The Family Jewels

by Christine Bell

  “Hey.” He laid his hands over hers to hold them still and she froze, craning her neck back to meet his gaze. “It’s all right.”

  Her tongue peeked out to sweep over her bottom lip before she looked away again. “But your nice suit-”

  “Will get dealt with at the cleaners,” he cut in. “Really, it’s not a problem. Are you all right?” He looked down, letting his gaze trail over the front of her uniform before meeting hers again, very aware that her hands were still cupped in his. Damn, her skin was soft. A hot rush of blood flowed south. “Seems as if my shirt was the only casualty, yeah?”

  She nodded, her long, elegant throat working as she swallowed audibly. He could actually see the pulse pounding right under that delicate, creamy skin and he resisted the urge to run his thumb over it.

  “I’m fine. I-I need to get back to work.” She tugged her hands from his grasp and offered him a tight smile. “Please, make sure you bring the bill for the cleaners in with you next time you come. We’ll be happy to reimburse you the cost, and I’m truly sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Without waiting for a response, she wheeled around and bee-lined for the kitchen, disappearing through the double doors.

  He stared at those doors for a long time after they closed behind her, something inside him blazing to life and spreading a warmth through his chest in spite of the chilly liquid bathing it.

  He made his way back to the table and took his seat with a quick explanation about his shirt. The men paid him little mind and tucked back into their meals, which was good, because Jake still wasn’t up for idle chatter. He was deep in thought.

  What a strange dichotomy, this Sadie. When they’d first arrived, she wouldn’t meet his gaze, her shoulders were sloped, and she kept fidgeting with her little black tie. Later, as he watched her from across the room, she walked with purpose, shoulders back, head held high, like a ballet dancer. She looked confident, proud and extremely efficient.

  And now, as she re-entered the dining room, she was back to fidgety again, gaze flitting around in every direction…except his.

  Fascinating.

  He’d just narrowed his eyes, trying to see past the mop of wet-straw-colored hair, over-sized glasses and ill-fitting uniform to the bones of the woman beneath, when Hannigan elbowed him in the side.

  “Did you hear what I said, Callahan?” Hannigan asked, swallowing a piece of pork before leaning in with a leer. “She took out a riding crop. You believe that?”

  Jake tore his gaze away from Sadie and faced Alistair, resisting the urge to say no, that he didn’t believe it, or any of the bullshit he’d been shoveling for the past half hour.

  Instead, he forced a smile. “Yeah, sounds like a real wild one, there.” He inclined his head like he was impressed and resigned himself to another thirty minutes of this, more irritated than ever at having to listen to Hannigan yammer. He would much rather be spending his time people-watching.

  Or rather, person-watching.

  Because there was only one person he was interested in learning more about right now, and that was Sadie the Waitress.

  Which wouldn't do at all.

  He was so close to reaching his goal. Two weeks --maybe three-- before he scaled the last peak and reached the pinnacle that would mark the end of a ten-year quest for his own special brand of justice. Nothing was going to stand in his way now. His entire focus needed to be on Alistair.

  Maybe a couple months from now, when it was all said and done, he'd come back to Roberto’s Italian Bistro and find Sadie the Waitress and unravel her secrets…

  2

  Saturday morning, Sadie pulled up to the pick-up lot of St. Vincent’s long-term care facility, a familiar wave of sadness washing over her like it did every time she came. This time, though, between her nerves about the evening ahead and the lack of sleep these past two nights, she almost burst into tears.

  Shake it off, kiddo.

  All in all, it had been a stellar morning. She’d found ten bucks in the pocket of her jeans, her station wagon --not-so affectionately nicknamed Half-Dead Fred-- had started on the third try, and the Rotary Club had left all the extras from their banquet the night before at Roberto’s behind, so she and the rest of the staff had gotten to take eggplant parm and veal saltimbocca home. She had enough in the freezer for the whole week.

  Hell, it was like frigging Christmas, and here she was blubbering.

