Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

JAKE

My heart thumps fast and wild in my chest—a real fucking rabbit of a heart. Lainey's here but not here. She's in a car with Nicole and Damien a couple of blocks away. Backup, they say. Sitting ducks, I say. I didn't want her that close to Roark and everything he represents, but it's incredibly hard to tell my woman no. Usually, I wouldn't have it any other way, but today her proximity has me riding scared.

So does the multimillion dollar necklace riding shotgun in a little hinged box—and Mrs. Rosings, reclined in the backseat so she can't immediately be seen.

It's Saturday, a little less than a week after the tea. Over the past week, there's been plenty of drama, between the fallout from Rosie's secret to Anthony's broken engagement. Lainey and I have also been working on our plan for expanding the Love Fixers.

All of us drove to upstate New York yesterday to take this meeting, because no one wanted to fly with a multimillion dollar piece of jewelry. Mrs. Rosings rode with Lainey and me, and talked seemingly the whole time without really saying much. Which would be fine by me, normally. I enjoy talking. It's just…the plan is…

There is no fucking plan. Mrs. Rosings insists she can get Roark to release my brother and Dale's watch, although I have to wonder if that's just because she's so accustomed to bossing people around that she expects everyone to bend to her will. Truth be told, I can't imagine what she could have on Roark from thirty-some-odd years ago that would hold any sway now.

Nicole's guess was "dirty photos," Lainey's friend Claire thinks he might still love her, and Damien pointed out that it doesn't actually matter, since the only way we were getting the necklace to the meet-up was if she went with it.

So here we are, parked in the lot of a fast food restaurant that looks like it's been closed for the last decade, sandwiched between the dirty fa?ade of the building and a bunch of trees gone to wild, waiting for Roark to show up with my brother. I'm sweating, my palms patting the wheel as if I'm trying to form a loaf of bread.

"Can't you sit still?" Mrs. Rosings asks from the back seat.

"Nope. Are you sure about this? He's not the kind of man who gives things away for free."

"I can't entirely be sure," she admits, lips pursed. "People change. But I do believe I have the right of it."

I glance back, taking her in. "Do you ever believe otherwise?"

She makes an incredulous sound. "Why on earth would I?"

Not much I can say to that.

Her eyes narrow. "That's part of the reason I knew you weren't a therapist. Therapists can sit still. Anthony would have figured it out too if he weren't so trusting."

"I expect he won't be as trusting anymore," I say, feeling the burn of having played a part in that.

"No, but at least he won't be married to a woman who'd make a fool of him morning, noon, and night."

She continues to watch me, and it's more fucking unnerving than it should be, but I'm not the kind of man who enjoys backing down either. I hold her gaze.

Finally, she nods, as if having established something. "You'll do."

"For what?"

"For your young woman. She's a spirited girl. She needs a man who can keep up with her, if she insists on having a man."

"You care about her," I say, stating the obvious. It's not as if it surprises me. Anyone with sense would care about Lainey and want things to go well for her, but it is something that twines us together, Mrs. Rosings and me. She cares about Lainey, and I'd burn the world down for my girl—or beat it really hard with a shitty umbrella.

"She reminds me of myself as a girl," Mrs. Rosings says after a moment. "Which is why I've been hard on her. You're too young to understand, but as you get older, you start to recognize patterns. You can see where someone's choices are likely to lead, and it's hard to sit in the backseat and watch without attempting to direct them."

My mouth hitches up. "And yet here you are in the backseat."

She smiles at me and gives the slightest nod of her head. "And yet here I am." She's quiet for a second, which is a real novelty for both of us, then says, "Will you really help my son?"

I slide my hands along the wheel. I toggle my foot. "I'd like to, but I'm far from sure he's interested in more ‘help' from me."

Especially once he learns the full truth about who I am and why I sought him out. I've decided I'm going to tell him, which won't be a particularly fun conversation. But if I'm going to start living my truth, I need to break free of the lies that have piled onto me over the years—the luggage of people who do not exist.

I've also decided that I'm going to go talk to Dale, watch or no watch. Damien's words have stuck with me like the burrs from a burdock plant. I don't like the thought of Dale wasting his time worrying about me. It's fucked up that he should have to lose both his watch and his peace of mind.

Mrs. Rosings gusts out a slow sigh. "I'm afraid that boy needs all the help he can get. Not just to secure his trust fund. He needs a real friend. It's no easy legacy, being Adrien's son."

She's not wrong, and guilt plucks a familiar rhythm in my head. I'd like to be that friend, if he'll let me.

Then I hear a car pulling around the front of the abandoned restaurant, and my heart starts hammering. And all other thoughts vanish from my head.

I'm finally going to see my brother. He's going to be free, out of that locked room. Out.

A black van with tinted windows turns the corner, and after it parks, Roark climbs out of the front. He looks…old. His face is lined, and there are dark circles under his eyes. Maybe being in constant contact with my brother has drained him. Good for Ryan.

I expect one of Roark's goons to come out with him, but he appears to be alone, unless Ryan's tucked away in the backseat. Please let Ryan be in the backseat.

I pick up the necklace case and get out of the car.

"You got it?" Roark says, his countenance brightening. "I knew you could do it." He looks happy to see me, and some fucked up part of me still wants his approval—same as when he first trained us up. It pisses me off.

"Where's my brother?"

Something I don't like passes over his face. "Let me see the necklace."

"Not until I see Ryan."

"He's at the house," Roark says, but anger flickers across his face before he shuts it down. "Couldn't be bothered to get up."

Ryan's a lot of things, but he's not lazy. He'd be itching to leave Roark's place. It would be driving him nearly crazy by now—over a month in. He'd be here if he could be.

"Where's your muscle?" I ask.

His jaw flexes again, and I know. I just fucking know.

