Chapter 8
Jensen
On the drive back to the flat, my mind should have been on one thing—my next move. Instead, I was thinking about how to convince Natalie to have dinner with me.
A voice in the back of my mind—one that sounded suspiciously like Maple—reminded me I had a job to do. And it was not Natalie Thatcher.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“Well, since I don’t have a solid lead yet, my usual strategy is to keep my ear to the ground. Listen, observe, talk to people. See if I can spot anything that will point me in the right direction.”
She nodded slowly as if she were thinking. I paused, but she didn’t say anything.
“Do you have an idea?” I asked.
“I do, actually. I was thinking ear to the ground makes total sense. And if there is a jewelry thief in town, or someone who hired him, or even a buyer, there might be hints of that in the gossip line. So we should go somewhere that allows us to listen in.”
“And where would that be?”
She hesitated. “There are several options. The Steaming Mug, the coffee shop downtown, could be a good place. Especially if Louise Haven and her band of little old lady friends happen to be there. But for this, I think we need to go to the Timberbeast.”
“The timber what?”
“Timberbeast Tavern. It’s a local hangout.”
“Sounds charming.”
She laughed. “It’s a small-town bar. Nothing fancy, but the drinks are good. It caters more to locals than visitors, so townspeople tend to congregate there.”
“All right. Drinks at the Timberbeast.” I glanced at her and winked. “It’s a date.”
“Not that kind of date.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.”
The corner of my mouth lifted in a smirk, but I didn’t argue. She rolled her eyes.
I pulled up outside her house and parked. “What time shall we depart this evening for drinks that is not a date?”
“How about four?”
“Four? Isn’t that a bit early?”
“We’re looking for the ‘grabs a beer before dinner and probably goes to bed by nine’ crowd.”
“Fair enough. I’ll pick you up at four.”
“Still not a date, Jensen.”
“Of course not, darling.”
With a soft laugh, she shook her head, then got out of the car.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be a date. But there was always next time.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror in the bedroom, I took a hard look at my reflection. Something wasn’t right.
I’d donned the dark green flannel, and the jeans were a good fit. My stubble wasn’t exactly a thick beard—I’d seen many of those around town—but that would take a bit of time to grow if I wanted to really embrace the lumberjack aesthetic. And I wasn’t sure that was necessary.
But there was something I didn’t like.
The sleeves. That was the problem. I unbuttoned the cuffs and rolled them up to my elbows. Much better.
Decked out in my new Tilikum wardrobe, I put on the boots and coat Natalie had selected.
It made me wonder what my sister would think if she saw me.
No one in my family knew what I did for a living, and they were used to a much more sophisticated Jensen Lakes.
My behavior was particularly outrageous when I was with my sister.
Pretending to shamelessly flirt with her friends had long been one of my favorite pastimes.
I decided it would be fun to keep Nora guessing. I took a selfie and texted it to her, asking how she liked my outfit.
Nora: What are you wearing???
Me: Do you like it?
Nora: I would love to make fun of you, but you wear that too well. How do you do that?
Me: All part of my charm. How is my precious Raina?
Nora: Busy stealing my husband from me.
Me: As it should be.
Nora: Exactly. She’s sitting up on her own now.
Me: I knew she was the world’s smartest little girl.
Nora: Of course she is. She’s mine. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what you’re up to?
Me: Probably not.
Nora: Fine. Stay out of trouble.
Me: Where’s the fun in that?
I slipped my phone into my pocket and went next door to pick up my not-date for the evening.
Natalie answered wearing her winter coat, and her face lit up with a smile. “You look great. Very Tilikum.”
“Thank you. Shall we?”
I led her to my car and held the door for her while she got in. She smelled amazing—a hint of vanilla that was warm and inviting. Like a Christmas cookie. It made me want to get closer to her. Touch her skin. Bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
Of course, I couldn’t. Not unless she wanted me to, and she’d had her guard up since the moment we met.
She gave me directions, and like everything in the small town, it was close and easy to find. We parked outside as the streetlights went on. The sun set early in December. A Christmas wreath hung on the door and inside we were greeted by a string of multicolored lights lining the bar.
