Stolen Goods (To Catch a Thief Book 2)

by Kay Marie

  He held his ground.

  He turned. He spun.

  He found her across the distance, still sitting on the grass, watching him, something sad in her gaze, but something else too. Thad stretched the moment to a millennium, memorizing every inch of her beautiful face as he took one last breath of fresh air. Things would be complicated for a while. Addison would have to publicly denounce him. They’d have no contact. He’d be in witness protection. She’d be under federal surveillance. There was no telling how long until they’d see each other again. He wouldn’t hold her back. If she moved on, she moved on. He’d let her go. But right now, his heart was light, released of its heavy burden. Because deep within her gaze, hope shimmered, glittering like the sun on the sea, the sort he never thought he’d feel. Hope for a future. Something to look forward to. Something to fight for. And that was enough. For now, it was everything.

  - 28 -

  Addison

  “I still can’t believe you’re leaving,” Gracie grumbled, not an ounce of judgment or hidden innuendo in her tone, only gloom. Proof of the therapeutic power of mortal terror.

  As soon as Addy had arrived home, Gracie had pushed through their parents, nearly knocking their mother over, to fling herself on her sister and murmur a tearful apology. She’d been worried Addy was dead, that she’d never see her again, that she’d wasted their last words. And she’d spent days going over what she wished she’d said instead—that she loved Addy, that she’d been jealous of her relationship with their parents for ages, resentful of how similar Addy was to their mother and how easily she spoke to their father, but she didn’t want to feel that way anymore. Addy had hugged her sister back, saying she loved her and she’d missed her, and that she’d been jealous too—of Gracie’s bravery and her fearlessness, of all her travels, of all the experiences she herself had been too afraid to have. Thinking of Thad, of his seventeen years without the sister he desperately loved, Addy told Gracie she didn’t know what she’d do without her. They made a promise right then and there, clasped tight on the front lawn, to never let anything get between them again.

  Four weeks later and so far so good. They still fought occasionally—Rome wasn’t built in a day—but it was better. Gracie asked Addy about her baking and tried to understand her passion. Addy took time to listen to Gracie’s opinions and learn about her studies. She’d been amazed to discover that having a sister in law school who wanted to become a women’s rights advocate was downright handy. When the paparazzi had shown up at Addy’s doorstep, Gracie had been the one to shoo them away with threats of lawsuits and shouts of victim harassment that were later picked up by the evening news. When Addy agreed to do one interview with 60 Minutes, Gracie had been the one to coach her on the proper language to use when answering questions and to grill her in preparation so she wasn’t caught off guard. When Addy quit her job and announced to her family that she would be traveling the world indefinitely, Gracie had been the first to jump in with encouragement, support, and a suggested itinerary.

  Addy took a sip of wine and dropped her head to her sister’s warm shoulder as she glanced around her empty apartment. Some country music played softly in the background. The speakers were the only electronic still working. She’d unplugged her landline three weeks ago—the damn thing never stopped ringing with interview requests. The internet had been disconnected that morning in anticipation of her move. And the TV was…broken. The night her interview had aired, Addy may or may not have chucked a rolling pin at it while furiously baking sugar cookies. Every word out of her mouth had been lie after lie after lie, the ones Jo and the Feds had designed to keep her safe. At the time, she’d feared she’d never be convincing. But watching herself on television, gaunt with vacant eyes and ten pounds lighter from the stress, even she started to question the truth. Odd how heartbreak and trauma so closely mirrored each other. Now her apartment was full of nothing more than the few remaining boxes that would sit in her parents’ attic until she came home, the couch that was being moved tomorrow, an overstuffed backpack, and three opened bottles of wine—one for each girl—Addy, Grace, and Edie.

  “I still can’t believe you’re leaving,” her boss and good friend moaned, taking another swig as she sank deeper into the cushions. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”

  “I found you a replacement,” Addy countered, smiling. This was the third time they were having this conversation. Edie was plowed. Her twins were being watched by their grandparents, so momma was letting loose for the night. “A new bright-eyed teenager you can take under your wing. A mini-me.”

