"Don't flatter yourself," says Antonio. He crosses his arms.
"I've got a question for you, then," says Eric. "Why did you let me go, that time with the brooch and the mirrors? And why did you take the bullet for me?"
"Those are two questions," says Antonio.
"It's a two-parter," says Eric. "Actually, it has multiple parts, because those aren't the only two times you've let me go."
"You're just luckier than you think," says Antonio. "That's all."
"You never checked where the updates to my website were coming from," says Eric. "You never traced my envelopes. You never sent any lines out looking for the whereabouts of the stolen items."
Antonio sets his jaw.
"I don't think you ever really wanted to catch me," says Eric. "Why is that?"
Why, Antonio asks himself, because there's truth in that. Eric is a very good thief, but no one is good enough -- or lucky enough -- to get away with almost a dozen jobs, week after week, with no variance in method. And Antonio did know Eric well enough to pinpoint the brooch he would target. Eric was right. Antonio had let him go.
Antonio remembers the dread of a weekend spent at home, nothing to do and nowhere to be. But that wasn't all of it. It wasn't all about his restlessness. He'd thought of Eric, in front of that mirror -- the lost website, the abandoned poker chips -- and he hadn't wanted that to end, either.
Just one last time, he had thought, I want to see him again--
Antonio's eyes go wide as it dawns on him.
"Oh, shit," he says, and brings a hand up to his mouth, because he's either going to scream or vomit.
"More tea?" asks Eric.
"No, just-- leave me alone," mutters Antonio, "my world is crumbling right now."
He darts a glance up at Eric, and to his horror, notices that Eric is smirking. Eric knew. Eric had known long before Antonio did.
"You," begins Antonio, pointing a finger in Eric' smug face.
"And thus it comes to him," says Eric.
"I don't believe this," says Antonio.
"You started to root for me," says Eric, "and then you started to fall in love with me."
"Shut up," yells Antonio, "oh god, please shut up. I work for the police! I help wronged citizens! I don't root for criminals-- or fall-- fall in-- fall in love with them--"
"The thing is, Antonio," says Eric, "you're an outlaw. You've just forgotten how to be one."
He takes the teacup from Antonio's hand and sets it down on the floor, and straddles him on the bed. There is a hideously orange blanket, two pairs of pants, and presumably two pairs of underwear between them, and still Antonio backs up all the way to the headboard.
"Just because you button all of your buttons up," says Eric, "doesn't mean you're meant to live in a cage. You might get annoyed at bad spelling, but you're an outlaw, Antonio. You don't belong in this life."
Eric is much too close, Eric-- who has been not much more than footsteps to Antonio for as long as he has known him. Suddenly they're pushed together, two to a bed, and Antonio doesn't know what to do now that they aren't hiding from each other.
And he thinks of grey felt cubicle walls, the swipe of his ID as he checks in every morning. He's brought back by the heat of Eric' hand curling around his cheek.
"I've been thinking of expanding my operation," says Eric. "I'm looking for a partner."
Antonio swallows away the lump in his throat.
"The box of band-aids you sent me," he says. "I left it in my office drawer."
"We'll get you another," says Eric.
Chapter 14
It's a couple Fridays before the Division of Burglary and Theft receives an envelope in the mail. It's sent to Det. Young and Det. Arelle. Inside is a daisy, a key, a polaroid picture, and the usual ugly stationary. It has glittery unicorns on it this time.
I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye. It all happened so fast. I did try to do one last good thing for you-- go to Grand Central Bank and ask for vault 477. This is the key. Inside will be everything Eric has stolen so far, with the exception of the Picasso. None of the other items were commissioned for theft by clients, and should now be returned to the original owners. Tell Saito that I apologize for the Bacon and that I will attempt to procure it for him as quickly as possible.
Eric and I are overseas and plan to remain so in the foreseeable future, which I find preferable, since I have no intention of stealing from your jurisdiction. I probably won't ever be coming back, though I might reconsider that if Cabel gets married to the division chief's daughter. Don't look for me when that happens. You won't see me.
