Don't Go Stealing My Heart - Kelly Siskind Page 0,1

Monet Disaster, but thinking about that was a fast track to blundering this whole gig.

The difference between getting caught and executing a perfect heist is planning.

She inhaled deeply and snatched the cream box, checking its contents before securing it in her bag. Safe closed and painting returned, she hurried down the stairs and hastened for the exit. The crisp air gave her a shot of energy as she tucked her gloves and headlamp into her bag. She snuck across the sleek patio, her back pressed against the wooden fence, then stepped into the alley. Where she was greeted by a low growl.

Clementine glanced over her shoulder, and yep, a large pit bull-type dog stood a block down, giving her the evil eye. She believed all animals were inherently good, and bad dogs were raised by bad people. She had no clue who’d raised this bruiser, but now didn’t seem the time to test her theory.

She slung her backpack forward, dug out a few treats, and tossed them as far as possible. The dog’s nose tipped up. He found the scent and went to investigate. The second he moved, she bolted. Gravel kicked up as she ran, the pavement jarring her shins with each punishing footfall. A bark echoed. She ran faster. Too fast to notice the littered fast-food bag until it was underfoot and sliding. Her ankle twisted. She went down, awkward and hard, slamming her hip on the pavement.

Fucking hell.

She tensed a beat, sure the pit bull would be standing over her, drooly fangs glinting under the streetlamps. But she was alone. With a twisted ankle, a sore hip, and a two-hundred grand diamond ring.

Clementine hobbled into her apartment building, dreaming of her cushy pillow and fluffy duvet. She’d left the ring at the drop-off location. Lucien didn’t have anything else lined up. Maybe she’d sleep for a week, rest up, tend to her ankle before he sprung another job on her. Avoid the world and pit bulls for a while.

“You need a hand to your apartment?”

Clementine froze. She didn’t know that voice or the purple hair that was as bright as the smile directed at her. “I’m good. Just a twisted ankle.”

“I twist my ankle all the time,” the woman said, oblivious to Clementine’s brush off. “The right one. How I have any ligaments left is beyond me. I have some frozen peas in my place, if you need. And Advil…but I should maybe introduce myself before I give you pills.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Jenny. New neighbor in 2B.”

Clementine gave Jenny’s hand a reluctant shake. “I’m Amy.”

An easy, forgettable alias.

Aside from occasional lunches and dinners with Lucien, Clementine kept to herself. Being on her own was safe. She was consistent. She didn’t even know a neighbor had moved out.

Jenny slung her arm around Clementine’s waist. “At least let me help you to your door. 2C, I assume?”

She nodded, preferring silence. Jenny, however, liked the sound of her own voice. In the span of nine steps, Clementine learned she’d just moved here from LA and was a vegan hairstylist who planned to open her own salon. “A few friends moved here last year,” she said. “They loved it so much, I decided what the hell. Life is short, right? Anyway, they’re stopping over for drinks tomorrow. You should come.”

“I don’t think so.”

“If you have plans, you can bring a friend.”

“I’m going out.”

“You can come by after.”

This girl was more tenacious than that damn pit bull, and Clementine’s mind drifted back to Ned’s framed photographs. Friends and family. Things Clementine didn’t have.

“I’ll play it by ear,” she said. A lie she wished was the truth.

“Awesome.” Jenny fished a card from her pocket and held it out. “Text me if you can make it. And if you need to trim that stunning hair, I’m your gal.”

Clementine smiled politely and escaped to her apartment, but her heart was doing some sort of erratic calisthenics. A messed-up ankle and a new nosy neighbor. This had turned into one hell of a night.

She dropped Jenny’s card on her kitchen counter and limped to Lucy’s terrarium. “How’s my girl?”

Lucy stared at her favorite piece of wood.

“That good, huh?” Clementine reached in and pulled out her bearded dragon. Maybe sitting on the couch with Lucy would settle her overactive pulse. It didn’t.

She surveyed her small but neat-ish apartment, simple with its Ikea essentials. Aside from spending cash on her beast of a car, Clementine only needed enough money to live on. Spreading the