18. Amelie
18
AMELIE
“Jensen,” I yell once I unlock the apartment door. “Living room, please. Now.”
I hear a groan as I throw my purse onto the table, hard enough that my wallet slips out. Jensen emerges from his makeshift gym, looking positively disgusting. Sweat glistens over his arms, and I refrain from telling him to go shower. I have to talk to him, but that’s going to be difficult when he looks like he just dunked himself in movie popcorn butter.
“What?” He asks, grabbing a towel and wiping himself off. Thank God. “Where were you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now. We have a bigger problem.”
“Oh, joy,” he mumbles, plopping down onto my couch. My jade couch. Whilst looking like a wet ham. “Go.”
I slip my heels off and sit down on the opposite end, holding my breath so I don’t smell him. “I called our client. Nautical Abyss wasn’t at Grand Arts. They got in the back and never even saw the thing.”
He gapes. “How? We covered it. We locked back up. Everything was right.”
“I have no idea.” I lean back into the cushions and close my eyes. “Maybe…maybe we’re just close, Jen.”
“To what?”
“Being caught.” My voice drops off at that, because I don’t want to admit these things. I don’t want to voice that I’ve been messy lately. It’s never intentional, but I’d be kidding myself to think there isn’t something we could do better.
That night in the museum, when Henry caught me a second time, I really thought that was it. I thought we were done. And whatever fear that was, whatever coursed through my body when those alarms went off, that doesn’t need to happen again. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
My parents always managed to fly under the radar. They were never caught, likely because they kept to themselves. Minded their business. They weren’t foolish enough to tangle up with someone who had cold, hard proof of their work. I can only imagine the disappointment they’d feel if they knew what I’ve been up to.
That’s why I can’t screw this up. I don’t get to blow the cover they’ve given my team by ‘hiring’ us at Grand Arts. I don’t get to uproot everyone’s lives because of one bad decision.
I won’t fail.
“Do you…” Jen trails off as he grabs the TV remote. “Do you think it’s The Dealer?”
I stiffen up. “What makes you think that?”
He shrugs. “It’s similar, right? It’s just like last time.”
He’s right, and I wish he weren’t.
The Dealer is the most generic name for someone who isn’t so basic. A year back, we did have something like this happen. Someone took a couple of paintings right out from under our noses. It was only two, and we found them back a week later, but The Dealer baited us. They put them in a remote place, got word out, then switched it up. The only reason we got them back was because we noted a pattern.
They’d leave playing cards at the scene. Aces. Every time .
I don’t know if there was an ace at Grand Arts, but I’m not going to check. I won’t even have to. If this is The Dealer, they’ll make it clear. They’ll have us chasing them until they get what they want. I’ve got no idea what that would be, and really, I’m hoping this whole thing is just some random, down-low art thief that needs cash.
“Call Meg, please,” I tell Jen, slipping my jacket off. “Let her know that the piece is gone and ask what she can do. I’d search for it myself, but she’s password protected every one of her internet personas, and I haven’t guessed a single one correctly.”
Jen snorts. “Sounds about right.”
He goes to the bedroom and rings Meg. I hear him mention the painting, and I wait a few minutes for him to return to the living room, but I guess they start talking about something else because I hear laughter shortly after.
Sighing, I stand from the couch. I flip on the TV and find a channel playing old black-and-white movies, then drag my sewing machine out from the corner.
Aside from work, I have few hobbies, but my main one is sewing. Many of my dresses are ones that I’ve made. It’s perfect, really, because I need a new shirt for tonight. Yes, need. My shirt supply is dangerously low, and I’ve got no blue ones. I’ll probably end up in leather pants tonight—though they’re incredibly impractical—so I need a shirt to match. A blue, long-sleeve top will do the trick nicely.
I measure myself and start tracing a loose pattern onto some cobalt blue fabric when Jensen finally returns to the living room. He’s sporting a poorly hidden smile, and I can’t help but assume that he and Meg are on good terms today.
“You two made up for now?” I ask.
“Ha, ha,” he mocks. “What are you doing?”
I hold up the fabric and scissors in my hands. “I’m making a shirt. We’re going to the club tonight, Jenny.”
