by Kat Bastion
I held my breath when the woman reached for her purse. But all she did was cinch the top partially closed before she walked away.
The table right behind hers had already been abandoned. Its laptop, left open at the perfect viewing angle, faced an empty chair with a backpack dangling from one corner.
Of the six café tables lined up along the railing, four were occupied. A threesome of tourists pored over unfolded maps on the far end. A teenaged couple cuddled close together on the nearest one, taking sips of their drinks between tender kisses, oblivious to the world. The next two tables had been commandeered by three young mothers and their squealing youngsters, who thrilled in the sounds of their stomping footfalls as they ran up and down the wooden walkway.
No one along the length of the patio appeared to pay attention to anyone outside their own personal group.
When Shay passed the “target” woman, neither made direct eye contact with one another.
Shay continued on, unaffected.
She strolled past the first two tables and the screen-door entrance of the coffeehouse. Then she noticeably slowed her pace for several more steps before resuming her previous speed. With flawlessly timed orchestration, she passed Miss Louis Vuitton’s table at the exact same moment two of the older kids raced toward her. A wise adult would’ve stepped out of the way. Shay? Suddenly had her sparkly pink phone in her hand, acting unaware of the impending danger.
Over the next two seconds, the perfect explosion happened...
The kids collided into one another, bounced off Shay, and knocked into the table that held Miss Louis Vuitton’s abandoned designer purse.
The coffee cup and its saucer launched into the air, napkins fluttered two feet up, and the purse toppled over. Various items spilled out, some on the table, a couple rolled off its edge.
The drinkware clattered onto the wood decking at the exact moment the mothers lunged forward and started yelling at their offspring.
With an obvious excuse, I swung my binoculars toward the commotion.
Any innocent bystander would’ve rubbernecked it.
Shay wasted no time. In a blur, she leaned down and swept up several items at once.
Was there a wallet? I zoomed in but couldn’t tell. Her hands kept moving, straightening the items on the table. She bent back down and picked up the saucer, the mug.
One mother joined Shay in the cleanup, chasing down what looked like a metal tube of lipstick that’d rolled halfway toward the entrance of a nearby bookstore.
The other mothers returned to their table and barked at the two older kids. Small shoulders slumped before they spun around and began picking up random collateral damage: one napkin at a time, a purse escapee that rested against the leg of the chair, another that had rolled to the railing’s edge. Each item got deposited onto the table where Shay stuffed them back into the uprighted purse.
Shay said something to the mother at the table with her. The woman laughed.
Then Shay left the scene. She continued on to the general store and pulled out a bright colored tourist map from a Plexiglas container on the wall. After a bored perusal of all the shops in the center, she trotted down three steps at the far corner and ventured along the edge of the fifteen-space parking lot at the front of the shopping center.
I pulled down the binoculars as everything settled down.
Shay unfolded her confiscated map while she skirted a large grassy area. Then she hooked a left onto a sidewalk that led back to me.
The mothers hovered back around their table, resuming their coveted gossip.
The kids trudged in an obedient line off the patio, down the steps, and onto the grass.
And clueless Miss Louis Vuitton reappeared, walked to her table, picked up her empty cup and saucer, then disappeared into the coffeehouse, unaware that anything had occurred in her absence.
A giant blue map—with sexy toned legs—climbed the stairs to my right, moved toward me, then crinkled halfway down. Shay peered at me above its edge, amusement sparkling in her eyes.
She looked amazing: dark hair framing her face in loose waves, cheeks flushed pink, wide smile on her beautiful face.
And she’d agreed to be mine.
Damn, I’m a lucky fucker.
She arched her brows. “Well, did you see?”
Back to Petty Theft 101. “Only what you wanted me to. What you wanted everyone to see. That was masterful.”
Her earlier Outliers comment echoed in my head. Ten thousand hours of practice. Impressive.
She gave a disinterested shrug. “No big.”
“And the loot?”
“The take?”
