“YOU GET CAUGHT, AND I’M hauling ass to Mexico.”

“Your concern for me is touching. Really.” Fighting a grin, Farrah Roberts anchored a small flesh-colored headphone on her left ear and eyed River Jackson, the only person in the world that she trusted. He was also the nineteen-year-old kid responsible for making sure she wasn’t caught. “Just watch the feed and warn me if I pick up a shadow.”

“Rub it in a little more, why don’t you?” he said with a pout. “You’re the big, bad thief and I’m the sidekick. I get the grunt work.”

“I’m going to leave the target’s apartment from the roof. You really want to dangle twenty-nine stories from a thin piece of wire?”

“Hell, yeah,” he said, but they both knew he lied. River was afraid of heights. The little shit would pee his pants.

Right now they sat inside a large white van that looked like any other service van parked on Main Street. What was inside their vehicle, however, was much different than any of the others. Monitors that revealed much of the activity in and around the apartment complex she was about to enter, as well as computers and blueprints.

Farrah slid a silver ring down her left index finger. If tonight was a success, she would not have to use what was hidden inside it. “You’ve already hacked into the power system?”

River snorted. “What, I’m an amateur now? Of course I’m in.”

Her lips twitched at his affront. He could hack into anything, anytime, no matter how secure it was, and he wasn’t shy about trumpeting his abilities. Farrah loved his confidence, so different from the lack of self-esteem he’d once exhibited.

She’d found him wandering the streets six years ago, had taken him in though she’d been a child herself, and paid for his education. He’d been a shy little thing back then, unsure, awkward and desperate for attention.

“So…how do I look?” she asked, pinning a small black microphone to the collar of her top.

He eyed her up and down, from the slicked ponytail holding her dark hair captive, to the trench coat hiding the black body suit she’d practically sewed to each of her curves, to the shiny boots on her feet.

“You look like you charge two hundred dollars an hour for bondage and pain. No way you’ll blend with the snobs who live in Crescent Moon.”

“I don’t have to blend. I just have to make it into the elevator without being stopped.”

“Even if you’re stopped, I’m controlling their video recordings here. They won’t get your face on tape. Not permanently, at least.”

“But they will get a description to give the police,” she said dryly.

“Right now, with your makeup and contacts, your face looks like a thousand others.” River hefted the black velvet bag that contained her tools and anchored it on her shoulder. “Get out of here. I’m bored.”

Farrah saw the apprehension in his emerald eyes and bent over to kiss his cheek. He worried about her every time she worked—despite the fact that she’d last been caught ten years ago, at the age of fifteen. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, you will. ’Cause I’m watching your back.”

Grinning, she exited the van’s passenger door and entered the cold Dallas night. River reached out and pinched her butt just before she shut the door. Her smile widened. She didn’t bother turning around to flip him off; the van’s windows were tinted so she wouldn’t get to see his reaction.

“Testing,” she whispered into her mouthpiece. It was taped to her cheek and so thin she often forgot it was there. “Testing.”

“Copy is good,” River said.

“Asswipe,” she muttered, and he laughed.

“You liked it—you know you did.”

“If you’re not careful, I’ll demote you to laundry boy.”

“Puh-lease. You need me.”

The moon was high, bright, and the street was busy as she maneuvered across. They’d parked a half-mile from the building, and she made the trek through shadows and back alleys without incident. No one paid her any attention. When Crescent’s towering chrome and glass came into view, she whispered, “Entering in thirty.”

“Tom and John are at the screens, drinking coffee and reading a magazine.”

Male names: that meant both of the guards inside the building were armed. Just in case she and River had an unwanted listener, anyone with a weapon was deemed a boy; everyone else got stuck with names like Bubbles and Bambi.

As predicted, Farrah entered the lobby thirty seconds later. Except for the guards, the lobby was deserted. Good. That’s why she’d chosen Saturday at midnight. The old were in bed, and the young were out partying. Her boots clicked on the pink-veined marble, bouncing her bag at her side.

Showtime.

“Can I help you, miss?” one of the guards asked. He clanked his coffee onto the gray countertop and pushed to his feet. He was a burly man in his late fifties. Friendly face, tired eyes.

