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“Yes, before that.”
“It was twenty-two years.”
The day of Ray’s funeral, but neither of us added that part.
“An eternity. And you’ve been out of the Navy for what, five or six years?” I knew the answer. He’d been out five years. After his twenty years of service, he moved here to work at The Smith Agency. Mom had kept me filled in on his life. Every promotion and every posting that Derek had in the military and after. With Ray gone, he’d become a kind of surrogate son for her. His accomplishments were celebrated the same way Ray’s would have been.
“It’ll be six years in the spring. And you’ve been in Miami for almost twenty years. Right?”
I stiffened, worried about what Mom had told him about my life. She only knew the basics, but that didn’t stop the paranoia. The last person I needed poking around when I was trying to retire from Uncle Jimmy’s crew was an ex-SEAL that worked for a private security company.
“Yep, from Oklahoma to Jersey to Miami.”
“Quite a trip.”
“You have no idea.” And I wouldn’t be enlightening him. Not about my time in Jersey or how I’d built my business.
“The store is impressive.” He looked around my office and out the window at the sales floor.
“Thank you.” My smile was like that of a parent when someone tells them how smart or pretty their children are. I was proud of Oleander and all I’d accomplished, the legal and illegal parts. I’d given up a lot for my store.
With that, our small talk stuttered and died. The awkward silence returned. Onyx wouldn’t be saving us this time. He was sound asleep.
The tick of my 19th-century Limoges clock on the bookshelf seemed to get louder as the seconds passed. His name was on the tip of my tongue when he spoke.
“At the gala, it was your robbery crew, wasn’t it?” His eyes were cold and body tensed, ready for anything I might try.
I shook my head. I’d known this was coming, but the accusation hurt. His words made me feel clammy and slightly nauseous.
“Bullshit. I’m not stupid.”
I stood, hands on my desk. He’d prodded the wrong sensitive issue. Despite all the things I had done since I promised him I’d stop stealing, I had stopped. And God, there were so many times I could have made my life easier by lifting a wallet or a piece of jewelry. But I hadn’t done it. The memory of him and Ray stayed my hand for twenty-two years.
So, fuck Derek.
“I am not a thief.” I enunciated each word with sharp precision. The final f in thief slashed between us as I slammed my hand flat on the desk. Onyx startled awake, on guard because of my distress.
“I’m not falling for your act like I did two nights ago.”
“I am not a thief,” I repeated my words louder. I longed to beat them through his thick skull. Tattoo them on his chest.
“People don’t change.”
“I changed because you asked me to. But you don’t believe me.” I threw up my hands. My frustration was like a rock rolling downhill, gaining speed and growing into an avalanche.
“You’re right, I don’t.” He was on his feet too. We glared daggers at each other over the mahogany desktop.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Your lack of faith.”
He shook his head and growled a denial. “It’s about the gala robbery.”
“No, it’s not. It’s about faith. Because if you had either faith in me or courage of your convictions, you wouldn’t be here. If you had courage, a cop would be here, and I’d already be in cuffs. If you trusted me, you wouldn’t have come at all. You can’t trust me to tell you the truth, nor can you trust your assumptions. You’re screwed. No trust, no proof.”
“I have all the proof I need. The only reason a cop isn’t here with me is Ray. I have no doubt you were behind that robbery. And those watches are here.”
I seethed with frustration. Having such immovable ideas about people and life must be almost debilitating. He’d already been warped by the Navy when I was a kid—a lifetime of taking orders when others’ lives hung in the balance hadn’t improved him. He had no faith. Always the Boy Scout and leader of the cavalry charge, he only accepted cold, hard, unyielding facts.
Nothing about that part of him had changed in all these years. His need for solid proof had hardened into a crust that would be near impenetrable. The thought fueled my growing anger. I’d break through his crust. I’d beat my truth into his hard head, then kick his ass out of my store.
