The best way to catch a thief is to act like one—or at least that’s how Matt Glenn operates. He’ll protect your valuables, but the one thing he can’t protect is his own heart. His life is looking up when he meets hot client Ben on his latest assignment. But when Matt comes back into contact with police lieutenant Jordan Cobbers, the man who could have been the love of his life, things get complicated. As the danger rises and lives are placed at risk, will Matt survive?
To Steal His Heart
by Alec Nortan
Author: Alec Nortan
Series: Matt Glenn
Release Date: April 25, 2016
Format: ePub, Mobi, PDF
Cover Artist: Aria Tan
Word Count: 37600*
Sex Content: Non-Explicit
To Steal His Heart
Alec Nortan © 2016
All Rights Reserved
Sometimes, my job is easier than others, and it’s nice. It’s like a vacation. But today, it’s ridiculously easy.
Breaking through the reinforced front door should have been impossible.
Well, not quite impossible. I’m good. But difficult enough to consider looking for another way in. Luckily for me—sadly for the occupant, it’s a matter of point of view—the lock is a cheap one. I could have opened it with a toothpick in less than ten seconds…
I don’t even have to use a flashlight. The evening sky is still bright enough to light the place. The whole room is outdated. The furniture is old, but not enough to be worth anything. Knickknacks of all sorts crowd every flat surface while plush-looking paintings adorn the walls. A single look tells me that’s all they are—plush-looking. One or two might not be completely worthless, but paintings are a pain to take away and sell. And these certainly aren’t worth the trouble. I let my gaze linger a couple of seconds on each one for my camera to take them in, though. Ten seconds later, a voice in my headset confirms my suspicions.
I can rely on Cathy to see anything I might miss. If ever her husband wants to divorce, he’ll never be able to hide a cent from her. Good thing he’s completely in love with her.
I don’t lose any more time. The clock is ticking. I walk to an especially ugly painting of a hunting scene and swing it to the side. I can’t help smiling. Here is the safe, as expected.
I take out the powder from one of my hidden pockets and blow some on the pad. Except for the eight, all the digits have been used. On the six, the two, and the three, there’s a single fingerprint. It could be that the owner changed the code recently, but I doubt it. Old people tend to stick to their habits. They’re probably mistakes, just like the seven which has a print that has slipped.
I look at my list of numbers, the result of hours of research with Cathy.
Only four have the remaining digits.
The first one is the son’s graduation date.
One is the daughter’s wedding date.
Highly unlikely. They haven’t spoken to each other in ages. She hasn’t even been invited to the wedding.
The third one is the dog’s tattoo number.
The fourth one is the late husband’s birthday.
The box opens at the first try. Inside is a tiara.
I take it out and examine it. It’s probably the only thing worth stealing in this flat, but I won’t take the chance of making off with a fake.
It sparkles in the light. Diamonds and pearls. I examine one diamond. It’s real. It’s enough for now. I carefully put the tiara in my breast pocket, close the safe, clean the pad, and put the painting back in place.
A quick glance at my watch tells me I’m four minutes ahead of schedule.
Like I said. Too easy. The owner won’t be back for another hour. Now it’s time to take care of my alibi.
I take off my gloves and headset and pocket them. I ignore the lift and take the stairs to avoid bumping into any occupant of the building. I also need to find another hiding place for the tiara. I had expected rings and necklaces. They would have fit in my pockets, but the tiara makes a big bulge. I take it out. I place it around my thigh. It’s a perfect fit. I pull down my trousers, attach it with a string to keep it in place, and secure it with a little tape. I pull up my trousers and move my leg. The tiara is almost invisible under the fabric. I walk out of the flat, closing the door behind me. No one will know I’ve been here.
I reach the street without trouble and turn right. I increase my pace to a slow jog. To any onlooker, I’ll just be hurrying back home. I could run faster, but I don’t want to break a sweat. That wouldn’t be good for my alibi. Three blocks later, I slow down to a walking pace, and take out my phone.