Disclaimor: Carter owns the Gallagher Series. I own this story/plot.
Hi! So this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but since I'm behind on updating because of school and stuff, I decided to just throw this out there. All errors are mine and there may possibly be more than usual in this chapter... because I'm lazy. R&R.
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Click. Click.
My eyes flickered from the bag in my hands to the alarm clock sitting beside my bed. One hundred and twenty-three seconds had passed since I had gathered everything I couldn't survive without.
Thump. Thump.
My heartbeat reached to my ears, rivaling the sound of the steady clicking of the aforementioned clock. Whether it was fear, adrenaline, or the fact that I had sprinted up to my room that kept my heart rate up, it didn't matter. I just knew that I had to ignore it.
Knock. Knock.
My head shot up in surprise at the sound coming from my window, and I took off the tie around my neck, preparing it as a weapon. One hundred and forty-five seconds had passed since I had broken into my own room. One hundred and forty seconds had passed since I had forgotten to close my window.
Thump. Thump.
My feet padded silently toward the window, ready to push whoever was following me out of it. I stilled when I saw two silhouettes of hands slip through the crack, and without a huge effort, the window slid up.
"Hey," I heard a feminine voice whisper softly, and the breath I didn't even know I was holding was let out.
I tossed the tie I was fisting onto my bed before holding out my hand to help the person up, making sure the smooth fabric of her prom dress didn't get caught in the window. "It's you," I greeted sadly. Normally it would make my day to see her, but today I wanted the exact opposite. To see her, I mean. "What are you doing here?"
"I just…" she paused as she swooped a hand threw her hairsprayed curls, and I chuckled inwardly because I knew where she had learned that nervous gesture from, "…you never picked me up."
I looked down at the tux I had rented and began taking off the blazer. "Sorry. I tried to call you."
She ignored my bullshit excuse. Even if it was true, it was still a shitty thing to do.
"So you're leaving," she said matter-of-factly, looking at the backpack in my arms and the clothes and food thrown into it.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, wondering how she could be so nonchalant about me ditching her on prom night, but at the same time, completely grateful. "Yes," I mumbled.
"Again."
Yes, again, I thought, but didn't say it aloud.
I slung my bag over my shoulder before leaning in to kiss the top of her head. I didn't want to see her face and the mask of disappointment she undoubtedly wore.
I'm a coward and an asshole.
But before I could leave without saying anything, she piped up, "Will I see you again?"
Half my leg was out of the windowsill before I answered, "This definitely isn't good-bye."
Thud. Thud.
My feet hit the ground. High school was over.
It was time to start a new life.
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Paris, France (Louvre)
Ten O'clock in the Morning
July 1, 2011
"It looks like he's leaving her."
I flipped my head around to see a certain Cammie Morgan standing next to me. "Huh?" I greeted stupidly, wondering if she could read my mind. The memory of ditching prom night hit me randomly, and now I was wondering if I had kept my promise to that faceless girl (sometimes my past is a little jumbled together). Leaving someone like that, even though I don't remember it clearly, wasn't one of my best moments, and I didn't want Doe Eyes to be able to use her apparent magic ability to figure that out.
But instead of revealing some crazy psychic power, she nodded to a painting I was supposedly viewing when, instead, I had been checking all of the security detail in the Louvre. "The colors are all bright and happy," she examined, "but there's something off about the woman's face." I leaned in closer toward the meticulous brush work and saw a hint of sadness in her tight smile. "And the man," Cammie continued, "he's physically there, but his eyes look like he's a million miles off."
Something in her voice made me turn back around to look at her. From her expression on her face, it looked as if the painting's meaning was more personal than she was letting on.
Well, I most definitely didn't want to go digging through that shit.
"Are you stalking me?" I blurted, trying to lighten the mood.
Her frown turned into a smile. "If I were stalking you, trust me when I say that you wouldn't know it."
"Ha. You really think that you can get anything past this guy?" I pointed to myself and smirked. "Just so you know, I'm the shit."
"Just so you know, the shit didn't know I was here until I was," she pretended to look around, "here."
I sighed and crossed my arms. "Nicely played," I grumbled, even though I totally knew she was there. I mean, I was considered one of the best thieves for several reasons and noticing stalkerish women, especially Doe Eyes, it seems, was one of them.
