Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

JAKE

Half an hour later, I pull into the parking lot at the trailhead behind Anthony and Nina's home in North Asheville, my agreed-upon meeting place with Elaine. Warmth floods me when I see her sitting in her car. I've become pretty fond of her car, even though it looks a little worse every time I see it—like maybe she's been using it for target practice whenever she's pissed off.

I pull in several spaces down from her, then walk over. She gets out to greet me, and I go in for a kiss, but she moves her head at the last second. My lips land on the bridge of her nose, so I make do and kiss her there, across a sprinkling of freckles. I expect her to laugh about it, but she doesn't, her mouth pressed into a stony line.

Alarm floods my gut, and I find myself remembering those three dots that Professor X didn't have much of an opinion on. Something happened.

Or, maybe she's realized she was making a mistake with me—that I'm not a man who could make her happy for the long haul.

"What did Anthony want?" she asks, her words clipped.

I nod to her car. "Let's sit in there, and I'll tell you."

"Won't it look suspicious?"

"I'll give you a quick rundown."

So we get in, and I tell her what I've learned about their engagement.

"So he knows," she says once I've finished.

"That she's marrying him for money? Yeah."

"At least he was honest with her."

I turn in my seat to more fully face her. "What are you talking about?"

I've been more truthful with Elaine than I should have been. More truthful than I've been with anyone else in my life.

"Why'd you turn down the guy who wanted to give you the watch, Jake?" she asks, studying me as if my answer might solve world hunger. "Why would you turn down someone who was offering you exactly what you wanted?"

It's obviously a trick question, but I don't hesitate to answer. "Because I didn't deserve it. The person he thought he was giving it to didn't exist. Taking it from him would have been wrong."

Anthony's grappling with similar truths, I guess. His situation hasn't instrumentally changed since he asked Nina to marry him, but now he's realizing that marrying for money feels like marrying for money.

"You didn't deserve it," she says, her tone harsh as she stares out the windshield. "You fooled him into offering it to you. An old man."

I can hear the accusation underlying her words. You've fooled me into helping you too. It's like she just swung a tire iron into my stomach, and the pain won't stop rippling through me.

I place my fingertips lightly under her chin, turning her head toward me, because I need her to look me in the eye right now. "What the fuck happened? Where is this coming from?"

But I already know what must have happened.

Damien and Nicole have both been gone.

One of them found Dale. They talked to him, and he told them that I came back for the watch. He must have told them that I'd accepted it and then turned my back on him. Disappeared.

The thought feels like an amoeba eating me up from the inside.

If I tell her…

"Damien had a very interesting conversation with the owner of that watch," she confirms, sweeping her hair out of her face as if it offended her.

"You think you know everything," I say, and in my voice I hear the same bitterness I heard from Anthony.

"What don't I know?" she challenges.

My heart races, and there's a voice inside that whispers I should tell her. Nicole and Damien are going to find out soon enough, so I might as well just say the words. But it hurts that she believed the worst, even though most thinking people would.

I'm not a man who should be trusted. I accept that. But I wanted her to trust me. I wanted it with every broken, jagged piece of my soul, and I thought we'd reached a place of trust and mutual regard. The past couple of nights, with Lainey curled up beside me, I felt like a new man. A man who suddenly had a lot to lose. But now it's gone as easily as if it had been made of smoke or mist.

"Do you even have a brother?" she asks, her voice hard, her eyes as cold as chocolate chips left in the freezer.

"Wow," I say, already getting out of the car. I need to move. I need to go . " Wow ."

"What are you doing?" she hisses. Seconds later, she's clambering out of the driver's side after me.

"What I came here to do."

I'm furious with myself. I let myself forget why I was here. Despite those daily texts from Roark, I let myself forget that this whole thing is about saving Ryan—the one person who really does trust and rely on me. It was stupid of me to think otherwise, to let myself get pulled into these peoples' lives as if I could matter to them.

It was like that when I was a kid. Ryan and I would get used to a foster home, we'd come to rely on it. And then, once again, we'd be taken away and brought to a new one. The only person who lasted for him was me, and me for him.

