“Do you really think we are in danger?” I ask.
He gently lifts the bottom corner of a painting, peeking behind it. “Unfortunately.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to makeyoua deal.”
He stands up straight, crossing his arms over his chest. “Am I the child now?”
I ignore his comment and take a deep breath. “Ifyou keep us safe until the Hartwells return, I’ll let you take the painting.” That’s justifiable, right? Bella’s safety is far more valuable than a painting. The Hartwells can’t fault me. They definitely will, but at least I’ll feel better about it.
Soren lifts a brow. “Really?”
“I’ll get fired, but as long as Bella is okay…”
He has the decency to appear conflicted. It quickly evaporates. “Okay.”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“I’m pretty sure you already do.”
I’m pretty sure, too.
Chapter 17
Soren
Myneckhurtsfromwhere I slept on the couch.
I pop upright. I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep. I was supposed to be protecting the girls while also looking for the painting, but it was so late, and I was exhausted. I sat down to watchJawsfor five minutes and… apparently the movie is like melatonin.Hmm.That’s something I’ll have to dissect later with my therapist.
My eyes land on Maya and Bella, cuddled on their own couches perpendicular to each other, fast asleep.
I rub a hand over my face, attempting to erase the fatigue and this mess. The mindless motion does neither.
I slip from the room and pull out my phone. It’s nine a.m. Christmas morning, and nothing greets me but a blank lock screen.
It’s been hours since Rosie’s last message.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. The longer I stay here, the longer I want to. But I can’t. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not welcome here.Stayingwasn’t part of my plan.
Then again, being here for Christmas wasn’t Maya’s plan either.
I lean against the wall, and my elbow bumps a light switch. The wall gives, opening into a small room. I flick on the light. There’s a large twisted oak tree next to a fake stone fireplace and a maroon velvet chair. A small shelf holds tiny knickknacks like teacups and handmade candles. It’s a Hobbit-hole. Not a well-used one, judging by the dust on the chair and fake leaves of the tree. This room could come in handy later.
I step back out, ensuring the false door is securely closed, then head to the bathroom to change out of my pink ensemble.
The thief didn’t come back last night, but just to be safe, I search the penthouse, ensuring every door is still locked… and maybe looking in a few more spots for the painting. Maya said she’ll give it to me if I keep them safe, but if she changes her mind, I want to know where it is.
I crack open the door to her room, but stop, stricken by her words from last night.
She thinks it was easy for me to leave her, but it wasn’t. My parents being arrested was hard, but missing her? I got so depressed Rosie insisted I see a therapist, and I knew if I didn’t work through everything, the state would take custody of her. I had a lot to deal with, and I’m still working through things. Or maybe it’s just nice to have someone other than my sister to talk to. Someone forced to listen but paid enough not to say every thought that comes to their head.
I scan Maya's room from the threshold, but there’s nothing in this room that could remotely hold a 30x40-inch painting. I can see under the bed and behind the dresser. I notice her poster is missing from the bed, but I can’t justify invading her privacy to look for something as silly as the Jonas Brothers.
I shut the door and head downstairs.
I never want to play hide-and-seek with Maya again.
Giving up, I wander to the kitchen, avoiding the walkway between two counters where the flour and dry noodles and other baking ingredients decorate the floor and now the edge of the counter.