  Edie sighed. “You know that job will always be yours if you want it, just say the word.”

  “I know,” Addy said, taking Edie’s hand and squeezing tight. “Thank you.”

  When she first came home, she hadn’t expected to quit. She’d planned to go back to life as usual. Her heart hurt less when she pretended everything was the same. That nothing had changed. That her time with Thad had been a dream. It was a naïve wish. Customers stopped wanting to come into the bakery because they were afraid it wasn’t safe when Addy was around. Edie started meeting people at a coffee shop down the street instead. A hoard of photographers stood outside every day for hours waiting to catch a glimpse of Addy as she ran in every morning and out late at night. Edie hung temporary curtains to keep them from taking pictures through the glass. Then the news vans came. Photos of the crime scene resurfaced, stolen from the local police department archives and posted in the tabloids. The name of the shop, the address, the logo—everything was plastered in the complete wrong light for a place that was supposed to celebrate the happiest days of someone’s life. A wedding. An anniversary. A birthday. Instead, it was a murder shop. Edie never would’ve fired Addy—they were like family after all they’d been through. To save the business she’d helped build from complete destruction, Addy quit. The panic attack had been real. But after the initial fear subsided, she knew what she had to do.

  Go.

  Leave.

  Explore.

  The small-town life that was once so comfortable was now a safety net she needed to cut free. Addy was a different person from the woman she’d been a few weeks before—life-or-death experiences had a way of doing that. Before she could second-guess, she’d put her apartment on the market, emptied the college fund she’d barely used, and booked a one-way flight to Europe. To get away from it all. To find herself. To just…be.

  Addy sighed. “Guys, this is the most depressing going-away party ever. You’re supposed to be building me up before my grand adventure. Not, you know, begging me to stay home and wallowing in—”

  Knock. Knock.

  Addy jolted, heart lurching in her chest. Unexpected guests made her jumpy—a lingering side effect she hadn’t been able to shake.

  A peppy voice called out, “It’s me!”

  “Jo!” Addy leapt to her feet, fear switching to relief in an instant. She threw open the door. “You’re here! I didn’t think you’d make it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” Jo gushed, yanking Addy into a tight hug. With her lips close to Addy’s ear, she whispered, “I had to make a quick stop first.”

  Addy froze.

  Jo leaned slowly back, face twisted with an apology. That look in her eye told Addy exactly where her friend had been.

  She’d been doing everything in her power not to think of Thad. Diving into planning. Reading every book on travel she could find. Researching safety tips for a woman backpacking on her own. And of course, baking like a maniac. That first week home, nothing had worked. Every time she turned around, someone was asking what had happened, if he was a monster, how she’d survived. Their story, the fake one she’d helped spread, played on the news nonstop. Addy had watched every second, scraping the bottom of the barrel for any picture of him, gasping when she saw him handcuffed being led into court. After that, she’d turned it off. She hadn’t wanted to think of him that way, so she turned to her memories instead. But th
at was too painful, so she’d decided it was best to not think of him at all.

  As if it were so easy.

  Every time she got in the car, she saw him behind the wheel. Every time she opened a guide to Europe, that annoyingly persistent Paris dream resurfaced. Every time she washed her new short hair, she imagined his hands running through it. Every time she went to bed, his arms were somehow wrapped around her. In the darkness, his heart beat steadily in her ear. Thad was a brand permanently seared onto her skin. Each day, a new memory flared, igniting the mark, burning it deeper into her flesh. Right now, as she stared at Jo, her body scorched, on fire.

  Addy stepped forward into the hallway and closed her apartment door behind her. “You were with him? How is he?”

  “He’s okay. Going a little stir-crazy maybe, but I got him some paints…” Jo tugged at a strap on her shoulder, drawing Addy’s attention to the tube behind her back. She’d recognize the shape of it anywhere.

  “What’s that?”

