Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,108
helping David Industries with their philanthropic work, obstacle-course racing with Chloe, and all the Elvi who’d hugged her at this year’s festival, thrilled to see her alive and well.
She thought about her favorite Elvis.
Kind Jack. Sexy as Sin Jack. Patient as a Saint Jack.
She didn’t know any other men who’d have stood by her after the lies she’d told and danger she’d caused. And Jack hadn’t just stood. He’d worked tirelessly with his lawyers and the cops so Clementine could help track Lucien, her clemency a mercy she still wasn’t sure she deserved. Thankfully Lucien hadn’t returned to his New York condo. Lucy had been there, unharmed, and Jack had helped reunite them. He had given Clementine space during her therapy, while she’d grappled with newfound trust issues and her even more complicated past.
She inhaled this goodness and let it fill her up, then reread Jack’s note. Lucien’s phantom thorns didn’t cut as deep, and she knew where to find Elvis.
She toed off her boots and padded from the entryway into the open kitchen. Another note was tucked into the frame of Jack’s family photo—Elvis with his arm slung around Maxwell David the First’s shoulder.
Her greasy fingers had smudged the first clue, but she pocketed it in her jeans. If Jack kept slipping notes into her car and purse and underwear drawer, she’d have a novel’s worth soon. Excited, she plucked the latest memento from its home.
Find the place where I learned to let go.
Definitely the bedroom. Although she loved when Jack took charge and possessed her mind and body, he’d allowed her some control, too. He’d released some of the insecurities tethering him to his past while she’d found ways to make him shake and curse. Sending handcuffs to his office had been good fun.
She jogged to their bedroom. A blue box lay in the center of the duvet, tied with a pink bow. She ripped it open like an impatient kid. Another note greeted her.
Find your favorite place.
Easy as pie.
She raced to the reptile shelter and pressed the Open button three times. Hurry up, already. The humid air wafted over her as she darted inside, the fly-away hairs from her loosening braid sticking to her face. A yellow box sat by the dragon enclosure.
“He’s being an adorable sneak,” she told Lucy.
Lucy stared into space. Or was she staring at Ricky? He had been making nice with Ethel lately. Jealousy could ignite. “If he loves you,” she told her dragon, “he’ll stay faithful.”
Jack was the prime example of unfaltering love.
She decimated the box and read Jack’s note.
Find the item responsible for our meeting.
Man, he needed to make these clues harder. Paper tucked into her pocket, she zipped through the house, her socked feet sliding out from under her as she careened around a corner. Her T-shirt—which was dirty from greasy cars—earned another sweat stain. She should pause and jump in the shower, change at least, but she could never contain her excitement with Jack, and he never complained about her attire.
She bolted for the three-car garage and flung the door open. She felt around for the wall switch. Lights flared. Clementine’s heart skipped a beat.
Jack was in the garage, dressed in his work suit, his hip propped on a stunning wreck of an automobile she’d never seen.
“Took you long enough,” he said.
She opened her mouth and closed it, perfecting her impression of a startled goldfish. “This can’t be for me.”
“It’s certainly not for me.”
“But it’s too much.”
“It’s a hunk of junk.”
The Pontiac Firebird was dented, more rust than paint covering its body, and a couple windows were shattered. It was the type of car you’d find abandoned during a Zombie Apocalypse.
“It’s too much,” she said again. A total masterpiece from the early seventies, every inch of it begging Clementine to restore its former glory. “You have to stop buying me things.”
“You have to stop telling me how to spend my money. Not that you have to worry. This large garbage can didn’t break the bank.”
He was incorrigible. And sexy as hell with his dress shirt’s top few buttons undone. She licked her lips, but the car pulled her attention. “Can I see the inside?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He waved his hand toward the driver’s door, and his smirk wavered. He swallowed several times, each drag of his Adam’s apple faster. Was that sweat beading on his upper lip?
“If you put a snake in there,” she said, “I’ll time it so a rat drops from the ceiling while we’re having