Christmas really was everywhere in that town.
The bartender looked like he probably spent most of his free time chopping wood. He had a thick beard and even thicker arms, straining the seams of his red-plaid flannel shirt. He gave us a chin tip as we entered.
Several tables were filled, and about half the seats at the bar were occupied. One rather grizzled gentleman at the bar had turned on his stool and was engaged in a lively conversation with several men at an adjacent table.
I gestured for Natalie to choose our seats, and she selected a table near the conversing men.
“What can I get you to drink?” I asked. Her insistence that it wasn’t a date was fine, but I wasn’t letting her pay for her own drink.
“You don’t have to buy me a drink.”
“Don’t worry. It’s a business expense.”
“Okay, a Christmas ale if he has them.”
Natalie took her seat, and I went to the bar, catching bits and pieces of the surrounding conversations as I waited.
Two men on stools behind me were discussing golf.
Several couples sat at a nearby table and appeared to be talking about the weather—whether or not there would be more snow before Christmas. Nothing of note in either case.
The bartender took my order—a Christmas ale for Natalie and a scotch for me. He brought them to me, and I took them to our table.
I slid Natalie’s drink toward her and took my seat. “Hear anything interesting?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Me neither. Just golf and the weather.”
“I don’t know why we discuss the weather so much here. It’s December. There will probably be snow.”
“In London, it’s usually rain.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Originally. I spend more of my time in the States now.”
She took a sip of her drink. “Where in the States?”
“I have a place in Seattle.”
“How’d you end up there? You seem like the type who’d live in Manhattan or something.”
“New York does have its appeal. But my sister lives in Seattle. If you meet her, don’t let on, but I actually quite like her.”
“How did she end up in Seattle from London?”
“She’s American, actually. My half sister. Our family is a bit… complicated. We have the same father, but my mother was the other woman.”
Natalie winced. “Ouch.”
“Not ideal. I suppose I can give my father a little bit of credit. He’s still with my mother. But my origins aren’t exactly honorable. Nora and I were born a month apart.”
“Did you grow up knowing about each other? Or did you find out as adults?”
“We always knew. Nora spent summers with us, at least some of the time.”
“Was that awkward for your mom?”
“I suppose it was. But to give my mother credit, too, she was always kind to Nora.” I took a sip of scotch. “Tell me about you. How did you come to live with your sister and her daughter?”
She took a deep breath. “That’s kind of a long story. Nina is ten years younger than me, so I was always like a second mom to her. Our dad died when we were still kids, and then our mom died when Nina was in high school. I moved home to take care of her. Then she got pregnant with Annabel.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“Yeah, it was a lot at first. The jerk she was with bailed as soon as he found out. Didn’t want to have anything to do with her.”
“Well, now I hate him. But at least she had you.”
She nodded, and a smile lit up her face. “Since then, we’ve just done our best. I’d already finished nursing school, and Nina became an aesthetician. We work opposite schedules so one of us is always available for Annabel. We make it work.”
I gazed at her. What about her was so intriguing? I was awed by her, but I couldn’t explain why. Her story was admirable—she’d obviously sacrificed a great deal for her family. I respected that. But something deeper, something behind those dark brown eyes kept me captivated.
“How did you become a thief hunter?” she asked.
I hesitated, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability. I didn’t usually share things about my life with… anyone. Especially things from my past.
“I started out as a thief.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You did?”
“Not stealing art and antiquities, of course. I started young, nicking sweets when I was nine or ten. When I got a little older, I discovered I could steal things and sell them—cigarettes, booze, small electronics. I had quite the business going.”
“So mostly shoplifting?”
“At first, yes. Then I started targeting my father’s friends. Wealthy people had such interesting things. From there, I branched out and started breaking into other posh houses.”
“Why? For the money?”
“I suppose I liked the money. It certainly made me popular. I also liked the thrill of it. The risk. Getting in and out without being seen. Or charming my way out if I was caught. That happened more than once.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“And if I’m being honest, I was angry with my father. Adultery was not the only of his sins. He was difficult, to say the least.”
“And that was your way of getting back at him?”
