“You can’t call the police,” I mutter, feeling out of sorts in every way. I used to think about this moment—of seeing her again. It’s safe to say this wasn’t the scenario I pictured.
Her brows furrow. “How did you know my phone wasn’t workin—What did you do?”
I’m not about to further implicate myself by admitting I’ve got a phone scrambler. I’ve got a big mess as it is.
Give me the high-security safe and infrared lasers. Do not give me people. I don’t know what to do with them—this one specifically.
I have to get out of here before things get worse than they already are.
I snatch the painting from her hands, but Perfect Perry latches on to the edge of the frame. Her face scrunches as she tries to pull it free. It’s as adorable as it is annoying.
“You can’t take that now! I know who you are! I’ll-I’ll turn you in,” she stammers.
She was always the most maddening Goody Two-Shoes. Beautiful to boot, which only made it all the worse. For one year she made mewantto be good, want to be a man worthy of her.
I’ve outgrown that delusion.
I yank the painting free of her grasp and narrow my eyes, trying my best to be the menacing criminal she thinks I am. “I guess I’ll have to tie you up for the rest of the holiday. By the time someone finds you, you’ll be delirious, and they won’t believe a word you say, and I’ll be halfway to Africa.”
Her jaw drops. “You wouldn’t dare.”
It’s cute she thinks she can compete with me. I lower my voice. “I think the fact that I’m here means I dare.”
“But…” I watch the determination drip from her face. “But Arabella.” It’s little more than a whisper… and just like that, I’m beat. I was lying about tying her up, but I won’t even pretend to hurt a child.
I’ll have to appeal to Maya’s generous heart… if there’s any compassion left for me in there after eight years. Not that she’s been pining for me. I demolished things like a one-man wrecking ball, then set the wreckage on fire.
I take a deep breath, softening my tone. “Okay, listen. This painting was stolen from its original owners. I was hired to retrieve it.”
She looks at me with unblinking, far-from-fooled eyes. “I’m sure that’s whatallthe thieves say.”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder, and I catch sight of a sparkly earring in the top corner of her left ear. It makes her look classy and a bit edgy. I like it.
I shake my head, looking away. “But in this case, it’s true.”
She crosses her arms. “The Hartwells aren’t robbers.”
“There are other ways to steal things that don’t belong to you.” My voice takes on a harder edge than I intended, and I scrub a hand through my hair, calming myself down. “Halfway across the country there are two orphan girls; this was to be their sole inheritance, but it was taken from them.”
Her expression softens. “That’s a good story. Can you prove it?”
“Yes… No.” Of all the times to tell Rosie I didn’t need her. “Let me make a call, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“If what you’re saying is true, there has to be a better way to get it back thanstealing,” she says the word like a curse, like she’s afraid someone might hear her and find her guilty of the act.
“Thieves aren’t known for being reasonable.”
She glares daggers through my soul. “Obviously.”
Of all the people I could have run into in this penthouse, why did it have to be the one woman who ever believed I’d amount to more? I shouldn’t care how she sees me, but I do.
“You have five seconds to leave before I scream and alert the neighbors.” She holds up her hand, all fingers extended.
“Are you seriously going to—”
“Five.” She drops a finger.
“I’m not a child.”