He blinks. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Didn’t Meg tell you?” He shakes his head, so I keep on. “She found a listing for Henry’s piece at Bondi’s. Him and I are going tonight; we made plans earlier. But if you and Meg could be there, too, that’ll be better. We’ll need the van.”
“We’ll be there,” he says. “Any details I need to know?”
“None that I can think of.”
He flops down on the couch beside me. “Alright. What time?”
“Nine. I’ll head over with Henry. Let me know when you guys get there, then we’ll put the plan into motion.”
He nods. “And the plan is…?”
“Whatever presents itself in the moment.”
“Oh, lord ?—”
“Not now,” I say firmly. “Not while I’m sewing. Let me relax for a moment.”
Shockingly, Jensen moves to another topic. “Has he asked you about the message?”
“This isn’t relaxing,” I mutter. “But yes, he has.”
“And?”
“I told him to drop it, much like I’m going to tell you to do the same.”
“I was only asking. It was quite an ordeal yesterday.”
I stay silent as I thread the needle. Jensen, thank goodness, seems to pick up on my unwillingness to talk and keeps his mouth shut.
Honestly, I shouldn’t care so much. I think that’s what bothers me. I should just tell my parents the truth, explain that Meg thought she was helping, and be free of all this.
But I don’t want Margot to find out. I haven’t seen her in years, and I don’t want the first thing she thinks about me to be, You’re a liar. Granted, I’d be lying by bringing a boy to the cabin, but somehow, that’s preferable. Margot wouldn’t know. Nobody would ever find out, and even if they did, they wouldn’t dare ruin our birthday by making it a big deal.
It’s sad that I’m more apt to find a fake boyfriend than own up to the lie, but whatever.
“You’re thinking too far into it,” Jensen says, as if that’s helpful. “I don’t think anyone would give it a second thought.”
“Drop it.”
“I just?—”
“Drop. It.”
He huffs. “Fine. But I’m not helping you find a fake boyfriend to torment.”
“How would you even help me? You don’t have any friends, either.”
“I do too. Mimi from poker has a grandson that she’s always jabbering about, and he’s your age. I’m sure I could get something worked out.”
I hold the scissors up in a sword-like manner. “Do it. I dare you.”
Jensen doesn’t budge. “I will. I’ll even tell her that you like men who wear houndstooth.”
I shudder. Houndstooth plagues my nightmares, and yes, I mean that literally. This is a very sick threat. There’s simply no equal return toward Jensen. However …
“Drop this conversation and I’ll do the dishes for the next week.”
He gives a smug grin, one that tells me this was his plan all along. “Dropped.”
Someone knocks on my door at eight forty-five sharp.
“DON’T LET HIM IN!” I screech from my bedroom. I’m not opposed to Henry coming in, but I’m not ready yet. My hair is not cooperating, and my lipstick is smudged. I won’t be seen like this. I just won’t.
“What do you want me to do?” Jensen calls back. “Tell him to stay out there?”
“YES!”
A heavy sigh follows, as well as the opening of a door. I assume he goes out to relay this message to Henry, but I don’t really care. I’m more worried about the lipstick currently staining my skin.
The mark is stubborn, and it takes a few seconds of scrubbing to get it off. After that, I haphazardly tie a black bow in my hair and glare at the girl in the mirror. She isn’t to her highest standard, but she’ll do for tonight.
I step into a pair of blue heels—the exact color of my shirt—and grab Jensen’s old leather jacket. It’s a stark contrast to my new leather pants, but it’s cohesive enough.
With my lockpick in tow, I leave the apartment and find Jensen standing across from Henry in the hall. Neither seem quite as perturbed as when they met at the café—I’ve never seen Jensen look so annoyed with someone, which says a lot. People aren’t generally his favorite.
I’m shoving a piece of gum in my mouth when I look over at Henry, and my jaw threatens to unhinge itself.
This…is not Henry Arlington. I have seen multiple versions of this man in my life, but I’ve never seen this one.
He’s wearing all black. Black pants, black button down—with the top two buttons undone, no less. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Newly shined shoes. A coat over his arm, but not his normal beige one. It’s just a plain black coat.
And he looks good.
