Devil's Inferno (Blacksteel Bandits Motorcycle Club Book 3) Read Online Free
Author: Evelyn Glass
bowels of the bank. The farther they climbed down the stairs, the colder the chill in the air became. The lively sounds of the bank drifted away, replaced by the buzz of electricity and Mr. Cross's ramblings on security.
As expected, the bank manager had asked Tyler to stay in the lobby, since he didn't have security credentials to see the boxes. Miranda glanced at her watch, chewing on the inside of her cheek. He'd be creating a diversion soon.
About three minutes after he left, Tyler would go up to a teller. He'd ask where the closest bathroom was and disappear around the corner. Maybe he'd spend some time in the restroom, if busybody tellers were watching him. It'd be a few minutes before he could sneak out of the restroom and sneak off down the hallway. Close to the bank's side exit, where Legacy tellers went to go take a smoke break, a bright red box jutted from the wall. A quick pull, flashing lights, and an alarm.
Her grip on the clipboard tightened and her heart pounded in her chest. She made vaguely appreciative grunts and 'uh-huhs' at intervals when Mr. Cross lulled in conversation or showed her something of import.
They went through three security doors, each one opened by his ID badge. The last room was rather large with the walls lined in a grid-like pattern, thanks to the safety boxes' faces. There was enough coldness in the air to make Miranda feel as if the air conditioner were on. The light splashed across the silver walls, catching the textures in the faceplates.
In the middle of the room, a rectangular table squatted made of metal and painted a shiny black. Atop the table, a fat three-ring binder laid open. It was flipped open to a piece of paper that possessed a chart. The date, a teller's signature, the patron's signature, and the number of the box accessed spread across the sheet. Unable to help herself, Miranda glanced over the spreadsheet. The last time a safety deposit box was opened was yesterday in the afternoon. Someone by the name of 'Deidre Baxter' had opened her security box.
Mr. Cross stood off to the side while Miranda eyed the faceplates of the deposit boxes. No names were scrawled across the boxes. Obviously, for safety matters. There were numbers that corresponded to the holder. The list of patrons, and their numbers, existed in a master list elsewhere. Still, Miranda couldn't help but wonder if one of the boxes – or maybe many of them – belonged to Peter Delaney.
She could feel Mr. Cross's stare on her back. He was waiting for her slew of questions. He must have prepared daily for inspections, simply to show off his managerial skills. She puttered back to the table at the center of the room. Well, he probably expected her to ask questions. “Who has access to these safety boxes?”
“Only my most trusted and most senior tellers,” replied the man, chest puffed out in pride. He set his shoulders and seemed to stand straighter, as if he were a commander about to be given another badge.
“And they all sign the log?” She tried not to sound bored as she glanced over the sheet, once again. Not that looking at the spreadsheet helped her, in any way, but it assisted her role as inspector. There was no way to confirm whether or not Pete had a security box until they weaseled into the system. It was the same system she used at the Legacy bank and, short of stealing a random assortment of boxes, was pretty secure. Few were allowed without clearance and, those who were allowed, were supposed to sign the log. If they didn't, the security tapes would act as a back up.
“There are also various security cameras surveying this room.”
“Good, good,” muttered Miranda, absently. She clicked her pen and lifted the paper, pretending to mark something down on the clipboard. Her pen scrawled across the paper in little, scribbling circles.
A flickering light caught Miranda's attention a split second before the keening alarm blared through
As expected, the bank manager had asked Tyler to stay in the lobby, since he didn't have security credentials to see the boxes. Miranda glanced at her watch, chewing on the inside of her cheek. He'd be creating a diversion soon.
About three minutes after he left, Tyler would go up to a teller. He'd ask where the closest bathroom was and disappear around the corner. Maybe he'd spend some time in the restroom, if busybody tellers were watching him. It'd be a few minutes before he could sneak out of the restroom and sneak off down the hallway. Close to the bank's side exit, where Legacy tellers went to go take a smoke break, a bright red box jutted from the wall. A quick pull, flashing lights, and an alarm.
Her grip on the clipboard tightened and her heart pounded in her chest. She made vaguely appreciative grunts and 'uh-huhs' at intervals when Mr. Cross lulled in conversation or showed her something of import.
They went through three security doors, each one opened by his ID badge. The last room was rather large with the walls lined in a grid-like pattern, thanks to the safety boxes' faces. There was enough coldness in the air to make Miranda feel as if the air conditioner were on. The light splashed across the silver walls, catching the textures in the faceplates.
In the middle of the room, a rectangular table squatted made of metal and painted a shiny black. Atop the table, a fat three-ring binder laid open. It was flipped open to a piece of paper that possessed a chart. The date, a teller's signature, the patron's signature, and the number of the box accessed spread across the sheet. Unable to help herself, Miranda glanced over the spreadsheet. The last time a safety deposit box was opened was yesterday in the afternoon. Someone by the name of 'Deidre Baxter' had opened her security box.
Mr. Cross stood off to the side while Miranda eyed the faceplates of the deposit boxes. No names were scrawled across the boxes. Obviously, for safety matters. There were numbers that corresponded to the holder. The list of patrons, and their numbers, existed in a master list elsewhere. Still, Miranda couldn't help but wonder if one of the boxes – or maybe many of them – belonged to Peter Delaney.
She could feel Mr. Cross's stare on her back. He was waiting for her slew of questions. He must have prepared daily for inspections, simply to show off his managerial skills. She puttered back to the table at the center of the room. Well, he probably expected her to ask questions. “Who has access to these safety boxes?”
“Only my most trusted and most senior tellers,” replied the man, chest puffed out in pride. He set his shoulders and seemed to stand straighter, as if he were a commander about to be given another badge.
“And they all sign the log?” She tried not to sound bored as she glanced over the sheet, once again. Not that looking at the spreadsheet helped her, in any way, but it assisted her role as inspector. There was no way to confirm whether or not Pete had a security box until they weaseled into the system. It was the same system she used at the Legacy bank and, short of stealing a random assortment of boxes, was pretty secure. Few were allowed without clearance and, those who were allowed, were supposed to sign the log. If they didn't, the security tapes would act as a back up.
“There are also various security cameras surveying this room.”
“Good, good,” muttered Miranda, absently. She clicked her pen and lifted the paper, pretending to mark something down on the clipboard. Her pen scrawled across the paper in little, scribbling circles.
A flickering light caught Miranda's attention a split second before the keening alarm blared through
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