It's better not to rely on other people, and smarter not to rely on them so quickly.

Still, those dandelion seeds are inside of me. I'm riddled with them. With sprouts of love for this woman who's staring at me, again, like I'm an accident that dared to dirty the bottom of her shoe.

So I look away and start to pick through the trees that'll eventually land me in Anthony Rosings Smith's backyard.

She's quiet, but I hear her moving right beside me, lithe and graceful as always, but angry. Really fucking angry.

Well, so am I. Mostly, I'm angry at myself, but I'm angry at her too. I'm angry that she'd think so little of me that I'd lie about Ryan, and lie a lot.

The two-story house looms in front of us through the trees, visible long before we reach the yard. No fence. No cameras, or at least Mrs. Rosings told Lainey there aren't any. Anthony wants to live a ‘normal' life. The house is a dark blue that's vaguely depressing, as if it's somewhere light goes to die. The roof is metal and modern and probably makes it sound like popcorn is popping whenever it rains.

Elaine grabs my arm, her touch radiating through me. "They're gone. Mrs. Rosings just texted me."

"Fantastic," I say tightly, taking another step.

She tugs harder. "Jake, I'm not going to let you take that necklace if it's here."

"Try and stop me," I say, even though I'm pretty sure she fucking could. I'd die before hurting her, and if she got the jump on me, the way she did at Smith House, I might not be able to dislodge her without doing her harm.

I make my way to the back door, Elaine still gripping my arm. But when we reach it, she drops her hold. In mutual agreement, we creep around the side of the house to verify that there's only one car in the driveway before returning to our spot at the back door. She lets me take out my toolkit, but I can feel her watching me with disdain. With the bitter knowledge that I've done this before. It makes me feel like a stain on humanity, and even though it's not fair, I resent her for that.

For treating me like someone who deserved to be loved and then realizing what everyone else has: that a man who does bad things is, deep down, a bad man.

I get to work with my tools, and after a couple of minutes the lock clicks over.

"You sold yourself short," she says, her voice bitter. "I'd give you at least an A-."

I ignore her. I don't look at her. I can't.

I just swing the door wider and let her follow me in, hearing the slight creak as she closes it behind us, leaving us in the darkness of a living room. It's smaller than I would have thought, with a sedate but classy beige sofa, love seat, and chair set, an expensive-as-fuck-looking coffee table, and a flat screen TV. There's some framed art propped against the wall, as if Anthony and Nina couldn't agree about what to put up so decided on nothing—or maybe she took down what he already had up.

From what little he's told me, I'm guessing it's the latter.

"I'm not going to let you take it," Elaine reminds me.

"The way my day is going, it's probably not even in here." I sigh. "We should probably split up so we can get through the house quicker."

She laughs without any humor. "Yeah, right. You're not going anywhere without me."

"Okay, ball and chain," I say flatly. "Where do you suggest we start?"

"The bedroom."

"Too obvious," I say. "I'm guessing the kitchen."

A snort escapes her as she surveys the bland room, taking in the same details I noticed. "You think either of them cook?"

"No," I say pointedly. "That's why we're starting in there. She'd want to hide it somewhere he wouldn't easily find it."

We go through every cupboard, look inside every dusty glass and bowl. Nothing.

So I let Lainey decide where to look next. There's nothing in the bedroom, but it's worth noting that it doesn't look like two people have been sleeping in here. There's a king bed with slate gray covers and an amount of throw pillows that suggests a woman's touch. One nightstand has a glass of water, a Southern Living magazine with reading tabs, and an iPad. The other small table is completely empty.

I glance at Elaine, then try to turn on the iPad.

No one's more surprised than me when it opens for 0000, especially when I pull up the messaging app, and the first thing I see is the image of a man's hand wrapped around his dick.

"Ugh," I say. "I both really hope and really do not hope that's Anthony's dick."

Elaine glances at the screen, looking almost crestfallen. "It's not. This guy's blond. Look at the hair."

