Never Trust a Thief (Ring of Thieves #4)

Prologue

Six Years Ago...

Manningtree, Essex, UK

Sitting on the damp grass, I trace a finger over the words etched into the cold, granite gravestone: Landon Marquette. Beloved Father and Daring Archeologist.

My heart sits in my chest like a brick as I say my final goodbye.

My father, the only man I’ve ever loved and trusted, is gone, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so utterly lost. Even though he’s technically the second parent I’ve lost, I never knew my mother.

She died in childbirth. But my dad told me stories about her with so much love in his eyes, I could almost imagine what it would’ve been like to have her in my life.

And it would’ve been wonderful.

A light drizzle begins to fall from the storm-gray clouds above. I blink through a mix of tears and rain as the damp breeze lifts my dark hair, swirling it around my face. The sadness that consumes me is stifling and bone deep. And quickly giving way to a palpable bitterness.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been back in Manningtree, and it looks so much smaller than I remember. Although, to be fair, it is considered the smallest town by area in England. But when we lived here, it never seemed this miniscule. Like a vague, forgotten dot on the map.

And even though I’ve basically ignored it since we left and Dad took a teaching position at the University of Denver, I’ll always love it here.

Because it’s home. I grew up playing along the River Stour, imagining adventures that spanned the world beyond my little home in Essex.

As an archeologist, Dad was always encouraging me to explore.

Manningtree may only be nineteen hectares, less than one-square mile, but it was an awful lot to investigate, and it kept me busy back in the day.

I knew Dad would want to be buried here, so I transported his body back.

Technically, St. Michael and All Angels is located in Mistley, the neighboring parish, because Manningtree doesn’t have its own cemetery.

Even the cemetery is a level of solace I’ve missed.

With its ancient headstones peppered among newer slabs of granite, the old church in the background, it brings a level of serenity and reverence that speaks to centuries of mourners and memories.

Everything here is so quaint. So quiet. Such a difference from the hustle and bustle of Denver. A part of me wants to stay and disappear in the solitude it offers.

And the other part of me? The darker, more vengeful part? She wants to retrace her route across the ocean and find a way to screw the system, just like it screwed Dad.

One month ago, we found out my dad had a rare, highly-aggressive blood cancer called Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

It’s treatable when caught early, but it requires immediate hospitalization and intensive inpatient chemotherapy and often stem cell transplants.

The expenses are massive and ongoing. But how do you put a price on someone’s life?

Especially for someone who still has so much life left in them.

Apparently, if you sit behind a big corporate desk and push paper around all day, the answer is easy. Because after the diagnosis, his fucking insurance company dropped him. Like he didn’t even exist anymore. Never paid into their fraud of a system. Wasn’t worth the time or effort to save.

To say I was furious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The level of cold dismissal stunned me. I placed angry phone calls and demanded meetings.

I yelled and threatened lawsuits. I took care of my dad as best as I could through his final few weeks, pouring every last penny of our savings into outrageous, completely astronomical medical bills.

But all to no avail. Dragging things out and pursuing legal action would be pointless. Because we all knew the truth—without fast, proper treatment, AML is notoriously fatal within the first month.

And now my dad is just another statistic to the system.

But he was so much more than that. To me, he was everything.

Clenching my hands into fists on my thighs, I let my tears flow.

I’ve never felt so alone. The drizzle turns into fat raindrops that splatter on the tombstone and quickly soak me.

Pushing up off the soggy ground, I leave the cemetery and walk back down to the little extended-stay room I’m renting.

It’s like a studio apartment. Nothing fancy, but it has the necessities.

Turning up the heat, I shrug out of my wet clothes and slip on warm flannel bottoms and a big, cozy sweatshirt.

After wringing out my wet hair, I twist it up into a tight bun then make a cup of tea.

Black tea brewed strong with a splash of milk and sprinkle of sugar to create the perfect shade of golden brown.

You can take the girl out of England, but you can’t take England out of the girl.

No matter where I live, I need a proper cup of correctly-prepared tea. It soothes my soul.

Sitting down in the chair beside the rain-streaked window, I curl my stockinged feet beneath me and lightly blow on my tea. My gaze drifts to the small table beside me, landing on the fancy business card.

After taking a sip, I pick up the card and study the gold-embossed name printed on it.

Lionel Caruthers. A billionaire tycoon, philanthropist and collector of rare, priceless artifacts.

He must’ve smelled my desperation from Denver because he reached out to me about a job three weeks ago.

I told him I couldn’t leave my father because I wanted to spend every last moment with him.

Now that I’ve exhausted every penny in both of our bank accounts, I’m debating whether or not I have any choice left.

Caruthers is a crafty SOB. He funds archeological digs to find prizes for his personal collection of antiquities.

Of course, he keeps governments and historians happy and off his back by donating some stuff to museums. The trinkets not worthy of his treasure trove.

My dad never agreed with the way Caruthers operated, but when a billionaire finances your entire dig and salary, you learn to shut your mouth and deal with his eccentricities and occasional pilfering of the most valuable items found.

But what he’s asking of me now has less to do with digging up an old relic and more with stealing one.

The truth is I’m in a very vulnerable position… and caving fast.

I need a big payday. The amount of hospital bills racked up in one month without insurance to help cover even one cent… it’s staggering.

The weight of a debt I will never be able to pay prompts me to pick up my phone and make the call.

“Caruthers,” he answers after the first ring.

“Hello, Mr. Caruthers. It’s Delaney Marquette.”

“Ah, Miss Marquette. My condolences. I heard your father passed away. He was an exceptional man.”

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“Have you made a decision about my proposition?”

I doubt many people say no to Lionel Caruthers. Including me.

“Yes.” I pull in a breath then announce, “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful.” I can practically feel his slimy satisfaction oozing through the phone.

“I’ll have a private jet waiting to fly you to Spain in the morning.

A dossier and a bag of burner phones will be waiting for you on board.

Once the item is secured and delivered, one-hundred thousand dollars will be deposited into an offshore account under an alias I’ve already established for you. ”

My head spins a little at his rapid-fire directions and the influx of information. All I manage to say is “Alias?”

“The account belongs to Bella Diamond. From this point forward, all contact between us will be over burners or through the encrypted email I’ll have my IT man set up.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. He seems to take my silence as understanding, and continues, “I have a good feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful relationship… Miss Diamond.”

Then he hangs up.

Spain? An alias? Burners?

What have I gotten myself into?

It’s all so clandestine and spy-worthy. And I’m not going to lie, a little thrill zings through me.

I’ve known Caruthers since I was a little girl running around on digs.

Apparently, all those years have coalesced in him trusting me enough to keep his secrets.

To offer me a job when he knows I must be strapped for cash.

At the same time, it’s an offer from the Devil.

And I’m about to sell my soul.

I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and take a good look around me as the implications of what I’ve done sink in.

Not only am I saying goodbye to my dad, I’m leaving behind my life as Delaney Marquette.

It’s exactly what I need—the ability to start over, forget my past and become someone entirely new.

And I can’t deny the chance to become a new woman is exciting.

Today, at this very moment, I’m sealing my fate.

Tomorrow, I will become Bella Diamond.