“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, smoothing over my features, fearing he can read my mind. “It’s none of my business.”

“Sure it is.” He changes lanes, his eyes glued to the road. “If I was hooking up with Nicki, that would mean I was emotionally involved with her, and that could mess up our heist. It would absolutely be your business, so please believe me when I say nothing happened.”

My heart ticks back to life. “Just like partners aren’t allowed to hook up, no falling for the targets, either.”

“Exactly.”

“I believe you.” I keep my eyes on the map, unable to hide the relief in my voice.

Punching the gas, he swerves around a bubble car. “Not that it’s always easy,” he mutters.

He peeks at me out of the corner of his eye, and a charge runs down my spine.

“Kyran and Rayelle will be outside signaling us,” I say, focusing on the plan to slow the blood rushing to my head. “Two lights mean go. One light means stay put. The good thing is the house doesn’t have any cameras or Life Stream technology… That’s weird. It’s kind of off the grid.”

“Simon probably hides who comes and goes. This is his weekend house. He’s not here all the time, and who knows who his secret guests are. Maybe he doesn’t want to risk the existence of recorded evidence. That works in our favor, but it’s also why he has so many alarms. The first obstacle is the front door,” he says. “Can you memorize the alarm code?” Pulling off the freeway, he stops on the side of a heavily wooded road.

“S-I-M-O-N-S-A-Y-S-S-T-O-P-!” I exhale. “Easy enough.”

“Good.” Separating the two red wires on the dashboard, he turns off the car, then pulls his own mask over his eyes. It’s black leather like mine, but his is solid, cutting a diagonal lightning bolt across his face. “From here, we walk.”

I nod. My insides are shaking more than the top of Lombard Street, but I fold the map and tuck it into a pocket on my thigh.

Before we leave, he pulls a portable telegraph out of the tool bag and taps out a Morse code message to let Stewart know we’re on the move. When he’s done, he puts the bag on like a backpack.

Stepping lightly to muffle our footsteps, we stick to the trees, hurrying through the woods in silence. My muscles ache from the strain to remain invisible, but before I beg for a break, Simon’s fortress emerges from the shadows. The exterior is made entirely of glass bricks, with concentric rectangles that get increasingly smaller framing the entryway to the red front door.

Will we have to drink a shrinking potion to fit through there? I suck in my breath. I can’t believe we’re going in.