Stolen for Keeps (Buffaloberry Hill #2)

Prologue – Maya Belrose

I knew this mansion like the back of my hand. Every hidden passage, every creaky floorboard, every blind spot the security cameras missed. Three generations of Belroses had lived here together, and for a time, it had been home. Until Grandpa died, leaving his will unfinished and unsigned.

Then the vultures swooped in. Uncle David and his Botoxed trophy wife wasted no time staking their claim, leeching off what was never theirs to take.

My parents never saw it coming. That was the price of trust. David bled them dry.

While they built their empire on stolen wealth, we stood on the outside looking in.

And the worst part? Their legacy was secured in their perfect little princess, Annamaria.

Once upon a time, I was Grandpa’s favorite. And from the moment we were old enough to string sentences together, Anna hated me for it. Now, as the golden child of the Belrose clan, she had it all—power, wealth, and every luxury life could offer.

I’d made peace with that. Mostly.

Truly, I didn’t miss the wealth, the mansions, or the designer labels. I worked two jobs, paid my own way through college, and never asked for anything. But tonight, I was back. Not for money, not for revenge, but for something more important—my mom’s heirloom, stolen and never forgotten.

Covered head to toe, with gloved hands and soft-soled shoes, I crouched behind a tree in the backyard, watching the mansion.

It was quiet. I remember the nights when its windows were glowing like a jack-o’-lantern against the dark Montana sky.

But not right now. I’d planned this for months.

Every entry point, every camera angle. The risks were calculated. The reward? Priceless.

“It was from my grandma. I promised her,” she used to whisper to Dad.

And every time, he’d say, “I’ll make it up to you.”

But he never did.

So now, I was here to take it back.

The backyard was enclosed by a fence, but not for security, just to keep the deer out.

There were no cameras, no guards. The only thing behind it was the forest, untouched and undisturbed, a natural barrier no one ever crossed.

I climbed over, dropping onto the grass without a sound, then sprinted for the storage outbuilding at the edge of the property.

Most people thought it was just a glorified shed, but it had history.

It used to be a trapper’s cabin, built long before the mansion existed. Grandpa told me stories about the men who lived here, how they carved out tunnels to survive the brutal winters. Over time, the cellar became a passage, forgotten by everyone, except me.

I slipped inside, the scent of dust and aged wood filling my lungs. A few tarps covered old furniture, long abandoned. But the trap door in the corner was still there.

I pried it open and climbed down, my fingers brushing against cold, packed earth. The tunnel was narrow, just wide enough for me to crawl through. I moved quickly, the way I had as a kid when I used to play hide and seek, slipping through the darkness like I was part of it.

Seconds later, I surfaced near the mansion’s south wall, right in the blind spot of the security cameras.

I blew out a breath.

Now for the fun part.

I scaled the wall, using whatever I could find—window frames, the rusted edge of the gutter, and chipped ledges that hadn’t been repaired in years. My fingers knew where to go, moving over the familiar path. I hauled myself up and swung onto the balcony without a sound. Crouching low, I listened.

Silence.

The house was empty. It always was when Uncle David dragged his whole family off to endure his in-laws’ wedding anniversary.

Nothing like choking down polite conversation with people he couldn’t stand, all for the reward of champagne expensive enough to demand a trust fund at the door.

He was rich, but that never stopped him from chasing a weekend of luxury freeloading.

I slipped inside through the French doors, the lock offering no resistance to the delicate coaxing of a hairpin.

The mansion had changed over the years, with new paint and new furniture.

But its bones remained the same. I still knew the hidden panels, the shortcuts, and the places they thought were secure.

The vault was in his office, concealed behind a bookcase that reeked of overpriced Scotch and ego. It should’ve required biometric access, but Uncle David wasn’t as smart as he thought. The backup panel was laughably outdated, easy to override. A few keystrokes and a bypass loop, and I was in.

Inside were stacks of cash and piles of meaningless paperwork.

I didn’t need to dig to know how the other half lived, hoarding more than they could ever spend, oblivious to anything beyond their own greed. They wouldn’t even notice what I came for was missing.

My mother’s necklace.

