Page 140 of Stolen for Keeps
Back at The Sundown, Reko greeted us at the door like he’d been holding down the fort. Which, technically, he had. The moment Maya stepped inside, his ears perked, his tail wagging.
“Hey, buddy,” Maya said, crouching to run a hand over his head. “Did you miss me?”
Reko gave a low huff. He even barked at Dom when he came in behind us.
“Hey, what was that about?” Dom called, his hands raised. “I didn’t do it. I just rescued her, okay?”
Reko didn’t look convinced.
Dom shed his coat and headed for the kitchen. “You two, go make out in the corner or whatever. I’m cooking tonight.”
“You cook?” Maya asked, halfway through untying her shoes.
“Only when it’s a dire emergency. Like newlyweds forgetting to eat.”
We didn’t argue. We just crashed on the couch, our fingers still tangled. Maya was tucked under my arm with her head on my chest. We didn’t say much. But we didn’t have to.
Dinner was ready half an hour later. And I had no idea what Dom did, but that man pulled off a Montana special consisting of flat iron steak, cast iron potatoes crisped in bacon fat, and his version of cornbread that somehow managed to be fluffyandcrunchy.
“Holy hell,” I muttered through a mouthful. “You sure you’re a lawyer?”
Dom smirked. “I never said I wasjusta lawyer.”
We sat around the table after, coffee cups in hand, Reko sprawled under the table. For a moment, it almost felt like a normal night.
Then, the strategizing began, and reality crept back in.
We sat at the kitchen table. Papers were everywhere, my laptop screen casting a blue glow over Dom’s furrowed brow.
Dom tapped the side of a mug that hadn’t been touched in hours. “Annamaria Belrose. Our least favorite Belrose. She’s the key, not Harlow. He’s too careful. But Annamaria?” He shook his head. “She’s flashy and sloppy. She wants attention more than she wants control. And that’s a weakness.”
I didn’t know her. Never met her. But I’d seen her digital trail, the way some people try to curate their meaningless existence and call it a personality.
I leaned back, a thought threading through the haze of caffeine and exhaustion.
“She lives online,” I said. “There’s got to be something in her socials.”
Dom gave me a sidelong look. “Says the media mogul turned mountain recluse.”
I smirked and reached for my phone. “Social media’s about patterns. When people break them, it means something.”
I pulled up her public account. There was no need to hack. Annamaria liked to be seen.
“Let’s go back to the first heist,” I said, scrolling fast. “She posts selfies like it’s a medical requirement. But look, starting about four days before the heist, her posts shift. No face. Just throwbacks, her shoes, her nails, her dog. Same with two full weeks after it. There’s nothing that shows her face. Not one damn thing.”
Dom leaned over my shoulder. “You’re saying she went intentionally faceless?”
“She was hiding something,” I said. “And not well.”
Dom whistled low. “Look at you. Get this man a ring light!”
“I’m just saying,” I muttered, scrolling back farther to compare. “If she had bruises and wanted to keep up the illusion that everything was fine, she’d go quiet, but not totally. She’d just fill in the blanks.”
“That lines up with the police file.” Dom reached into the folder beside him and pulled out a photo of Annamaria’s face, bruised and puffy. “Bozeman PD took photos and got a hospital interview, but she was neveractuallyexamined. That’s what your lawyer missed, Maya. A gap you could drive a truck through.”
“Even if we know she was hiding it, we can’t prove how she got hurt,” Maya said. “My old lawyer couldn’t. What do we do now?”
Dom leaned back in his chair, cracking his neck like he’d just finished a courtroom slam dunk. “First off, I’m not yourold lawyer. I’m the upgrade. High-performance. Handles corners better.”
