Page 40 of Stolen Goods
Dammit.
Nerves prickled beneath his skin, little static shocks. Thad looked straight ahead, trying to forget Addison was in the car with him, pretending he was alone. He’d never done this in front of someone else before, not even Jo. It had always been his little secret, a coping mechanism he only used behind closed doors. When his mother left, his father told him to be strong, that they were better off without her, that she’d never loved either of them anyway. And Jo, well, Jo had been so sorry, so sad for him, she’d tiptoed around like a bundle of nerves, not sure what to do, what to say. He’d had to smile for her, for his dad, to show them nothing was wrong, to prove to the world that he couldn’t be broken. But at night, alone, when missing her became too much, he’d roll over beneath the blankets, dig his face into the pillow, and scream until his throat went raw. For a few years, things got better. He grew up. He learned how to compartmentalize. The pain became a dull ache that was easier to ignore. Then his father died, those men showed up in his dorm, and his life derailed. The screaming returned. Not every night. Just sometimes, when the weight of the world became too heavy to bear.
The hurt was always there waiting for release. All he needed to do was open the floodgates and the tide came rushing forward. The job for the Degas. The deal with the Russians. Robert’s death. Jo’s new life. The Feds. The stories on the news. The things people said. Mostly, the fact that once he was gone, no one would miss him, not even Jo. Because he was going to let her down. He was going to disappoint her. And then he would well and truly be alone. The fate he’d been running from since the moment his mom had walked out that door would finally catch up.
Thad screamed, loudly and with abandon, until claws scraped at his throat, the monster inside fighting to be free. Then he stopped and turned to Addison.
Her bright aqua eyes swirled with understanding, the windows to a soul that was just as lonely as his, just as aching. She didn’t move. Neither did he. And yet, he felt as though she’d reached out and touched him in a tangible, impossible embrace. Time stopped for a brief and fleeting moment. Everything went quiet—
“We’re interrupting this broadcast,” a voice blared over the radio, “to bring you a breaking news update.”
Thad whipped his face forward, tearing his gaze away as heat spiked down his chest. There was no moment, no pause, no deep cosmic connection. The music had turned off because the station had switched to a breaking news announcement—and he had a feeling he knew which one.
“We’ve just received word from law enforcement in Riverbend, South Carolina, that a local girl, Addison Mary Abbot, has gone missing. Her kidnapper is believed to be con man Thaddeus Ryder, who is wanted in connection with the Edgar Degas painting stolen from a private townhome in New York City two weeks ago, valued at over twenty million dollars. He is a known associate of the Russian mafia and is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous. If you have any information on their whereabouts, please contact your local police immediately or call this number to speak directly with the FBI hotline. Nine—”
Addison reached out and turned off the radio.
Thad swallowed. “Guess the story broke. It was only a matter of time.”
She dropped her hand back to her lap, not speaking.
Thad cast concerned glances in her direction, switching between the road and her pursed lips, the road and her darkening irises, the road and her wringing fingers, the road and—
“Is that what’s in the back seat?”
Not the first question he’d expected. A lie rose to his lips, false and easy to dole out, but he paused. There was a rawness in her tone that silently demanded answers. Not through hysterics or threats, but through an honesty that silently pleaded for nothing more than simple honesty in return. So Thad did what he’d said he wouldn’t, because she’d trusted him with her life, and for that, he could give her the truth. She deserved it. And he was so damn sick of lying. “Yes.”
“A Degas?”
“Yes.”
“Worth twenty million dollars?”
Thad squinted. “Actually, I think they undervalued it. I’d probably guess closer to thirty.”
Addison turned to gape at him.
“What? You asked.”
The gape shifted to a glower. “Why did you take it?”
“Because I could.” Her frown deepened and her gaze turned pointed. Thad sighed. “Because I had a debt to pay.”
“To the…” Addison gulped. “Russian mob?”
“Yes.”
“What debt?”
Thad groaned internally, rolling the words around his tongue, not sure what to say. “It’s…complicated.”
“Jo said you made a deal with them to save her life.”
Of course she did.He sighed. “I guess it’s not that complicated.”
“Why did they want to kill her?”
“Because she was important to me,” Thad murmured, hating how true those words rang. If not for him, if not for his father, Jo might have had a normal life. A safe one. “And to her father, Robert, my mentor. They needed us. So, they threatened her to get to us.”
