The Beautiful Thief (The Stolen Hearts #2)

by Mallory Crowe

  Scott thought about his options. If he told Eagan to ignore Melody, she likely wouldn’t stop whatever she was up to. She’d find another way to get prints run. But if he said yes, he could keep an eye on her and, even better, make her own family watch out for her. “Go ahead and run the prints if you don’t mind. Just make sure you send me the same information you send her.”

  “Will do. I hope everything is going all right on your end. I heard you were taking a break from the force. You know, if this is about Catherine, I’m—”

  “I have another call coming in,” lied Scott. “Thanks again for your help.” He hung up before Eagan could say one more thing about Catherine or his job situation. There were some subjects that were always off-limits.

  He scrolled through his contacts until he got to the Murray women. He should call Jennifer. He knew her best and he knew her boyfriend reasonably well. But suddenly he hit the number for Toni instead.

  Jennifer and Austin were still in their honeymoon stage. If he could avoid disturbing them with shit, he would. Toni, on the other hand, seemed like she lived for drama. He half expected her to let the call go to voicemail, but she answered on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”

  It wasn’t the politest greeting, but he knew where she was coming from. They weren’t friends. The only thing they had in common was that they wanted to bring down Jonathan Sterling and all his associates. If he was calling her, it was only because there was news. “What’s going on with your sister?”

  There was a muffled “hold on” before she said, “Which sister?”

  “Melody.”

  “Melody? I just saw her last week. She was a mess. It looked like she hasn’t gotten out of bed since San Francisco. I had to practically drag her back out into the sunlight.”

  Scott ran a hand over his forehead and through his hair. Now that he’d stopped running, the sweat was starting to bead. “Good news. It worked. I got a call from a cop in Chicago. Apparently she’s asking him to run some prints for her and using my name as a reference.”

  “She’s what?” The words were sharp and loud and whoever she was with said something and Toni quickly shut them down. “I said give me a minute.” Scott assumed she was talking to whoever she was with because the next thing she said to him was, “Where is Mel now?”

  “Probably still Chicago. I just got off the phone with the guy. But running prints won’t take long.”

  “Shit.”

  And then the line was dead and he was standing there, sweating all over his cell for no reason. Scott sighed and put his phone away as he turned back in the direction of the loft apartment he was renting week by week. Considering what Melody was going through, he was willing to bet this guy she was tracking down had something to do with her mother’s murder, which meant he had something to do with Sterling.

  Which made this his business too. Time for him to take a trip.

  Melody had never been a fan of traveling. Usually when Isobel had been dragging her all around the country, it was for some job she was trying to pull. She’d never done the whole traveling for fun thing and she wasn’t about to start now.

  And nothing about this trip was going to be fun. She slapped at her neck and checked her palm to see whether she’d gotten the bloodsucker. No luck. She eyed the run-down shack in front of her. Even though the structure looked as if it could fall down any minute, every square inch of the decaying wood was decorated with something or another. A confederate flag hung proudly next to the one square window. Crawfish pots were stacked up beneath the window, and a bunch of mismatched chairs were lined up along the porch, as though people would actually like to sit outside in this humid and mosquito-infested air. Though judging from the holes in the wood, the inside of that shack didn’t have air conditioning, so outside was probably better than in.

  “I think you’re lost, missy,” drawled someone from behind her.

  Melody twisted around and tried to strike a balance between “not afraid” and “not an uptight Yankee.” Ever since she’d come down to Louisiana and started her search, she’d been faced with people who thought she was in over her head and people who thought she was a Northerner who needed to be put in her place.

  But every time she tried to control her resting bitch face, she’d get bitten by another damn— She slapped at her forearm as she tried to force a smile, but the newcomer didn’t look convinced at all. “Hi. I’m looking for a man and I was told you could help.”

  The guy gave her a good once-over and she was already preparing herself for his refusal. He had a beard that reached out in all directions. She couldn’t tell whether his hair had been bleached from all the sun or whether it was going gray. The wrinkles in his skin seemed younger than his eyes, another sign of the damage the sun had done. His beige, formerly white, tank top had a few holes and didn’t seem to offer any protection from mosquitoes, but he didn’t seem to mind them.

  Melody once again swatted at one of the bugs. He’d better not judge her for not liking the little vampires. Not liking mosquitoes was the one thing that could bond every member of the human species.

  “I don’t know no men,” he said before he started past her and for the porch.

  Oh, how she loved this part of the conversation. She could try to sweet-talk him, but she wasn’t feeling particularly sweet at the moment. She followed him to the porch and fished a hundred-dollar bill out of her back pocket. “I think you might know this one.”

  He eyed the money warily as though it might rear up and bite him, but then he took it and eyed her once again. Reassessing what he’d originally thought about her, probably. Now she wasn’t just a dumb Yank, but a dumb Yank he could bleed dry.

