Chapter 5
Soren
This is not happening. I repeat. Not. Happening.
Maya Perry is not here in this penthouse, current nanny to the child I’m trying to rob.
No, I’m not robbing a child; I’m robbing her parents. Huge difference, which feels microscopic right now.
There is a child here—a child Rosie confirmed leaving this penthouse not four hours ago.
“She was gone.” I state it as a fact.
“She came back,” Maya says.
My brain still isn’t processing this giant problem. “She’s gone. We watched her leave.” The words spill out before I can take them back.
Maya’s eyebrows fly up. “Thanks for admitting you’ve been staking out the penthouse and stalking a child. Mind saying that one more time so I can prove it to the police?” Her phone appears in her hand, but I snatch it away, sticking it in my back pocket.
“That’s mine!” She tries to round me with the extremely rare and valuable painting, but I keep her at a distance before she accidentally destroys it.
Maya. I feel like I could rub my eyes and they’d bring me a different picture.
They’d have to, because there’s no way she should be here.
How did I fail to recognize her? Even in the dark, I should have recognized her voice.
But the hair she used to highlight with blonde is now pitch black, and her ponytail is so long it nearly touches her waist. Even her eyebrows are thicker than they used to be.
But as much as I want to study her appearance in depth, I don’t have time.
“You can’t call the police,” I mutter, feeling out of sorts in every way. I used to think about this moment—of seeing her again. It’s safe to say this wasn’t the scenario I pictured.
Her brows furrow. “How did you know my phone wasn’t workin—What did you do?”
I’m not about to further implicate myself by admitting I’ve got a phone scrambler. I’ve got a big mess as it is.
Give me the high-security safe and infrared lasers. Do not give me people. I don’t know what to do with them—this one specifically.
I have to get out of here before things get worse than they already are.
I snatch the painting from her hands, but Perfect Perry latches on to the edge of the frame. Her face scrunches as she tries to pull it free. It’s as adorable as it is annoying.
“You can’t take that now! I know who you are! I’ll-I’ll turn you in,” she stammers.
She was always the most maddening Goody Two-Shoes. Beautiful to boot, which only made it all the worse. For one year she made me want to be good, want to be a man worthy of her.
I’ve outgrown that delusion.
I yank the painting free of her grasp and narrow my eyes, trying my best to be the menacing criminal she thinks I am.
“I guess I’ll have to tie you up for the rest of the holiday.
By the time someone finds you, you’ll be delirious, and they won’t believe a word you say, and I’ll be halfway to Africa. ”
Her jaw drops. “You wouldn’t dare.”
It’s cute she thinks she can compete with me. I lower my voice. “I think the fact that I’m here means I dare.”
“But…” I watch the determination drip from her face. “But Arabella.” It’s little more than a whisper… and just like that, I’m beat. I was lying about tying her up, but I won’t even pretend to hurt a child.
I’ll have to appeal to Maya’s generous heart… if there’s any compassion left for me in there after eight years. Not that she’s been pining for me. I demolished things like a one-man wrecking ball, then set the wreckage on fire.
I take a deep breath, softening my tone. “Okay, listen. This painting was stolen from its original owners. I was hired to retrieve it.”
She looks at me with unblinking, far-from-fooled eyes. “I’m sure that’s what all the thieves say.”
She flicks her hair over her shoulder, and I catch sight of a sparkly earring in the top corner of her left ear. It makes her look classy and a bit edgy. I like it.
I shake my head, looking away. “But in this case, it’s true.”
She crosses her arms. “The Hartwells aren’t robbers.”
“There are other ways to steal things that don’t belong to you.” My voice takes on a harder edge than I intended, and I scrub a hand through my hair, calming myself down. “Halfway across the country there are two orphan girls; this was to be their sole inheritance, but it was taken from them.”
Her expression softens. “That’s a good story. Can you prove it?”
“Yes… No.” Of all the times to tell Rosie I didn’t need her. “Let me make a call, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“If what you’re saying is true, there has to be a better way to get it back than stealing,” she says the word like a curse, like she’s afraid someone might hear her and find her guilty of the act.
“Thieves aren’t known for being reasonable.”
She glares daggers through my soul. “Obviously.”
Of all the people I could have run into in this penthouse, why did it have to be the one woman who ever believed I’d amount to more? I shouldn’t care how she sees me, but I do.
“You have five seconds to leave before I scream and alert the neighbors.” She holds up her hand, all fingers extended.
“Are you seriously going to—”
“Five.” She drops a finger.
“I’m not a child.”
“Four.”
“Maya, let’s talk about this.”
“Three.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“Two.”
“You’ve left me no choice.” I lower the painting to the desk, then pick her up and toss her over my shoulder before she reaches one.
“Soren!” she screams. “Put me down this instant.”
“We both know I’m not going to leave without this painting, which means I need to lock you up until I can.” I stomp out of the office.
“Don’t you dare!” She throws her fists at my back like she’s trying to give me the Heimlich. “You won’t hurt me. I know you.”
It’s those words that get my heart racing without my consent. She did know me. She was the only one who ever truly saw me. But that was a long time ago. I’m no longer trying to prove myself to her. I have a job to do, and that’s all that matters.
I put her on a wooden armchair in the dining room and lean over her. “You do not know me. Not then. Not now. Don’t be mistaken.”
Her eyes dart between mine, and I note with a pang of regret that they are lighter now. They used to be brown, but now there’s more green in those eyes that used to hold me captive. How else has she changed?
“You won’t get away with this,” she says, and for a moment I forgot what we were discussing.
“Honey, I already have.”
She looks down, realizing I’ve almost got one hand locked up with the zip tie I slipped from my bag. She reaches up with her free hand and pinches my nose.
Pain shoots through my skull, and I reel back. “What was that for?”
“You are still the biggest baby about your nose.”
“Because it hurts.”
“It’s just cartilage.”
“It’s a very important appendage,” I shoot back.
She kicks at me, but I block her, reaching for her other arm. I catch her wrist as she yanks it back and kicks my thigh. It’s enough to give me a dead leg and, worse, send me toppling on top of her. The chair can’t withstand our combined weight and momentum, and we tip.
I’m not sure what’s louder: the sound of the chair hitting the marble floor or her head hitting it. The chair snaps and cracks, crumbling around us, digging into my hip, but my eyes are on the woman beneath me. Eerily still.
An ear-splitting scream rips through the penthouse. “You killed my nanny!”