  She blinked back the tears and peered into the rearview mirror. Bleary dark eyes stood out in stark relief against her pale cheeks and she grimaced. Clarissa would call her on that shit immediately and start to worry. She rummaged through her purse for some blush and a tube of peach lip gloss, swiping on a hint of both before heading into the sprawling white structure. Wild summer roses splashed the entire front walkway in color and the grass was lush and green. So inviting, and not at all indicative of what lay inside.

  Lots and lots of sick people.

  She breezed through the door to the front desk and, with a deep, shuddering breath, put on a happy face.

  “Hey, Grace,” she chirped to the receptionist on duty.

  The older woman looked up, a smile crinkling the corners of her cornflower blue eyes behind a pair of bifocals. “Sadie, how are you? You’re early today,” she said, with a glance at the clock over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, I’m taking her out. We’re going to hit the Westchester Mall.”

  “Well, you girls have a great day for it.”

  She made her way down the long hallway and, pausing outside room 128, she pinched her cheeks and threw her shoulders back.

  Happy Sadie was in the building.

  “Hey, Shorty,” she said as she swept into the room.

  “Hey, yourself,” Clarissa said, the excitement in her blue eyes giving Sadie an emotional boost.

  She was lying propped up on her bed, but she was already dressed in a pair of yoga pants, a blinged out tank top and a pair of stylish black flip-flops. She’d shaved her dark hair off when it started to fall out a couple months before, but it was growing in nicely, and soon she’d be able to rock a trendy pixie cut. The blood-pressure cuff encircling her thin upper arm had a pretty, young nurse on the other end of it who chuckled.

  “She’s been ready to go for an hour now. I’m starting to think she’s tired of me.”

  Sadie smiled and reassured her. “I’m sure not. She says nothing but lovely things about you all. Did she eat today?”

  “I'm sitting right here, asshole,” her younger sister deadpanned. “I’m sick, not deaf.”

  “Ah, yes, but you're also a big fat liar,” Sadie countered. “If I ask you, you'll spin me some tales about a juicy T-bone and then when I ask the nurse, she'll tell me all you had today was a few swigs of Dr. Pepper, so forgive me for talking over you.”

  Clarissa didn’t bother to look chagrined and shrugged. “Busted. But it's way easier than listening to you lecture me.”

  “Wouldn't it just be easier to eat, sis?” She tried to keep the banter up, but she couldn't help the worry that had snuck into her tone.

  The doctors had been clear. If Clarissa didn't start eating, she was going to have to get a feeding tube inserted before they would let her come home. The procedure was neither pleasant, nor cheap.

  She would deny her sister nothing, but even with her check from Roberto’s coming this week, if plan A didn’t work out tonight, they'd be in the red again for the fifth straight month. Throwing together something just to get fast cash was a dangerous prospect and left her vulnerable to mistakes.

  “If we get arrested, what happens to Clarissa?”

  She could almost hear her father's voice in her head like a skipping record. She'd heard it enough growing up. Before her first attempt at three-card Monte. After her failed attempt at the Shell Game. The first time she'd pick-pocketed a woman in Times Square and had gotten caught.

  Sixteen years later, she’d learned a lot. Rule number one?

  Don't try to rob a native New Yorker.<
br />
  It was stupid and dangerous. There were way easier marks out there and it only took a second to find them. People with cameras around their necks. People who either had their eyes glued to the city’s skyline in awe, or glued to the ground because they were intimidated by the crowd.

  By the time she was twelve, she was like a starving wolf and Times Square was a big, fat partridge, prime for the taking. She’d started bringing in enough that her Dad could get off the streets and stay home and care for Clarissa full time. He had been so proud of her.

  Sadie closed her eyes and let the bittersweet memories melt away, like a popsicle in the sun. Dad was gone and there was no one else now. No one to lie and tell her she was doing the right thing. No one to convince her that stealing was okay because the ends justified the means. But while it made the whole thing feel worse, it didn’t change the fact that it was her duty to make sure Clarissa was cared for, and nothing would stop her from fulfilling it.

  Nothing.

