Stolen Goods (To Catch a Thief Book 2)

by Kay Marie

  Addy stared at him in awe.

  Who are you?

  Where did you come from?

  But before either of those questions rose to her lips, he leaned back over the table, reached for the food coloring, and deepened some of the tones before retrieving another brush. This time, as he worked, Addy stared at him, the cut lines of his jaw, the tan sheen of his skin, the contours of strong muscles visible just below the edge of his sleeve.

  Handsome.

  Polite.

  An artist.

  And not afraid to ask a woman for help.

  Did you walk straight out of my dreams and into my bakery?

  Seriously—he was a bona fide Prince Charming.

  Here.

  In her kitchen.

  Impossibly within reach.

  Addy could already see it—her imagination had a way of zooming into overdrive at the first hint of a romantic situation. She would thank him profusely for the help with the cake. He would say it was nothing, but maybe, he could take her out for dinner sometime? Or no—even better. They’d part ways, and then, somehow, he’d be a guest at the wedding and recognize his handiwork and come find her in the kitchen, professing he’d been unable to stop thinking about her. In five years, Addy would laugh in her white gown as he jokingly told the entire ballroom how for a brief moment when they first met, she thought he was an ax murderer, until she saw him paint. Everyone would laugh. Then they’d kiss, and live happily ever after.

  “How’s that?”

  Addy sighed. “Perfect.”

  And then she blinked, realizing he was actually asking about the cake and not commenting on the Harlequin romance playing out in her mind. She dropped her eyes to the fondant, breath hitching as she took in his creation, an abstract vision of a rose garden in bloom.

  “Perfect,” she repeated. Because it was. “I can’t believe you— I mean, this is really— I’m speechless.”

  “It’s nothing.” He waved her off with a lopsided grin. “I’m happy to help.”

  “Well, you did, you really did,” Addy continued gushing, eyes still on the makeshift canvas before her, unable to quite believe this was real life. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  “My pleasure,” he commented softly. “Would you mind if I borrowed your cell phone now? I just need to call Triple A. It’ll only take a minute.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  Without a second thought, Addy reached into her pocket and pulled her cell phone free, then paused for a moment to unlock the screen before handing it over. While he stepped to the side to make his call, Addy stared at the fondant and let the world drift away as the rest of the cake came bursting to life in her mind’s eye.

  Do I pipe the edge in a teardrop pattern?

  Or a pearl border?

  Or maybe shells?

  What if I leave the edge blank and decorate the base of the monogram instead? Simple white piping? That would look a little cleaner, a little more modern. Actually, I think that’s perfect. And I’ll add a few green leaves to make the colors pop.

  Addy looked up from the fondant and turned toward the fridge, fingers itching to test various arrangements of buttercream flowers. It was only then that she realized she was alone.

  She spun.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Addy pivoted on her heels and scanned the empty kitchen.

  The man was gone.

  Wait. Where did you…?

  “Hello?” she called aloud.

  There was no response.

  Her brows knotted—had he been a ghost?

  She patted her pockets, her apron, searching for her cell phone. But no—it was gone. He’d taken it, which meant he was a tangible human being. He’d just, for the moment, disappeared.

  Addy bit her lip with confusion.

  Behind her, the front door to the bakery whooshed open.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, you dolt. He went outside to make the call in private. You still have time to thank him. And ask for his name. And do the best eyelash batting you’ve ever done in your life to convince him he can’t live without you.

  Addy spun, prepared with a broad smile.

  Then she froze for a second time that night.

  Because it wasn’t the handsome stranger.

  It was two men—with guns.

  Her heart leapt into her throat, and a scream barreled through her lips before she thought to stifle it. “Ahhhhh!”

  - 5 -

  Thad

  Shit! How the hell did they find me?

