“Somebody came by?” I ask, praying I misheard her. “Asking questions? Who?”
That’s more questions in a row than I’ve probably ever said, and Poppy’s reaction shows that. Her brows drop down in concern. “Relax. I didn’t tell him anything.”
I take a deep breath, knowing that if she were going to turn me in, she’d have done it already. I would have been greeted at the door by the cops, and not her.
“Okay. Tell me what happened.”
She wiggles, getting up on the couch again, and I follow, the two of us facing each other again in almost the same positions we started this conversation in. But we’re together, I can sense that.
She starts her story, her hands waving wildly as she recounts the details. “His name’s Detective Jax Carter, and he’s what happened. He’s the guy who was so fucking condescending the night you took my laptop that I flipped my shit right there at the station.”
I lift a brow wryly, having seen what a shit-flipping Poppy looks like.
“Yeah, yeah, it was stupid but completely warranted,” Poppy admits. “He called a few days ago too, said he had a lead, but we were already working on it, so I knew he couldn’t know more than we did, and so I told him to go fuck himself. Anyway, he showed up today, started saying they were suddenly interested in what I had to say because The Black Rose was replaced with a replica.”
I wince, knowing that was the weakness in the whole plan. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone would discover the reproduction for a long while. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough that it should’ve escaped detection for years.
“Fuck,” I spit out, suddenly much more worried. “What else did he know? What did you tell him?”
At my poorly worded question that could be taken as accusation, she glares at me angrily. Sarcasm drips from every word as she ticks off on her fingers, “Well, you know, just that I knew who’d stolen my laptop, so he’s probably the art thief too. Oh, and that you live next door and would be home shortly. The SWAT team is in my laundry nook waiting to arrest you.”
First, I know Nut and Juice would be going apeshit if there were strangers in the house. So the rest of that’s probably lies too. “Poppy. This is serious.”
“No shit,” Poppy says, going serious again. “But Connor, I didn’t tell him anything. Actually, I tried to get information for you. The other security guards you worked with don’t remember your name, so that’s a dead end. I told him that I hadn’t had any luck finding the security guard myself. There’s no reason for Detective Carter to link my next-door neighbor to the stolen laptop or The Black Rose. So unless you did a shitty job handing off the painting, you should be in the clear.”
“Other than the bag and the laptop, my part went as planned,” I tell her. “What the other guy did . . . well, he’s even more smoke in the wind than I am.”
Poppy holds her hands out wide. “All good, then?”
That should be the case. But it’s too much to risk, both for me and for Poppy.
I know what I have to do. I have to leave, at least for now. It’s the only way we can both be safe. And above everything, I won’t risk Poppy. She has a life, one that was good and happy before I fucked it up.
“Poppy,” I say slowly, standing up. “I need to go.”
Her eyes narrow, scanning mine for what’s going on in my head. “Why? You can trust me.”
I take a deep breath. “I know. But you can’t trust me. I’m a liar. An asshole. A thief.”
Poppy snorts and gets up to face me again. “You say that like I didn’t know that from the beginning. I’ve known since the day I tackled you that you weren’t exactly Mr. Rogers.”
Though I just told her not to trust me, I contradict myself. “I need you trust me and believe that there’s a good reason. I need to go.”
“Go, go or . . . go?” she repeats, her voice tight and worried.
I want to lie to her that this is temporary.
But no more lies.
Not with Poppy.
“I’ll try to come back,” I tell her, hoping that it’s enough.
It has to be.
Chapter 22
Poppy
My house smells like pine and lemons.
Connor left, and I didn’t crumble. I am furious, stomping around my place and