She was the first to break the silence. “Why do you do it?”
“Money.”
“Any other reason?”
“I’m good at it.” I looked up at her. “I’m like Robin Hood. I take from the rich and give to the … other rich.”
Okay, maybe not exactly like Robin Hood.
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get caught and go to jail?”
“Sometimes. Aren’t you afraid you’ll overdose or do something stupid while on coke?”
“No, not really. My dealer showed me how much to take.”
I cringed. “How are you paying for it?”
“Cash?” She gave me a ‘well, duh’ expression.
“Where are you getting the money?” I said slowly through clenched teeth.
Her gaze shifted away from me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Haylee. Where the hell are you getting the money?”
She let out a slow sigh. “Dad sends me money every month to help with rent.”
“But you live on campus in a dorm that’s already paid for.”
She gave me another ‘well, duh’ face. “Yeah.”
I closed my eyes, letting this all sink in. “Dad would never question his baby daughter, I suppose.”
“If the authorities ever ask, we can say we were driven to do bad things by our deadbeat dad who was always gone or in prison during our formative years. Prosecutors love that shit.”
I glared at her.
“What?” she said. “I’ve seen Law & Order. I know how this works.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rhys: So, I take it you’re mad at me.
Molly: No. I’m just busy.
Rhys: With what?
Molly: My cocaine-addicted sister knows my secret.
Rhys: That you read lesbian erotica?
Molly: No. Not that. And stop looking at my browser history, fuck!
Rhys: It amuses me.
Molly: Well, Haylee currently isn’t AMUSING me. I don’t know what to do.
Rhys: Kick her out, send her back to her/your mummy.
Molly: Can’t risk it.
Rhys: Oh yeah. You also have a new Facebook friend request from someone called Dan. Who is Dan?
Molly: None of your business. Please, please, please stop snooping.
Rhys: Has Audrey contacted you with any new assignments lately?
Molly: No, not yet. I wish she would. I need to get out of New York for a few days. Away from my sister, at least.
Rhys: According to her online calendar, she’s pretty booked up with charity stuff.
Molly: You have access to her calendar???
Rhys: Obviously.
Neither of us brought up the text about him wanting to kiss me or the infamous “I have a girlfriend” text. I certainly wasn’t going to mention it. It was none of my business.
But why did he wait so long to bring her up? And why did he tell me he wanted to kiss me if he had a frickin’ girlfriend all along?
I hope she’s ugly.
I put down my phone and got ready to go to the gym. It had been a week since Haylee had threatened to tell my mother about my secret career. She mostly just continued doing what she wanted while I glared at her from the sidelines, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it.
While Haylee crawled home hungover every morning and slept most of the day on the sofa bed, I stared at my phone and waited for Audrey to contact me. I was like a desperate high school girl waiting for some apathetic jerk to call me back after a hookup.
It wasn’t even so much about the money. Having plenty of cash on hand is always good, but my bank account was at a comfortable level. It was more about having something to do. Something to focus on. A distraction.
I grabbed my gym clothes and slipped on my running shoes. I opened the door to leave and stopped in my tracks when I saw a police officer walking away from my door.
“Grace?” I raised an eyebrow at her. “Were you looking for me? I didn’t even hear you knock.”
Grace, in full NYPD swag, faked a smile. She looked uncomfortable. “Hi. I’m sorry, you’re on your way out—”
“No, it’s okay.” I don’t like that there is a cop at my house. No, sir. I don’t like it. “Are you … looking for Ruby?”
Grace’s patrol car was parked in front of my apartment building. I could see Officer Eddie sitting in the passenger side, sipping a coffee. We made eye contact, and he just rolled his eyes at me and looked away.
He thinks I’m ridiculous. Well, the feeling is mutual, jackass.
“No. I wanted to talk. To you, I mean.”
I swallowed. “Oh?”
“I didn’t even knock on your door, because as soon as I got here, I realized how paranoid I must sound.” Grace shook her head, laughing at herself. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” I stepped back inside the apartment and did a quick scan of the premises, praying that Haylee hadn’t left any drug paraphernalia lying around.
I poured Grace a glass of cool water from the pitcher in the fridge and leaned against the kitchen counter, my heart thumping hard in my chest.
Grace gulped it down. She seemed to be avoiding eye contact.
I tried to nudge her along. “Is everything … okay between you and Ruby?”
Please say no.
“Yeah! It’s fantastic. In fact, this is one of the best relationships I’ve ever been in. Ruby is all I’ve ever wanted in a partner.”
Dammit.
“I just…” Grace hesitated. “Do you ever get a feeling about someone?”
“A feeling?”
“Yeah. Your intuition is trying to tell you something about someone, but you can’t quite pinpoint what it is exactly. Do you ever get that?”
Ah crap.
I shrugged. “Sure.”
“Well, I mean no disrespect—”
That is never a good way to start a sentence. Nothing good ever comes after “I mean no disrespect.” Samesies for “No offense,” “Don’t take this the wrong way” and “This isn’t personal.” And, occasionally, “We have to talk.”