Farrah didn’t slow her steps, but tossed him an I’m-so-innocent smile over her shoulder. “Acting like you don’t recognize me? Not funny,” she said. “You know I live here.”

Maybe he was embarrassed not to “recognize” her. Maybe he was just too tired to care. But he didn’t try to stop her as she entered the elevator. And then the doors closed, shutting her inside. Alone. A relieved sigh parted her lips. She would have preferred to have rented one of the apartments and move around freely, without (much) artiface, but all of the apartments were already rented and there was a year-long waiting list. No thanks. She already had a buyer for this particular item, so waiting wasn’t an option.

“Which floor is emptied?” she asked River.

Tap, tap, tap. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Eight is your best bet.”

“Pressing eight.” She jabbed the button, and the elevator jostled into motion. When it stopped on the correct floor, she strode into the hallway and pretended to dig in her purse for a key. “Hold the elevator for me,” she whispered.

“Done,” River said. “Alright, the guards are watching you and they see you at the door. I’m switching the feed…now.” He paused. “Excellent. All they see now is an empty hallway, so they’ll assume you entered the room. I’m controlling the elevator feed, as well. You’re good to go.”

Farrah hurried back to the elevator and swiped the key card she’d stolen. Anyone who wished to enter the penthouse needed a card to bypass the twenty-eighth floor and reach the twenty-ninth.

“I’m looking at the foyer,” River said. “Matt and Mike are waiting for you across from the elevator doors at ten and two.”

“Copy that.” Farrah dug a black mask from her bag and pulled it over her face. That done, she stuffed her gloved hands into her coat pockets, wrapping her fingers around the tranq guns anchored inside of each. She was a thief, not a killer, and never carried lethal weapons.

As adrenaline rushed through her, so heady and strong she could have drunk it, she withdrew the guns and held them at her sides. Her heart pounded excitedly in her chest.

It had always been this way. A rush. Addictive.

She’d begun stealing at the age of twelve; her mother had been sick, and they’d needed money. She stole small things at first: food, clothing, wallets. But as her skills increased, so did her targets. Now, her mom was gone and she had a hefty bank account.

There was no limit to what she could take—or who she could take from. Stopping had never appealed to her.

“Awfully quiet in there,” River said, cutting into her thoughts. “You imagining me naked or something?”

She snorted. “Funny.”

“No. Sexy.”

“Arrogant.”

“Hold that thought,” he said. “Arrival in five. Four. Three. Two.” The elevator dinged; the doors opened.

Immediately Farrah raised her arms, aiming her guns at the ten and two positions. She squeezed the triggers before the guards, who were already standing, had a chance to realize she was masked. Red darts pegged them both in the neck. One guy managed to withdraw his weapon, but the tranquilizer was strong, mainly used for wild animals, and he tumbled onto the plush, dark brown carpet without firing a single shot. His friend soon joined him.

“We good?” River asked.

“We’re good.” Sheathing the guns, she quickly moved to the front door. Unlocked. But she didn’t enter. Not yet. “I’m ready for the power surge.”

“Overriding power system…now.” Lights instantly flickered off, leaving only a dark, dark void. Absolute silence slithered through the air, causing her ears to ring. A necessary evil. It was easier to disable the security system by cutting the power than to use light and sound to cover her actions while she danced around motion detectors and heat sensors. “You have approximately five minutes before they’re able to trip the wire and recharge.”

“Entering now.” She swept inside, time ticking away inside her mind. Here it was lighter than the foyer had been, thin rays of moonlight seeping in from the unadorned windows. For days she’d poured over the blueprint of the apartment, so she knew exactly where to go. The owner, according to her contacts, was vacationing in the French Riviera with his mistress. The wife was here, though—hopefully sleeping.

Silently Farrah moved, rounding corners and taping tiny cameras onto the walls, each one giving River a direct view of her surroundings. “Hallway one, live,” he said. A pause, then the clatter of his keyboard. “Living room, live. Uh, you’ve got a man asleep on the couch.”

Farrah backtracked, used a dart on the third guard, or whoever he was, then leapt back into motion.

“Kitchen, live,” River said. Pause, clatter. “Hallway two, live.”

The study was up next. Reaching the double doors, Farrah’s exhilaration intensified. This was it. The room. She gave the knob an experimental twist. Big surprise, it was locked. Not with a simple pin-tumbler or a wafer-tumbler, either, but a tubular lock, with pins all the way around the circumference of the cylinder plug.