  Melody reached into her cross body bag and pulled out a letter-sized piece of paper folded in four. It was the printout she’d gotten from Chicago PD. The very pissed-off, sullen image of Blondie staring at the camera in a mug shot photo. And with the photo, she’d finally gotten a name. Adam Smith. It sounded fake as hell, but apparently he’d left his mark on Plaquemines Parish. The hole of an apartment he’d listed as an address for the arrest had almost been a dead end, but one elderly woman in the apartment across from his remembered a bar he used to hang out at. And that bar had led her to another bar he used to frequent, which had led her to a gas station he’d buy cigarettes at, which led her here. According to the attendant at the gas station, Blondie and this guy were longtime buddies. “You are Billy, right?”

  She had a hard time imagining Blondie and this guy having much in common. For one, Billy had about two decades on Blondie and probably fifty pounds of beer gut. But desperate times....

  “’Dat man don’t wanna be found,” said the man, without confirming who he was.

  Melody sighed as she swerved her head to avoid something buzzing in her ear. “Okay, listen. I’m tired and I’m hot and, most importantly, I’m determined. I have a big stack of cash with your name on it. I need to find Adam. Take me to him and I’ll leave you alone and leave you much better off than when I found you.”

  “Money don’t make people betta.”

  “It don’t hurt either.” She folded her arms in front of her. “Besides, if you’re trying to protect your friend, I want you to take a good look at me. Do I look like I’d be a danger to him?”

  “Damn females always trouble.” Billy finished collecting the crawfish traps and headed off down a barely visible path into the brush. Melody could either stand there and hope he came back or follow him.

  And she wasn’t in the mood to twiddle her thumbs. “So is that a no?” she called from behind him as she followed.

  “’Ow much money you offerin’?”

  “You give me information that helps, I’ll give you five hundred. You give me information that takes me right to him, you get a thousand.”

  Billy let out a long whistle. “You a shit hustler. Would’ve ’elp’d for less.”

  “Like I said, I’m determined. Now are you going to give me an address or not?”


  Billy reached the edge of the water, an offshoot of the Mississippi River, and tossed the traps into a shallow metal boat. “Address ain’t gonna ’elp.”

  “My GPS would disagree with you.”

  Billy gave her a knowing look and she knew she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “GPS can’t float. No roads lead to Adam’s place. You want to get to him, hop on in.”

  She glanced to the boat that looked as if it were older than her and Billy combined. There were so many gators in these waters that it probably wouldn’t even take a day for a body dumped there to disappear. But it was silly to be afraid of Billy. Not when the man she truly wanted to find was much more deadly than this unfriendly man.

  “Money first,” said Billy.

  Melody ran through the options in her mind. She didn’t want this stranger who was going to be taking her into the swamp to know she was carrying a few grand in cash in her bag. But then again, if she made a show of leaving to get more cash, he could change his mind or give Blondie warning. Well, she’d just have to take her chances and hope that the Beretta in her bag would be protection enough.

  But her limited sense of self-preservation reared once more as Billy stepped into the boat and it swayed dangerously. “Are you sure it will hold us both?”

  “If it don’t, we go down together,” he said, not giving her any comfort at all.

  Melody looked behind her. It was her one last chance to leave, but leaving wasn’t really an option for her at this point. So she held her bag tightly to her body and stepped into the boat, sitting down as quickly as possible to stop the swaying.

  Even though the heat was oppressive, she was grateful she was wearing her cargo pants, which now protected her from the bugs and the rusted metal she was sitting on. Billy sorted a few of the traps before he pushed off from the old dock and they started down the river.

  The banks were lined with lush greenery, and the sky was filled with the sound of swamp birds chiming. It was a completely different, primeval world down here. Figured her enemy would be a swamp monster.

  She kept her eyes glued to the riverbanks, looking for any sign of gators, but didn’t see any. But she supposed you weren’t supposed to see them.

  The boat passed the ruins of other houses, but she supposed if Billy was still using the run-down shack she’d seen, any of these places could be occupied.

  She wondered whether these places were run-down from lack of use and money or whether Katrina had taken them out. This unsuspecting river would’ve become a torrent after all that battering by nature.

  Between the weather and the gators, it was clear that this land didn’t want to be tamed. Unconsciously, her hand moved to her bag and rested over her gun. She could feel her phone vibrating but ignored it. She didn’t want to talk to Toni or Jennifer or Scott. All three of them had been calling her repeatedly, but Melody already knew what they were going to say.

  They would tell her she was chasing ghosts. They would tell her to go back to Huntsville and wait for them to take care of things. They would tell her not to worry and that everything would be okay.

  And they would tell her that what she was doing was dangerous and stupid. She didn’t really have a rebuttal for that one. Just that she knew she needed to be doing this. She needed to be doing something.

  Billy navigated off into a smaller channel of the river. She debated asking how long the trip would be, but she wasn’t sure whether he would give her a smartass answer and she really didn’t want to talk.

  So instead she kept an eye out along the banks, but there were no more houses of any sort. Maybe Billy really was taking her out to the middle of the swamp to do her in.

  By the time he’d made just enough turns for Melody to feel well and truly lost, another boat came into view. A houseboat. She squinted against the sun, which had started to angle directly into her face. Not setting yet, but she’d already spent half the day looking for Blondie. Her heart kicked up in her chest and she clenched her fists as she tried to build up her resolve.

