Page 87 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

“There’s been a man around town. A guy with dark hair and a beard. He has tattoos on his arm—a knife and skull. He was watching you tonight.”

* * *

“When did you see him?” Clementine forced a casual tone, like she hadn’t broken Jack’s heart and hers in the process. Like she wasn’t desperate for this information.

“While I performed.”

“Had you seen him before?”

Jack massaged the bridge of his nose. “The first time was in the diner, after we met there, when Jasmine called you Samantha, but you’d already left. Then at the park, but he was feeding the ducks. Nothing seemed off. But he was at Wherever the night we…kissed. I’d noticed him watching you, which was one of the reasons I joined you at the bar. Then again tonight—he was in the crowd. He didn’t glance at the stage. Only watched you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’d assumed Yevgen had been here four or five days tops, not two weeks. If he’d been here longer, her email might have no effect. He could have tapped her room early on. She had called Lucien from there to quit. If Yevgen had heard that, her claim the emails to her father had been used to lull Jack into submission would be moot.

She pressed her nails into her palm and refused to look at Jack’s amazing gifts. He understood her better than she’d thought: her love of India, the orphanage, her need to help kids and make amends for her choices. None of it mattered.

Her only option was baiting Yevgen out of town.

She forced herself to relax and waved her hand, a dismissive gesture she hoped was believable. “I’m sure that guy’s harmless.”

“It didn’t feel harmless. I’m worried about you.”

“That’s the thing, Jack. I’m not yours to worry about.” If she told him the truth, he’d tear out of there to protect her and his family. This man who’d never been in a fight or punched a guy would go up against the likes of Yevgen. If she weren’t bone-cold scared, she’d laugh at the prospect. No way could she tell Jack. He’d find out eventually, when she was in jail or miles from here. For now she had to fix this, make sure he stayed safe, which meant putting herself at risk.

First thing on her agenda: calling the cops.

“Thanks for the heads up,” she said, her voice shakier than she’d like, “but I’m fine. I’ll be out of town in no time. Speaking of which, can you give me a couple hours at your house? Time to get my things and go?”

Jack flinched, the sharp move gutting her. She was talking too fast, and hurting him was worse than getting stabbed.

His lip curled. Not his sexy Elvis curl. A disgusted with her curl. “Sure, Clementine. Whatever you need. Have a nice life.”

She’d never hated herself so much, but she didn’t have time to wallow.

The second she was out of the office, she ran away from Jack and barreled into the auditorium. The music blared. A plastic cup crunched under her feet. She elbowed at least three people, the drumline ringing in her ears as she craned her neck.

There. Imelda was where she’d left her by the stage.

Breathing hard, she gripped Imelda’s upper arm. “I need your phone again.”

Imelda pulled it out slowly, keeping it out of reach. “What’s going on with you? Is everything okay with Jack?”

“I’m so sorry, but I don’t have time for this.” She snatched the phone and hunched away from Imelda, far enough not to be overheard. She dialed 9-1-1 and held one hand over her other ear.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone’s breaking into the David estate, the huge mansion off Red Creek Road.”

She expected the operator to ask questions or calm her down. To say anything but, “I’ve had about enough of these calls, ma’am. We’ve checked that house twice now. You and whatever boy is calling are on thin ice. One more call like this, and charges will be pressed. You’re wasting the sheriff’s time.”

Goddamn, Yevgen. He was one step ahead of her, goading the sheriff’s department, pranking them to check the estate so they’d quit when it counted. He’d probably already cut the alarm system, her call to Sylvia not worth a damn. The man was cocky, psychotic, and clever. A dangerous combination that left her high and dry. She had to outsmart him at his own game. She pulled up her email again, not surprised to find a reply.

The only gullible one here is you. And you fell for your mark? That’s pathetic. I don’t care if Lucien has the Van Gogh. I’m after something shinier and legendary. Hope no one gets in my way. Wouldn’t want a repeat of the Monet job…

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped, practically hyperventilating.

Imelda stroked her arm. “Seriously, Clem, I’m worried about you. What’s going on?”

The sky was falling. The ocean was overflowing. The Earth’s crust was cracking.