  Thad cursed as two beefy men stepped through the front door, brandishing guns. He spun and dove silently into the open office behind him. With his back to the wall, Thad stared at the phone, thumb hovering over the name he’d finally found in the contacts—Baking Jo. He’d meant to send her a chat with their code word, pretending to be Addison, but he didn’t have the time for subtlety anymore. The only thing he could do now was make a call and hope the Feds didn’t have her cell phone tapped. If they did, they’d know exactly where he was. If they didn’t…

  Do I risk it? Do I wait? Do—

  A bloodcurdling scream interrupted his thoughts. For a moment, Thad swore he saw the glass window quiver from the nature-defying pitch.

  Good lord, my ears.

  He pressed his pointer fingers against his lobes, muffling the sound so he could focus on what he did best—escaping. Jo would have to wait.

  There was a back door somewhere that led to an alley. His car was parked a block away, closer to the edge of town. There was no guarantee the Russians hadn’t slashed the tires before they’d come in, though Thad doubted it. Hitmen tended to rely more on the force of their weapons than the power of their minds, or maybe violence was the only thing going on inside their brains. Either way, it might work out well for him, if he could just figure out how to get to the car. If he were alone, it’d be easy—and a lot quieter. But as heartless as the outside world assumed he might be, Thad would never leave Addison there on her own. Not when he’d brought her into this mess in the first place.

  Testing the waters, he loosened the pressure on his ears…then promptly reinforced it. Yup, she’s still screaming.

  Okay, step one would be to shut her up.

  Step two, open the door.

  Step three, run like hell.

  Not his best plan, but it could work—it had to work. He just needed to figure out how to disarm the Russians or at least stun them long enough to get away.

  Think, Thad. Think.

  This was a bakery. There had to be knives somewhere, some sort of weapon. Thad glanced around the office, cataloguing what he saw. A desk covered with pens and papers. Shelves loaded with what seemed to be surplus supplies, all labeled—sugar, oil, nuts, pans, aluminum sheets, flour—

  Flour?

  The beginning of a plan stirred in his mind. Thad put the phone in his pocket and peered through the open door into the hallway, remembering the fan he’d seen sitting in the corner of the kitchen as he’d made his way to the office. Sure enough, it was on. The air-conditioning was either broken or simply not enough in this abrasive southern summer heat.

  He’d have to be fast.

  Lightning fast.

  A buzz gathered beneath his skin, the stirrings of adrenaline. Danger always made his instincts sharp, and his thoughts even sharper. The energy built and built, a rising tide. Thad dropped his hands from his ears, his fingers twitching with anticipation. He hefted the bag of flour into his arms—Jesus! No wonder Jo has such toned arms—and returned to his spot by the door. Addison’s voice traveled through the opening. He peered cautiously back into the hall, leaning his head a little farther out this time.

  “Please, please,” she begged softly as she backed away, tailbone digging into the counter with nowhere else to go. Thad winced. She looked around, searching for aid—searching for him—as words tumbled from her terrified lips. “Did I food poison someone? Is that what this is about? Was it the black wedding cake? It wa
s my first time using that frosting mix. I knew black was a bad omen!”

  If not for the dread laced through her tone, he might have rolled his eyes.

  Keep talking, he thought as he meticulously tore the top of the flour open and crawled through the door. The hallway provided just enough cover. He couldn’t see the Russians, which meant the Russians couldn’t see him, and Addison was too frightened to notice.

  She continued, unaware of his presence. “I’ll pay for the medical bills, I swear. I didn’t mean for anyone to get sick. I have savings. I mean, not a lot, but some. Enough! I’m a good person!”

  “Where’s the man you were with?” a deep voice grunted.

  Addison swallowed, blinking rapidly. She swiveled her head back and forth. “I don’t know. He vanished. He—” She stopped short as her gaze landed on Thad, and did a double take. He quickly waved his hands, the clearest signal he could think of. She jerked her face forward and pressed her palm to her chest in obviously feigned shock. “He stole my phone! That bastard!”

  Oh, good Lord.

  She sounded as if she were auditioning for a soap opera.

  A gun cocked in response.

