Stolen Goods (To Catch a Thief Book 2) Page 6

  Thad groaned and ran his palm over his face, then slid his fingers up into his hair and rubbed the crown of his head in frustration. He’d walked right into a trap. Right into it! And now, all that time spent planning was wasted. Absolutely wasted. The Russians could be tracking Addison’s phone. The Feds could too. He would’ve been better off calling Jo through a pay phone two weeks ago and running like hell—he probably would’ve been over the border already! In Brazil. Toes digging into the sand. Surf splashing over his feet. Paintbrush in hand.

  Dammit!

  Thad squeezed the steering wheel so hard his arms trembled. The leather whined in protest. A sign for the highway zipped in and out of view as his foot grew heavier and heavier on the gas. But this wasn’t the time for anger or frustration, or worst of all, doubt. He needed to stay sharp. Thad took a long, slow breath and forced the rising tide away. Compartmentalization was key. Bury the emotions. Don’t think about them.

  There was no going back, only forward.

  The same way he always did.

  Atlanta, he thought with sudden clarity. It’s about a five-hour drive. Big city. Lots of people. Lots of cars. Too many roads in and out to blockade them all. We’ll go to Atlanta.

  The whole plan wasn’t wasted—just shifting. He’d still use Addison’s phone to secretly contact Jo, with the code word neither the Russians nor the Feds would understand. They’d figure out a way to talk—pay phones most likely. Then he’d do what he needed to do, say what he needed to say, and disappear.

  The very idea calmed him.

  Having a plan settled him.

  Thad sank back into his seat, one hand on the steering wheel as the other flipped through radio stations, keeping the volume soft. The road ahead was dark. Stripe after stripe of yellow paint flashed beneath the headlights. Time ticked slowly by. At first, the monotony was soothing. But after a while, his mind wandered…right over to the one thing he wished it wouldn’t. Addison, and the image razor sharp in his mind’s eye—her big, trusting eyes. She was beautiful, no question, but it wasn’t the way she looked that had made an impression. It was the way she’d looked at him.

  As though he were someone worthwhile.

  As though he were worthy.

  Thad wasn’t sure anyone had ever looked at him like that, not once. Women tended to look at him like an object, a sense he fostered to his advantage, a tool to keep people at bay. The few he’d let close usually examined him like a broken toy they wanted to fix, full of cracks and fissures that needed to be sewn shut. Jo had come the closest, probably, to giving him any sense of true value. But the love shining in her eyes had always been more like that of a sibling, the sort with the serrated edge of someone who knew too much, a devotion that continued in spite of his flaws, not because of them. The one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally had walked out of his life when he’d been eight years old, and the look on her face—the one that silently whispered, You’ll turn out just like your father—well, it hadn’t been particularly adoring. That sharp glint had cut deeper than any blade, a scar that still bled, refusing to heal. Especially when he knew, deep down, the sentiment had been true.

  Addison was different.

  He couldn’t quite pinpoint why. There’d been a light in her eyes, so bright it was blinding, the Hope Diamond on display, glittering and sparkling, filling him with a gut-deep desire to snatch it for his own. There’d been kindness when he’d showed up at her door, admiration as she’d watched him paint, faith as he’d come to her rescue, and most of all, the one that simmered to the top, awe and a magical sort of wonder as he’d held her in his arms and carried her to safety.

  Of course, that’s all gone now.

  Because you kidnapped her.

  You asshole.

  He winced, yanking his hand back from where it had misguidedly crept—close enough to graze the silken edge of hers. Those soft glances had been before Addison knew the truth, knew who he really was. They’d been based on a lie. And that last look in her eyes, full of panic, fear, and loathing the moment before she’d fainted—that was the truest one of all.

  Thad closed his eyes and sighed.

  Forget about it.

  Focus on what matters—beaches and Brazil and freedom.

  He pulled off the highway and into the Atlanta suburbs, mind alert, happy to be back in action where he was comfortable. When his thoughts were left free to roam, they often went places he didn’t like. Maybe that was why being a thief had come so easily. His line of work left little room for ruminations. There simply wasn’t time for worry—hesitate for one second and it could be his last, and that was exactly how he liked to live.

  In the heat of the moment.

  No time to think, only to act.

  Which was where he found himself as he drove through muted dawn light, the sky growing brighter and brighter with each passing second. Soon, the sun would be over the trees, taking any shot of stealth with it. He studied the houses as he drove through this blue-collar neighborhood at the outer edges of the city, a little more rural and a little less likely to have expensive security systems, and searched for telltale signs of absence. Newspapers piled at the foot of the drive. A package sitting outside the front door. A lawn that looked a little overgrown. It was the middle of the week, which meant anyone who was gone, probably would be until the weekend—more than enough time.

  After about twenty minutes, he found the perfect target. Obviously empty, with a seemingly detached garage and a long driveway that curved around the back side of the house, providing the perfect spot to ditch the car he was currently driving. Sparing a second to search for neighbors, he turned onto the drive and followed it all the way to the end, not shutting the engine off until the street was out of sight. Silent as a hunter on the prowl, Thad slipped out of the car and crept around the side of the garage, grinning when he found a window. A good shove and he got it open, then crawled inside. He blinked, adjusting to the darkness. The smile on his face deepened as a car gradually came into view. It wasn’t too new or too old. The paint was an inconspicuous slate gray. It was exactly what he’d been looking for.

