he saw the aluminum foil lying amidst the scattered bundles of rubber-band-wrapped bills and other detritus on the floor that he realized that his do-it-yourself lens cap had come off.
And experienced one of those
oh, shit
moments that he really, really hated.
Unless whoever was working the security system was blind or absent or drunk off his ass in honor of the holiday, they did, indeed, have trouble: the house eyes had just lost their blindfold. Unable to help himself, Jason shot an instinctive glance at the camera, which unfortunately wasn’t the kind with the tape in the unit but instead sent imagesdirectly to the monitoring station to be viewed in real time. His worst fear confirmed, he quickly averted his gaze as he realized that giving anyone who might be looking a guaranteed-to-be-recorded, full-face view of himself was just about the stupidest thing he could do. Jelly still wore his mask, but Jason’s was long gone.
Not that it mattered anyway
was the corollary thought that hit him a split second later: the cop had seen his face. She was looking at him right now, as a matter of fact. Venomously. Triumphantly. Having probably already memorized every feature. No doubt in the world that she would be ready, willing and able to describe him, pick his photo out of a lineup, identify him if he was ever picked up, the whole nine yards.
Not good. In fact, real bad.
And that was before you factored in the odds that the goon squad, having gotten an eyeful of what was actually going down in Marino’s office, was already hotfooting it their way.
“Camera,” he said to Jelly by way of a warning. He could feel adrenaline surging like some kind of turbo-fuel through his veins. This, the first cock-up in as pretty a series of robberies as anyone could ever have planned, might well also be the last.
“Busted,” the cop gloated. Balanced on the balls of her unmistakably feminine feet, her slender hands flexing, her tits as delectable as ever in that thin white top and the rest of her plenty sexy, too, she gave off Mike Tyson vibes, if Iron Mike was pissed and spoiling for a fight. “If you’re smart you’ll surrender to me now, ’cause you’re going down. The security guys aren’t cops like me. They don’t give a crap about your rights or the law.”
“Shut up.” Jelly scowled at the camera, then looked at Jason. “What do we do?”
“Keep her covered.”
Jelly’s gun snapped up to point at the cop again while Jason replaced the foil in a quick move on the hope that the security team had somehowmissed what was happening within range of this particular camera. He then snatched up his ski mask from the floor and stuffed it in his pocket. DNA and all that, although he didn’t suppose it mattered now. Who needed DNA when you had video and an eyewitness?
“Get the money,” he said to Jelly, who nodded.
“You really think that’s going to help?” the cop taunted Jason as, careful to keep her gun aimed squarely at her because he’d seen what she was capable of in the way of surprise moves, he rejoined her. Actually, he was hoping that replacing the foil would help. It was New Year’s Eve, after all, and Marino’s security force tended more toward street punks than trained professionals. It was entirely possible that no one had been watching the monitor for the few minutes the veil had been lifted. Still, counting on it would be stupid. Time to clean up the mess to the extent possible and get out while the getting was good.
“Turn around and walk toward the safe,” Jason ordered her. “Hurry up.”
“You’re just digging yourself in deeper with every stupid thing you do,” she said.
Jelly looked up from where he was scooping up the scattered cash. “Only thing to do is shoot her, you realize. You can’t bring yourself, I will.”
“No.” Jason’s voice was firm. Of course, forbidding Jelly to kill her had its drawbacks. The cop could hear him, too. “We only shoot her if we have