Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,65
while simultaneously developing an ulcer and gnawing her fingernails to shit. She kept expecting a brush-off text from him, or ringing sirens coming for her. The fact that she’d avoided talking with Lucien was partly to blame.
Ulcer city.
She’d emailed her father every night, lamenting her fears of starting over. She never mentioned Lucien specifically, or her illegal work. Just vague worries and stress. The idea of him knowing how far outside the law she lived soured her stomach. She wasn’t sure why, considering he couldn’t get mad or reprimand her, but her shame reinforced her decision to quit burgling.
All that remained was telling Lucien.
She sat in her motel room, legs crossed on her bed. It was mid-afternoon, the sun shining, but she was indoors. Her phone was clutched in a death grip. She’d dialed Lucien’s number ten minutes ago, intent on making her decision final. She hadn’t had the guts to send the call.
Grow a backbone, girlie. Slightly nauseated, she pressed Send.
Lucien answered swiftly. “Thought you’d gone underground on me.”
“You always tell me to be slow and thorough.”
“And you always listen. Time is ticking. How are you making out?”
Screwed. Hanging by a thread. Missing a man who probably wanted nothing to do with her. “Oh, you know, living the life in Nowhere, USA.” If she made Whichway sound dull and simple, maybe she’d quit picturing herself living here.
“Told you driving out was a bad idea. Never good to know just how far you are from civilization.” Rustling crinkled through the line. It was early. Lucien was probably on his couch, feet propped on his ottoman as he skimmed the paper, reading glasses in place. “I’ve bought us an extra week. What’s your time frame looking like?”
“Funny you should ask.” The words she’d rehearsed during her sleepless night slipped from her mind. All brainwaves went blank. Fan-freaking-tastic. “There’s been a complication.”
She could practically hear his spine snap straight. “What kind of complication?”
A prince of a man who sang like Elvis and kissed like a seductive king. Jack was a huge complication, but it was more than that. “Remember during the Monet job, when I procrastinated and delayed and struggled with my role in our business?”
“Of course, Orangelo. I’ll never forget that job.” The gravity of his voice hung between them. It was how he’d sounded when he’d sat vigil by her bedside, fresh stiches healing her stab wound. Neither of them would ever forget that.
“Thing is, I think I want out.” She cursed herself for saying I think. So wishy-washy. Cowardly.
His pause felt weighted. “What’s brought this on?”
She bunched her knees to her chest. “I don’t think I ever fully settled into things after that job. I did the work. I stayed focused, but it was because I felt…cornered? Like this work was my life raft and without it I’d sink.” With no one to keep her afloat or call her sweet citrus names. “There’s also a guy.”
A small laugh drifted through the line. “You fell for your mark.”
She’d become a cliché. “I did.”
“Does he know who you are? Why you’re there?”
“No.” She’d rehearsed this answer. If Jack sent her packing, she’d have to tell Lucien, in case her confession came to bite them in the ass one day. If Jack offered her a second chance—God, she hoped he offered her a second chance—Lucien never needed to know.
He sighed. “It happens, sweetheart. It likely won’t last, and changing your life because of it isn’t smart. Rash decisions lead to regret.”
Her only regret was not getting out sooner. “Even if Jack and I don’t work out”—if he decided he hated her or called the cops—“I still want out.”
“You’re willing to walk away from our work? Let the Delhi orphanage fall apart?”
A sucker punch below the belt. “If I don’t do it now, there will always be another emergency. Another kid who needs our help. Stepping away is gutting me, but I want a life. I want friends and a proper job. I want to plant roots.” In a forest, surrounded by all sorts of trees.
“Okay.”
He hadn’t skipped a beat, but her hammering heart had. “Okay?”
“What choice do I have, Tangerine? Your happiness has always been my priority. Yes, I’d rather we continued our work, but we both know what happens when you’re not focused.” The Monet disaster happened. “It’ll take me time to replace you, but I will. And it’s not like I haven’t sensed this brewing. Selfishly, I didn’t say anything. What we have works. But if this is what you