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She managed not to snarl at him, though she was sorely tempted. She might be making miniscule progress. He hadn’ttried to restrain her or called someone to witness his seizure of the stolen property. “I had no idea what I was getting into.”
“ThatI believe.”
It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of her claim of innocence. It was also possible that he was merely saying the words that would get her to trust him. She’d trusted him since her first day and she had to hope that logic would prevail, if not immediately, then soon.
Since she’d been here, Travis had consistently demonstrated integrity and dedication. He had a cool, steady presence and, on rare occasions, an edgy sense of humor. Besides, Juliet Mason didn’t skimp when it came to quality people.
A fact Mr. Security here would be smart to remember.
She scooted around him and out into the kitchen, returning quickly with gloves for both of them. His expression was still clouded with plenty of doubts. This would be an uphill battle for sure.
“Are you ready to accuse me of something?” she challenged.
“Not yet.” He wriggled the gloves over his large hands.
She watched and waited. There were a few mumbled words as he examined the various pieces. Picking up one of the watches, he whistled low. The Rolex Submariner was easily worth a hundred thousand. The Patek Philippe in rose gold was worth more than twice that. She didn’t volunteer the information, but she was curious when he did a double take.
He flipped the watch over, reading the caseback. “Registration number is intact.”
“That should make your job easier,” she said.
He nodded absently. With reverence, he tucked each item back into its respective velvet bag. “This wasn’t a smash and grab operation.”
She agreed, but kept the potentially incriminating thoughts to herself. As a chef, her knowledge of luxury watches, gems, andhow to protect stolen goods should be limited. As the daughter of thieves, she recognized the velvet bags were cheap, stiff, and new. At best, a rudimentary effort to protect the valuables during transit.
When he finished, his gaze latched onto hers. Leaning against the desk, he studied her. “Walk me through what you were going to do.”
“I decided to call you,” she began. “Right before you showed up. Because who else would know what to do with this?” It was mostly true. Thieves who dealt with items like this were few and far between. Lila might know the next step would be to fence the items or remove the gems to fence separately, but she no longer knew where or how to find those people.
“Why are you leaving the crew when we reach Charleston?”
It wasn’t the question she expected. “Well, it sure as hell isn’t to sell off stolen goods.”
He did a double take and then laughed. She counted that as progress, even if the sound and the expression tempted her to snuggle up close to him. “I’m going home,” she admitted before she thought better of it. “My family owns a bakery in a small town not far from Charleston. There’s been talk about retirement and transition,” she said. He didn’t need to know all the gory details of her past. “I’m excited to get involved again and take over when they’re ready.”
He studied her in that quiet way of his. A not-so-small part of her wanted to revel in his clear interest, but logic prevailed. He wasn’t thinking she was pretty or debating how to ask her out. No, most likely he was picturing her in prison stripes.
“The bakery is everything.” Had she ever said those words aloud? Strange that she’d admit it for the first time to him. “I’d never risk my future there for a thief’s high or a fast buck.”
His eyebrow notched up and she realized her mistake. She shouldn’t know anything about the manic rush of stealing, that thrill of taking what someone else prized.
A normal person would be appalled by those emotions.
She hadn’t been. No. At first, she’d been all too eager to please her parents and for a time, she’d been the best pickpocket in the family. Therapy had eventually cleared up those twisted versions of love and approval.
Therapy and her grandparents. They’d rescued her before her parents could do irreparable harm.
“Must be some bakery,” he said at last.
“It is.” She smiled in anticipation. “If you have time, get over to Brookwell Island. The Bread Basket is on Central. You can’t miss it. Gram’s strudel sells out fast, though, and the doors close at two.”
The bakery had been an anchor point all her life. The rhythm of it was as strong and true as a heartbeat. Even after being away, she could mark time by the recipes, everyday and seasonal, the customers and suppliers. All those details were better than any clock or calendar in Lila’s view. For weeks now, the closer she was to going home, the more eager she was to dive in and get started.
“Hey.” Travis snapped his fingers. “Did I lose you?”
She blinked, bringing Travis’s face back into focus. “Guess so. For a second. Sorry.”
He shook his head. “No problem. Other than the stolen property.”