  Pushing aside her maudlin thoughts, she sat on the arm of the chair in the corner of the room and chatted with her sister while the nurse took the rest of her sister’s vitals. The whole time they spoke, though, Sadie was raging on the inside, resisting the urge to throw her head back and scream. After all these years, she still couldn’t accept that this one thing was entirely out of her control, and that feeling of helplessness threatened to swallow her whole. According to the doctors, she was cancer-free again, but it wasn’t the first time. Sometimes Sadie wondered if the hope wasn’t the cruelest part.

  Out of your hands.

  Time to focus on what she could do, and that meant getting up enough cash to make sure Clarissa had everything she needed.

  “She’s all yours,” the nurse said as she pushed her little medical cart out of the room. “Have fun and try to get her to eat something…anything, while you’re out.”

  Sadie snatched up her purse and went to Clarissa’s bedside to help her up, which earned her an eye-roll.

  They strolled down the long, sterile hallway arm in arm, Sadie matching pace with her sister. No wonder she didn’t feel like eating. Nothing made a person feel sicker than being in a hospital. Hell, Sadie was hearty as a horse and even she felt flu-like symptoms by the time she left. Maybe it was the smell that did it. All that antiseptic and chrome…it left a metallic taste in her mouth and clung to the inside of her nose.

  Whatever it took, she had to get her sister out of this place and back home as soon as possible.

  They climbed into the putty-colored sedan and Sadie said a silent prayer before turning the key. The car coughed but then rumbled to life, and she swallowed a sigh of relief. One more thing to add to the list of pros for the day.

  She pulled out of the lot and then steered the vehicle toward the highway. She'd been hemming and hawing about what to wear to this gala event and had planned to wear a knockoff designer dress she'd seen at a nearby department store, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized that a knockoff wasn't going to cut it. There were going to be too many important people there and if one of them spotted it, her cover could be blown.

  “You excited about your party tonight?” Clarissa asked, once she found a radio station to her liking.

  “I was just thinking about that.”

  Sadie and her father had always managed to shield Clarissa from their nighttime activities. When he passed away, Sadie had created the illusion that he’d left them with a moderate life insurance policy and that, between it and her odd jobs waiting tables or tending bar, they were making ends meet.

  Whenever she could, though, she peppered her lies with truth. Clarissa knew she was going to a gala in Long Island that evening, but thought she was going as the guest of a handsome, rich date she’d met at the restaurant. In fact, her sister was probably picturing her on the arm of someone like Jake Callahan.

  A shiver ran through her and she turned down the air conditioning.

  Damn Jake Callahan and that warm, wicked smile of his. It had been at least half the reason she’d spent the past couple nights tossing and turning. She had long since accepted that professions like cat burglar and con artist didn’t lend themselves to a satisfying love life, but lately she’d been feeling lonely and out of sorts. And something about Jake made her feel even lonelier and even more out of sorts. That had left her vulnerable.

  He’d looked at her. Really looked, like he was stripping away the façade with his penetrating granite-colored eyes.

  Not good. But at least she’d never have to see him again.

  Somehow the thought gave her far less comfort than it should have.

  “Hey, space cadet?” Clarissa snapped her fingers in front of Sadie’s face. “Anyone home?”

  She managed a grin and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “Sorry, I was trying to think of what kind of dress to get.”

  “Well, it’s your lucky day then, because I’m here.” Clarissa folded one leg under her bottom and tugged the cell phone from her pocket. “I was looking at red carpet styles for the past few days, and I think this long and sheer trend would be so hot on you with those curves.”

  Sadie flicked a glance at her sister and smiled for real this time. Clarissa’s face was still drawn and she still had bruise-like circles under her eyes, but she was in her element talking about fashion, and seemed lit from within.

  “Now, is this a super chic-chic kind of black tie thing or is this more of a cocktails and hors d’oeuvres type of thing?”

  Clarissa grilled her for the rest of the ride and, less than an hour later, she found herself at Play It Again, Samantha’s Frock Shoppe trying on the last of four dresses her sister had picked for her. All of them had been stunning and all of them had cost more than she made at Roberto's in a week.