  Jo sighed. “I told him I wasn’t sure this was a good idea, but he said he promised, so he made me promise. So, well—here.” She shoved the art tube into Addy’s arms and pulled an envelope from her purse. “He wrote something too. But you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. You don’t have to even open it or look at it or—”

  Jo shut up when Addy ripped the letter from her hands. She tore it open, greedily unfolded the single page, and devoured every word.

  Dear Addison,

  I’m not really sure what to say, which you’d know if you were in this room with me and could see the hundred or so little balls of scrunched paper by my feet. But this is the last piece, so I guess, whatever I write, it will have to do. Eloquent, huh?

  I never said words were my strong suit, but I think when you look at the painting, you’ll understand what I’m trying (unsuccessfully) to explain. You said you wanted an original. I’m not sure what that means yet. But that night with you was the happiest and the most content I think I’ve ever felt, so I figured it was as good a place as any to start.

  If you never want to speak to me again, I understand. Jo said you did a good job with the interview. I couldn’t bring myself to watch. I guess I was worried you’d be too convincing—that maybe you’d fool even me. And I didn’t want that. Our time together, it meant a lot to me, more than I think you’ll ever know.

  I guess what I’m trying to say is, even if nothing else, I hope when you look at this painting, it’ll bring a smile to your face. Because that’s what thinking of you, and thinking of this night, does for me.

  A promise is a promise—you better hold up your end of the bargain.

  - Thad

  Addy pressed the paper to her heart and took a deep breath as a wave of longing crashed over her, so intense she had to lean against the door for support. Jo didn’t say anything. She waited silently for Addy to compose herself. When the rush settled to a dull ache, Addy opened the art tube, pulled out the canvas, and gently unrolled it, already aware what she’d see.

  The Grand Canyon.

  But not any view—the view of sun-drenched rock in the distance, with an evergreen sea before and a sapphire sky above. The brushstrokes were soft and romantic. The colors were tranquil and subdued. It was almost as though the entire landscape held its breath, teetering between fear and freefall, hovering in that split second when everything seemed possible and nothing was too far out of reach, when hope burned as brightly as the sun just before it sank beneath the horizon and the stars took its place, allowing room to dream.

  Addy knew what Thad was trying to say.

  His soul was bared on the canvas.

  I love you.

  It was crazy. It was ludicrous. They’d only known each other for a few rushed days, and yet her heart pinched, whispering the words, I love you too.

  “If there’s anything you want to tell him,” Jo murmured, not wanting to intrude, “just let me know. I can get him a message.”

  Addy nodded and opened her mouth, but nothing came. She didn’t know if it was enough. Was love enough? Was it, when there was so much uncertainty? Addy was leaving for Europe tomorrow, no idea when she’d be back. Thad was hidden away by witness protection, not allowed contact with the outside world. He had two dozen trials he had to partake in before he even had a chance at freedom—and a small one at that. Would he go to jail? For how long? Was she prepared to wait for him? To date a known felon? To put herself back in his world and all the dangers that came with it? All because of a love that had burned so bright but so quick, like a comet in the night, there and gone in the blink of an eye?

  Would it even last?

  Could it?

  “I—” Addy shook her head, dizzy with all the questions.

  “What are you two doing out there?” Edie tipsily called out.

  “Coming!” she shouted, voice panicked.

  “You don’t have to tell him anything,” Jo cut in, sensing her tone. “Some things just aren’t meant to be. And that’s okay. It doesn’t take away from what they were.”

  But she had to say something, anything.

  “Tell him—” She shook her head, struggling for clarity. “Tell him I’m going to Paris.”

  Jo grinned. “I already did.”

  “What did he say?” Addy stopped breathing, clutching the painting between her hands as she met Jo’s warm gaze. She’d thought about beginning her travels somewhere else, but no other foreign city seemed right. Paris was the promise she’d made to Thad, so Paris was where she would go—even if her heart broke a little bit knowing that when she laid eyes on the Seine for the first time, he wouldn’t be there waiting on the other side.

