Page 26 of Princess of Thieves

“Quicker exit’s thataway.” He nods, indicating. “Take you right to the alley off Main Street.”

“But...I...” I stammer. My hands find the steering wheel and grip it tight, the car humming beneath me like it’s ready to run, too.

“Don’t wanna waste too much time, now,” he goes on, still not looking at me. “Only so long a deputy like me can be taking to hit the head and abandon his post, if you follow my meaning. Only so many minutes I can’t have eyes on this lot.”

I get it. He’s not going to narc. He’s letting me go. I literally can’t believe my good fortune, but message received—don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, just go.

I throw off the e-brake, fling the thing into reverse, and gun it, sending dust and dry pollen clouding into the air behind me. I arc the wheel to point myself at the back exit, but before I go, I can’t resist one last glance at this deputy savior of mine.

“Thank you,” I say, half-shouting over the rev of the engine.

He still doesn’t look my way. Just adjusts his belt and takes a few slow, even steps back towards the main entrance.

“My pleasure.”

Chapter Eight

Ipeel out of the lot like a bat out of hell. The Dart handles like a parade float—and for all I know it’s scheduled to roll down Main Street as part of the festivities later—but it’s going, and that’s all I care about.

The deputy’s directions were right. My long-buried knowledge of downtown Nottingham kicks into gear as I zip down the road that circles the perimeter: a quarter mile or so up, right turn, and I’ll be able to skid into that alleyway. I should be able to restart the car again, so long as I can get in and out of the town hall in five minutes or less. The key fob presses into my thigh as I swing the wheel, like a magic talisman burning against my skin through my pocket.

There’s no traffic on the side streets as I creep back into town—it’s almost eerie. I don’t know how long it’s been since I slipped away—five minutes? Ten?—but I’m praying it’s still within a plausible realm of deniability. Praying Guy hasn’t suspected anything, hasn’t raised an eyebrow and whispered a question to a deputy, hasn’t glanced at his keys and noticed one crucial missing piece.

I glide to a stop at a stop sign, the last one before the alley. Off in the distance, I hear the marching band, brassy and bright, and as I push the gas, I can see a lone balloon drifting up towards the clouds, a single red dot free against the blue.

For whatever reason, it gives me hope.

Two minutes later I’m parking behind some dumpsters and vaulting out of the car. The official parking garage for town hall is just to my left, and the back entrance—the one not monitoredby a deputy or a metal detector—is here waiting, the keypad light beaming out its red light like a cyclops eye.

I dig for the fob in my pocket and slap it against the pad. It flashes red—God, no—and I twist the fob slightly.

Green. Go.

I wrench open the door and scan the directory. DA’s office, third floor. I take the stairs—can’t risk a slow or stuck elevator—and take them two at a time, heart pounding until I get to the landing.

It’s cool and dark in there—air conditioning set to max for all the men in their three-piece suits—and a portrait of the governor greets me as I round the corner towards the small reception area. Empty, thank you Jesus. Just to the side of the dark wood secretary’s desk are inboxes, small slots labeled with names and variously filled with papers, inter-office memo envelopes, and folders.

Quickly, quickly. I scan with one finger out, down the alphabet until I find G. GISBOURNE, and there it is—there it is, the simple, nondescript manila envelope that contains the key to my freedom and my future.

My hands tremble a little as I slip it out. There’s a Post-It attached to the front:Mr. Gisbourne, as you requested. —Dawn.I peel it off and crumple it to the ground—God bless you, Dawn—and shove my hand inside, just to double check.

The edge of a curlicued frame, then the words COMMONWEALTH OF VIRGINIA, and—yes.Me. Maren de Mornay. In black and white, and no uncertain terms.

I’m real. I exist. I’m here.

A surprise lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it. No time for sentimentality. I’ve got to go—where, I have no fucking idea, just as long as it’s anywhere but here. I stuff the certificate back in the envelope, spin on my heel, and rush for the stairs.

I’m out of breath as I burst out of the building back into the puff of humidity. The first thing I notice is the cold sheen on my skin as I leave the air conditioning. The second is the sound in the air—a siren. And the third is the man standing in front of the Dart.

It takes me a minute to place him, but then my brain clicks into gear. The plaid shirt, the worn jeans, the sweat-stained hat—it’s the winner, the guy who dominated at the archery contest.

But before I can reason out what the hell he’s doing here, I look at the face under the hat, and my breath catches in my chest. It’s not him. Not some guy with a scraggly beard and wraparound shades.

It’s Rob.

Oh my God, it’s Rob.

Shock rockets through my body, hitting every nerve ending and vein. My skin feels electric, and my heart whirs like a rabbit’s.

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