Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

JAKE

I call Roark to tell him I've seen the necklace. And I pace in my assigned room while we talk because my heart's thumping fast and hard.

"You actually had eyes on it?" he asks in a low rumble.

"That's what I said."

"And you met the owner?"

"I did." I swallow. "She's…interesting."

"And you still don't have it?"

In my mind's eye, he's in his apartment in New York, a place I've been before. But that's not where he is right now. If he were, then I'd be putting my efforts toward busting my brother out, not stealing this necklace I don't want. But Roark's smarter than that. He's bunking out in his secret location, the one he never revealed to us.

Ryan might know where it is now, a thought that makes my heart thump even faster. Because if he knows what he's not supposed to, he might lose more than a hand.

"I'm not angling to get arrested," I say tightly, not wanting to give him even the slightest hint about what actually went down tonight. "These things take time. You're the one who told me that."

He makes a harsh sound that's not even nearly a laugh. "If it takes longer than two weeks, your brother's going to pay. I figure it's a hand for stealing, and then we have room and board to settle."

"Don't forget your goons. I'm sure they don't come cheap."

"You being cute?"

"I can hardly help it," I say, trying to get him to laugh or at least tone down the aggression. I usually can. One might even say it's a talent of mine, but he's been on edge lately, pumped up—as if Ryan has thrown him for a loop. Maybe he senses he's losing us, his dream team, and he's ready to go to desperate measures to keep that from happening. Even if he has to destroy us in the process.

He takes a ragged breath, then says, "What kind of security did the owner have?"

Someone knocks lightly on my door. I back away from it, because I definitely don't want him knowing I'm around other people. Especially since I'm pretty damn sure it's Lainey knocking on that door.

"An alarm. A lock box," I say calmly, trying to sound bored. "It shouldn't be a problem, but I need to figure out an easy path in and out."

He snorts. "Do it. Two weeks."

He hangs up, and I throw the phone onto the bed, giving it the finger. It does nothing for me, unfortunately. When I open the door, two full trash bags are sitting there, but there's no sign of Lainey.

I pull the bags inside and go through them like a mad man, heart thumping, sorting through my Jake Jeffries laptop and all the clothes—a mixture of mine and the man I made—before I find them. My sketchbooks. My pencils. And the bag from beneath the floorboards, tucked into the bottom. There's no knowing whether she looked.

So I tuck the little bag away and start stuffing my things into the drawers of the old dresser in the room.

Maybe I'm losing my mind, because my things smell like Elaine. Like spicy jasmine. And I don't mind. I like breathing her in.

I lie in my bed for fifteen or maybe twenty minutes, but I can't settle. It's that door, closed but not locked. It's Elaine, tucked into her own room farther down the hall.

Did she look in the bag from beneath the floorboards?

If so, does she think I'm some kind of weirdo?

I nearly laugh aloud at that thought—she already thinks the worst of me. What could it possibly matter?

Finally, I heave a fuck it sigh and get up, testing the door as if it might have magically locked itself after the last time I shut it. A sigh of relief gusts from me when it opens easily, without even a creak of the hinges.

I head for the stairs, figuring maybe I'll get another of those cookies or…

But I hear the TV, the volume on low, and when I reach the top of the steps, I can see Elaine nestled on the couch, the cat curled into her chest.

It's a pretty picture. Peaceful. And I feel a twist inside of my chest—until she jolts into an upright position, her eyes pinned on me. The displaced cat yowls and shoots each of us a look of death.

But as I make my way down the steps, it's Elaine's eyes I feel on me.

"Were you thinking you'd escape?" she asks in an undertone when I reach the bottom.

"Wouldn't have asked you to grab that stuff if it didn't mean something to me," I say, showing her my empty hands. "I can't sleep."

She pauses, as if deciding something, then says, "Me neither," and nods to the screen. "You can stay and watch Matchmaking Small Town America with me, but no smartass comments. I enjoy dating shows. There's nothing wrong with enjoying dating shows."

I lower down next to her. "No, but I live for smartass comments."

To my amusement, she plants a large pillow between us. "And no touching."

"I told you I won't touch you unless you ask for it."

A huff of air escapes her. "Then you'll never touch me again."

"If you say so," I tell her easily, even if I'm hoping she's lying. "Now, who's boning who?"

She smiles for a split second, then shoves my shoulder with hers over the pillow.

"Hey, easy with the touching, hellcat."

She shakes her head and tells me a bit about the show, and we fall into companionable silence as we watch—Lainey breaking her rule about smartass comments as much as I do.

I don't know who falls asleep first, but I wake up at some point in the night with the TV still humming and her sweet-smelling head tipped against mine. The pillow that was wedged between us has fallen to the floor, and her head is resting on my shoulder, her nose buried in my neck. The scent of spicy jasmine hangs in the air. For a second, I can only look down at her in disbelief, because this tornado of a woman looks so small and soft in sleep.