I coughed out a laugh. “Right, ‘the take.’” Had to get her lingo down.
She crumpled the map and lobbed the wad into a trashcan. Then she plopped onto the bench beside me. Her hand slapped down on my thigh. Crisp green corners peeked between her fingers.
I tugged them loose, then fanned the bills apart to count four twenties. “Eighty bucks. Not bad. And that’s a safe amount?”
“Yep.” She took the binoculars from me, then scanned the coffeehouse patio with them. “When I leave the wallet, I always leave money behind.”
“How much was there?” The whole thing fascinated me—that she gave herself rules, that they held an element of honor.
“Looked like maybe four-fifty. She’d just hit the ATM.”
“How do you know that? And if her wallet was loaded, why didn’t you take more?” Honor or not, I needed to try to understand her reasoning.
“Because when we first got here, she was standing in front of it, punching buttons.” Shay slanted a nod toward the back-left corner of the complex. “ATM’s over there. And because I only take what’s needed. They have a certain amount to give before suspicion overrides their guilt, and I only like to spread it around in small amounts.”
“Spread it around?” An image of hot-dog-stand Tony’s tip jar flashed into my mind. But I got the feeling she meant something else.
“You’ll see later tonight. Why I needed a Tuesday.”
“Understood.” Almost. To give. Spreading it around. She’d been cryptic about her motives. But I’d agreed last night to be an observer. And with the way she’d been opening up to me on her own, I didn’t want to come off as an interrogator.
But maybe I could coax her into sharing a little more. “It’s always a Miss Louis Vuitton?”
I threaded my fingers into hers, something I’d come to love in the last couple of days. Because she instantly flexed hers, then curled them, holding on tight.
“Hey, if they’re gonna flaunt it.”
“Then they’re going to be a target?”
She gave a light shrug. “I like to call them givers.”
Givers...
Spreading it around...
“Accidental philanthropists?”
Right as I tossed out my clever twist on her definition, all the tiny clues began to crystalize. You rob from the rich to give to the poor.
“Even better,” she continued, in the dark about my suspected revelation. “And today was a baby hit. Most givers who fly onto my radar aren’t even broadcasting brand names. They’re oozing brand names.”
I understood the distinction. “Because there’s rich...”
“And then there’s the über rich.”
“Stratospheric wealthy.” Welcome to the world my father had groomed me for. “Multimillionaires and billionaires.”
“They have whole closets designed for their collection of luxury handbags: Chanel, Hermès, Fendi, Louis Vuitton.”
“Closets you’ve seen?”
She arched her brows at me. “Do you want me to keep talking about felonies?”
“No.”
I hadn’t even sorted out how I felt about being lookout for the crime that just went down. Conflicted, at the least. More than a little unsettled. And for damn sure worried.
Even if Shay donated every penny she ever stole, it hadn’t been hers to reappropriate. And she’
d been good, but no criminal operated in a vacuum: evidence eventually got discovered, even the best thieves got caught.
She shrugged and glanced back toward Miss Louis Vuitton. “They all probably give tens of thousands a year to trendy charities anyway. Those charities have top-heavy management and most of that money never reaches the people who desperately need it...the whole purpose for the charity to exist in the first place.”
She valiantly fought to defend those in need, without any concern for her own welfare. From in-depth movie discussions about the plight of the innocents to real-life actions that backed up her convictions, Shay was a modern-day superhero. Humbly, but undisputedly.
All of a sudden, something more powerful than my concerns chipped away at their foundation.
I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward me.
Big green eyes stared up at me, sparkling with happiness. After searching them for a beat, I lowered my head and brushed my lips over hers.
We connected in a tender kiss, soft, slow, filled with all the burning passion she had ignited.
I’m proud of you, Shay.
And I silently vowed to do everything in my power to protect her.
“Where we headin’?”
The last afternoon hours had been spent touring through Shay’s daytime neighborhood stomping grounds. We’d breezed through a local grocery and drugstore she’d frequented for years. We’d weaved through an art park and shared our opinions of the funky abstract structures that twisted through its public gardens.