"So why are you here?" she asked me.
I gestured to the painting I had pretended to be interpreting, "Why am I fucking here?" I laughed. "Art is why I'm fucking here. But the better question, Doe Eyes, is why are you here?"
"Doe Eyes?" She placed her hands to her hips.
"Yup, you have the biggest fucking brown eyes I've ever seen," I told her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world (which it was). "Like a girly Bambi." I rolled the name around in my mouth a little. "Bambi. B-b-bambi. I like Bambi. How 'bout I call you Bambi from now on?"
"You know, most people give me the nickname Cam."
I smirked. "Well, Cam," I spit out her name, "most people are fucking dull."
"Well, Zach, I don't like Bambi."
I snapped my fingers. "You're right. Doe Eyes is way better. I mean, wasn't Bambi a dude?"
"Yup."
"Cool."
"Uh-huh."
"I like the way you think, Doe Eyes."
"Just kidding. I like Bambi better."
Women. They need to make up their fucking minds.
But apparently I said that aloud because she rolled her eyes before shuffling her feet and said, "I'm waiting for my boyfriend."
"What?"
"That's why I'm here," she replied exasperately. "You asked me earlier why I'm here. Although art is great, I'm really just waiting for my boyfriend."
"He ditched you after breakfast?"
"More like he never showed up," she muttered.
I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering how a guy could bring a girl all the way to France to stand her up. I was an asshole (because according to a random memory I had suddenly, I had ditched my girlfriend on prom night), but I guess I now knew someone who was a bigger asshole than me. Cool.
As if reading my mind, she said, "It's not his fault. Sometimes he just disappears like that." Which explains her behavior toward that painting. "And he gets in a lot of trouble... and I guess I'm just pissed because I'm really worried about him."
Doe Eyes turned away and returned her attention to the painting. I watched as her cheerfulness slowly faded into the same expression as the woman in the art.
Chicks. Everything made them so fucking emotional, even a stupid painting. And especially their dumbass boyfriends.
Before I could pretend to be the sensitive, caring guy that I wasn't, a low voice mumbled into my ear.
"Goode," Dr. Steve said through an earpiece. "Are you in position?" I adjusted the sound of the mic before I checked out my surroundings. Two cameras were searching the room in random order and a police officer was guarding the door. Across from the aforementioned door was an arc that led into another room in the Louvre. That room contained the Mona Lisa. And that room had four cameras and triple the security.
I was supposed to be in that room. Very soon.
I looked up casually to the ceiling, as if I were studying to the ornate architect before looking back at the painting, signaling a 'yes, I'm in position'. I didn't know where Dr. Steve was, but I knew he could see that.
"Well, I'm off to bigger and better things," I told Cammie, and although she wasn't listening, I took my leave anyways.
Everything was going to plan. In sixty seconds, the surveillance cameras in the Mona Lisa room would be jammed, and instead of the twelve seconds when all four of the cameras didn't face the Mona Lisa, it would be five minutes. And instead of stealing the Mona Lisa in front of hundreds of witnesses, my team was going to evacuate the building with the use of heavy yet unharmful smoke bombs.
I had planned everything perfectly.
Before I could subtly move to the other room, however, a firm hand tapped me on the shoulder. "Excusez-moi, monsieur." I whirled around and found myself facing a cop. The very same cop that disappeared when I fell from a balcony only moments after telling me that 'not everything is what it seems to be'. As surreptitiously as I could, I turned off the mic so Dr. Steve wouldn't hear our conversation.
"Solomon."
"Zach.
"Don't call me that," I nearly growled.
"What should I call you then?" He cocked his head.
"Nothing," I hissed. "Because I never gave you my fucking name."
"So you're not Zach."
I shook my head. "Never met one of those in my life."
"Ah, well, son," Solomon told me, "when you do see a guy name Zach Goode, tell him that he is the biggest dumbass on the planet who should listen to a clever cop's advice."
"I can certainly do that, sir."
"Also, see that guy that looks like a hobo," he pointed to a man with ratty clothes and a Dumbledore beard. "No one can grow a beard that long. He's a fake."