“I wouldn’t have said so at the time, but yes, it was.”
“But how did you go from stealing things to this?”
“I got caught by the wrong man. Or the right man, as it were. He worked for my organization and recognized that I had amassed quite a set of skills. He made me a deal. He could turn me in, or I could work for him. I chose the latter.”
“Are you glad you made that choice?”
“Always have been. I’d matured enough by that point to realize I needed to stop. My life was heading in a dark direction, but I didn’t know how to change it. He gave me a chance. I’m grateful for that.” I took a sip of my drink. “And now, here I am.”
“And your organization is legit, right? You follow laws and everything?”
“For the most part.” I winked at her. “We have people who routinely interface with law enforcement. Especially if there are… messes to clean up.”
“But—” She stopped, as if something had caught her attention, and held up a finger. Tilting her head, she seemed to be listening.
“I heard that, too,” the man at the bar was saying. His voice was rough and gravelly. “Where do you suppose he got the money for that?”
“Probably stole it,” a man at the adjacent table grumbled.
Natalie raised her eyebrows.
“He didn’t steal that car,” the man at the bar said. “I heard he ordered it straight from the factory, and they brought it to him with a helicopter.”
“What the hell are you talking about? That’s not how they ship cars.”
“Sure they did. Brought it in hanging from a big harness.”
The man at the table waved his hand. “Bah. Don’t believe everything you hear. And I meant he stole the money to buy it, not the car.”
Another man spoke up. “I don’t trust that guy any farther than I can throw him. Never trust a man with statues outside his house. Pretentious as all hell.”
“I heard he got those from overseas,” the man at the bar said. “They were originally outside some hoity-toity mansion in France or something.”
“Did they bring those in on a helicopter too?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know. But I hear they’re made of marble. Not the kind of thing you get around here.”
I leaned across the table and lowered my voice. “Do you know who they’re talking about?”
“I’m not sure,” she whispered. She twisted in her chair and cut in on their conversation. “Are you guys talking about Rich Pine?”
I flinched a little at her directness. But maybe she knew what she was doing.
“No, no,” the guy at the bar said with a wave of his hand. “He doesn’t have statues.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said. “Who does?”
“You know, the odd duck who lives on the north side. There are two flanking the walkway to his front door. Fancy ones. Like something you’d see in a museum.”
“Guy has more money than he knows what to do with,” one of the men said. “New cars. Fancy clothes.”
“And statues,” Natalie added.
Statues could mean anything. After all, the local antique dealer had described a seven-foot Sasquatch as a “family heirloom.” But it was also possible they were talking about an art enthusiast. Maybe even a wealthy collector.
“See?” The man at the bar pointed at Natalie. “She gets it.”
“I heard he moved here from New York,” one of the men said.
“I thought it was San Diego,” Natalie said.
“No, no,” the man at the bar said, waving his hand again. “We’re talking about Julian Myers.”
“Oh, Julian Myers,” Natalie said, turning to give me a subtle smile. “You’re right. He’s not from San Diego.”
I raised my eyebrows and gave her a subtle nod. Impressive. She’d been right about listening in on town chatter. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was better than nothing.
She’d been right about my clothes, too. No one in the bar seemed interested in me.
We sat for a while longer, sipping our drinks and casually eavesdropping.
At one point, Natalie rose and wandered to an old jukebox.
I watched with a barely concealed smile as she pretended to peruse the song selections, all the while turning her ear to the group of couples at the nearby table.
I made a trip to the bar, ostensibly to get a napkin, and paused to listen in on a few of the patrons.
Neither of us heard anything else that seemed relevant. Just more talk about the weather, some griping about a neighbor, and concern over whether the squirrels had enough sustenance for the winter.
There they went with the squirrels again.
Satisfied with our reconnaissance, we decided it was time to go, and I led Natalie out to my car. She gave me a wary look as I opened the passenger door for her. So guarded. She got in, and I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and inhaled deeply, filling my nose with her scent.
A wave of heat swept through me. It was as if Natalie was a woman created to be my ultimate weakness. If I didn’t know better, I might have wondered if she was a lure, sent by an enemy to trap me.