Page 27 of Stolen Goods
“Jo.”
“Thad.”
“Jo, really. I lost the Russians back in New York. I’m absolutely positive they weren’t following me.”
“Thaddeus Ryder, if you don’t spit it out right now, I swear I’ll—”
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled and cast another glance at Addison, who seemed to have perked up a bit upon hearing Jo’s reproachful tone coming through the other end of the receiver. Her spine was a little straighter. Her chin was arched a little higher. Thad dropped his shoulders, resigned. “I went into her shop to try to steal her cell phone for a few minutes, but somehow the Russians were there, guns blazing. I managed to get both of us away, but the only way I could think to keep your friend safe was to take her with me. So, I did. She screamed, then she cried, and now we’re stationed in a cheap motel until I figure out my next move.”
A heavy, prolonged sigh came through the line. “Is that all?”
Thad winced. “Unless the Russians had backup I didn’t see, there’s at least one dead body we left behind in that cake shop. So…I’m guessing the story will be picked up by the major news outlets sometime in, oh, let’s say the next ten hours.”
“What?” Addison finally found her voice, barely a squeak.
Thad tossed her an apologetic look. “Better than the alternative.”
“Being home safe and sound in my bed?”
“No,” Thad answered, already hating himself for the words about to come through his lips. But she was too sweet already—she wouldn’t survive more sugarcoating. “Being dead.”
Addison gulped.
“Was that really necessary?” Jo snapped over the line.
“Yes,” Thad said, even as his chest pinched tight. He looked away from the woman sitting quietly on the bed, shoulders hunched in, face down, bottom lip pulled between her teeth with uncertainty. “Because I don’t think the Russians were following me. I think they were watching her. And a hundred bucks says they have men on your friend McKenzie too. Men who might be prompted into action now that I’ve slipped through their fingers again.”
“Shit, Thad. Shit!”
“I know. I didn’t mean—”
“You never do,” she interrupted, voice whipping him like a lash against the skin, burning.
She was right. He didn’t mean for chaos to follow him, but follow him it did, and he was tired of taking everyone he loved down with him. “Jo Jo…”
“I need to tell Nate,” she continued, not acknowledging the subtle plea in his words. “He’ll know what to do. He’ll—”
“You can’t, Jo.” His heart flared as panic zipped down his spine. Panic and a little something else too, something suspiciously like doubt, because for the first time he didn’t know what Jo would do, whose side she’d take. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t completely sure he could trust her. “No Feds. Not yet. Not until—”
He cut himself off, wincing.
Static stretched between them. Static and silence.
Until Jo finally spoke, in a voice so dark he hardly recognized it. “Not until what, Thad?”
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.He was supposed to apologize, and Jo was supposed to forgive him, and they were supposed to share a tearful goodbye and promise to somehow see each other soon.God, nothing is going according to plan today. Nothing!
Thad shuffled his jaw back and forth for a moment, not sure how much to say. But in the end, he wanted to be truthful, because he’d been so dishonest already. “Not until I get south of the border.”
“You’re running.”
“What other choice do I have?”
“You could confess.” Her tone was hopeful, optimistic, more trusting than Thad deserved. “The Feds gave me a deal. I’m sure Nate could help work something out for you, even if it’s just for me. They’re desperate for an eyewitness to put on the stand during trial, and you’re the only chance they’ve got. You could come forward. You could turn yourself in. You could end this, Thad. You could—”
“Rot in a jail cell the rest of my life?” He wasn’t under any illusions of grandeur. The only reason Jo’s Fed had been able to get her a deal was because she’d been in the dark—about the Russians, about the mob crimes, about all of it except the art theft. Thad wasn’t so innocent. He’d known what he’d been doing. He’d done it willingly. There was no judge or prosecutor in the country who would let him walk away unscathed.
“It wouldn’t have to be like that…” But it would. They both knew it would. Not even Jo, with her cheery disposition and know-it-all attitude, could hide the doubt in her tone.
