With his wife and kids away on an impromptu holiday and not due back until the weekend, there had been no time like the present. Shane liked to head home every Wednesday between eleven and four thirty. The ‘official’ explanation was so that he could tend to any household chores that needed doing and spend some quality time with his family. The truth was he wanted privacy so he could gamble on the stock markets and organize his many bank accounts, including the offshore ones. He syphoned funds from here and paid in sums with a lot of digits from there to augment his bank balances. If it weren’t for the fact that he had two-factor authentication on his accounts, which meant he needed to input a real-time code sent to his phone each time he wanted to access one of them, I could’ve and would’ve cleaned out every bank account he owned weeks ago. But, even with all his bank accounts, what he had was nothing compared to what I intended to get within the next twenty-four hours – with his help, of course.

As Shane’s footsteps echoed in the hall, I waited patiently. I’d been cooling my heels in his kitchen for at least twenty minutes after I’d broken in and disabled the router so that the external and internal cameras around his house wouldn’t pick up my image. Shane entered, shuffling through the many envelopes he’d picked up from the doormat to see if any of them were worth opening immediately. I stood watching him for a second or two, taking in his sky-blue shirt, his cream-coloured slacks and his bare feet. He must’ve kicked off his shoes somewhere in the hall. Some instinct had obviously kicked in because his steps slowed then stopped as he looked up. The letters in his hand fell to the floor.

I straightened, my hands still in my jacket pockets. Shane looked me up and down, his eyes missing nothing. He was assessing just how much of a threat I was to him. From the slight tug upwards of one corner of his mouth, I’d been weighed and found wanting – which was fine by me. Being underestimated always gave me an edge. Shane tilted his head to one side, still appraising me.

Not one hair of his immaculate plaited ponytail shifted out of place. This guy passed six foot five in height easily, and pulled off the lean, mean, don’t-mess-with-me persona he was undoubtedly going for. I was doing some appraising of my own. I knew his kind. Shane was a guy who liked to dish it out and had no qualms about doing so frequently. Taking it would be a different proposition. If this man got the upper hand, even for a moment, I’d be history.

‘Well, you’ll know me next time,’ I said dryly as Shane continued his scrutiny.