Page 4 of Prettiest Little Thief
Suddenly, a big rig turned onto the street in front of the McLaren, and I swerved, losing control of the car. Time slowed as I shoved my foot onto the brake pedal, praying we would make it out of this alive. The crunch of metal rang deafeningly in my ears as my body went forward, then slammed back when the airbags deployed. The impact radiated through my arms and torso. A hazy fog settled over me. My ears rang. My vision went in and out of focus.
“Monroe,” a familiar voice said. A hissing sound followed.
Where was it coming from?
“Roe!” The voice was more frantic this time.
I blinked a few times, trying to clear my mind. My head. Everything was so fuzzy.
“Monroe.”
Frankie.
My disorientation started to lift. His door was opened, and he was free from the wreckage. The airbags had been deflated, likely from the switchblade he carried in his pocket.
His blond hair fell over his brow as he unbuckled my seatbelt that had probably saved my life. With his hands wrapped around my middle, he tried to pull me over the center console. A gasp of discomfort passed my lips. My foot was caught underneath the dash. He tried to pull me harder.
I wiggled my leg, trying to free myself. I couldn’t.
“Come on, Roe. We have to get out of here.” He grunted as he tried to pull me out again. The lights and sirens grew closer, and Frankie peered out the back window. He glanced back down at me, his face showing remorse. “I’m sorry.” Frankie let go of me and ran from the scene, leaving me behind.
“Frankie! Don’t leave me,” I yelled after him. Tears streamed down my face, but he was already gone and out of sight. “Frankie!”
I tried to dislodge my foot several times, punching the steering wheel in frustration before giving up. I was going to jail.
Chapter Three
Lucas
I tried not to stare at the pretty brunette who had taken the keys to my McLaren. Her smile, her bright brown eyes. How that navy valet uniform hugged her petite form and barely concealed her sizable breasts.
I shook my head. There was no time for this bullshit. She was no one. The only person that mattered right now was Sarah.
“Mister Knight, thank you for meeting me here. I couldn’t risk Christian finding out about our appointment,” Tomas said.
“There wasn’t really a choice. You have the information I want, and I have the money you and your wife need,” I replied as I took a seat at the conference room table, sliding my hand over the silk tie that I wanted nothing more than to rip off.
Tomas dipped his chin and sat at the table to my right, scooting his chair in. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, inhaling deeply. Silence hung between us as I waited for him to begin. “As you know, I was employed in the kitchen at Christian’s for the last five years. But he started firing us out of the blue. Without any explanation.” Tomas fidgeted with the gold wedding band on his finger. “After we were terminated, I found out he had sold the house his parents had left him and moved to a much smaller home by the beach. Nice. But not his normal… taste.”
“And Sarah? Did she go to the new house?” I asked. With a glimmer of hope that she had left, or Christian had tossed her out.
Tomas shook his head, his coffee-colored eyes meeting my gaze. “Sarah, such a sweet woman. As far as I know she went with him. He would never give her up.”
My jaw clenched so hard it sent an ache through my teeth.
Then, as if in sudden realization, his eyes widened. “You know, I did hear him discussing something with Joseph about how he’d give anything to getAnastasia’s Keepsake.”
“Anastasia’s Keepsake?What the hell is that?” I asked.
“I’m not exactly sure.” A frown crossed Tomas’s face. “Maybe it’s a shot in the dark to get Sarah out of her prison.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and typed it into the search bar. The glass door to the conference room pushed open before I could finish reading the article online.
One of the women who worked the front desk of the hotel took several tentative steps into the room. My brow raised as the woman shifted on her feet. “Mister Knight, we have a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“Your… um…car…” she stuttered.