  “He didn’t say anything. He just got this wistful look and smiled.”

  Addy closed her eyes, picturing him. “Did his dimples come out?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  That meant it was real. “Good.”

  There was more she could have said, a lot more, but she didn’t want to say it to Jo to say to Thad. She wanted to tell him herself. Maybe one day, she would.

  As she followed Jo back into her apartment, Addy couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering to that far-off day. How long would it be? How long would she have to hold all of this inside? Long enough that it would pass, or just long enough for it to drive her insane? The question lingered, sitting there at the back of her mind as she finished her wine, then had another glass, and another, before joining her friends in an impromptu dance-a-thon as the tape was placed on the final box. When she lay down for bed, and woke up, and drove to the airport, Addy still couldn’t shake the pesky inquiry. As she hugged her family goodbye, then waited by the gate for her plane, then settled in her seat for the short flight to Atlanta, she wondered if it would be a year, two, ten, until she saw him again.

  For a moment, she thought she might burst.

  During her layover, Addy bought a notepad and a pen, at first wanting to organize her thoughts. But when she boarded her second plane and took off, soaring toward an adventure that was all her own, she found herself writing something else instead.

  Dear Thad, she began. I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t think either of us will for a long time, maybe ever. But I do know that meeting you changed me—for the better. Right now, I’m scared out of my mind to be going to Europe on my own. You’re the only person I’ve admitted that to, because I think you’re the only person who will understand why I find it the most amazing sort of fear. I chose it. I’m facing it. Like you told me so long ago, but I didn’t believe—I feel brave. Brave enough for one more confession.

  I’m not ready to let you go.

  And while I’m at it, here’s another. I’ve always found the idea of handwritten letters terribly romantic.

  - 29 -

  Thad

  ~ One Year Later ~

  “How does it feel to be a free man?” Nate asked as the two of them stepped side by side out of the courtroom.

  Thad arched a brow and snorted. �
�Take my ankle monitor off and I’ll let you know.”

  “Not happening, Ryder.”

  You judo-chop a guy one time, Thad thought with a sigh as he followed Nate to the car. He thought of him as Nate now, not Agent Parker. Not the Fed. Prepping for twenty-eight trials had a way of bringing two people closer together—though Thad wasn’t entirely convinced Nate felt the same. Sure, he’d been his contact with the FBI, and he’d spent a year shuffling Thad back and forth between the safe house and the courthouse, but for a Goody Two-shoes, the man knew how to hold a grudge.

  Thad sighed. “Are you ever going to forgive me? I mean, we’re practically going to be partners now—”

  “No, we’re not,” Nate cut in. “Leo is and always will be my partner.”

  “Fine.” Thad rolled his eyes, but a smile pulled at his lips. He didn’t actually know what he’d do if Nate forgave him—antagonizing the man was half the fun. “I’m going to be a criminal consultant to the FBI, and you’re going to be my contact. Either way, we’ll be spending a lot more time together.”

  Nate snorted. “Oh, joy.”

  Thad cast him a sidelong glance as they pulled away from the curb. “You’re the one who helped get me the deal.”

  Nate shrugged, but the wrinkles around his eyes softened.

  Eh, he loves me, Thad thought, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat, glancing up toward the sky. He’d be seeing a lot more of it from now on. After a year in lockdown, he was finally free. Well, sort of. His new apartment would at least have windows and a view—it was in the same building as Nate and Jo’s, right in downtown Washington, DC. He’d be stuck on house arrest with the ankle monitor for another four years, only allowed in and out of the premises with a federal escort. But he’d have his paints. He’d have Jo down the hall. Now that the trials were over and the danger had passed, he’d be allowed visitors. His sister, who he knew was dying to grill him in person instead of via email. His mother, who he hadn’t spoken to but had learned a lot about from Emma. Not enough to open his heart, but enough at least to thin his walls. He was getting a second chance at life—what right did he have to deny someone else the same opportunity?