Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,107
Lucien’s face, a sickening crunch sounding. Lucien reared back, but didn’t go down. He was a tough son of a bitch, and Jack couldn’t quite re-fist his hand, wasn’t sure why it wouldn’t obey. Instead of exploiting Jack’s weakness, Lucien cut his losses and ran, bolting toward the guest room at the end of the hall. Five Elvi rushed after him.
Jack spun and crumpled next to Clementine, scared to touch or move her. Her eyes kept fluttering closed. Her breathing wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. He’d never be right again if she died.
He lay beside her and stroked her hair. His hand throbbed. The pain didn’t compare to the ache overtaking his heart. “Stay with me, baby.”
“Jack?”
God, she was pale. Why was she so pale? “I’m here,” he said, his voice breaking. “Not going anywhere.”
“My life is a lie,” she mumbled. “All for nothing.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
“Oh my darling, Clementine.” Jack didn’t know the turn of events that had led to Lucien shooting the girl he’d raised, but Jack wanted to punch the man again. Over and over until Jack’s already-mangled hand was a bloody pulp. So much for not believing in violence.
The Elvi who’d given chase jogged from the guest room.
“He escaped through a window,” one of them said. “Couldn’t shove myself through if I rolled in Crisco. We’ll notify them out front.”
All the men were on the hefty side of husky, and that window was damn small. Jack wasn’t even sure how Lucien had managed the feat, but it wasn’t his priority.
A distant ringing registered, tough to decipher from the basement, but it sounded like a siren.
“Cops are on their way,” someone called.
Jack exhaled heavily, but sirens came with implications. Clementine couldn’t fly under the radar after this. Her past would come to light. She could be arrested.
Her eyes drifted closed.
“Clem, honey—stay with me. Help is here. You fucking stay and fight.”
She roused slightly and licked her lips. “I lied,” she said, each word seeming to pain her. “I do love you. Always did.”
His throat closed. “Not as much as I love you, so you don’t get to leave me, Clementine. You don’t get to give up.”
“But I lost your necklace. I lost ev…everything.”
Of course she’d worry about that. “I have the necklace, love. And the record. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You haven’t lost anything at all.”
Especially not him. He wouldn’t give up on her. His lawyers would earn their retainer, fight to find a loophole in the system, ensure her freedom. She wouldn’t end up in prison because a man had lured a child into the criminal underworld.
He heard people rush down the stairs and one of the Elvi explaining Clementine’s injury, but he didn’t look away from her, could barely force his lungs to inflate.
A gloved hand landed on his shoulder. “Move out of the way, sir. We need space to work.”
“Don’t you dare give up,” he whispered to Clementine again.
He didn’t remember standing, or a woman tending to his hand. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Clementine’s limp body being loaded onto a stretcher, her blood a dark stain on the floor.
He shook off the EMT treating him. “I need to go to the hospital. I need to be with her.”
“She’s in good hands, sir. Let my team do their job. But is there anyone we should call? Family we should notify?”
The answer only worsened his distress. No one. She had no one.
“Jack!” His mother picked her way through the throng of Elvi, hand clutched to her chest. The second she neared him, tears sprang to her eyes. Because he was her son, because in his world family meant love and worry and support.
“I’m Clementine’s family,” he told the EMT, and he’d be there for her as long as she’d let him.
Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
* * *
Find Elvis Presley.
* * *
Jack’s scavenger hunt habit was adorable. The last one he’d sprung on her had led to a three-legged bearded dragon named Ethel. Unfortunately, this clue unearthed a slew of unpleasant memories.
Stop and breathe, her therapist would say. Count to ten and remember the good things in your life, the progress you’ve made.
Instead of thinking about Lucien’s similar text at the start of her fateful Van Gogh job, she focused on her current job and how much she loved greasing up her hands under a car’s hood, earning her paycheck with sweat and muscle. She thought about her Friday night gossip sessions with Imelda and Tami, family BBQs hosted at Marco’s,