Hacking Mr. CEO (Billionaire Heists #3) by Anna Hackett

Her vision wavered and she blinked. Blue Eyes crouched down, putting his hand to the tiles right in front of her. Dizziness hit her, and she vaguely took in the freckles on the man’s hand. They formed a spiral pattern.

“No one talks back to me,” the man growled. “Especially a woman.” He moved away.

She saw the men were busy maneuvering the painting off the wall. It was easy for two people to move. She knew its exact dimensions—eighty by one hundred centimeters.

No one was paying any attention to her. Fighting through the nausea and dizziness, she dragged herself a few inches across the floor, closer to the nearby pillar. A pillar that had one of several hidden, high-tech panic buttons built into it.

When the men were turned away, she reached up and pressed the button.

Then blackness sucked her under.





Haven sat on one of the lovely wooden benches she’d had installed around the museum. She’d wanted somewhere for guests to sit and take in the art.

She’d never expected to be sitting on one, holding a melting ice pack to her throbbing face, and staring at the empty wall where a multi-million-dollar masterpiece should be hanging. And she definitely didn’t expect to be doing it with police dusting black powder all over the museum’s walls.

Tears pricked her eyes. She was alive, her guards were hurt but alive, and that was what mattered. The police had questioned her and she’d told them everything she could remember. The paramedics had checked her over and given her the ice pack. Nothing was broken, but she’d been told to expect swelling and bruising.

David and Gus had been taken to the hospital. She’d been assured the men would be okay. Last she’d heard, David was in surgery. Her throat tightened. Oh, God.

What was she going to tell Easton?

Haven bit her lip and a tear fell down her cheek. She hadn’t cried in months. She’d shed more than enough tears over Leo after he’d gone crazy and hit her. She’d left Miami the next day. She’d needed to get away from her ex and, unfortunately, despite loving her job at a classy Miami art gallery, Leo’s cousin had owned it. Alyssa had been the one who had introduced them.

Haven had learned a painful lesson to not mix business and pleasure.

She’d been done with Leo’s growing moodiness, outbursts, and cheating on her and hitting her had been the last straw. Asshole.

She wiped the tear away. San Francisco was as far from Miami as she could get and still be in the continental US. This was supposed to be her fresh new start.

She heard footsteps—solid, quick, and purposeful. Easton strode in.

He was a tall man, with dark hair that curled at the collar of his perfectly fitted suit. Haven had sworn off men, but she was still woman enough to appreciate her boss’ good looks. His mother was Italian-American, and she’d passed down her very good genes to her children.

Like his brothers, Easton had been in the military, too, although he’d joined the Army Rangers. It showed in his muscled body. Once, she’d seen his shirt sleeves rolled up when they’d had a late meeting. He had some interesting ink that was totally at odds with his sophisticated-businessman persona.

His gaze swept the room, his jaw tight. It settled on her and he strode over.

“Haven—”

“Oh God, Easton. I’m so sorry.”

He sat beside her and took her free hand. He squeezed her cold fingers, then he looked at her face and cursed.

She hadn’t been brave enough to look in the mirror, but she guessed it was bad.

“They took the Water Lilies,” she said.

“Okay, don’t worry about it just now.”

She gave a hiccupping laugh. “Don’t worry? It’s worth a hundred and ten million dollars.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re okay, and that’s the main thing. And the guards are in serious but stable condition at the hospital.”

She nodded numbly. “It’s all my fault.”

Easton’s gaze went to the police, and then moved back to her. “That’s not true.”

“I let them in.” Her voice broke. God, she wanted the marble floor to crack and swallow her.

“Don’t worry.” Easton’s face turned very serious. “Vander and Rhys will find the painting.”

Her boss’ tone made her shiver. Something made her suspect that Easton wanted his brothers to find the men who’d stolen the painting more than recovering the priceless piece of art.

She licked her lips, and felt the skin on her cheek tug. She’d have some spectacular bruises later. Great. Thanks, universe.

Then Easton’s head jerked up, and Haven followed his gaze.

A man stood in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him coming. Nope, Vander Norcross moved silently, like a ghost.

He was a few inches over six feet, had a powerful body, and radiated authority. His suit didn’t do much to tone down the sense that a predator had stalked into the room. While Easton was handsome, Vander wasn’t. His face was too rugged, and while both he and Easton had blue eyes, Vander’s were dark indigo, and as cold as the deepest ocean depths.

He didn’t look happy. She fought back a shiver.

Then another man stepped up beside Vander.

Haven’s chest locked. Oh, no. No, no, no.

She should have known. He was Vander’s top investigator. Rhys Matteo Norcross, the youngest of the Norcross brothers.