Well, shit, I'd rather not. I feel another round of sympathy for my pretend buddy.

Steeling myself, I minimize the dick pic and scroll through the other texts. There's nothing about the necklace, but plenty about what the unidentified sender would like to do with her with his blond dick.

I close the iPad, wipe it down, and return it to the table.

Both closets are full, one with his clothes, the other with hers. She has jewelry, but the Heart of the Mountain isn't sitting out and waiting for us.

"Where to next?" Lainey asks.

"I think he's been staying in the guest room."

"Or that very nice couch," she agrees.

"Let's check the bathroom?"

We search that next and find nothing except some vaginal itch cream I really wish I could unsee in a surprisingly messy medicine cabinet.

Next, we do a lightning quick check of the two guest bedrooms upstairs and find them disinteresting.

It's been about an hour. The play, presuming Mrs. Rosings can terrify Anthony and Nina into staying, is three.

"The basement," Elaine says next, so we head down there together. It's only a basement in the strictest sense of the word—there are wood floors, plush rugs, and an enormous black leather sectional couch, but there's also a huge walk-in closet. And when we open it and flick on the punishing overhead light, we see a stack of black leather luggage at the far end, under a shelf supporting a dozen or so games that look unopened.

Elaine and I exchange a glance.

"The bottom one," we say at the same time, and I almost smile. But I don't. Even though we've been working together, it's with the knowledge that she no longer trusts me. I lift the other bags off, and she pulls the bottom one out.

When she opens it, she immediately glances up at me. Because it's full of neatly folded clothing and a toiletries case.

"The toiletries case," I say hoarsely, and she unzips it, still kneeling beside the suitcase.

The Heart of the Mountain isn't in there. But there are five other very expensive pieces nestled inside.

"I'm pretty sure these are Mrs. Rosings's," Elaine says, giving me a sidelong look.

"Looks like Nina definitely changed her mind about the wedding." I swallow through my dry throat. "She doesn't have the necklace. If she had it, it would be here. Maybe she took these during the power outage instead. Easier access."

"Either that, or she's already in the process of selling the Heart of the Mountain to someone," Elaine says. "Or having it evaluated."

Which would still put it beyond my reach. I'm exactly where I started, only now I'm a little more broken. I stare woodenly down at the toiletries case, splayed open on top of the bag.

"They're worth a lot of money," Elaine comments, her eyes on the jewels. Then she looks up at me, a challenge simmering in her gaze. "You can take them and leave. Mrs. Rosings doesn't know they're here. No one will know it was you. I won't tell."

It's obviously a test, but it means she's not convinced I won't take her up on it. Part of her believes I'll take those necklaces and run. I probably deserve that kind of doubt, but it feels like my heart just got sprayed with acid.

"I need the Heart of the Mountain to save my brother," I grit out as she pushes to her feet. "I could give a shit about stealing your boss's jewelry, however much it's worth."

She holds my gaze, studying me, and whatever she sees there changes her. Her gaze softens; something inside of her seems to give. She spans the small distance between us, her nearness bringing her spicy jasmine scent to me. A stray dark hair tickles me as she tips her face up to me, her expression all hellcat. "Jake…why did the old man think you took his watch?"

Think.

That means she doesn't fully believe it.

Still, my feelings are sore, and I say, "You told me you know everything."

I go to step away, but she reaches for my shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it to keep me in place.

Her eyes boring into me in the low light, she asks, " Why? "

"I didn't take it," I say, my heart pounding, everything in me needing her to believe me. "I wouldn't. I liked him. He…" I search for words that will fully encompass what Dale's offer did to me. The way he held out something precious to him and told me to take it. Me . My voice is strangled as I add, "He changed my life."

"So why was he so sure you took it? Damien showed him a photo."

I don't say anything— I can't . My need for her to believe me, to trust me, has rendered me mute. I just stare back at her.

Something flashes in her eyes. "He thought it was you, but it wasn't."

I don't flinch, but I don't tell her. I wait.

"You're twins. You and Ryan are identical twins. He gave it to Ryan because he thought he was giving it to you."

