Garrett releases me but catches my hand, keeping me close to him as he opens the door. “Go slowly,” he whispers. “The hall of footsteps.”

“I know,” I whisper back, my jaw clenched. The moon shines through skylights, lighting our path down a stark hallway with white walls and blond wood floors, leading into the great room. I’d believe we could walk straight through the house into the woods if it wasn’t for the moonlight glinting off the glass walls. “I don’t want to know how Toby and Ben got the saliva to deactivate the footstep detector right now.”

“Be glad it wasn’t your saliva they were after.”

I grimace. “Oh, I am.”

Deep in the gardens beyond the glass great room, two lights flash. Before I can think, Garrett swoops me into his arms, throwing me over his shoulder and closing the door behind us in one motion. My heart leaps into my throat, and it’s a miracle I don’t scream. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

“I don’t want to take any chances with two sets of footsteps,” he whispers, his feet gliding across the floor until he reaches the base of the stairs.

“I’m capable of being quiet,” I say as he lowers me down the length of his body, setting me on a step. I’m highly aware of every inch of him that slides against me, igniting me in goose bumps.

“It didn’t seem like it when you were happily slamming car doors.” He holds me close, keeping my cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Don’t move a muscle.”

As if I could. I’m so on edge, rigor mortis might be setting in. If I was meant to be a thief, shouldn’t I be in flow right now? On autopilot, like I was during the obstacle course? Not thinking, just doing? My proximity to Garrett has me all jumbled, and I can’t think straight.

“You know, Liam was right,” he says into my hair. “You do smell like a girl.”

My head snaps up, and it’s all I can do to keep from kneeing him in the crotch.

His lips press together, hiding a smile.

“The footstep detector will be back on any second. And next up, the fog blaster,” he whispers, pointing to the jets imbedded in the walls that line the stairs. “They look like an art installation, but if they’re activated, they’ll spray pepper spray or a sleeping compound—I don’t know which—but we don’t want to get caught snuggled up in Simon’s bed, do we?”

My heart races beneath my catsuit—or maybe it’s his heart.

Not wanting to admit my traitor body might not be opposed, I grind my teeth. “I’d definitely prefer pepper spray,” I reply.

He lets out a little laugh.