Usually she preferred museums to private collectors. More of a challenge. This job, however, was proving to be quite fun. “How am I on time?” she whispered, dropping her bag and crouching down. She withdrew the proper tools.

“Four minutes, two seconds.”

She inserted the pick gun, a vibrating piece of metal that pushed the lock’s pins up to the shear line, all the while working the tension wrench into the bottom hole. Click. “I’m in.”

Too easy.

“Six seconds,” River said. “Not your record, but not bad.”

Farrah quietly entered the study, her boots sinking into the thick crimson rug. Even through her mask, she smelled woodsy cigar smoke, leather and freshly polished oak. The spacious room boasted wall-to-wall bookshelves. There was a desk in the center, a cushioned chair and several display cases perched on small marble stands.

“Do you see it?” River asked, his excitement palpable.

Her gaze scanned…scanned…seeing many artifacts and several pieces of jewelry until finally lighting on a small wooden box. Dark, surmounted by a deliciously carved face—a man’s face, Farrah realized, when she stood just in front of it—with a glittery golden cord wrapped around the middle.

The gold embossed tag underneath read, Pandora’s box. Satisfaction hummed inside of her.

“Contact,” she said, awed.

Never taking her eyes from the item, she extracted the glass-cutter and a strip of velvet from her bag. The box was certainly beautiful, the most beautiful and detailed she’d ever seen. And the masculine face was a sight to behold, savage, raw, elemental, pulling all of her feminine instincts to the surface. Still, she didn’t know why the buyer was willing to pay her a cool mil for it. Especially since Pandora was a legend, a myth, and there was probably nothing inside.

With precise movements, Farrah sliced a circle in the glass, keeping it suctioned to the cutter so that it didn’t fall to the ground and shatter. She set the piece on top of the case.

Open the box.

She’d been in the process of reaching out when the words whispered across her mind. Deep, masculine. Seductive…Like the face.

Open it.

Surprised, she straightened and frowned. “Did you just tell me to open it?” she asked River.

“Nope. No time for that. You need to get your ass in gear. Less than three minutes remaining.”

Open it. See what’s inside.

What was wrong with her? Farrah shook her head, clasped the box, and carefully wrapped it in the velvet. She secured the package inside her bag, part of her hoping to hear the voice again.

“Shit,” River suddenly bit out. “The wife is awake and walking into the kitchen.”

“She probably got spooked when the power went out and is fixing a midnight snack. We’re okay,” she said, but she was already moving to the far window. She slipped out of her trench.

“Just get the hell out of there, would ya?”

“Time?”

“Not long,” River said. “Less than a minute.”

Before he’d finished the last word, the lights flicked on. The heater kicked on, as well, emitting a gentle hum. Farrah swished aside the drapes and raised the window. Cold air blustered all around her as she gathered her coat and bag, then stepped onto the ledge.

“The wife is trying to wake the guard,” River said with an edge of panic. Then, “She found the dart in his neck. Damn it, she’s running toward the study.”

“Good thing I’m leaving.” Heart pumping with delicious speed, Farrah slid the ultra-thin wiregun from her bag, raised her arm and squeezed a shot. The sharp tip embedded in the beam above her head. She tugged once, twice, making sure the line was secure. Then she jumped, feet first, and flew toward the ground.

The wire slowed just before she hit—she’d measured the distance before ever entering the building—then stopped altogether, softly lowering her to a stand. She released the handle, removed her mask and casually walked away from the building as if she hadn’t a care.

She was smiling.

INSIDE THE BOX, MADDOX seethed with his need to escape. Close, so close. He’d spoken to the woman, and she’d heard him. No one else had ever heard him. But she had hidden him away, cutting him off from her erotic voice. A voice that caused every cell in his body to awaken, to roar, demanding release. How long since he’d spent himself inside a female? How long since he’d known anything except darkness? How long since the beast inside him had experienced the sweet taste of violence?

Eternity.

Did the woman mean to forget him? Oh, he would allow no such thing. He would convince her to free him—and she would be able to do so, as no other human had been able, he knew it—and his body’s long-denied needs would, at last, be met. And yes, the beast would, at last, be unleashed….