Chapter 979
Skye stepped closer, moving into Gemma’s personal space — close enough to catch the cheap vanilla perfume that struggled to mask the faint scent of antiseptic beneath it.
“Here, let me help you,” Skye said.
She reached around Gemma’s neck to clasp the necklace. As she did, she leaned in, her lips brushing Gemma’s ear.
“That ruby brooch you wore last night,” Skye whispered. “You put it on wrong. The clasp is on the left side, not the right. It’s a custom piece for left-handed women. My mother was left-handed.”
Gemma froze. Her hand flew to her chest, covering the phantom brooch.
Skye noted the reflex. A tell. Gemma didn’t know the history of the piece — she was simply wearing a prop.
While Gemma was distracted, rattled by the whisper and fumbling with her collar, Skye’s hand slid deftly into the open mouth of Gemma’s handbag, which rested against the edge of the desk. Her fingers brushed a cold plastic rectangle. She recognized the texture immediately — the embossed Sterling crest. She gripped the keycard and slipped it into her sleeve in one fluid motion.
𝘔𝗼rе 𝘯𝘰𝘷e𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝘯 𝘨𝖺𝗹𝘯ov𝘦l𝘴.𝖼𝘰𝗺
Skye stepped back. “There. Perfect.”
Gemma had gone pale. She stared at Skye, the greed in her expression replaced by something closer to fear.
“I have to go,” Gemma stammered. She dropped the necklace back into the box and hurried out of the room.
Liam watched her go, then turned to Skye. “What did you say to her?”
“I just gave her some fashion advice,” Skye said.
She turned to leave.
“Skye.” Liam’s voice followed her. “The jewelry — I don’t want her to have it.”
“Then throw it in the river,” Skye said without looking back. “It’s just rocks, Liam.”
She walked out of the office, her heart pounding. She pressed her arm against her side, feeling the hard edge of the keycard against her wrist.
Outside, Alistair was waiting in the car.
“Did you get it?” he asked.
Skye held up the card.
“Let’s go home,” she said. “We have a break-in to plan.”
The Sterling Manor at 2:00 AM was a beast sleeping with one eye open. Security cameras swept the grounds in lazy arcs, their red LEDs blinking steadily in the mist.
Skye and Alistair crouched in the shadow of the hedgerow near the servants’ entrance.
“The card should work on the side door,” Skye whispered. “I swiped it from Gemma. Arthur gave her full access.”
Alistair checked his watch. “The patrol passed thirty seconds ago. We have a two-minute window.”
They moved. Skye swiped the card. The light turned green. A soft click.
They slipped inside. The air was stale, carrying the scent of lemon polish and old dust. The house felt dead.
“Upstairs,” Skye mouthed.
They moved in silence up the grand staircase, keeping to the edges where the wood didn’t creak. The third floor was the family wing, largely unused since Arthur had taken to living in the guest house.
At the end of the hall stood a heavy oak door — the entrance to the attic stairs. It was padlocked, a thick industrial chain wrapped around the handles.
“Subtle,” Alistair noted.
.