We’d just come from holding hands as we sat on a weathered park bench, beside a giant rock outcropping. That’s when she’d gone unusually quiet. She had glanced up at the ragged boulders several times, then stared off at a dense forest at the edge of the park when we’d finally stood to leave. I’d gotten the sense that everywhere she’d brought me to held great significance for her. But the park bench, the outcropping, that forest? More than the rest.
And when her stomach had growled an hour past dinnertime, I’d insisted on a hearty meal at a steakhouse at the end of the block. She’d scrunched her face with a headshake and took us to a nearby greasy spoon instead. Then she’d downed a burger and classic fries, a chili dog with spicy curly fries, and a large Coke. I’d done my best to keep up with her, but had only managed to eat two-thirds of what she’d packed away. She had insisted on paying from her stolen eighty bucks.
“We gotta hit Mickey D’s.” She released my hand and darted out into the busy street.
By the time my brain caught up with her abrupt action, she’d raced across the first couple of lanes and stood in a narrow median. My breath caught as three cars sped by, two in the far lane, one mere inches from her. Then she jogged across the third lane, heading toward the fourth.
When a red light stopped traffic to my left, I felt halfway-comfortable enough to step off the curb.
After she reached the sidewalk, she spun around. Then her face lit up with excitement. “Look at you. Jaywalking!”
No shit. “Step by step,” I ground out with a toothy smile as I crossed the final two lanes, nervously glancing left and right. To check for cars. And cops.
I stepped onto the sidewalk and into her waiting embrace. She lifted up on tiptoe, slid her hands up my back, and pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m winning you over, crime by crime.”
“We’ll see,” I grumbled. But then I deepened the kiss, got lost in the sweet scent of her hair, the warm goodness of her heart, and all my grumpiness faded away.
When we broke free, then angled into a shopping center’s parking lot, famous golden arches greeted us. And her while-bolting-into-traffic answer finally registered.
“McDonald’s?”
“None other.”
“But you just ate a mountain of food. You’re still hungry?”
“Not for me. For my friends.” She gave me a pointed look as I held the door open for her. “Every Tuesday.”
Ahhh... Now we get to the mystery behind why Tuesday.
And instead of learning about her through places, I’d get to meet her people.
“Bear?” The only one I knew, besides Rafe.
“For one.” Our turn came at the counter. She ordered five Quarter Pounder with Cheese meals then changed out her last twenty to fives. While we waited, we grabbed stacks of napkins and an assortment of condiment packets: ketchup, mayo, salt.
After we collected our food and drinks, Shay lined the bags up on a stretch of counter. She opened each bag and dropped in napkins, condiments, and a five rolled lengthwise.
Food for now, snack money for later?
Now I understood the greasy spoon. Only place we’d pig out on a dime. Altogether, she’d spent all of the eighty down to the last nickel.
“And the others?” I held the door with one hand, balanced a tray of Cokes on the other.
“Lando, Charlene, Decker...and Trin.” Her voice softened when she spoke the last.
“Who’s Trin?” I hadn’t dug much all day. Not about the bench, the boulders, the forest. But the way her heart melted when thinking about someone else? I had to ask.
“My protégé.”
Before long, we rounded a corner at the beginning of a lower-income residential street. Laundry hung from clotheslines. A chained dog barked. Beater cars rusted along the curbs.
A young kid with shaggy blond hair and big blue eyes hesitantly approached us from the nearest side alley.
Shay smiled wide, held up her hands full of McDonald’s bags, and nodded the kid over.
“How old is he?”
“She is about the same age as I was.”
“Nooo...” I gusted out on a harsh exhale.
“Yeah. But no big. Street kids are tougher than you think.” Shay held out one of the bags.
The girl snatched it while eyeing me warily. She skirted around to stand beside Shay. “What’s with the old man in the beard,” she whispered without removing her watchful gaze.