I hope this finds you well.
Antonio.
The polaroid is of the thousand lights and high beams of Charles de Gaulle, curving like mountains, like flight.
There's another short fortune-cookie strip of paper in envelope.
WWW.ANTONIOANDERICSTEALTHINGS.COM, it says.
Excerpt from Coffeeshop Kisses
Find more sensual pleasures in Marina Lander’s sweet story of lattes and love, Coffeeshop Kisses.
Find it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01JTR9ZP0
Jacob may be incredibly successful, but he is lonely. Until his barista wins his heart.
Jacob is a high-powered lawyer at a corporate firm in New York. He spends his days and nights reviewing case files and has no time for love. That is, until Callum, the handsome tattooed barista at the new coffee shop, catches his eye. His British accent only adds to his charm.
Like all the best love stories, this one begins with a quadruple shot latte.
This is a sweet story with a HEA and no cliffhanger.
Read on for an exclusive excerpt!
Jacob is going to make partner and then his life will be better.
Jacob is going to make partner and then he won't mind so much that he hates his fucking job, that he feels every day like his soul is being leeched out through his eyes. Jacob is going to make partner and the fact that he doesn't really remember what solid REM sleep is like will be worth it; Jacob is going to make partner and it won't matter that this is not what he'd fucking thought he was getting into by going to law school.
Jacob is going to make partner, and he's going to be the youngest one in the history of his firm. Jacob is going to make partner because he's the most dogged and he works the hardest and he's the best. Jacob is going to make partner because he's killing himself, he's just killing himself to do it, and if he doesn't manage it he might just throw himself in front of a fucking train.
So it doesn't matter that the firm has just brought on Anthony as Of Counsel, Anthony who was a partner at his last firm and is clearly only missing the title now because the higher-ups have to wait a bit to avoid ruffling feathers. It doesn't matter that he's heading up a case for big tobacco and his fucking sister won't speak to him because his father died of lung cancer. It doesn't matter that he doesn't bring in new clients, choosing instead to wrack up so many billable hours that half the other attorneys think he's a robot. It doesn't matter that he comes home every night to his empty apartment and his empty life and doesn't have the time or the energy to look for anything more--it doesn't matter that he has screaming fucking nightmares about dying alone amidst piles upon piles of legal paperwork.
Jacob is going to make partner and then his life will be better. It has to be true, because it's all he's fucking got.
--
He is sitting in the boardroom on a Monday morning the first time he sees Callum.
He's allowing himself the luxury of staring out the window, because if he doesn't stop looking at this deposition his eyeballs are going to catch on fire. There's not anything particularly interesting going on outside, except that that new coffee place that just opened across the street is getting a sign put in.
There's a guy on the ground calling directions to the man operating the forklift. Jacob's seventeen floors up, but even from this distance he can see a few details--broad shoulders and big arms, stains that look like tat
toos peeking out from underneath his tank top, a hat of some kind. He's probably Jacob's type, to the extent Jacob has a type other than "confirmed, notarized and printed in triplicate" these days.
He goes back to his deposition, and then he decides that he might need a coffee.
The man is standing behind the counter when he gets in--Jacob can tell it's the same man, because there can't possibly be two broad-shouldered tattooed guys working here wearing a hat like that. It's a beanie, it's a fucking beanie, who the hell wears a tank top and a beanie in the middle of May in New York, and it's…striped. There are so many colors in it that Jacob's already overtaxed eyes hurt, taking it all in. It is appalling.
"Nice hat," he says, because he's more than willing to admit that he's kind of an asshole.
The guy, to his credit, takes this in stride. He raises his eyebrows and offers Jacob a grin, pulling it off his head and twirling it around his finger absently.
"Thanks," he says. "Gift from my mum. I'll be sure to pass along your compliments."