“—but I have a weird feeling about … you.”
My eyebrows went up. “Me?”
Grace slid her empty glass onto the counter. “Yeah.”
“Uh… What kind of weird feeling?”
“This is really awkward, but I think I should just come out and say it.” Grace looked me directly in the eye. “Are you in love with Ruby?”
I burst out laughing.
“I mean, I understand,” Grace said, raising her voice over the volume of my laughs. “Ruby is perfect. She’s wonderful. You guys hang out all the time, and you drop in at her office so often—”
“Grace,” I said, pulling it together. “No. I’m not in love with Ruby. I’m straight. We’re just friends, that’s all.”
Her face eased up. “Oh! I’m kind of embarrassed now.” She chuckled.
“It’s okay.”
“I mean, I just got a bi vibe from you.”
What does that even mean?
A static-muffled message came in on the walkie-talkie on Grace’s belt. She picked it up.
“We gotta go,” said Eddie on the other end. “We’ve got a ten-ten two streets over.”
“Copy that.” Grace left in a hurry. “Good talk, Molly. I’ll catch ya later.”
She closed the door behind her, and a moment later, their squad car whipped down the street and around the corner.
I let my head fall back, sighing loudly into the silence of my apartment.
* * *
Half an hour after Grace’s attempt at giving me a heart attack, I was at the gym. It was too hot to go for a run outside, so I claimed a treadmill, put in my earbuds and blasted energizing music, my feet pounding with each stride.
The guy on the treadmill next to me was a gym regular. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and … well, very normal. He looked like a dad. His short, light brown hair was shiny with sweat, and his knees were speckled with
patches of dry skin.
I’ve always been a people-watcher. Sometimes I get really into it and imagine what their life is like. I imagine their daily routines, their habits and their flaws. I think about their current relationships or their ideal mate. I think about what they do for fun and how they pay the bills.
I wonder if anyone else in this gym is doing that to me right now. I wonder if any of them could begin to guess what I do for my job.
This guy caught me looking at him. He smiled shyly and kept running. Unlike a lot of people in this gym, he didn’t have headphones on. His eyes were directed at the large wall-mounted TV nearby.
I glanced at the TV. The news was on. It was footage from a police press conference. Several officers stood behind a table, where their newest piece of impressive evidence was presented. It was showed off to the world, for all to see.
My eyes widened. It was the Picasso painting.
That’s when I lost my footing, face-planting into the treadmill before flying off the running deck and hitting a personal trainer, causing him to fall over on top of me.
It wasn’t my most graceful moment.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I got home from the gym, whipped open my laptop and found more online video footage from the news conference where the Picasso was unveiled.
“Officials say this forgery may be related to a recent break-in at an art gallery in Paris,” the British reporter said. “Art authenticators in Paris have also recently discovered their version of this painting is a forgery too. This leaves art enthusiasts all over the world wondering, ‘Where is the Picasso painting now, and when will it be returned?’”
Shit.
“Police came across this forgery while working undercover to infiltrate a massive drug ring,” the reporter continued. “The painting, thought to be an authentic Picasso, was used to pay for a shipment of illegal drugs and weapons.”
Pardon?
As if on cue, my phone rang. It was Audrey.
“I assume you know what’s going on with that damn painting,” Audrey said casually, not bothering with a hello of any kind.
“I’m just watching the footage from the press conference now,” I said. “This is unbelievable.”
“It’s not ideal.”
“Are we safe?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said, my voice getting louder, “is there any way that painting can be traced back to you? To us?”
“No, we’re fine. My people would rather die than name me.” Audrey sighed. “I assume you didn’t know it was a forgery.”
Ummmmmm. Sure.
“No, I had no idea.” I winced. I wondered if she could sense my lie through the phone.
“I’ll have to speak to Sophie. She should have known it was a fake.” There was a hint of something unfamiliar in her voice—anxiety.
My eyes went back to the paused video on my laptop screen. “What’s this about the painting being used to pay for drugs and weapons? When they say weapons, they mean guns, right?”
“Probably.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“How so?”
“We steal items for collectors, not hardcore criminals.” I scanned the article that accompanied the video, searching for more info. “I mean, how did that painting end up in their hands?”
Audrey scoffed. “We work with people who will pay the best price.”
“Wait a sec. Did you know the painting was going to be traded for drugs?”
“The person I sold the painting to sold the painting to someone else. I knew it was going to be traded for something of value.” Audrey’s tone of voice was way more casual than it should have been. “Why does it matter?”
“Why? Because I don’t want to be involved in that kind of crime!” I was basically yelling into my phone. “I don’t want someone getting hurt or-or-or killed down the line after I do my job! That’s not how this works!”
“Betty, don’t forget,” she said, speaking slowly and sounding genuinely pissed-off, “you are a criminal, too. You will steal whatever I tell you to steal. You do not get a say in who gets the item. That is not your concern, and it will never be your concern. You are no better than any other criminal. That includes drug lords and gun smugglers. Are we quite clear?”