  This bout of fear would’ve been more convenient while she was still on dry land.

  Billy cut the motor until it was barely on, only slightly propelling them forward. Melody bit the inside of her lip and kept waiting to see Blondie suddenly appear on the deck of the houseboat. She had thought about what would happen a thousand times, and she honestly had no clue what he was going to do when he saw her.

  Kill her was number one. But he’d let her go in San Francisco. And in Chicago, he’d had plenty of chances to end her. None of that made her feel safe by any means, but it made her think she’d get the chance to speak her peace. And if he still wouldn’t listen?

  She ran her hand over the gun once more.

  The houseboat fit into the swampland of Spanish moss and leafless tree trunks. The formerly white walls had faded to a grayish cream and the railing showed signs of rust. As far as houseboats went, it was a decent size, maybe even fifty feet, but it was hard to eyeball it. The most important detail about the boat was that there wasn’t a scowling blond man staring down at her as they approached. “I don’t think he’s here,” said Melody as Billy stopped the boat.

  “’E’s around somewhere. Dat boy always out doin’ sometin. Should be back by nightfall.”

  “So we’re just going to wait until he shows up?”

  “I done my job. You here now. Adam will be by when he decides. Now you pay me and I get dinner.”

  She twisted around to look at Billy. “You’re not going to take me back?”

  “I take you back now, but there’s no Adam. No time to come back tonight. You throw in an extra five, I can come back tomorrow.” His little smile told Melody that the man knew exactly what a bind she was in.

  Maybe this was for the best. She didn’t want an audience for her conversation. And if she needed to use the gun, it would be best if Adam didn’t have backup. Melody carefully stood, trying not to disturb the eerily calm waters as she fished the cash she owed Billy out and handed it over.

  When he reached over, he put his fingers on the cash but didn’t take it. “Not too late to get a ride back. Dat boy is trouble on a good day, and he don’t ’ave many good days.”

  Melody snorted. If only Billy knew how much she agreed with that sentiment. “I appreciate the warning, but I’m a big girl.”

  He raised one wiry eyebrow. “Not big enough.” He took the cash.

  There was no arguing with that, so she didn’t say anything. Instead, she started the awkward process of crawling from one boat to the other. Almost as soon as her feet had left Billy’s boat, he turned the motor on and got going. Not that she was surprised. They weren’t exactly friends.

  Still, she couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in her stomach as she watched him disappear farther down the channel. She was torn between feeling utterly alone in the wilderness and as if there were a thousand eyes staring at her. She looked at the water once more. A turtle sunned himself on a log on the other side of the water, but besides that, all the wildlife was staying hidden.

  But her few seconds of standing still had already attracted bugs. If her choice was between violating Blondie’s personal space and getting eaten alive, the choice was obvious.

  She pulled open the screen door and stepped over the threshold. The inside was compact but had everything necessary: a fridge that looked about two decades old, a black oven with four burners on top, a microwave, and a sink. The cabinets, counters, and pantry were all wood but different shades. As if they’d been replaced as necessary with no thought to aesthetics.

  Melody thought back to the kitchen at her house. Well, her house before the divorce. She’d spent days trying to find the exact shade the cabinets should be to match the granite countertops.

  Maybe Blondie had the right idea. No matter what the paint color, a home wouldn’t be happy if the husband was screwing strippers on the side.

  She let her head fall back and rubbed the back of her neck. A moment of rest before the battle. Blond
ie might be a psychopath with a penchant for drugging and kidnapping women, but at least he wasn’t Ben. So things could be worse.

  She smiled at the bitter joke and pulled out the lone chair from the table big enough for two. There wasn’t a lot of space, and this wasn’t the kind of place to take a girl back to. Though the idea that Blondie was a loner wasn’t exactly a spoiler.

  The shadows in the boat got longer as the sun continued to sink. She was just thinking about raiding the fridge for food when she heard the motor approach.

  Her fingers tapped out a frantic rhythm on the table as she worked up the courage to go outside. She didn’t want him to think she was sneaking up on him. Guys like Blondie didn’t react well to surprises.

  After a few deep breaths, she finally pushed herself up and opened the screen door that led to the patio. And when Blondie locked eyes with hers, there wasn’t a hint of surprise.

  Just anger.

  Adam cut the engine and stared up at the invading angel. He clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything as he tied up his skiff. He figured this would happen sooner or later. She’d proved herself as the type that didn’t give up.

  However, this was a hell of a lot sooner than he expected. He climbed the ladder until he stood on the patio with her. There was only about six feet of space, and the place could feel crowded with only one person.

  Melody hadn’t moved away from him, but why would she? Nowhere to run. Even if the muck around the boat didn’t trap her, the elements would. So now that he had his little angel all to himself, what was he going to do with her? He tilted his head as he considered her. She was relatively well-dressed for the swamp. Long pants, shoes she could move in, and a light shirt to fight the heat. Everything looked brand spankin’ new but served its purpose. The shirt was low-cut and he could see her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath. One sign of her discomfort. If he had his way, she was about to show a lot more signs.

  “I get it,” he said finally. “I really do.”