Pure platinum, shaped into filigree that held magnificent diamonds.

Seeing it here made my blood simmer. Something so personal, so tied to my mother, hidden like it was just a game.

Sure, it had value, but that wasn’t the point.

It was a legacy, passed down with love from my mother’s side of the family.

It had nothing to do with David Belrose.

My mother had begged him to return it. She almost swayed him.

She could be convincing like that. But not enough to go up against Princess Annamaria, who had already dreamed about a Hollywood wedding at sixteen.

Antique diamonds were hot among celebrities then.

At the end of the day, David didn’t do what was right. He did what his daughter wanted.

Well, next time she could grovel for it on her wedding day!

I lifted the necklace with gloved hands. Then, it went into my pouch. I closed the vault and walked out of the office. Clean. There was no trace that I’d ever been there.

Except…

I heard a faint sound.

I froze, my ears straining. Steps—too light for security, too heavy for a mouse.

My pulse kicked up, but I moved fast, slipping out the way I came. The night swallowed me whole, with the necklace pressed against my chest.

Before I disappeared into the tunnel, I glanced up toward the French doors, but there was nothing. Just a bird taking off from a ledge, its wings tapping against the glass. I exhaled, shaking off the tension.

I’d done it. I’d taken back what was rightfully my mother’s.

Bozeman, Montana – three days later

Sunlight poured through the kitchen window, warming my arms and catching the faint dusting of flour on my fingers. The whisk moved effortlessly in my hand, the rhythm smooth, almost meditative. Sugar blended into butter, the scent of vanilla thick in the air.

This was how mornings should be. The hum of the oven preheating, the tap of eggs against the bowl, and the certainty that today, at least, something good would happen.

The doorbell rang.

I wiped my hands against my apron, barely glancing up as I padded toward the door, expecting a delivery. The package for Mom, maybe. It was her birthday after all.

But it wasn’t a package.

Two men stood on the porch. One wore a police uniform. And the other, a dark suit and a tilted hat.

“Maya Belrose?” the man in the suit asked, tipping his hat.

I calmed my jumping pulse. Maybe this was about the guy who’d tried to steal my car the other night. It was possible a neighbor had seen something—or had the same thing happen—and reported it.

“I’m Detective Harlow,” he said. Then, he gestured to the officer beside him. “This is Officer Ramirez. We’re investigating a burglary that took place three days ago.”

Something cold slithered down my spine. “Okay…”

“Mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“Of course not,” I said, though my stomach twisted tightly.

“May we come in?”

Before I could respond, my father appeared behind me, his voice firm. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

Harlow didn’t even glance at him. “Ah, we just need to ask Miss Belrose a few questions.”

“What’s this about?” Dad pressed, stepping up beside me, a barrier between me and them.

“We received a report of a burglary,” Harlow said. “We’re following up.”

“In this neighborhood?” Dad scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Not here. Bridger Canyon.”

A beat of silence.

Dad’s stance shifted. “There must be some mistake.”

Harlow lifted a brow, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. “Mr. Belrose, is it? Her father?”

“Yes.”

“It’s best if you let us come in.”

Dad hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he stepped aside.

Harlow and Ramirez crossed the threshold. Then Harlow turned to me. “Miss Belrose, where were you between 2 and 4 a.m. on Saturday?”

My brow furrowed. “Here. Sleeping.”

Ramirez reached into his jacket, pulling out a small evidence bag. Inside was a single black leather glove. “Is this yours?”

I released a half sigh. The glove looked exactly like mine. But that wasn’t possible. Both my gloves were in my closet. I was sure of it.

“No,” I said firmly.

Dad’s breath hitched beside me. “There must be a mistake.”

Ramirez flipped the glove, revealing a small button, where a strand of dark brown hair clung to the thread.

“Miss Belrose, this was recovered from the crime scene,” Harlow said smoothly. “Care to explain?”

Panic surged in my chest. “That’s not mine.”

Ramirez’s lips curled. “You sure about that? Because this little strand right here?” He tapped the evidence bag. “It’s being processed as we speak. And we both know how that’s gonna turn out.”

My blood ran ice-cold.

The noise I’d heard at the mansion just before I left.