  Life would be so much easier if I had a set of keys… Thad pushed a button on the wall to open the garage door and crossed the lawn. He pressed his face against the windows of the empty house. If I were keys, where would I be?

  There.

  Inside the back door.

  A little sign that read Home Sweet Home hung on the wall, and two sets of keys dangled from the hooks attached to its bottom edge.

  He took another minute to study the ceiling, searching for a motion detector, but didn’t see one. There were no stickers in the windows hinting at a security system. The house practically screamed Rob me! Out of pure curiosity, he tested the knob. Locked. Though that was hardly an issue. Getting through a deadbolt had been one of the first things his father had taught him, and Thad carried his trusty pick wherever he went—a gift, a good luck charm, and one of the few things that hadn’t failed him yet. A twist. A wiggle. A jerk. And click. Thad pushed the door open, waiting for a beep, an alarm, anything. He was greeted with silence.

  Finally, a little bit of good luck.

  Five minutes later, he pulled out of the driveway with all his important cargo safely tucked away—the Degas and the debutante, in that order.

  - 8 -

  Addison

  Addy winced as the bright morning light stung her eyes and pressed them shut. Her entire body was utterly spent, achy and sore and heavy like she couldn’t believe.

  Dang. I was out cold.

  She sighed and stretched her arms over her head, arching her back and extending her legs until her tired muscles burned with some life.

  And I had the strangest dream…

  She took a deep breath as the images lingered, unusually vibrant. A handsome stranger. Two armed assassins. Bullets. Plumes of flour. A getaway car.

  Oh, Lordy, Lordy. I need to stop watching so much TV. Wait until Edie hears about this. S
he’s going to die. Just die. Maybe I do need a vacation. Wait, what time is it? My alarm never went off.

  Addy threw her arm to the side, searching for her phone on the nightstand as panic burned deep in her chest, but her palm sailed through open air.

  Huh?

  She blinked as the blurry ceiling slowly came into focus—and then she froze. That ugly cream popcorned surface with a rusty stain in the corner was not her ceiling. Her apartment did not have a musty odor. And the sheets covering her bare legs were far too scratchy to be the eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton set she’d splurged on as a Christmas present to herself last year—pink, of course.

  Addy shot up, catching the gasp in her throat as her gaze landed on the man asleep on the floor with his fingers laced behind his head and his ankles casually crossed, as though he were taking an afternoon nap without a care in the world. His lean body was stretched before the door, guarding the exit. She tried not to notice the deep grooves of his six-pack, visible where his shirt had hitched to reveal planes of tan skin and a smattering of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

  Oh my God!

  It was real! It was all real!

  Because that was Thaddeus Ryder. A known fugitive. The most wanted man in America. Here, in what by all accounts seemed to be a very cheap motel, with her.

  That’s sort of sweet that he slept on the floor. Addy’s defenses softened the longer she stared at his perfectly relaxed face. He didn’t have to—

  Yes! Yes, he did! She clenched her fists, jolting her wayward thoughts back in line. He kidnapped me! Of course he should sleep on the floor.

  Only…had he kidnapped her? Really? Because, at the time, it had sort of seemed like he’d saved her life. From the gunshots, and the hitmen, and wasn’t there a knife? He’d seemed more like her personal knight in shining armor than a dangerous criminal, the way he’d carried her to safety. In the car, she was sure he’d said he was sorry and that he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. That he was only trying to—

  No. Stop it.

  This is not the start of a love story. I repeat—this is not another chapter in my favorite romance novel. This is a real-life horror story, and I need to get out!

  Addy needed to run, as fast and as far as her ballet flats could take her. But—she glanced around the room, frowning when all she saw was a circular tube leaning against the wall behind Thad’s head—she had no money. If her phone was here, it was probably in his back pocket, and she had the uncanny sense that if her hand ventured into such precarious territory, she might never get it back. Also, there was the small, minute detail that she had no idea where the heck she was, or how to get home, or if there were more men with bullets waiting around the corner. Why don’t I watch more action movies? I do not have enough experience with this!

  Anytime she dared venture outside of her small town, it was with a GPS firmly in hand. The most physical activity she’d gotten in the past five years was hefting cakes around the kitchen. She didn’t know very much about fighting—or flighting, for that matter. And until last night, she never thought she’d need to know how. Though really, who did?

  Addy’s mind flashed back to the way Thad had rolled across the kitchen, fluid as a jungle cat, dodging bullets as he pulled her to safety. The way he’d moved, no hesitation, no questions. All confidence. All conviction. He kept his eye on the prize—and for a moment, cradled in his arms beneath the vast starlit sky, she’d thought for once the prize might have been her.

  Okay, brain—shut up!

  She needed to focus on the task at hand—escaping. She was a damsel. She was in distress. There was only one thing she could think to do—call her mother.

