Page 77 of Stolen Goods
Jo grinned. “I already did.”
“What did he say?” Addy stopped breathing, clutching the painting between her hands as she met Jo’s warm gaze. She’d thought about beginning her travels somewhere else, but no other foreign city seemed right. Paris was the promise she’d made to Thad, so Paris was where she would go—even if her heart broke a little bit knowing that when she laid eyes on the Seine for the first time, he wouldn’t be there waiting on the other side.
“He didn’t say anything. He just got this wistful look and smiled.”
Addy closed her eyes, picturing him. “Did his dimples come out?”
“Oh yeah.”
That meant it was real. “Good.”
There was more she could have said, a lot more, but she didn’t want to say it to Jo to say to Thad. She wanted to tell him herself. Maybe one day, she would.
As she followed Jo back into her apartment, Addy couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering to that far-off day. How long would it be? How long would she have to hold all of this inside? Long enough that it would pass, or just long enough for it to drive her insane? The question lingered, sitting there at the back of her mind as she finished her wine, then had another glass, and another, before joining her friends in an impromptu dance-a-thon as the tape was placed on the final box. When she lay down for bed, and woke up, and drove to the airport, Addy still couldn’t shake the pesky inquiry. As she hugged her family goodbye, then waited by the gate for her plane, then settled in her seat for the short flight to Atlanta, she wondered if it would be a year, two, ten, until she saw him again.
For a moment, she thought she might burst.
During her layover, Addy bought a notepad and a pen, at first wanting to organize her thoughts. But when she boarded her second plane and took off, soaring toward an adventure that was all her own, she found herself writing something else instead.
Dear Thad, she began.I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t think either of us will for a long time, maybe ever. But I do know that meeting you changed me—for the better. Right now, I’m scared out of my mind to be going to Europe on my own. You’re the only person I’ve admitted that to, because I think you’re the only person who will understand why I find it the most amazing sort of fear. I chose it. I’m facing it. Like you told me so long ago, but I didn’t believe—I feel brave. Brave enough for one more confession.
I’m not ready to let you go.
And while I’m at it, here’s another. I’ve always found the idea of handwritten letters terribly romantic.
- 29 -
Thad
~ One Year Later ~
“How does it feel to be a free man?” Nate asked as the two of them stepped side by side out of the courtroom.
Thad arched a brow and snorted. “Take my ankle monitor off and I’ll let you know.”
“Not happening, Ryder.”
You judo-chop a guy one time, Thad thought with a sigh as he followed Nate to the car. He thought of him as Nate now, not Agent Parker. Notthe Fed. Prepping for twenty-eight trials had a way of bringing two people closer together—though Thad wasn’t entirely convinced Nate felt the same. Sure, he’d been his contact with the FBI, and he’d spent a year shuffling Thad back and forth between the safe house and the courthouse, but for a Goody Two-shoes, the man knew how to hold a grudge.
Thad sighed. “Are youevergoing to forgive me? I mean, we’re practically going to be partners now—”
“No, we’re not,” Nate cut in. “Leo is and always will be my partner.”
“Fine.” Thad rolled his eyes, but a smile pulled at his lips. He didn’t actually know what he’d do if Nate forgave him—antagonizing the man was half the fun. “I’mgoing to be a criminal consultant to the FBI, andyou’regoing to be my contact. Either way, we’ll be spending a lot more time together.”
Nate snorted. “Oh, joy.”
Thad cast him a sidelong glance as they pulled away from the curb. “You’re the one who helped get me the deal.”
Nate shrugged, but the wrinkles around his eyes softened.
Eh, he loves me, Thad thought, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat, glancing up toward the sky. He’d be seeing a lot more of it from now on. After a year in lockdown, he was finally free. Well, sort of. His new apartment would at least have windows and a view—it was in the same building as Nate and Jo’s, right in downtown Washington, DC. He’d be stuck on house arrest with the ankle monitor for another four years, only allowed in and out of the premises with a federal escort. But he’d have his paints. He’d have Jo down the hall. Now that the trials were over and the danger had passed, he’d be allowed visitors. His sister, who he knew was dying to grill him in person instead of via email. His mother, who he hadn’t spoken to but had learned a lot about from Emma. Not enough to open his heart, but enough at least to thin his walls. He was getting a second chance at life—what right did he have to deny someone else the same opportunity?
Thad had been personally responsible for identifying and locking up twenty-eight known members of the Russian mafia. Some of those twenty-eight had taken plea deals and turned on their associates, bringing the full number of mobsters now in jail to a grand total of seventy-three—one of the biggest roundups in history. Had it absolved him of all his crimes? Of course not, but it was a start. One he was grateful he’d had the opportunity to make. And as part of his plea deal, he’d be spending the next four years as a consultant to the art crimes unit of the FBI, using his very specialized expertise to put other white-collar criminals away. Nate and his partner Leo were heading up a new task force to determine if any criminals under investigation for forgery and theft could be connected to larger organizations, the way Thad had been. For now, they were his assigned handlers. Life was settling into a new normal. There was only one glaring question mark left.
Addison.
Though he hadn’t seen her in over a year, all Thad had to do was close his eyes and she was there, standing before him in exquisite detail. A soft pink blush on her ivory cheeks. A brilliant sparkle to her turquoise eyes. A subtle smile across her plush lips. Their letters had been his only escape from four solid walls that seemed to grow smaller every day. She wrote to him of all the places she was going, all the foods she was eating, all the people she was meeting—with such detail he need only close his eyes and he was there. She’d been his muse for the past year. But could it be more?