I carefully reach for the remote on the coffee table, not wanting to displace her, then turn off the TV and pull a blanket that was slung over the back of the old couch over her. She makes a little sound in the back of her throat and snuggles in deeper. A strange feeling crawls over me, and instead of going upstairs to my much-more comfortable bed, I stay put on my insufficient piece of the couch. When I wake up, I'm alone, the blanket is folded and stowed, and the sun is low in the sky.

There's a feeling of…disappointment, maybe. But I go upstairs and find my phone, figuring I'll text Anthony. Maybe we can get the tea arranged for this afternoon, and I'll be able to grab the necklace from his lady and blow town tomorrow. It should be a more pleasant fantasy—but another fantasy has supplanted it.

I want to make Elaine come.

Shaking my head at my folly, I send off a text asking when they're all free for "tea," then lie down for a few minutes to see if he answers quickly. When my phone stubbornly refuses to buzz, I pocket it and head out into the upstairs hallway. It's quiet, so I use the bathroom and then head down to the kitchen. I find Nicole in there, alone, putting jam on toast with a massive kitchen knife that's probably meant for chopping vegetables or cleaving meat off the bone. She's wearing boxer shorts and a long-sleeved shirt that says It's not resting bitch face. I DO dislike you.

I mime stepping backward, and she snorts. "Cute." She waves the knife at me. "How'd those laxatives work for you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Lainey claims she left the house last night to buy you laxatives," she says slowly. "I'm being polite and asking how they worked out."

Surprised laughter almost escapes me. Damn, Elaine didn't like lying to her friend for me, so she made me pay for it—and then didn't mention a single word about it after delivering the trash bags.

"They worked out great," I tell her with a grin, "never shit better in my life. Speaking of Elaine—"

"She's not here," Nicole says pointedly.

"And you're not inclined to tell me where she is."

"So you're smarter than you look," she says with a smirk. "Good for you."

I lift my eyebrows, think about swiping her toast, and think again. I like my fingers too much. "What's on the docket for today if Anthony can't meet up?"

"Feel free to waste your time however you'd like. You could take up knitting. There are several instructional videos on YouTube. You could make a tube sock. A scarf. The possibilities are endless."

"I'd rather die." I pause, thinking about Lainey, off on some unspecified task. Is she doing something for the Love Fixers?

That thought skydives into another one. She kissed me when she was on a job for the Love Fixers. What if whatever revenge plot she's working on requires her to do that again? Even now, she could be making out with some douchebag.

I clear my throat. "Maybe I could help Elaine?"

She sets the sharp knife into the sink. "Yes, I've been wondering about that. What, exactly, would you like to help her with?"

Her tone suggests she's noticed there's something between us. I'm tempted to ask her if this place is covered in cameras, but if I did, I'd be giving something away.

Considering my options, I go for a partial truth. "She could have turned me in, and she didn't. You were right last night—she risked herself for me."

I haven't let myself dwell on that much—or make it into something it's not. She made it very clear what she thinks of me on a personal level, but she's a woman who won't let her opinion get in the way of her drive to help someone in need.

"She should have turned you in," Nicole insists. "But you're a handsome devil, so I'm sure you know how to use your wiles." She waves her jam-covered toast at me. My stomach growls. "Help yourself," she says, waving at a loaf of bread on the counter. "You may be a hamster in a wheel, but you can't expect to get fed like one."

"Thanks," I say, grabbing some bread from the bag and popping it into the toaster.

"I have to admit, though," Nicole says, "I'm glad she didn't call the authorities last night. This is more interesting than anything that's happened since Lainey stole that therapist's necklace."

"Still me," I say.

My phone buzzes, and I take it out. There's a message from Roark— 13 days— and a longer one from Anthony.

Pulse picking up, I check my "buddy's" message.

Thank you, Jake. My mother says next Sunday at my place for the tea. But would you be available to talk before that?

It's probably too much to hope that he'll confess to a near-stranger that he conspired with Nina to steal his mother's prize jewelry, but who knows? Stranger things have happened, and if I've learned one thing about Anthony from the past few weeks, it's that he's desperate for someone to talk to.

I type out a quick reply.

Of course, man. My afternoons are wide open. What works for you?

Would Friday be okay? Nina's going to a Halloween party with her friends.

But he's not going with her. Is this a further sign of trouble, or is he too WASPy to put on a mask?

Possibly both.

I confirm that I'm good for a Halloween meetup and show the phone to Nicole.

She nods. I feel the enormity of having to hang out in this house until at least Friday. Probably Saturday. It should make my skin crawl. But instead I'm almost…excited.

Elaine will be here. I will be here. For days.