An old ugliness is unleashed in my gut. I couldn't talk to Ryan after that, not for months, not until Roark called me to say he'd caught my brother trying to steal the watch back. Because I cared about Dale, and now he only remembers me as one more person who screwed him over.

"You thought the worst of me," I say, the words coming out harsh. "You immediately thought the worst of me. You're the one person who I thought understood me. Even more than Ryan…"

She pulls on her two fistfuls of shirt. For a second, I think she's about to slap me, but then her soft lips are pressing against mine. Maybe this is just her way of saying goodbye, but even if it is, I can't bring myself to say no.

I back her into an area of the wall empty of shelves, attacking her mouth, because I have a need for her that's feverish and probably not entirely sane. Her hand slips down to my pants, my button, my zipper, and I swear into her mouth. A fucking kickball falls from the shelf next to us, jostled free, and hits me in the head, but it doesn't stop me for more than the half a second it takes to swear.

We shouldn't be doing this here in their house. They could come back, for one thing, for another, we'll be leaving behind plenty of DNA, not that we intend to steal anything. But it doesn't matter. I need her more than I need the air in my lungs and the ground at my feet. I fucking need her. And I need her to forgive me for the things I'm not sure I can forgive myself for.

She pushes down my pants and my underwear, her hand wrapping around me roughly. A hiss escapes me, captured by her lips, and she swallows it up, as greedy as I am.

I pull away enough to say, "I don't have anything with me."

"I don't care."

Jesus. "I can't risk…"

She's staring into my eyes, my dick in her hand, and I can tell from the flash of understanding in her eyes that she gets it. My mother, knocked up at seventeen. My mother, abandoning us.

She understands me. She really fucking does.

"I'm on the pill."

I tug her hand, earning an angry sound from her, but then I get down on my knees and flip up her dress. Capturing the side of her underwear in my teeth, I pull them down, glancing up at her. Watching her watch me, her eyes wide with lust. When her panties get past her knees, they fall the rest of the way. As she steps out of them, still in her shoes, I rise back up, pausing to lick and suck, my head fully buried under the bottom of her dress.

I meant to just go in for a quick taste, but I grip her hips and go in deeper, wanting more of her, wanting to show her what I can give her. What we are together. Wanting to bury myself inside of her and stay because when we're together I feel better than okay. I feel happy. I feel…hopeful. And when I'm tasting her and feeling her writhe against me, I'm a god among men.

Her hand weaves into my hair, keeping me in place and then pulling me up.

"I need you inside of me right now ," she says, her eyes shiny, and fuck, is she crying? I didn't want to make her cry. I want her happy, joyful, and writhing with pleasure, but not crying.

I lift my hand, tracing through the wetness lingering on her bottom lashes.

"Right now, Jake," she repeats.

So I do what my woman has fucking asked. I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around me as I back her into the wall.

I flip up her dress, and in seconds I'm buried deep inside of her—the relief of it nearly enough to make my eyes roll back in my head.It's even better like this, with nothing between us. Every sensation is ten times brighter, sharper. She bites the lobe of my ear, arcing into me, encouraging me not so gently to get on with it.

"I don't want to leave you," I admit as I pull out and then stroke back in hard, her shoes digging into my back.

"So don't," she says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world and I'm an idiot for not having considered it. Maybe I am. I would be, if I gave away the best gift I've ever been given. Because something tells me that my only chance of making something of myself lies with this woman.

I lower my head, still moving inside her, and kiss the tops of her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—every bit of her that I can reach, while I claim what I'd like to be mine. Her body strains against me, meeting every thrust, one of her hands lowering to my ass so she can push me in deeper, the other one burying in my hair. Every bit of me is hers. She owns it if she wants it; and if she doesn't, it's her right to throw it away.

"Jake," she says on a gasp, "Jake, I'm coming."

Music to my ears. I feel her grip around me, and I fall over the edge with her, my lips on hers, my dick buried so deep that I see stars.

This, I think, is true happiness.

Love , a voice in my head whispers, and I can't find it in myself to call it an idiot.