  Guess that’s my cue…

  Not completely sure what he was doing but confident he would pull it off, Thad jumped out from his hiding spot in the small hallway and flipped the bag of flour upside down before the fan. A plume of white dust immediately exploded across the kitchen. Shots fired in his direction, bright sparks of flame in the center of an ivory cloud. He dove headfirst to avoid the bullets. They pinged off stainless steel, raining down around him as he somersaulted across the floor. Using the massive center table for cover, he rolled to his knees, then reached up and yanked Addison to the floor.

  “Knives?” he barked.

  She stared at him blankly, face frozen in shock.

  “Knives!” he repeated forcefully.

  “Oh!” Her entire body jolted with understanding, and she pointed to a drawer about three feet down.

  “Stay here and stay low.”

  The flour was already starting to settle as he slid the drawer open. Blindly grabbing for blades, Thad wrapped his fingers around the first handle he found.

  It was a butter knife.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  He reached up again. One of the Russians stalked around the edge of the table, gun first. There was no time to question. Thad lunged, slashing at the man’s wrists with whatever he’d grabbed, hoping it was sharp this time. The man grunted and dropped his gun. Thad stared down at the object in his hand, smirking at the ten-inch blade. Now that’s what I’m talking about. He kicked the gun toward Addison to get it out of the way. She stared at it in scandalized horror as it slowed to a stop next to her foot. Thad groaned inwardly. Before he had a chance to tell her to pick the damn thing up, a hand grabbed him by the throat and an arm snaked around his waist. Note to self—never forget the disarmed Russian at your back.

  Thad slammed his head into what felt like solid rock, wincing as fireworks exploded behind his eyes. The man let go, dazed by the direct blow to the face. Thad took the advantage and spun. He dug the knife deep into the Russian’s gut, then ducked as the second man fired another shot. Thad rolled across the ground, swiping the free gun from the floor, then jumped to his feet. Firing in the general direction of the second attacker, he released the entire clip. The man went down, but Thad had no idea how long he’d stay there.

  He spun, finding Addison’s frightened eyes. “Back door?”

  A fist grabbed his shirt before Addison could answer and Thad stumbled back, slamming into a rock-hard chest. Reminder—never forget the disarmed, stabbed, annoyingly sturdy Russian at your back.

  He threw his elbow behind and landed a hit to the man’s gut. The Russian groaned but tightened his hold, crushing his forearm against Thad’s throat, starting to cut off air. He dug his chin into the man’s elbow to keep his airway open as he searched for an escape. The assailant was too large to toss, too strong to strike. Thad reached for the man’s fingers and pulled them back, but the Russian didn’t budge. He lifted his arms over his head, found the man’s face, and pushed his thumbs into his eyes. From this angle, the pressure wasn’t as strong, but the move would still hurt like hell. The Russian tightened his grip and leaned back. Thad’s toes dragged along the floor.

  Think! Think!

  He’d been in worse situations—he couldn’t think of any at the moment, but that was beside the point.

  The man groaned, a mix of exertion and pain, but his hold was iron. Thad’s vision started to spot. He grew light-headed.

  You have a few seconds at most. Think!

  He had to do something. Anything. Just—

  Thwack!

  The Russian let go and dropped. When his body hit the ground, the floor shook.

  Big tree fall hard, Thad thought as he quickly found his balance and pivoted, not quite able to believe the sight behind him. Addison stood with a wooden rolling pin in her hands, eyes as wide as the polka dots on her skirt as she stared at the man knocked utterly senseless by her feet. With a start, she dropped the makeshift weapon and gasped, raising both her palms to her lips to cover the gaping hole her dropped jaw created. Her gaze jumped up to find Thad’s.

  “Damn.” He grinned, a full, wide smile that wasn’t the least bit contrived. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  Her chin bobbed and her lips twitched, but no sound came out.

  Thad stepped forward and gently placed his palm against the small of her back, trying to ease her out of the shock as he led her around the body splayed across the floor. The two men were down for now, but that could change at any moment, and he still wasn’t convinced they didn’t have backup waiting outside.