Huh. I probably should've noticed that. "That's funny and all, but what does that have to do with Goode?"
As always, he ignored my question. "Listen, Zach," Solomon voice became grave, "I'm here in Paris for a reason, and it's not for the to-die-for fashion. No, I came here because I heard someone is going to steal the Mona Lisa."
My eyes widened. How did he know?
"I know, you're shocked, right?" He shook his head. "Well, I am too. Who has the balls and the brains to steal the Mona Lisa? But that's not the point. The point is that I know the criminal mastermind behind the scheme, and I know that he won't succeed. Do you wanna know why?" He stepped closer, making sure I was listening. Why was this man so damn cryptic all the time? "Because this is a setup."
"What's a setup?"
"The smoke bombs that your team of crooks is going to pull off."
I swear, a fly could buzz in my mouth and I wouldn't even notice. How much did this guy know of me?
"Oh, and Zach, that hobo over there isn't what he seems to be either."
"Ok?"
"He's an assasinator."
"Getting worse."
"And he was hired to kill you."
"Fuck."
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Paris, France (Louvre)
10:10 A.M. Five Seconds Before the Smoke Bomb.
July 1, 2011
Bullshit. Solomon was a bullshitter. You can not bullshit a bullshitter. And that's exactly what that cop was doing. He was trying to scare me out of doing my job.
Well it ain't gunna fucking work.
Well, at least it wasn't working until I put my earpiece back on and tried to contact Dr. Steve, who wasn't answering any calls (but that could just mean that he wasn't in the position to speak right now). It wasn't working until I noticed that the hobo was looking subtly at me every now and then. And it especially wasn't working until I saw the aforementioned hobo playing with his beard.
He's totally hiding a pistol in there.
Damn. Solomon really knew how to make a guy paranoid.
Ignoring my new superstitions, I crept closer and closer to the Mona Lisa, ready to set off one of the few smoke bombs so I could swap out the Mona Lisa. As I waited for the signal to 'bomb', my hand was in my back pocket and my fingers grasped the circumference of the bomb before I heard footsteps that were too dainty to be my team's walk up besides me.
Please don't be Doe Eyes.
Please don't be Doe Eyes.
Please don't be Doe Eyes.
It was fucking Doe Eyes.
"Zach!" she cried out, bringing attention to us. Shit. Why the hell did I tell her that name?
I looked up at the cameras and already noticed that they had stopped moving. I now had a blind spot, but I was wasting it talking to Cammie.
"What the fuck do you want?" You can attract more bees with honey than with vinegar. So hopefully, I can disgust her with some of my famous vinegar.
But for some reason, I wasn't fazing her like earlier because she just kept talking. Something about the Mona Lisa. At other times (like earlier), I totally would've listened to her ramble, but now just wasn't it.
"Look, I really like your company," I cut her off.
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I'm sensing a 'but'."
"—but now you should probably leave."
"Why?"
"In about five seconds, you're really not going to want to stand there," I warned.
Five.
She didn't budge.
Four.
She didn't move.
Three.
She stood still.
Two.
She remained frozen.
One.
She was still fucking there.
At zero, Dr. Steve yelled out the command 'now', trying to get us all to drop our smoke bombs, which caused panic to spread throughout my face.
But I couldn't with Doe Eyes there. She would figure it all out (even though she'd figure it out as soon as the Mona Lisa was gone but at least I wouldn't have to see her face).
"Get the fuck out of here," I hissed one last time as I saw the smoke begin to filter into this room. The fire alarms went out and stampedes of people ran out of the museum.
Before she could comment, though, my heart skipped a beat. And not one of those romantic heart skipping, but it was fear. As people began to filter out, one person didn't move with them. Instead, that one person with a Dumbledore beard found their way behind Cammie.
And that one person held up a gun over her shoulder, aiming at my head.
If I had thrown the smoke bomb like everyone else, I wouldn't have even seen this assassinator coming.
I was set up.
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Last Friday was my birthday. So drop a review for me as a belated birthday gift? O.O Reviews make my day!
Lemme know if you have any questions.
Update next week?
Hopefully. Maybe?
Oh, and did I mention that it was my birthday last Friday?