Chris Diamond Miss Lexa Direct

“So why tell me?”

Chris laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. “You want me to be bait. For free.” chris diamond miss lexa

“No.” She pressed the duplicate card into his palm, her fingers cold as a scalpel. “I want you to be a partner. If you survive the night, you get forty percent of the auction. That’s seven million dollars. Enough to buy a new identity. Maybe even a conscience.” “So why tell me

Chris looked at his wristwatch. A cheap, reliable piece he’d had for years. His heart hammered once, twice. Then he smiled—a real smile, for the first time in months. For free

“The owner is tied to a chair in his wine cellar wearing only his golf socks,” Miss Lexa said, standing. She moved like a panther with a headache. “I know. I watched you on the thermal feed from my car. Lovely technique with the lockpick, by the way. Very theatrical.”

“What kind of test?”

The rain over Los Angeles wasn’t the cleansing kind. It was the sticky, neon-refracting kind that made the city look like a broken slot machine. Chris Diamond knew this because he’d been staring at it for three hours from the penthouse window of a man he’d just robbed.