Page 43 of Stolen Goods
Muffled voices woke Thad early the next morning. He’d always been a light sleeper, which wasn’t a bad trait to possess in his line of work. But on this particular morning, he wanted nothing more than to cut out the rumble of engines firing to life, the crunch of tires spinning over gravel, the clank of pots and pans, the crackle of morning fires. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep. He wanted to hold on to this woman and this moment for a little while longer.
The world, however, had other plans.
Thad blinked, adjusting his eyes to the soft bluish light shining through the nylon. He and Addison had shifted positions sometime in the night. The last things he remembered before sleep took hold were his arm around her waist, her spine molded to his stomach, and her hair falling over his cheek. But now he was stretched on his back with one hand behind his head, and Addison was curled against his side. Her head rested on his chest, and her arm draped over his stomach. One similarity remained—they held each other close. In the warm morning air, he couldn’t pretend it was for body heat anymore. But she looked so serene, like an angel from a Renaissance painting with her blushing cheeks and ivory skin, her plush pink lips and her halo of curls, that he didn’t have the heart to wake her.
Have I ever looked so at peace?
So virtuous?
He didn’t think so, not even as a child. There’d always been darkness hidden beneath all the good, a duality he’d been aware of, consciously or subconsciously, that never allowed for innocence. Talking to Addison about his travels had brought that sensation to the surface—every memory he’d told her had a layer behind it he’d been unable to share, for her own safety, for his shame.
Thad had been six the first time he’d been to France. It was the last vacation he’d gone on with his mother, as a family. While he and Jo had been busy playing hide-and-seek in the gardens of Versailles, overseen by their mothers, their fathers had been in Giverny, breaking into Monet’s former studio to steal paint pigments and an old canvas for a forgery that would pass forensic investigation. Two years later, when they’d returned to Paris, it was so his father and Robert could slip into a private collection, replace the real Monet with Robert’s masterful replica, and bring the multi-million-dollar painting home. The last time he’d been in Jo and Robert’s private island compound, the Monet was on display in the underground vault, though by now, the FBI had undoubtedly begun working on returning it to its rightful owner.
And that was just one painting of many.
One story.
When Thad began showing talent as an artist, Robert had taken him under his wing, presenting him with a very specific sort of education. Their family vacations became lessons in art history, and at home, he learned how to put those lessons to practice. How to replicate the brushstrokes of fifty different artists. How to grind paint pigments from scratch in the vein of the old masters. How to adjust a varnish to add age to a painting. How to achieve the correct crackling for the time period and location of the work. How to fake a certificate of authenticity. Of course, even the most skilled forger couldn’t always outwit modern science. X-rays. Infrared scanning. Radiocarbon dating. The forensic technology grew more and more precise with time. But the smartest con, as Robert had taught him, made sure it never got to that level. Pick the mark wisely. Don’t forge a known work, scan the historical records to find one labeled as missing. Don’t try a bait and switch at the Louvre, do it at the smaller museum with lesser security or during a transfer. Don’t attempt to rival a master, choose the artist without instant name recognition but worth enough money to hang in a gallery.
To Thad, it had always been a game. To Robert, it had been a way to bond with a boy who was almost like a son, a way to pass a bit of himself on to the next generation. But to Thad’s father, it had been business—a fact he would come to understand after the man was dead, when the Russians held a gun to his head and demanded his services. They’d only known about his skills with a brush because his father had shared them, stealing the forgeries Thad and Robert had made for fun and using them for his own gains. That was when Thad’s worldly travels had taken a decidedly darker turn.
Addison stirred in his arms and he blinked the memories away, returning to the present, the way he’d promised he would. Did she even understand what a gift those softly spoken words in the dead of night had been?No talk about what happened, she’d said.No talk about what might. Just two people.As if erasing his past could be so easy. But he could pretend. In fact, it would be a relief to pretend, for a few days at least.
“Good morning,” Thad whispered.
Addison froze, going rigid beside him. The only thing moving was the heart pounding in her chest. The beat had been steady a moment before, but now her pulse raced beneath his fingers. Thad tried to stifle the smile widening his lips, but he couldn’t. Her predictability was adorable—but maybe that was what made her unpredictable moments so damn sexy. That kiss yesterday? Downright irresistible, and he’d never seen it coming.
“We should probably get on the road,” he continued casually, waiting for her to process waking up in his arms. The more normal he acted, the more normal she’d respond. “Long day of driving ahead. We might as well get started.”
“Yeah,” Addison mumbled and shifted her head, peeking cautiously up at him through her eyelashes. Thad grinned back. She bolted upright so fast he was a little worried she might injure herself, a jack that sprang out of its box only to land with a crash against the floor. Her cheeks were already turning red.
She needs some alone time, he realized quickly. Thad rolled to his feet, light on his toes, and started unzipping the tent. “I’ll get the car running. Take your time.”
Ten minutes later, they were easing out of the campground.
“Where’d you get the coffee?” Addison asked, gratitude in her tone as she lifted a steaming paper cup to her lips.
“Well, you see that older couple over by that RV?” Thad nudged his chin to the left, waving goodbye as he drove by said pair. The smiling duo waved back, holding up their thermoses in farewell. “I explained to them how we’re on our honeymoon, doing a month-long cross-country road trip, and they said it brought back memories of their youth. I’ve got a small stack of pancakes wrapped in tinfoil in the back too, if you’re hungry.”
She snorted. “Always working an angle.”
“You’ve got to strike while the iron is hot.” He paused to toss a wink in her direction. “Wifey.”
Addison rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the way the edges of her lips twitched with humor. “Let me get this straight. Yesterday, we were on our way to elope. Today, we’re on our honeymoon. What’ll it be tomorrow? So I have time to prepare myself.”
“Babymoon?”
She choked on her coffee. Thad pressed his lips together to keep the laughter from spilling out as her eyes bulged. He was, however, unsuccessful, and she jammed a fist into his shoulder to retaliate. “Watch out, or by this time tomorrow, we’ll be divorced.”
He held his palm over his chest, wounded. “And here I thought we were just two people.”
Addison paused and turned toward him, turquoise eyes so bright and so clear he could see all the way to the sandy floor. “Two people?”
“Two people…” Thad agreed with a nod, shedding the teasing tone, replacing it with something sober. He wanted her to know he remembered everything from their conversation the night before, and he wanted the escape too. But being vulnerable wasn’t part of his nature, so hardly a moment later he blinked and looked away. Reaching for the maps on the dashboard, he finished the thought with, “…who don’t know where they’re going. If I’m the driver, you’re the navigator. I think we take I-40 almost all the way there, but I have no idea what to do once we get to Arizona.”
“Do you have a pencil?”
He pulled a sharpie from the dashboard and handed it to her.
