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“In the–” I break off, pinching the bridge of my nose. I got a load of old cases delivered from storage this morning, but that washoursago, and the delivery men were not exactly gentle. She was in there that whole time? Is she dehydrated?
I prod at my phone, checking the time on the screen. Four minutes until the cops arrive. “You really should run,” I tell her. “I’ll help you past the security system, but you’re on your own from there.”
I don’t examine why I so desperately want to help her. Why Ineedto get her out of here before a bunch of pushy, forceful police barge in here and grab her, push her around, shout at her and put her slender wrists in handcuffs—
“Spencer.” Her soft voice cuts through my rising stress, and a small, gloved hand slips into mine. “Don’t worry, okay? I got caught, fair and square, and I knew the risks. You shouldn’t feel guilty.”
This is the weirdest conversation of my life.
But it only gets stranger as she lets out a huff, collapsing back on the bed and resting her head on my thigh. I stare at her for what feels like an eternity, then smooth a cautious palm over her hair. It feels like warm silk.
My burglar hums. She squirms closer, her hand still in mine.
When was the last time I touched someone like this? When was the last timeIwas touched–with affection and intimacy and no underlying motives? I don’t remember.
I really don’t remember, and now that I’ve had this tiny taste, my body is screaming for more. My chest aches and my skin flushes and I want ten more minutes with her holding my hand. Ten more minutes, and I’d trade anything. She can take the stupid sapphire.Anything.
“Please run,” I grit out. “Please. I wish I never called them. I thought–I thought you were some asshole with a gun.”
She nods, squeezing my fingers. “You did the right thing. That would have been dangerous.”
God. I swallow hard, and my throat is tight. Outside, in the street far below, faint sirens approach the building.
“Please…”
“Tabitha,” she supplies. Her pink lips curve into a smile as she watches me, staring like she’s as fascinated by this connection as I am.
I grip her hand tighter, willing her to listen to me, damn it. “Please, Tabitha. I’m begging you. Go.”
“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’, and I huff and bend forward, my forehead touching hers.
“They might be rough with you.” I can barely say the words.
But: “I’ll handle it,” she murmurs, andno.I can’t be part of this. I won’t allow it–won’t let her get hurt on my behalf. I don’t care what she’s done, don’t care what laws she’s broken.
When a fist pounds on my apartment door, I’m already resolved.
“Wait here,” I tell her, brushing a kiss on her forehead, my face hot as I straighten, nudging her up so I can climb out of bed. “I mean it. Don’t go anywhere.”
Her soft laugh follows me out of the room. “Jeez, Spencer. Make up your mind.”
* * *