Ryan's gone.

Somehow he convinced Roark's goons to turn on him, because otherwise they'd be here , and they got him out.

A smile threatens to spread across my face, stopped only by the question of why Ryan hasn't reached out to me if he escaped.

The back door of the car opens, and Mrs. Rosings pops her head out. "Where's the boy?" she asks, delivered as coolly as a queen, and Roark suddenly looks like he's going to be pushed over the edge into cardiac arrest.

"Dahlia," he gasps. His gaze darts to me. "You got caught."

He sounds disappointed in me, and I'm relieved by the anger that pumps through my veins.

I grab his collar and shake him. "Does my brother still have both of his hands?"

"He won't if I get ahold of him again," he says tightly, every line in his face rigid as he removes my hand. "He won't have either of them."

Mrs. Rosings clucks her tongue and steps out of the car. "You taught the boys to steal. Who do you have to blame but yourself if they turned against you?"

"You shouldn't be here," Roark says, his voice hoarse. He's staring at her as if she's an apparition, a ghost, a goddess . I've never seen him look at anyone that way. Maybe the reason he sees her that way is because she's a person who's bested him. Surprised him. Beaten him.

I know a thing or two about that. It's hard not to fall all over yourself to impress a woman whose skills are superior to yours. But I have a feeling Mrs. Rosings is even less tolerant of bullshit than Lainey.

"No, I shouldn't be here," Mrs. Rosings says, "but you tried to steal my necklace. An interesting way of reaching out, but I confess I'm not interested in renewing our acquaintance. You will not be taking the Heart of the Mountain. Besides. We'd agreed to exchange the necklace for the boy, and it's clear you don't have the boy."

His gaze stuck on her, he says, "I can see you haven't changed."

"Neither have you." The expression on her face leaves little doubt that she considers that to be very bad news for him.

"Where's Ryan?" I ask again, needing the confirmation that he took off on his own and didn't get hurt.

Roark turns toward me, his expression bleak. "I treated you like sons."

The little boy I was would want to regain his approval, but he stopped feeling like a father the moment he sent my brother to do what my conscience had ordered me not to. "You threatened to cut my brother's hand off to force me to steal a multimillion dollar necklace," I say flatly. "You refused to let me quit when I told you I couldn't do it anymore. You wouldn't win father of the year unless your only competition was my actual father."

He watches me for a long moment, his eyes tired. His face looks like a deflated balloon, the extra material having nowhere to go. "He convinced the guards to help him. They cleaned out the museum. Your watch too, Jake. I'm guessing Ryan's not planning to give any of it back. He's not the sentimental type. He's trying to take over for me."

My heart feels like it's going to choke me.

He's not wrong about Ryan. A mark is a mark to him, and he's never let any of them slip under his walls and matter. But I matter to him, and he did this for me. So yes, I think he will return the watch.

Which is not to say he'll return everything from the museum. Because it may not be a popular opinion, but there are people who don't deserve sympathy. Like motherfucker , and Peter, Peter Pussy Eater of the cookie bouquet. Sometimes karma doesn't deliver unless it has a helping hand. Over the last few weeks, I've discovered how much I like being that helping hand.

"You don't know him. You don't know either of us."

"Did you know he's been gone for three days?" he asks pointedly.

The news rattles me, the way it's meant to. "Why would you still agree to the meet up?"

"Because I knew he wouldn't come to you."

Worry pricks at me. Ryan is gone, who knows where, and he hasn't reached out to me. He isn't involving me in his plans.

But I won't show my hand. "Goodbye, Roark."

He stops me with a hand on my arm. For a second, I'm brought back seventeen years to when I was little. He taught us to thieve, but we hadn't started with expensive jewels or one-of-a-kind pieces. We'd started small. Part of our training had involved hanging out in public places where it was easy to "part fools from their money." The zoo. The park. On those outings he used to silently signal to us like this—with a quick touch to the arm. Sometimes he'd direct our attention to a man whose wallet was practically asking to be liberated from his pocket, or a woman who kept setting her purse down to take photos. But other times he'd point out a monkey, hanging by its tail. A giraffe licking a little girl's hand.

Sometimes I pretended I was what I seemed to be—a kid hanging out with his dad.

I glance back and see he's holding a gun on me.

My stomach lurches.

Demonize your mark.

Maybe he thought of Ryan and me as sons once. Proteges at least. But now we're just drains. Ryan's his enemy, and I'm the wall blocking him from what he wants.

"Give me the necklace," he says.

"On second thought, you're worse than my actual father."

"No more bullshit," he sneers. "Give it to me." His gaze shifts from me to Mrs. Rosings, who's standing behind the decrepit fast food restaurant, staring at him like a queen from her throne. His expression shifts and then hardens.

" No ," she says. "I'm the one who suffered for it. It's mine, and one day it will belong to my daughter. Now, you can kill us in cold blood and take what's mine, but you should know there's a tracker on that necklace that's very hard to remove, and also that we have friends parked two blocks away who know where we are and who we were meeting. You will get caught, and this time you'll go to jail. Now, your pride has been injured, your museum of curiosities cleared out, but one would assume you still have your bank account. Why not do the world a favor and retire?"

He's staring at her now, his attention averted from me. They're still talking, but their words have become white fuzz. My heart beating in my ears, I try to gauge if I should go for it. His gun is aimed at me. If I jump him, there's a chance it'll go off, and I'll lose a lung or maybe my life. But if I don't, he could shoot both of us. The sound of the bullets might draw Nicole and Damien and Lainey, and then—

That's all it takes. The fear of him seeing her, of her being close enough for him to harm her in any way. I still think he wouldn't, but the possibility is unacceptable. My brother is safe, and Lainey must be kept safe too.

I jump.