter.

Her laughter, the softness of her palm, the way she'd looked out for him...Lana really was something different. He turned his head toward her involuntarily, and had the breath briefly knocked out of him. She was staring straight at him, her face tilted slightly upward due to the height difference. Her blond hair had been pulled back into a low bun, but a few strands were escaping, framing her heart shaped face. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, her lips slightly parted and Ryder was met with the overwhelming urge to kiss her.

He leaned in slightly, carefully, watching her face for any signs of objection. There were none. And so he leaned in all the way and-

Oh.

Her lips were as soft as her voice had been, and it was only now that he realized how much he'd been craving this. He let go of the luggage and placed his hands on his waist. He could feel the heat of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress, and he pulled her closer, closer, until they were flushed against each other.