Page 148 of Stolen for Keeps
“She wore a ski mask,” the woman replied primly. “That’s what thieves do.”
“Ma’am, did you see her get into the Belrose Mansion?”
“No.”
“So, just to confirm. You saw a figure walking in a shirt you think looked like this one”—he gestured at the photo—“but never saw her face, her car, or her destination?”
The woman hesitated. “It was suspicious.”
“Thank you. That’ll be all.”
Dom sat down, his every motion too careful to be calm.
But the damage was done.
The jury didn’t move, but something in their posture had shifted. Doubt had crept in.
Noah leaned forward behind me, close enough for the heat of him to graze my spine. “We’re not done,” he murmured. “Don’t let them shake you, Maya Lucas.”
My throat tightened. And I nodded, barely.
I wanted to believe him. Ineededto. But something inside me had begun to tilt. Just a little, and enough to feel the edge of the fall waiting.
46
NOAH
None of us had slept. The air in the waiting room was thick with the kind of silence that only comes after a night spent chasing ghosts. Cold coffee. Dead leads.
Dom had something. Finally. A contact from LA, someone who came through at the last possible second. A clinic record, a time-stamped appointment, something to prove Annamaria had a nose job days before the heist.
But it still wasn’t enough.
As he’d said hours ago, it didn’t rule out assault afterward. It poked holes, but it didn’t unravel the whole lie. And without proof that Harlow had helped stitch this together, we were still flying without a parachute.
I pushed off the wall. “You need to win this,” I said, threading through the tight space between us.
“We will.”
“And you’re still sure about the new strategy?”
We’d made the call late last night. Pivot or stall out.
“Absolutely.”
I stepped in, close enough that it could’ve been achallenge. “I don’t care what it takes, Dom. Who you call or what rule you bend. You hear me, Powell? You win.”
His phone buzzed. Loud in the silence.
“Powell,” he answered. Then he just listened. No words. Just that stillness that made me want to put my fist through drywall.
“Jesus, say something,” I snapped. “What the hell’s happening?”
Dom didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then, finally, he said, “I’ll be back.”
“What?” I moved to follow, but he was already gone. “Dom!Powell!” But the doors flung shut behind him.
The clock above the door ticked louder than it should have. Fifteen minutes.