  “Where’s the back door?” he murmured, soothing and calm.

  “I— It’s—”

  “You can just point, it’s okay. I’ll do the rest.”

  She lifted a dainty hand, gesturing toward the opposite end of the kitchen, movements slow and stilted. No time to waste, Thad simply knelt, placed an arm beneath her knees, and swept her off her feet. She was small, probably a full foot shorter than him, and petite, hardly more than air in his arms. But he couldn’t help but notice she felt soft in all the right places with her chest heaving beneath that apron, and her hips pressed snugly against his abdomen. As his fingers dug into the curves of her waist, the adrenaline surging in his veins changed to something else.

  Not the time for that.

  He shook his head and stepped forward. Addison lifted her arms around his shoulders, holding on for dear life as she buried her face in his neck, trembling. Thad nudged his hip against the door and burst into the dark night, swiveling his head left and right in search of new assailants. The alley was calm, and so quiet he heard the buzz of the flickering streetlight ten feet away. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he walked, loud with nothing but the hum of insects to cover the noise as he crept farther into the dark at the back of the building. Addison hardly seemed aware of the world. Only when Thad came to a stop beside his car did she finally lift her head from his chest and glance up.

  Thad inhaled sharply. The dazzling aquamarine of her eyes stole the breath from his chest, a more thorough heist than any he’d pulled. No one had ever looked at him like that, as though he were the hero, the savior, the answer to some sort of question, some sort of prayer—not even Jo. Thad stared into Addison’s eyes, trying to see himself the way she saw him in that moment. An impossible feat when he knew the truth—that he didn’t deserve it, this adoration. That she wouldn’t have needed saving if not for him. That he was the wrecking ball, not the rescuer. Yet Thad didn’t look away. He held on to her gaze. He basked in it. Because in two minutes, he was going to do what he’d done to every other good thing in his life.

  He was going to destroy it.

  - 6 -

  Addison

  Addy stared into his eyes, unable to believe this man was real, unable to believe he was
holding her in his arms like a valiant knight carrying the princess from her tumbling tower. Part of her honestly thought it was more likely she was floating in midair. But it was true. This was happening. She was snuggled against his warm chest, close enough to feel the kiss of his breath upon her skin.

  He was like Superman come to life.

  But without the alias.

  And with a hint of James Dean.

  Ooh, no—Addy blinked as the realization hit—he’s Indiana Jones!

  Rugged and artistic. Clever and decisive. There was a wildness in his stormy gray eyes, as though at any moment a brilliant bolt of lightning might strike within them, a silent promise of adventure and surprise.

  I’ve always had a soft spot for Harrison Ford. She sighed, melting a little in his embrace. There was something more to it, something she couldn’t quite place, something undeniably him. Not fiction. Not make-believe. But real.

  “Who are you?” she wondered aloud, whispering the words.

  As soon as she spoke, the magic snapped.

  He broke their gaze and slid his arm from underneath her knees. Addy’s feet sank slowly to the pavement, her body protesting the end of what had been the most magical moment in her life. But it did end. Cool air whipped between them as the stranger stepped back and opened a car door, motioning she get inside. Her brain was still moving slow, wires disconnected, nerves on overdrive as fear and desire and adrenaline and terror all mixed into a dizzying spiral. She sank into the passenger seat, trying to blink the confusion away. Running on instinct, she pulled the seat belt around her waist, comforted by the satisfied click as it snapped into place. Simple. Normal. Safe. The feeling didn’t last long.

  A man ran around the corner, handgun glinting in the dim streetlight.

  “Gun! Gun! Gun!” Addy shouted a warning. Or at least tried to, though she wasn’t sure if the words came out as anything more than incoherent shrieks.

  The handsome stranger slid across the hood of the car and dove into the driver’s seat. He slammed the door behind him just as the first bullet hit the windshield, broke through the glass, and buried into the back seat.