My face felt hot. My grip tightened around my phone. I didn’t know what to say.
“Betty?”
“I’m here,” I mumbled through clenched teeth.
“I have to call Rhys and Sophie and update them on the situation. I may have another assignment for you shortly, once this painting business blows over.”
“Fine.”
I hung up and slammed my laptop closed. Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I put my head in my hands and tugged hard at my hair.
How many other assignments have I done for Audrey where the item I stole was used to pay for drugs or guns? Have I been involved in the European drug trade all this time without knowing it? What if one of those stolen valuables was used to pay for human trafficking?
I’d never had too many scruples about stealing shit from rich people, but this… This was different. This was morally and ethically bad. Very, very bad.
I’m not a bad person.
My eyes drifted around my pricy duplex apartment. My home. Was this place indirectly paid for by selling guns to bad people?
Maybe Audrey just told me all those items were for collectors to ease my conscience, or she knew I wouldn’t go near assignments if I knew the truth. Or maybe she had recently expanded her client base to scumbags and hadn’t bothered to tell me.
I’m a scumbag too.
That’s what Audrey said. I’m no better than those people.
But I am. I know I am.
* * *
Molly: Remember that time you said you wanted to start your own agency?
Rhys: Yup.
Molly: Is that still the case?
Rhys: Sure. Why do you ask?
Molly: Nothing. I’m just thinking some things over.
Rhys: Is this because of the drugs/guns thing?
Molly: Basically. How can I work for someone who doesn’t care if she’s involved with those types of people?
Rhys: She’s connected, I’ll give her that. But I understand what you mean.
Molly: I’m feeling shitty and guilty, and I don’t like it.
Rhys: Yeah, we may have to work with Audrey to get this mess with the painting cleaned up. Is your sister still at your place?
Molly: Yes. But not for much longer. I’m taking steps to resolve that.
I tossed my phone aside and continued getting dressed. Haylee was eating breakfast on the sofa bed and watching YouTube videos on her laptop. Soon she’d resume her usual daily routine of taking off with friends and then not returning until the wee hours of the night, hungover from a night of drugs, booze or both.
I checked the time on my phone. Where is he?
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Haylee didn’t even look up. I skipped downstairs and opened the door.
A smile spread across Dad’s whiskered face. His shirt was a little rumpled, and his eyes looked a little sleepy from the flight, but he was here.
I hugged him and he kissed me on the forehead. “How ya doin,’ punkin?”
“Dad?” Haylee said from the sofa. “What are you doing here?”
Closing the door behind him, Dad slowly walked into my kitchen, scanning the apartment.
“This apartment is cool,” he said. “I like the high ceiling and the exposed brick.”
“Yeah, I like it too.” I beamed. “I’m actually having it decorated soon.”
Getting out of bed and crossing her arms over her chest, Haylee narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you still hiring Kai?”
I sighed. “We’ll see.”
She looked at Dad and gave him her sweetest smile. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, Miss Haylee.”
She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “Molly didn’t s
ay you were coming.”
“I’m uh … not staying long,” he said. “I’m taking a flight back to Florida this afternoon.” He had a hard time making eye contact with his youngest daughter.
Haylee shot me a glare and then looked back at Dad. “Why are you here?”
Dad hesitated. “Molly called me. She’s very concerned about you. About your health and your well-being.”
Haylee’s eyes widened, and her nostrils flared as she tried to keep her cool. “Why would she have any reason to be concerned about my health?”
He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Honey, I know about the drugs.”
“It’s nothing serious. I’m not a junkie. Is that what she told you?”
“She said you’ve been in a stupor since you got here.” He shook his head. “You’re smart and talented. Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“It’s nothing!” Haylee threw her hands down. “This intervention is completely unnecessary, especially from the two of you.” She threw me another glare.
Dad sighed. “Haylee, I want you to come with me to Florida.”
“To Key Largo? Sure, let’s go—”
“No. Not to my house. There’s a … facility outside of Miami. I’m told it’s great.”
“What kind of facility?” Haylee stared at him. “Dad, what are you talking about?”
“It’s a rehabilitation center,” I said quietly. “You can go there, get clean and then go back to school in September. They have a sweet pool there, and the rooms look really nice.” I shrugged. “I’m kind of jealous, actually. It looks awesome—”
Dad cut me off. “What Molly means is that it’s a really nice place where you can get clean—”
“I don’t need to get clean. I’m fine!”
Dad frowned. “There is a line of coke on the coffee table as we speak. You are not fine.”
“Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed. “I have to clean cocaine off my coffee table again?”
Haylee shrugged. “That’s not mine.”
Dad kept his cool. “Honey, if you don’t come with me and go to rehab, you’re cut off financially. No more monthly stipend from me, and I’ll never pay for your tuition again.”
Thick as Thieves Page 9