Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,63
stood back, still clutching the stupid plane. “So?”
Clementine worked her jaw. “I was here to steal from you, but I couldn’t do it.”
He dipped his head and squinted, sure he’d heard her wrong. “To steal from me?”
“The Van Gogh in the sound room.”
“We have a Van Gogh?”
She nodded, her jaw still bunching. She folded her arms, but her hands kept moving, her fingers fidgeting by her elbows. “I’m a burglar. It’s why I came to Whichway. To find you and case the estate and steal the painting, but then I met you and your reptile shelter, and your family isn’t what I thought. Chloe is amazing, and I didn’t know your dad was sick, not that it matters. I just can’t do this anymore. Not to you. Not to anyone. But really not to you and...” Longing and desperation twisted her features. “I’m so sorry, Jack. You can call the cops or whatever. I’m prepared to deal with the consequences.”
Clementine.
Burglar.
Van Gogh?
He stared at her, unblinking. He opened and closed his mouth, confusion growing as he tried to assemble this unfathomable puzzle. With her skittishness and all she’d been hiding, he’d known she’d had skeletons in her closet. Dark secrets. He’d never imagined they resembled this. “Do you have a weapon on you? A gun or anything?”
She recoiled. “No. God, no. I’ve taken a knife to jobs since”—she glanced at her abdomen—“the stabbing. But I’d never bring something dangerous into your home.”
His shoulders lowered. He believed her. He wasn’t sure why in the face of her confession, but if Clementine wanted to do him or his family harm, she wouldn’t be standing here, telling him to call the cops.
Clementine.
Burglar.
Van Gogh.
The stabbing she wouldn’t discuss earlier.
He kept blinking, puzzling. It didn’t help. He just felt…numb. He put his model back on its shelf, crossed his room, and sat on the edge of his bed. “Why?”
She chewed on her lip. “Why what?”
“Why do you do it?”
She tipped up her chin, a hint of pride in the move. “The money funds orphanages and schools. We—I can’t use most of the cash here. I keep it untraceable, spend it overseas and spread it around where it does the most good, with a focus on a couple of places. I try to make a difference for these kids.”
“By stealing?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t keep any of it?”
“Enough to live comfortably and work on my car. I don’t need much.”
He clenched and released his hands. “Why should I believe you?”
She huffed out a bitter laugh. “I guess you shouldn’t.”
“And all of this with me…” He motioned to the bed, aggressive now. Pissed off. “Was all of this a lie, too? Was everything with me a way to get into my parents’ home?”
Like Ava had used him for his connections. The shock was wearing off, anger replacing his numbness.
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Not the first time we met, when I helped with your car. I didn’t know who you were then. My attraction to you was as real as real gets. It’s why I gave you my actual name, something I never normally do. But at the diner the next day and meeting you on runs…that was on purpose, to get invited here. Then it got complicated.”
The heat felt freshly oppressive, the air in the room thick and stifling. She focused on her feet. He closed his eyes.
“I fell a little for you when you sang for me in your shelter,” she whispered, her pleading tone slipping over him, forcing his eyes open. “Then a little more each day after. Or maybe it was before that, the first day we met. I couldn’t explain it then and I can’t now. It was so unexpected. You were so unexpected. And I’ve never told anyone about my past. Those stories were true, all of them—about my parents. But I used you, so…” She blinked and a tear slipped out. She dashed it away, looking appalled. “It’s okay to call the cops. I’m ready. I just want it done.”
He didn’t move for his cell phone. She’d lied and used him, but those tears yanked at his chest. Her admission did the same and worse to his heart.
He pictured her as a kid, walking in on her father dead in his car, being torn from her mother, tossed into the foster system. Clementine was a strong woman. She had overcome, but at what cost? She hadn’t become a burglar on her own. Someone would have schooled her. “You said we.”