bushelofmuses:
Cole heard nothing, complete silence.
But once he was sure he was alone again, Cole went back to going through the desk drawers. He should start on the computer next, or check for tablets. He could back up the hard drives onto the portable one he kept on him.
He jerked when he heard a voice, a warning. Cole went deathly still. Someone was coming, they’d said. He warily studied the stranger once they’d come into view. Not a resident, not staff.
“I…” He almost started to argue with him but…there wasn’t time, and downloading everything onto his portables would take too long. If someone else broke in when he did, and their bounty was more obvious, they’d up the security here and Cole wouldn’t be able to come back later. He’d have to make do with what he had managed to get his hands on.
“Thank you,” he finally whispered back.
Cole hurriedly began to pack his things. Honestly, if they were doing this to trick him to get rid of him, so be it. It was better to be safe and get out with what he got than risk sticking around to be greedy and finding out the hard way that they hadn’t lied.
Better safe than sorry.
That didn’t mean he didn’t keep an eye on them. The last thing he needed was for the other to stab him in the back to either get what Cole had or to make a distraction for his escape.
Maybe Cole was just paranoid.
A lesser man than Luke may have leapt at the chance for some opportunistic malevolence, laid this interloper out on the proverbial chopping block in order to secure his own escape, but such thoughts only lingered on the edges of his mind after years of experience so he knew what to look out for from those who didn’t subscribe to his favored philosophy of ‘honor among thieves.’ Sure, a knife in this person’s kidney or a well-placed kick to the ankle might have bought him a few seconds to bolt out of the window, but he had the residents’ routine almost down to a science and the looming threat of detection didn’t seem to faze him; he was more than accustomed to slipping out of sight at the last possible second, leaving those who sought him with only faint suspicions that something was amiss. Besides, why make enemies (or corpses) where he might make friends with a common interest in thievery? Strength in numbers, or something like that. He’d always dreamt of being a part of a merry band of misfits.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew his attention and he broke into a wide smile - time for his favorite part! He suppressed a giggle from the sheer thrill of it all and stepped towards the cracked window, quietly pulling it open then turning back to face (what he considered) his new partner-in-crime.
“Après vous, my friend,” he whispered, bowing with a slight flourish. It was only polite, after all - and besides, it was in his nature to bear the brunt of the risk of being seen, should the owner of the house happen to stumble blearily into the room they were in.