"You do that," Jacob says, trying not to stare. Now that the monstrous hat is out of the way, Jacob can take this guy in--and yes, yes, definitely his type. Cocky grin, sharp blue eyes, and that mouth, Jesus Christ. The darker swaths of skin Jacob had seen from his window are indeed tattoos, and that accent, and his forearms are--they're--
"I'm Callum," says Callum, holding out his hand. Jacob blinks, taking it. "I'm trying to introduce myself, seeing as it's our first week and all. I'd love to establish some regulars."
"That makes sense," Jacob says faintly. Callum' hand is very warm. Jacob is very warm, suddenly. It's been a long time since he's been this attracted to someone, and it's not like he's been getting laid much--he is, after all, a man of limited time.
"Might I inquire as to who you are?" Callum asks. His eyebrows are at his hairline now, and he looks like he's trying to decide if he's charmed or deeply, deeply amused. All in a rush, Jacob realizes that he is still holding Callum' hand, has been holding it for far too long.
"Shit," he says, pulling back at once, "shit, sorry--I'm Jacob, I--sorry, I'm working this case and I haven't really slept, I didn't mean to be all…sorry."
"No worries," Callum says cheerily, and it's clear that he's decided on charmed. "You're a lawyer, then?"
"Yeah," Jacob says, still trying to recover from his mortifying display, "yeah, I work across the street."
"What firm?" Callum asks, sounding genuinely interested.
"Saito Fischer & Cobb," Jacob tells him, trying not to sound completely pissed off about it.
"Ahhh," Callum says. "Corporate, then?"
Jacob rolls his eyes. "Yes. I'm that blood-sucking fiend your mother always warned you about."
He doesn't know why he said that. Callum' eyebrows, which had been settling back down, shoot up again.
"I don't know," he offers, still smiling at Jacob like Jacob is his personal entertainment for the day, "you don't seem so frightening to me."
Jacob has got to get out of here. This is getting wildly out of hand. "You don't know me very well."
"I don't know you at all, actually," Callum corrects, "though we could certainly rectify that. For starters, I'd love to know what kind of coffee you prefer--unless you were just dropping by to comment about my hat?"
"Oh, Jesus Christ," Jacob says, embarrassed all over again. "No, I do actually want coffee, the hat thing was just a bonus. Sorry, I wouldn't have come out to interact with humanity if I'd realized I was this out of it."
"Not a problem, darling," Callum says. "I'm in the business of providing chemical stimulants, after all. What'll it be?"
Jacob is torn between being offended and oddly pleased by the endearment; he decides to ignore it. "Soy latte," he says, "with as much espresso as you can legally put in it."
"Brilliant," Callum says, and moves to the machine. "You don't have any allergies, do you? Coconut intolerance, anything like that?"
"Just the lactose thing, and it's mild," Jacob says. "But I didn't order--"
Callum winks at him. "Trust me," he says, "I'll fix you up right."
Jacob watches with narrowed eyes as Callum pumps some sort of syrup mixture into a cup and steams the soy milk, though his trepidation is eased somewhat when he puts not one, not two, but four shots of espresso into the mix and hands the whole thing over.
"Go on," he says. "If you hate it I'll make you another."
This has easily been the weirdest coffee order of Jacob's life, but he sighs and take a sip. The noise of pleasure he releases is more than a little involuntary.
"Fuck," he breathes, "why is that so good?"
"I take my business very seriously," Callum says, grinning at him. "Glad you like it."
Rather than replying, Jacob takes another long sip. He can feel the caffeine rush in his toes. "Oh, fuck, this is the best thing that has happened to me all day. How much do I owe you?"
"On me," Callum says, waving a hand when Jacob opens his mouth to protest. "No, no, none of that. I'm just starting out--I'd rather have your repeat business, I assure you."
"Really, I--"
"Enjoy the coffee, Jacob," Callum says, still smiling. "And maybe I'll see you in here again, yeah?"
"Yeah," Jacob says, "that's--yeah."
He has, more or less, made a complete idiot of himself, but he grins all the way back to the office.