“You look ridiculous,” I say, pressing the elevator button. “Like a Johnny Cash wannabe.”
He clicks his tongue. “Is that what was going through your mind? Wouldn’t have guessed.”
I roll my eyes and try to keep them away from him. “See you at Bondi’s, Jen. Don’t be late, and don’t call when you get there. Just text.”
“Gotcha,” he says, pushing off the wall to stand straight up. “Be there in half an hour.”
“Thank you.”
The elevator doors open, so Henry and I get in. I press the ground floor button and lean against the wall, coat folded over my arms. I don’t want to put it on until I’m outside, mainly because my shirt turned out better than I could’ve imagined. Only I care, but that’s okay. I’m my target audience.
“It’s cold outside,” Henry says, looking at the ceiling. “Spitting snow.”
I clear my throat. “Thank you.”
“You look pretty.”
“I’m fully aware.”
His face gives away nothing, and again, I’m reminded that I don’t know him anymore. Maybe he stopped wearing his emotions on his face, or maybe, he never truly did; maybe I just knew how to read him. It was a luxury, knowing his tells. The loss makes me feel shockingly dejected.
The elevator stops, and we step out together. Mimi and Olive are sitting in the lobby, each with a fan of cards in their hand. All these women do is play cards, and honestly, I admire it. I hope my future looks exactly like this.
“Amelie, join us!” Olive says, her voice rough. “Mimi wanted to get Ronald and Jerry to play bridge, but I told her no. So we settled for Go Fish.”
I grin. “I’d love to, but I can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow? I’ll get Jen to play bridge with us.”
Olive sniffs. “Fine. I like that boy.”
“A real gem,” Mimi agrees, putting her glasses back on. She blinks a few times before her eyes slide to Henry, and her barely-there brows raise up into her hairline. Unsurprising, I guess. Much like I can admit talent when I see it, I can admit aesthetic value.
And Henry is, indeed…aesthetic.
Sure. Let’s use that word.
“Well, Amelie, who’s this?” Mimi asks. I swear Olive bats her eyelashes, and I suppress the laugh that threatens to bubble out of me. They’re worse than my mother. “I’ve never seen him before. It’s been so long since you’ve brought a man around.”
She’s not wrong. I haven’t brought a man around in…ever, actually, so I’m not sure who Mimi is imagining. But why should I be ashamed? It’s not as though I don’t receive offers. It’s simply that I detest most of them. And besides, if I were to go on a date, it’s not like I could keep it up. Once a prospect learns what I do, he’ll run to the police. That’s why Henry is such a bump in the road.
I hate that he knows. I hate that this is a whole thing between us now. I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t crossed my mind—that he’s the only man I could ever trust, simply because he knows and he hasn’t told. But that’s not true. He’s getting something out of his silence. It’s a trade. A business deal.
It’s fake. Regardless of our past, the trust we share is fake.
“This is Henry,” I say casually, pushing those thoughts out of my mind. “He’s a friend of mine. We’re going out for the evening.”
Olive whistles. “Where to? That top won’t hold for dancing, Amelie. Once, me and my husband?—”
“Just out to dinner,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t need to hear about Olive’s nip-slip thirty years ago. “We won’t be long. If you can stay awake past ten, I’ll even play you a round of Go Fish. He’ll join.” I elbow Henry. “He’s good at Go Fish.”
“It’s true,” Henry says, not at all thrown by these women. “I’m great. The best, even. None of you would stand a chance.”
Mimi tsks. “Cocky one, isn’t he? I won’t make it past nine-thirty though, girly. Maybe next time.”
I give her a solemn nod, though I’m hoping the ladies will be asleep well before then. If they’re still here when I return, they will rope me into a game. Mimi can only be denied so much before she starts playing dirty.
She likes bribing me with butterscotch candies. Olive too. And it works, because I cannot figure out where they’re buying them.
After a few moments of weird silence, Henry bids the ladies goodbye. He puts his hand on my back and guides me toward the door. The placement isn’t low enough for me to elbow him in the ribs, but his hands are large enough to cover a decent portion of my waist without trying. “Before they start talking again,” he says, quiet enough that only I can hear.
I suppress a shiver and let him lead me outside.