“I’ve been doing this for years. Remember when I said that my obsession with secret passageways and architecture began when I was five, and I visited that Victorian house? Well, I saw Entrapment when I was a teenager, and I was like, I want to do THAT, too. Sean Connery, man. I wanted to be a thief because of him. And because I figured I could get chicks like Catherine Zeta-Jones, I guess. So I started studying in my off-time. Rock climbing… lock picking… rappelling… tight-rope walking… parkour…”“Parkour?”“Jumping and scaling obstacles. Jumping from building to building. French guys created it in Paris just for fun, to do crazy shit in the urban jungle. It’s saved my life more than a couple of times.”Damn. No wonder his body is in such good shape.“My family had money – which you already know – so I could afford to hire the best teachers there were. And the best teachers were criminals. In college, I would actually pay former Interpol guys to hunt down the greatest thieves in the u

I stand there looking at Grant in awe. Ten minutes ago, I thought he was a thief with some sort of entitled, fucked-up Robin Hood complex – ‘steal from the rich to give to me.’Now I know he saved two women’s lives at the risk of his own, and faced down a serial killer.I’m astounded.And kind of turned on.I don’t think he can read that in my face, though. He’s probably just seeing blank shock, which he totally misinterprets.“I’m sorry I got you into this,” he says, his face grave. “I should have never gotten you involved in all this. I made you a target, and – ”What? Whoa, whoa, WHOA – “Stop right there,” I say, my palm outstretched in the air. “What?”“Why did you hire me?” I ask, a pissed-off tone in my voice.He gives me a puzzled frown. “Because they said you were among the very best, and I needed someone from the outside. In case Epicurus has infiltrated my organization and bribed somebody.” He adds, sheepishly, “That, and your background… I thought you might be a little mo

There is a horrifying moment when we are free-falling, and I think, So this is what it feels like when your parachute doesn’t open.Then, a second later, our descent slows and we change direction. Suddenly I hear CLANG, feel a jolt through my entire body, and we’re zooming out again at high speed.I open my eyes, which I probably shouldn’t have.The street below us is so small that the cars look like TicTac mints of all different colors. The people on the sidewalks don’t even look like ants; they look like dots.“AAAAAAH!” I scream, and grab onto Grant tighter.“We’re fine,” he yells above the wind whipping around us.I realize that we’re changing direction because he’s rappelling off the building. Every time we swing in, his feet hit the glass of some apartment building, and we kick off into nothingness and descend another 20 feet.I catch a glimpse of a wide-eyed cleaning lady as Grant kicks off the glass right in front of her face.“OH GOD!” I howl, and bury my face in his chest.“

There’s nothing to do – we can’t watch television, we can’t even read without turning on a light – so we decide to go to bed.The master bedroom is on the second floor of the building. I start to take off my blouse when I notice him getting under the covers fully dressed – even with his shoes still on.“What are you doing?” I ask.“In case we have to make a run for it, we should be ready to go.”“Oh,” I say, and button my blouse back up. “You could be a little undressed,” he suggests.“Not if we have to make a run for it.”“Damn it, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he jokes.We lie in bed, him holding me tight against his body.“Have you ever been in a situation like this before?” I ask.“On the run, you mean?”“Yes.”“There were a couple of times where I narrowly avoided being caught. Security came after me, there were Dobermans chasing me… but nothing like this. Nothing where I felt like the other side knew the next move I was going to make. Nothing where I felt… hunted.”I shiver.

Here’s the gist of the article, which we read huddled over the kitchen table – with a couple cups of coffee.A bizarre turn of events has revealed that billionaire architect Grant Carlson, one of the richest men in the US, has a secret art collection probably worth as much as his private fortune. Unfortunately, all the paintings are stolen.NYPD officers responded to a call on Tuesday afternoon by security staff at Carlson’s private residence. It appears there was a raid by a group of men posing as FBI agents, who presented a warrant to Carlson’s security staff. But the men were not who they said they were.“Everything looked official – it was like a real raid with the warrant and the body armor and the blue jackets with the yellow letters and everything,” said Jim Kucher, the head of Carlson’s private security detail. “But they weren’t the FBI.”The Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Washington headquarters confirmed Tuesday night that they had not conducted any raid on Carlson’s prop