Shay angled her face toward her. “He’s my old man with the beard.”
“Ohhh...” The girl’s brows raised for a brief second, then pinched together. She scowled and shook her head. Vigorously.
I’d been considered. Then rejected.
I cleared my throat and held out one of the Cokes. “Old man standing right here.”
The girl stared at the drink. Then she flicked an offended glance at Shay.
On a sigh, Shay took the drink from me and handed it to her. “Trin, this is Ben. It’s okay. He’s one of the cool ones.”
“No grown-up is cool,” she scoffed.
“Well,” —Shay gave me an amused look— “he’s cooler than most.”
I hadn’t missed the subtle distinction that Trin hadn’t been introduced to me, I’d been introduced to her. Because what Trin thought, how she felt about me, mattered to Shay.
Trin blasted out a clear don’t-talk-to-strangers vibe, so I tossed out a neutral icebreaker. “What’s Trin short for?”
Trin’s eyes narrowed. “Nuttin’ ta you.”
“Maybe it’s short for Katrina.” Only a guess. If wrong, then a taunt. And either worked.
Her nose scrunched in disapproval. She took a long slurp of Coke, then raised her brows slightly. She pointed the top of her straw at me. “Or maybe Trinity, like from The Matrix.”
I arched my brows. “Is it?”
“Not sayin’.”
The more defiance she spat out, the more I saw the girl in her. A lot like Shay.
“Ben is short for Benjamin.”
“No one’s askin’.”
My lips twitched as I fought a smile. “You always act so tough?”
“Only ta grown-ups tryin’ ta get all up in my business.”
“Fair enough.” No winning her over. Not on an introduction.
“We gotta go.” Shay held up the remaining four bags and crinkled their tops.
Trin sighed heavily and frowned.
“Hey.” Shay nudged her shoulder. “You wanna hit T
ony’s on Friday for me?”
All trace of pouting vanished as Trin’s bright blue eyes lit up with hope. “Can I?”
The pickpocketing. The cash drop at the hot dog stand.
The heavy reality of their discussion struck me. I remembered the guy in the suit that Shay had “bumped” to get flush with cash. And I cringed at the thought of scrappy young Trin getting close enough to a guy like that.
She was too cute, too young, too...innocent. Way too at-risk.
And then the real shocker slammed into my head and heart.
Beautiful, strong, courageous Shay. You’d been all of that too.
As we left the neighborhood, Shay glanced at me. “Kiki made plans with me over the phone last night, for tomorrow morning. I just remembered.”
“For the golf-shirt thing?”
“Yeah. Should take just an hour or two. That okay?”
“Of course, it’s okay.” More than okay. Hanging around Kiki? I couldn’t think of a better influence for Shay. Or a better match of personalities.
“Wanna come?”
“Where you going?”
“Pro shops at three different country clubs.”
I choked out a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“It’s just...”
“I come from the streets.” She rattled her fast-food bags as we turned down a dark alley. “It’s okay, you can say it. No big.” She shrugged, unapologetic. “No denyin’ the truth.”
“It’s truth when it comes from you. Sounds like judgment when it comes from me. And I don’t, by the way. Judge you. Respect. That’s what I feel for you.” Without doubt.
When the alley spilled us out on an intersecting street, she stopped then stared up at me a couple of beats. “Is that all you feel for me.”
I ran a hand up her arm and stared into her expressive searching eyes. Ten nights ago, we’d stood in a different dark alley, on opposite sides of everything. So much had changed in an instant. “No.” Not even close.
She gave me a slow nod. Then the corners of her lips twitched, she stepped back, and crossed her arms, bags crinkling. “I come from the streets annnd...”
You’re gonna make me say it. “And go straight to the opposite.”
“Where money lives?”
I snorted. “That too. I mean you went from gritty real to sparkling shallow, from scrounging and surviving among the poorest...to negotiating business in a sport played to alleviate boredom among the richest.”