Page 28 of Princess of Thieves

He pauses, and I freeze what I’m doing. I don’t turn around to look at him, just wait.

“All I know is that there was some kind of commotion in the tent a few minutes back—deputies talking to Gisbourne. He got out of there in an awful hurry.”

I clench my jaw. They figured it out. They noticed the car was gone, or that I’d been gone too long.

Maybe both.

I reach deeper for the starter wire, the edge of the dash scraping against my skin.

“Maren?” a second voice calls out. Another familiar one.

On instinct, I turn around, and there he is—tall, lean, with that silver hair and those piercing blue eyes. Will Scarlet, the dragon shifter, the impeccable dresser, the sarcastic city boy.

And just behind him—

“Is that her?”

It’s Tuck, his blonde hair askew and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he jogs to a stop behind Will.

Will glances at Rob. “How’d you find her?”

“Only Maren would hotwire the most conspicuous vehicle possible,” Rob replies. “Caught a flash of it turning through downtown and just followed the trail.”

“For your information,” I shoot back, “this thing’s the easiest in the lot to hotwire because it’s old. Not because it’s flashy.” Though I can’t help but feel a twinge of recognition—he’s right. A Honda Accord’s pretty easy to hotwire, too, but given the choice between that and this puppy, well, what can I say? I’m a woman of taste.

The slight moment of relaxation snaps, and I tense back up. What am I doing? These guys betrayed me, tried to trap me and hold me hostage, lied to me.

I can’t be with them. I can’t be here at all.

“I’ve got the scanner up,” Tuck says, holding up his phone. A crackle of static comes from it, followed by some indistinct, mumbling voices. “There’s an APB out for the car she stole.”

I pause, my hand halfway to root around for the starter wire again.

“Of course there is,” Will says. “Whatever Southern gentleman owns that thing isn’t gonna let it slip away that easy, no matter how many juleps he’s chugged down today.”

“You’re sure?” I say to Tuck, ignoring Will. “It’s not someone else?”

Tuck nods and scrubs his finger over his phone screen to rewind the playback. Sure enough, the dispatcher crackles out the exact make and model: 1969 Dodge Dart.

“Fuck,” I whisper, sliding into the driver’s seat and placing a hand on my chest in an attempt to calm my beating heart.

Another siren. This time, it sounds closer.

“Maren,” Will says, “I think you should come with us.”

“No!” I cry, louder and more forcefully than I mean to. “I can’t,” I say, softer.

“Maren, please,” Tuck says. “If you just come with us, we can explain everything. We’re so sorry, and—”

“Easy, kid.” Will throws out an arm, catching Tuck in the solar plexus as he moves toward me. “We can’t force her.”

I glance over my shoulder and immediately wish I hadn’t. The sight of the three of them standing shoulder to shoulder, looking at me with deep concern, with worry, and with a hint of happiness—perhaps because I’m alive and here in front of them and still real—it’s too much. It’s too close to what I want, but what’s impossible.

“And yet,” Rob adds, “it’s her choice. Will’s right. She can come with us, or she can get nabbed by the cops.”

His expression is unreadable. Arms folded, he barely shrugs. “Up to her.”

Rage blossoms in my chest.How dare he, I think. How dare he be so cool and collected and nonchalant when it’s his fault. He’s the one who did all this. He’s the one who made all the mistakes. He’s the murderer, and he’s not even trying to plead for forgiveness? He’s not even desperate to explain, to win me back, to help me?

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