Someone had been there.

And they’d planted evidence.

That man rummaging inside my car the other night…he hadn’t tried to steal it.

“You got that hair from my car, didn’t you? It was you!” I said, my voice rising.

“Careful now, Miss Belrose,” he said.

The front door creaked open, and my mother stepped inside. She took one look at the officers and paled.

Harlow turned, straightening to his full height, towering over us. “We have a search warrant.”

The next moments blurred. They tore through my room, flipping cushions, emptying drawers, and pulling my clothes from my closets. My father argued, but it didn’t matter. Then, one of them found it.

The necklace. Wrapped neatly in a gift box.

“Maya?” Mom’s voice was hoarse.

“It’s yours, Mom!” My breath hitched. “I was going to surprise you.”

Harlow didn’t flinch. “Maya Belrose, you are under arrest for burglary.”

A brutal hand clamped around my wrist, and metal bit into my skin.

“Maya… you didn’t.” Mom’s voice wavered, her eyes full of something worse than anger. Hurt.

Dad stepped forward, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Detective, this isn’t what it looks like. It’s her uncle—my brother. I’ll talk to him. This doesn’t have to happen. She’s only eighteen.”

“Well, eighteen and dangerous,” Ramirez muttered, cinching the cuffs tighter.

Dangerous? Since when?

Harlow straightened. “Maya Belrose, you are also under arrest for the assault of Annamaria Belrose.”

My stomach dropped. “Assault?”

Who were these guys?

They’d led with theft, then casually tacked on assault like it was some afterthought.

“I never touched her!” I shouted.

Harlow raised a photo without a word.

It was Annamaria, bruised, her face swollen around the nose and cheeks.

“I did not do that!” I insisted.

But they didn’t care. I didn’t even have time to grab my shoes. They dragged me out barefoot, my toes pressing into the lawn. Grass stuck to my feet as I stumbled. Neighbors peeked from behind curtains, a few stepping out onto their porches, murmuring.

“I didn’t assault anyone!” I cried, twisting in their grip. My feet scraped the concrete as they pulled me toward the street.

“Well, Miss Annamaria Belrose might beg to differ,” the officer sneered.

I yanked against their hold, my chest heaving. “Let me go! This is insane!”

Ramirez’s grip tightened. “Resisting isn’t going to help you, Miss Belrose.”

I didn’t care. My pulse pounded in my ears, my breathing sharp as I planted my feet. They weren’t going to drag me away like some criminal.

Behind me, something shifted. A staggered step, the scrape of a shoe against pavement, and a sharp gasp.

My father’s body swayed, and his hand clutched at his chest.

“Dad?” My voice cracked.

His knees buckled. The color drained from his face, and then he collapsed.

“Dad!” The word ripped from my throat as I lunged forward, but a hand yanked me back. “Dad!”

He lifted his face, barely, and forced a smile. It trembled at the corners, thin and full of effort. It was the same smile he always gave when he was hurting but didn’t want me to know. He always said he was fine. Because he was Dad. Because that’s what he did.

I thrashed against the grip holding me back, maybe even landed a kick. “Let me go, please! He needs help!” Tears poured down my cheeks.

But they didn’t listen.

They didn’t care.

Someone shoved me down. A knee dug into my spine, pressing my face against the pavement. The asphalt burned against my cheek, but I barely felt it over the panic clawing up my throat.

“Get off me!” I screamed, kicking wildly. “Please—”

Mom sobbed, loud and gut-wrenching, but she didn’t reach for me. She hovered over Dad, her fingers trembling, her lips moving in silent prayers.

She didn’t look at me.

Not once.

Ramirez and Harlow wrenched me off the ground like I was nothing, shoving me toward the squad car. My body shook, my limbs weak.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

I stole a necklace to bring back a piece of my mother’s happiness. To remind her of the love she lost.

Instead, I’d taken away the one person she couldn’t afford to lose.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” I sobbed, my voice breaking apart. “Mom…I’m so sorry.”

I barely heard Ramirez mutter, “You’re gonna go away for a long time, young lady.”

I didn’t care.

Because my father wasn’t moving.

And my mother—

She still wouldn’t look at me.