“Black leather would look good on you. Ever think about switching to a different costume? Maybe something like Ocylyx’s outfit?”

The slender brunette snorted. “Ocylyx looks like she ought to be dancing around a pole, not robbing banks. Sorry, even if we were girlfriends with benefits you wouldn’t get me into that skank-suit.”

“Hey, can’t blame a gal for trying,” the statuesque blonde replied. They both knew she wasn’t really “trying” anything, just bantering in a way they both found amusing. Big Blondwyn was bi leaning lesbian, Madame Miragenne was thoroughly straight, and they’d settled into a surprisingly comfortable routine of joking flirtations and droll rebuffs during their past few weeks of partnership in crime.

“Navy blue and dark grey are actually better concealment than flat black,” Miragenne explained. One of the unwritten rules of their game was to change the subject before any serious tension built up. “Flat black is actually easier to spot if there’s any background light at all.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Blondwyn shrugged. “You’re the sneaky one.”

“And you’re the brazen one,” her partner teased.

It was an effective team. The stealthy psychic hid behind illusions and camouflage, reading minds to find out where the valuables were stored and what security precautions protected them. She telepathically forwarded this information to the big powerful Valkyrie, who used her enhanced strength and toughness to break in and seize the loot. So far, they’d pulled off two jobs. However, they’d had to abandon a third—one that promised to be more lucrative than the first two combined—when Cybrelle had shown up and nearly captured Blondwyn.

Fortunately, they’d been able to get away. Better yet, Miragenne had not yet been spotted by either guards or cameras—the police and local heroes believed that Blondwyn was working alone.

They had an idea for exploiting that advantage and repaying the heroine for her interference. It was time to get down to business and get ready to put it into action.

“Now, then, back to the plan.” Miragenne pointed at a floor plan on the table in front of them. “The electropulse synchrotronic modulator should be in this lab. “I’ll scan the guards to confirm that before you go in. Grab whatever else is convenient, but make sure you get that.” She held up a drawing she’d made after mind-reading one of the project techs. “This is what it’ll look like. It’s about that big...” She tapped a twenty-gallon storage bin she’d placed as a visual aid. “...and about forty kilos.”

“No problem.” It would take ten times that to noticeably slow her down. “That’s the bait, right?”

“Right. Cybrelle will home in on it, come barging in, and by the time she figures out that it’s not just another slugfest with you it’ll be too late. And then...” She grinned. “And then she gets some payback, and you get some fun, and I get some relief from you constantly hitting on me.”

“I’ll stop hitting on you if your plan works,” Blondwyn promised. Her tone turned crafty. “Let’s make a wager on that. If it works, you get two-thirds of the cash when we sell the loot. If it doesn’t... you give me one night and let me have my way with you.”

“Three-quarters.”

“Three quarters if you win; a whole weekend if I win.”

There was a momentary pause. “Seventy percent if I win; one night of just cuddling and then one night of whatever you want if you win.”

“Deal!”

“Deal.” There was a somewhat longer pause. “I’ll try not to spend my seventy percent all in one place.”

“You’re gonna need to spend your thirty percent on muscle ointment!”

They both burst out laughing. It was another minute or so before they could pay enough attention to continue reviewing the plan.