The Note (Manhattan Nights #5) - Natalie Wrye Page 0,43
sold to you. And I decided that I just had to have it.” The air stills. “I’d love to buy it from you, if you still have it.”
I backpedal away from the glass counters, recognizing the look on Al’s face. I point towards the back of the store, one finger in the air as Noah’s question hangs.
“Bathroom still back there, Al?”
His curious eyes bounce back to me from Noah. “Sure, Soph. Help yourself.”
But that’s exactly what I intend to do.
The “magic bean store” as I liked to think of it has much more than magic beans, and I need to get my hands on it. As I disappear behind the curtain hiding the back of the shop from onlookers, I find myself bypassing the bathroom to head towards the back office, where the security camera setups sit.
Remnant of my old life come rushing back to me in that moment, and the tingle I’d become used to at the innocent age of ten is back in my fingers, signaling the onset that I know is coming.
I may be out of practice. But stealing was a lot like riding a bike.
You never forget.
My blood is rushing, heart racing as I stare around the dark room which gives me a birds-eye view of Al and Noah out front.
I don’t even have to hear the conversation. I know what’s being said.
Al doesn’t have the watch. Al doesn’t have what we need.
Al sold it.
I saw it in his eyes the second I mentioned it.
My black heels scrape lightly against the carpet as my stare peruses over the cameras and tapes lined along the walls of Al’s little security room. Denoted by dates, one tape stands out to me in particular. And I grab it, slipping it down the back of my skirt and shirt where I loosen the fabric only to tuck it back in again.
I slap a smile on my face, emerging from the back only to find Noah’s dark brows furrowed in frustration, his large hand splayed against the counter. I walk up to him, placing my hand on one.
At last, he looks at me. “No watch, huh?”
“No.” He glares. “Al here sold it.” The phrase is accusatory, but Noah’s face barely moves, his jaw set. A subtle anger works inside his assessing eyes, and when he sees the look in my pleading eyes, he blinks, his face fully relaxing. He pulls his back straight, looking as regal as ever and as haughty as I remember.
Al shrugs, his meaty shoulders rising to his chin and dropping. “I wish there were something I could do, pal,” he counters in his thick Bronx-accent, his face showing anything but remorse.
“That’s alright, Al,” I interject. “I’ll make sure Noah gets what he needs…” I let a hidden subtext play beneath my words, and with little left to say, we leave Al’s with me walking fast and Noah falling in step.
Almost a block away on the increasingly chilled city street, the Australian Adonis grabs me, stopping my long legs and surprising me. His broad body nearly crashes into mine like a swinging brick wall, and he catches my shoulders as I stumble into his, his large figure hovering over mine.
The breadth of his chest and arms overwhelm me, squeezing out the cold air on the busy concrete sidewalk.
His countenance is calm, his eyes ever-moving when he finally speaks. “You stole it, didn’t you? The watch? Do you have it?”
He watches me like a hawk watches his prey, and as I adjust my footing in front of him, he lifts his chin, his hands still over my shirtsleeves, warming my skin.
I can barely breathe. “I didn’t.” I answer at last. “But I did steal the security tape that will show us the man who has it now.”
All air leaves my body as I wait, my nerves humming as I meet his dark gaze.
The space around us barely stirs, the sidewalk now quieting as people move into buildings and enter work around us. The atmosphere shifts as Noah and I face-off, the air growing thick—hardening and warming—with the underlying tension that always exists between this man and me.
I lick my suddenly dry bottom lip as Noah’s stare softens down at me. His eyes glimmer with a hint of appreciation. “That’s a start.”
And then he lets me go, heading back in the same direction we were barreling.
And this time? I follow him, wondering how much I might regret not running when I had the chance.