Page 41 of Stolen Goods
“Why did they need you?”
Thad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, darting his gaze to the mirrors, out the windows, anywhere and everywhere but toward her. Even though he was speeding down the highway at seventy miles an hour, for the first time in his life, he felt stuck—well and truly trapped with nowhere to run. “That I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
He finally met her probing gaze. “Because I won’t put you in more danger than you already are.”
Half-true. The more he told her, the more vulnerable she’d be once all of this was over. But that wasn’t the whole reason. The other reason, the bigger reason, was because he’d never spoken about it before, not even to Robert. Oh, they’d gotten the jobs done. They’d forged bank bonds and foreign bills, made counterfeit passports, copied signatures on all sorts of documents. They’d stolen paintings to be used as collateral, sometimes leaving expertly crafted copies in their place so the authorities were none the wiser. They’d overheard words in Russian during their illicit meetings, about illegal arms deals and human trafficking and money laundering. They’d done all those things. There was no denying it. But they’d had an unwritten rule to never talk about what they were doing, to keep their heads down and power through and pretend. Acknowledging the truth was sort of like staring into the sun—one wrong look and he’d go blind.
Thad didn’t want to see.
He didn’t want to know.
He wanted to forget it and move on.
But he couldn’t.
Looking into her eyes was like gazing into a clear blue sky, bright and burning, nowhere left to hide. She saw him—saw through him. Yet she didn’t turn away in fear or shame or loathing. She didn’t run. She turned on the radio, laced her fingers through his, squeezed with all her might, and screamed.
- 14 -
Addison
It did feel better to let it out. He was right. Addy thought about her life, her unchased dreams and her unspoken fears, all the loneliness and aching she hid from the world. She thought about the men who’d stormed into the cake shop, about what Edie’s face must have looked like when she found the bodies, about her parents the moment they realized she’d gone missing. Addy thought about her sister, whom she loved deep down even if they didn’t always get along, about how guilty and sorry and afraid the bravest woman she knew must be in this moment, knowing Addy had called for help and all she’d done was argue. Then she thought about Thad. About everything he’d told her. About all the things she was slowly starting to recall from the news. About all the very many reasons trusting him was a bad idea. But mainly, she thought about the voice in her head whispering none of it mattered.
Addy screamed.
And squeezed the warm hand enveloping hers.
Then screamed some more.
After a few seconds, she caught her reflection in the side mirror, mouth open wide, eyes scrunched, an adult in the middle of a tantrum, and the sound shifted. The heavy weight was lifted and suddenly she was laughing. Because they looked and sounded ridiculous. This whole situation was ridiculous. And if this had been happening at any other time, with any other person, she would have been terrified. But right now, here, with him, she felt seen and understood and not so alone. So she laughed until tears streamed down her face and silence slowly fell.
Addy wiped her cheeks and turned, finding his gaze. Thad was smiling, but through the grin, she saw all the broken bits he tried to hide, all the secret fears his scream had revealed. The edges of his eyes were crinkled, but not with mirth, with wariness, as though he were worried about what she would say next. Would she ask the question he feared? Would he tell her the truth? Did she really want to know?
No, Addy thought. She didn’t want to know the specifics of all the horrible things he might have done. No good could come from it. She didn’t need those answers—she already had the most important one. When those men walked into her bakery, Addy had stared evil in the face. She knew what it looked like, the way they had threatened her with no hint of remorse, the murderous glint in their eyes. She knew. And right now, looking in Thad’s eyes, she saw none of that. She saw shame, the edge of a razor blade cutting deep, and she knew he wasn’t a bad person—he was a person who’d done bad things. The distinction was important.
“Tell me more about Paris,” she said, relaxing into her seat and closing her eyes. Addy left her hand exactly where it was, wrapped tightly in his.
“Paris, huh?” he murmured, a little teasing. But this time, she read thethank youin his voice, because she was beginning to understand him, beginning to see the vulnerable man hiding beneath the criminal. Maybe that was his greatest con of all—to fool the world into believing he was heartless.
“Are the French really jerks?”
He barked out a laugh, loud, almost like a release, and his muscles relaxed. They were no longer clutching each other, but simply holding hands, comfortable and loose.See?she thought, edge of her lip quirking.I can be loose.
“Some of them are jerks,” he answered thoughtfully. “But they’re much nicer when you speak French.”
“You speak French?” Addy asked, opening her eyes to turn and look at him.
“Oui, bien sûr.” He shrugged, nonchalant, but quickly gave the game away as a dimple dug into his cheek. “N’est-ce pas?”
“What’d you say?” she asked, greedy for more. “What other languages do you speak?”
“Italiano,” he said, shifting his accent a bit. “Español. Um pouco de portugues.Comes in handy when you’re trying to blend in. I never quite got a handle on German though. I guess Romance languages were more my thing.”
Warmth pooled deep in her stomach, spreading down her legs in the most delicious way as he saidRomance languages. “Tell me more.”
So he did.