  She peered down at the tag of the one she was wearing and gasped. “Four hundred dollars?” She popped her brows at Clarissa, who sat on a little chair in the corner tsking and shaking her head like her own personal Tim Gunn.

  “You can't look at it like that. It's an investment,” her sister reasoned. “Do you want to be known as the girl who showed up at a fancy gala wearing a cheap-ass dress? It’s gorgeous. It’s Prada. Make it work.”

  Four hundred dollars, though. And that didn't even account for the shoes. Even with the ten bucks she’d found in her jeans that morning, she was still --she mathed mentally and frowned-- two hundred and eighty dollars short.

  She turned to face the mirror again and opened her mouth to argue.

  “That's the one, sis, so cut the crap. You look amazing. Like, seriously. J-Lo at the Grammy's kind of deal.” Her sister sniffed in mock disgust. “Who woulda guessed that underneath that beautiful dress is an oatmeal-colored sports bra and a pair of Wonder Woman boy-cut underpants.”

  “Hey! I like my superhero panty collection. They make me feel like I can kick ass if I need to.”

  “Well, I'll tell you what's not kick-ass. That god awful hair-don't you’re rocking.” Clarissa closed one eye and framed Sadie with her fingers like a picture. “I'm thinking blowout. Fat waves, lots of body, loose and shiny. What do you think? We can stop at Tina's Salon and have her do it.”

  Sadie was still doing mental gymnastics trying to figure how she was going to pay for the dress. Now she lifted a hand to her sloppy topknot and cringed.

  She’d planned on saving a few bucks and putting her own hair in an up-do, but her sister's eyes were filled with a spark she hadn't seen in months. Some things were more precious than money. She’d just have to find a way to work it out.

  “Okay,” she said, turning to face her sister. “And then we'll get yours done too. If you let me buy you a Cinnabon first and scarf down the whole thing, along with a Jamba Juice.”

  Clarissa's smile dimmed a little and she shook her head. “That's a silly waste. My hair’s still too short for a style. And no one is even going to see it except the nurses at the hospital.”

  She pulled her gaze away, but not before Sadie
saw the wistful look in her eyes.

  “Puh-lease,” she snorted. “You lay around in bed all day surrounded by hot doctors. I'm pretty sure there’s no better time to make sure your hair is looking good. I let you slide for a couple weeks, but come on, sis, there’s no earthly reason for the lack of lip gloss and those nails?” She sent a disparaging look at Clarissa’s un-manicured fingertips. “How about a shape-up and polish while we're there?”

  It was impulsive. It was short-sighted. It was positively frivolous. But the look on her sister's face was worth whatever it cost, tenfold.

  She was beaming.

  “Okay. But not Cinnabon. I’m hungry for food-food. Get that dress off and we’ll go next door to Chuck's Chicken Shack. I'm about to clean them out.”

  Sadie laughed as Clarissa called over the dressing room door to the saleswoman who'd helped them.

  “We’ll take it!”

  When she finally left Clarissa in her bed four hours later, her sister was exhausted but gorgeous and still beaming.

  Sadie made her way out the rotating hospital door, a bounce in her step. When she’d sent Clarissa to Chuck’s Chicken next door, she and the saleswoman at the dress shop had made a deal. So long as Sadie returned the dress in good condition the next day, she could rent it for the bargain price of fifty dollars. Everything was going her way.

  A tiny nugget of hope bloomed in her chest as she started her car on the first try. Tonight was going to be a game changer for them. And when it was over, it would be over. The hiding. The running. The constant fear.

  She’d be able to truly start living.

  3

  Jake took a long pull from his glass of scotch and looked around the room. Opulence was apparently the theme of the day for this event. From the trays piled high with lobster tempura and shrimp puffs, to the flutes filled with Dom, it was a high-class affair. Once this was over for good, he vowed to spend the next six months eating nothing but fish and chips and the occasional burger. He was full to the gills of all the fussy food and drink.