Will she agree to make good use of it?

Nicole laughs. "Are you going to dress up?"

"Yes," I say. "As Jake Jeffries."

Again, I'm surprised by how refreshing it feels to talk openly about this sort of thing. To be straightforward about who I am and who I've been.

Nicole makes an amused sound, then says, "Friday's several days away."

I pointedly grab a butter knife from the drawer and add jam to my toast. "Elaine works for the old woman. Maybe she can figure out a way to get Anthony and Nina out of their house. If I know they've cleared out, I can get in and take a look around. See if I can find anything."

" They wouldn't leave something like that lying around," she says.

"Mine was a fake," I say, immediately feeling like a petulant child. "And it wasn't exactly lying around."

Or at least it wasn't lying around the second time.

She stares at me for a few seconds before saying, "Lainey's friend thinks she saw Mrs. Rosings's daughter at the house. She's another possible suspect."

"So we'll look into her too."

"Correction: Damien and I will look into her. She lives in Charlotte, and you, my thieving friend, are not taking any field trips."

Frustration ripples through me. I want to be able to do what I want, when I want. But I also don't want to trigger the doomsday clock. I don't want to convince her to turn me in.

"Tormenting our guest?" Damien says, coming down the stairs. When he reaches the kitchen, he wraps his arm around Nicole, who smiles up at him.

"Doing what I do best."

He shifts his gaze to me as I bite into my toast. "So you didn't try to run. I'd wondered if we were going to get woken up by sirens."

"Your wife made a compelling case for sticking around." Or at least I assume they're married. They have matching tattoos on their ring fingers, and Elaine doesn't seem to have much use for cheaters.

He nods. "She's good at that. You decide to make things easy for us yet and let us know who has your brother?"

I consider it, but only for a second. I trust Elaine to do what she thinks is right. I don't trust them at all. Not yet. I'll stay here for a few days, get the lay of the land, and maybe then, if they prove themselves…

Only…

Even if I make the leap and decide to trust them, I don't believe they can bring Roark down. He's been stealing high-end jewelry and tchotchkes since long before he found us—his golden geese—to be his helpers. He's made plenty of enemies along the way, people who'd like to make him pay in blood for what he's taken, and no one's been able to stick the landing. Sure, he's getting older, maybe losing his edge, but he's still sharp enough to cut, and his paid help is well-compensated and very dangerous.

Why would they succeed where everyone else has failed?

"It's not my habit to make things easy for anyone," I finally say.

Damien shakes his head with a small smile on his face, as if he didn't expect any different.

"You don't seem surprised," I comment.

"Takes one to know one. You think Nicole and I are the kind of people who give up easily?"

"The only two things I know about you are that you're P.I.s and you like imprisoning people in your house."

He studies me for a moment. "Lainey said you don't like being locked in."

"Who would?" I ask, feeling a squirming sensation in my gut that I try to shut down with another bite of toast. It doesn't work.

He grunts, studying me, then says, "Like I said, I don't blame you for not trusting us. We don't trust you. But maybe we can see about changing that? Do you plan on spending the next few days idly, or are you a man who likes to keep busy?"

"Busy," I say through another mouthful of toast. The thought of sitting here for days, doing nothing but programming websites makes me twitchy. At home, I spread the work out throughout the day because I need to be moving. Running. Walking. At the gym. And sure, sometimes I break into places just because I have the itch. The zoo in Central Park. An abandoned house. Not to take anything. But to wander around undetected, knowing I'm not supposed to be there. A real therapist would probably have something to say about that.

But I've found my own ways to cope. That sketchpad is one of them.

He nods slowly. "It just so happens that we can make use of a man who knows how to get in and out of places undetected."

Nicole snorts. "But Lainey might not. Sounds like a recipe for disappointment."

I ignore her, my attention on Damien's insinuation.

"You want me to break into places for you? Aren't private investigators bound to the same laws as the rest of us?"

"We prefer to think of the law as a fluid concept," Damien says with a smile. "How about you?"

"I don't really do that kind of thing anymore," I admit.

They both give me incredulous looks.

"Lainey didn't tell you?"

"She told us," Nicole says. "She seemed to believe you."

"You can believe me or not, but it's true. This is a one-off thing, because of my brother." Or so I hope. I know Roark doesn't want to let me go.

I set down the second piece of toast, half-eaten.

"What about using your…talent to help people who need it?" Damien asks. "People who deserve help?"

"Elaine took that necklace from me because she thought I was someone's cheating boyfriend. She got it wrong."

"She's new at this," Nicole says, leaning back against the counter. "I believe in on-the-job training and letting people make their own mistakes. But you can bet your ass I was keeping an eye on both of you."

I consider this a moment, my heart thumping faster because I feel like I'm on the cusp of something. "I might be interested in something like that."