The Tomorrow Heist Read Online Free Page B

pulled out a gun and turned toward Emily.
    At least I’ll be first, she thought. Standing by and watching it all go down again was something she just couldn’t take.
    Emily closed her eyes and braced herself for the shot. A crash reached her ears, and she flinched before she realized it wasn’t a gunshot. She opened her eyes and saw that her front windows had shattered into the flat; two ropes were hanging on their sills, left behind by the two new masked men standing before her. These men looked different—­more professional. They were wearing body armor, and each held an automatic weapon, red beams slicing from their sights. They instantly targeted the other masked man and the one on the floor, efficiently putting a staccato hail of bullets into each one’s head.
    â€œClear!” one of the men shouted after checking the entire flat.
    â€œWe’re clear, sir,” the other one said, even though he wasn’t wearing an earpiece.
    Her front door opened, and a well-­dressed man with incredibly shiny black shoes walked over to where Emily was huddled and crouched beside her.
    â€œCan you hear me, Miss Denham? Are you all right?” The man said, using her real name.
    Before she could answer, the murkiness grabbed her and pulled her down into unconsciousness, the idea of Jonathan and Lew—­mostly Lew—­being safe allowing her to let go. She pictured Lew’s face one final time before everything was gone.

 
    Chapter Three
    Houston, Texas
    12:02 P.M. Local Time
    T HE HELICOPTER SWUN G in from the east. Per Broden stood by his rental car dressed in a tan-­wool trench coat over a matching three-­piece suit and perfectly knotted brown bow tie. He held his briefcase in one black-­gloved hand, his other hand hung, ungloved, by his side as he waited.
    His journey had started over thirty-­six hours ago in a place where his attire made more sense. Stockholm, Sweden, his home since he was a boy, was almost fifty-­one hundred miles from the spot where Per was currently rooted. At fifty-­four, he still called it home though in all those years, he’d traveled the world several times over.
    The helicopter was only fifty feet off the ground when it stopped its arc above the scrub grass that stretched as far as the eye could see. It rocked for a moment, then descended to the desert floor, blowing Per’s thinning dirty blond hair from its perfect side part down over his round-­lensed spectacles, dust following the wind and peppering Per. He remained still.
    When the chopper finally came to rest, Per reached up with his free hand and swept his hair back into place.
    A man in jeans, a blue-­checked button-­down shirt and black cowboy hat stepped from the chopper. Holding his hat in place and bending slightly to avoid the rotor blades, he jogged to where Per was waiting.
    â€œYou Broden?” he said with a thick Texas accent.
    Per took a business card from his inside vest pocket and handed it to the man: “Per Broden, International Investigations.”
    The man read the card, shrugged and handed it back to Per, who pocketed it.
    â€œName’s Green. Hank Green,” the man said, wiping sweat off his brow with one forearm. “Jesus, you must be hotter than a four-­balled tomcat in that getup. I work for Mr. Harcourt. He’s waiting up at the main house.” Hank eyed Per’s briefcase. “Mind if I take a look?”
    â€œYes, I do,” Per said, the first words out of his mouth in almost two days.
    Hank jerked back slightly at the refusal. “Look, amigo . Either you let me look in that case and frisk you, or this meeting ends before it starts.”
    â€œI understand,” Per said.
    â€œGood. Now if you’ll—­”
    â€œGood day,” Per said as he turned and opened the car door.
    â€œWhoa, hang on,” Hank said, grabbing Per’s arm. Per continued into the car as if nothing was