  Addy darted her gaze around the room, breathing a sigh of relief when she spotted a phone on the nightstand at the other side of the bed. Corded, which wasn’t ideal, but maybe she could snake the wires into the bathroom? Yeah, that should work.

  She rolled across the bed, cringing every time the mattress squeaked, and let herself fall over the edge to land quietly on her toes. Addy froze, waiting for Thad to wake. But he was breathing deeply, still stretched out across the floor.

  Maybe I’m better at this than I thought, she mused and turned on her heels, still crouched low to use the bed as cover. As silently as she could, Addy reached for the phone and lifted it from the nightstand, then stood and—

  The wire snapped against the wall.

  Addy froze, biting her lips sealed as her gaze whipped across the room. He was still asleep, chest rising and falling in long, even waves. She inspected the wire connected to the phone jack, grumbling under her breath when she noticed the zip tie behind the bed securing the excess cable in a tightly wound knot.

  Drats.

  Okay. Okay. This is okay. Plan B.

  Addy put the phone back on the nightstand and eyed the tightly coiled cord connecting the handset to the machine instead. It wasn’t incredibly long, but it was stretchy, and the bathroom was only a few feet away.

  She had to try.

  Addy dialed the number for the place she still and would probably always think of as home, a southern house with a wide, welcoming porch and a cherry-red front door. But it wasn’t the place, it was the people. As she crawled across the distance to the bathroom, heartbeat exploding with every ring in her ear, Addy tried to imagine her mother’s cozy embrace and her father’s firm voice as he whispered everything would be okay.

  They picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Mom?” Addy hastily whispered before anyone had a chance to properly answer the phone—even her grandmother would understand breaking etiquette at this particular moment in time. She snaked the cord under the door and closed it behind her, the click like a sharp bolt of lightning to her ears, hinting a storm was near. “Mom? Are you there?”

  “No, it’s me.”

  For the first time in her adult life, Addy was enthused to hear her little sister’s voice. “Gracie!”

  A heavy sigh came through the line. “How many times do I have to ask you—”

  “Lee!” Addy cut in with a wince. Here we go again. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to sound so annoyed about it.”

  “I’m not, I—”

  “Do you even understand the implications of a name like Grace? That a woman should be demure and docile. That she should conform to men’s expectations, to society’s preconceived notions of a proper lady. That—”

  “I know, Lee,” Addy cut in, forcing the words through clenched teeth as her grip on the phone tightened. She’d heard it all before. Stay calm. You love her. She’s your sister. You need her help. Addy released a slow breath. “Listen, this is important. A man came into—”

  “Why do all of your stories always start with a man?”

  Why do you always have to be such a combative biotch?! Addy wanted to scream, but she kept herself in check…barely. “Now is not the time. Please—”

  “Oh, Mom just got home from the supermarket. Let me go get her since you clearly don’t seem interested in having a conversation of any value with me.”

  “Oh my God!” Addy broke. She couldn’t help it. The words spewed out like the contents of a backed-up septic tank, throwing shit in every direction, hoping something stuck. Sisters could have that effect on one another. “Grace! Lee! Whoever you are! I’ve been kidnapped. Taken hostage by Thaddeus Ryder. Men tried to kill me last night. I don’t know where I am, but if you don’t help me right now you might never see me again! Okay? Does this conversation have enough value now?”

  The line went dead.

  “Hello?” Addy asked. “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  That little twerp! Addy pulled the phone away and stared at it in pure shock. I hope you’re happy when the police call and tell you I’m missing. I hope you’re really proud of ignoring my plea for help.

  The sound of slow clapping put a stop to the rant going on inside her head.

  Addy’s heart d
ropped.

  Why, oh why, didn’t I start by calling the police?

  911. Easy. Simple.

  She’d blown her only chance.

  “That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?” a deep voice called from the other side of the door. With a sigh, Addy stood and twisted the knob, pushing the wood so it slowly swung open. Thad stood with his arms crossed and his brows high. The other end of the phone cable dangled from his fingers. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “I’d believe that a little more if you hadn’t drugged me last night!” Her voice rose a solid octave by the end of that sentence. Had he drugged her? All she could remember was the world going black, but it seemed like a safe bet.

  He scoffed and his jaw dropped. “I did not.”

  “Oh.” Great comeback, Addy. Her entire body deflated.

  “You fainted,” he clarified, then muttered, “and thank God for that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” he countered, not apologetic in the least. Addy opened her mouth to retort. Nothing but air came out. He shrugged. “The silence was welcome. I needed to focus. I needed to get us out of there. And I couldn’t do it when you were screaming.”

  “I wasn’t screaming anymore,” Addy argued, just to be stubborn. “I was crying.”

  His head fell forward pointedly as his entire body slouched in an exaggerated sigh, sending a wave of rich brown locks over his forehead, shading his eyes. “Exactly.”

  “Well— Well—” Addy gripped her skirt with her hands, balling her fingers into fists. A light sparked to life in his eyes as the left corner of his lips rose. He’s enjoying this. He’s actually enjoying this. She finally found her words. “I wouldn’t have been screaming or crying—I wouldn’t have been in danger at all if not for you!”