--
He starts going in to pick up a coffee every morning. On Tuesday, Callum makes him the best mocha he's ever tasted; on Wednesday it's some kind of cinnamon-spiced marvel that makes Jacob's mouth water just looking at it. Thursday he makes Jacob try three different dark roasts before he hands him a cup of a fourth, and on Friday he makes that four-shot latte again and sends Jacob off grinning.
Jacob is still grinning three hours later, savoring the last now-cold sip, when Anthony steps into his office.
This is the thing about Anthony: Jacob should hate him. Jacob wants to hate him, actually. Anthony is more experienced and more qualified and is clearly only Of Counsel because the firm didn't want to bring someone new in as partner straightaway--his presence at this firm makes it that much less likely that Jacob will get the promotion he seeks. He'd tried in vain to despise the guy when he started, but Anthony is friendly and calm and brilliant and competent, and Jacob can't help but enjoy his company.
"You're smiling," Anthony says, blinking.
"Yes," Jacob agrees. "People do that sometimes."
"People do, yes," Anthony says. "You, on the other hand…have we won a case that I don't know about?"
"If we have, it's new to me too."
"Did you win the lottery?" Anthony presses. "Did you get laid? You're making me nervous, Jacob."
Jacob laughs. "Sorry, I didn't realize it would be unsettling."
"You laughed," Anthony says, stunned. Then a knowing look enters his eyes, and he lowers his voice conspiratorially. "There's someone under the desk, isn't there?"
"What?" Jacob--well, he doesn't quite shriek it, but it's a close thing. "No, of course not, why would you--"
"You can tell me," Anthony says quickly. "I'm very discreet, I know how these things can happen."
"There is no one under my desk," Jacob says, rolling his eyes. "If you must know, my coffee is particularly good this morning, that's all."
"Your coffee," Anthony repeats dubiously.
Jacob raises an eyebrow and his cup, pulls in the last sip, sighs a little in satisfaction and tosses the empty in the trash. "My coffee," he confirms.
"Well," Anthony says, "I think it's only fair that I try some of this life-changing brew for myself."
--
"Back so soon?" Callum grins, when Jacob and Anthony come through the door. "And you brought me a new customer, Jacob, I'm touched."
"Don't let it go to your head," Jacob advises. "I'll have another one of the same, and Anthony wants--Anthony, what do you want?"
Anthony shrugs. "Surprise me," he says.
"I will indeed sur
prise you," Callum tells him, leaning over to push several buttons on the espresso machine, "but Jacob, I can't make you another latte."
"What?" Jacob demands. "Why? Are you out of soy? Because I can go get soy, there's a place right up the street--"
Callum sighs, pulls a sheet of paper off the clipboard he keeps by the register, and hands it over. Jacob takes it, brow furrowed, but it's blank.
"Is there some kind of psychology behind this I'm missing?" Jacob asks. Callum just looks pointedly down at the piece of paper, and Jacob follows his gaze.
His hand is shaking so badly that the sheet is actually waving around in the air.
"Oh," Jacob says. "Huh."
"Your inevitable caffeine overdose isn't going to be on my watch," Callum says, cheerfully enough. "You get tea."
"I don't like tea," Jacob protests.
"You'll like mine," Callum says easily, and turns to Anthony. "How about you, mate? It's Anthony, yeah?"
"It is," Anthony confirms. He looks like he's trying very hard not to laugh. Callum grins at him.
"I'm Callum," he says. "Nice to meet you. Before I make your fabulous surprise beverage, are there any allergies I should know about? Particular tastes you prefer? I do aim to please."
"Hmmm," Anthony says. "No allergies, but I am partial to raspberry, actually."
"Excellent," Callum says. He pumps some syrup--raspberry and hazelnut, it looks like--into a cup, adds the milk, and pours the espresso in.
Jacob is not jealous that Callum is making a custom drink for someone else, because that would be psychotic.
"This is fantastic," Anthony says, taking a long sip. "Oh, bloody hell, seriously--Jacob, I take back all the shit I gave you, coffee this good would make anyone grin like an idiot."
Stealing His Heart Page 3