Honor Among Thieves Page 10

  “You’re probably right,” I said, using my best sarcastic voice. “Maybe we should also go replace every other item we’ve ever stolen.” I rolled my eyes. “She can buy herself a new—what did she call it?—prop.”

  Rhys shrugged and turned back to the window. “I suppose.”

  About twenty minutes later, we were peering into Stan Lamond’s private hospital room. He looked so weak and vulnerable, asleep with about ten wires hooked to his body. A sack of some kind of fluid fed into a tube and into an IV in his hand. He was much more pale compared to when we saw him last. A half-filled catheter bag hung from a small hook on the side of the bed.

  I reached into my pocket and pressed ‘record’ on my phone. I wanted to make sure if Stan uttered anything useful, I had proof of it.

  Rhys cleared his throat quietly. Stan struggled to raise his heavy eyelids.

  As soon as his vision focused, he scowled. “The hell do you want?”

  “We just stopped by to check on you,” I said, sitting on the corner of the bed. “Ya know, see how you’re doing.”

  “Get out,” he whispered.

  “Have you spoken with your son yet?” Rhys said, leaning against the doorframe. “Because we have. Gosh, he’s a pleasant fellow.”

  Stan’s eye twitched. “What?”

  “Ezra seems to think we did that—” I pointed to his stomach area, covered by a thin sheet “—to you. We told him it was Delacroix, but he didn’t believe us.” I held up my arm. “In fact, I’m going to have a pretty cool scar from getting shot by your man Kenneth.”

  Stan snickered and then winced, his face tightening in pain. He put his head back on the pillow and clenched his jaw. “He should’ve aimed better. Tell me where your father is and you’ll never see Ezra or Kenneth again.” He smiled.

  “I don’t know where Dad is,” I said. “I told Ezra that already.”

  Rhys crossed his arms over his chest, his Scottish accent suddenly becoming thicker than normal. “You’re going to tell your son and every arsehole on your payroll what really happened in that farmhouse you dragged us to. You’re going to tell them the truth, and you’re going to make sure they leave us alone.”

  Stan narrowed his eyes at Rhys. “And why would I do that?”

  Rhys stepped closer to Stan’s bed and looked straight down at him. “Don’t fuckin’ test me, old man.” He pressed a button on Stan’s morphine pump and leaned against the wall.

  “What do you gain by your son thinking we shot you?” I said. “How does that even help you?”

  Stan’s eye twitched again as he fought the increasing agony flooding his system. “My son will kill you. That’s good enough for me.” He squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Ezra hasn’t mentioned killing us, actually. He sent us on an errand, but that’s about it. And now that we’re done that errand, we’re free to go.” I fished the engagement ring from my pocket. “That reminds me, he’s coming to see you tomorrow, so if you could give this to him for us, that would be great.” I slid the ring onto his side table.

  Stan’s hands curled into tight fists at his side. “Turn that back on,” he said to Rhys, his teeth tight together.

  “What are you going to tell Ezra tomorrow?” Rhys’s accent had returned to normal now.

  “He did it.” Stan glared up at him, his nostrils flaring.

  “Who did what?” I added calmly.

  “Delacroix shot me,” he said slowly, his breaths short and quick.

  Rhys turned the morphine drip back on. Stan’s face relaxed almost immediately, and he let his head fall back onto the pillow. His eyelids fluttered shut, and he began snoring quietly.

  As we headed down the hallway of the hospital, Rhys pulled out his phone.

  “There’s no way he’s going to tell Ezra the truth tomorrow,” he said, pressing a button. “I recorded it just in case.”

  I pulled my phone out too. “I did too.”

  He smiled at me and laughed out the corner of his crooked smile.

  Rhys and I headed back to our hotel room near the airport. We ordered some food.

  After a long silence, except for some chewing, I put down my fork.

  “I don’t like what we just did,” I said.

  “What, the morphine thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  Rhys shrugged. “It’s better than he deserves.”

  “We don’t hurt people. That’s not what we do.”

  “He was uncomfortable for a minute,” Rhys said, finally looking up from his plate to make eye contact with me. “It was a means to an end.”

  I picked up my empty plate and put it on the little tray by the door that it had arrived on. I looked out the window and let out a long sigh. “I mean, did we possibly just sign our own death warrants?”

  I slipped into the bathroom and peeled off my arm bandage. I’d have one hell of a scar where that bullet grazed me.

  Rhys slid off the bed and helped me put on a clean bandage. He made eye contact with my reflection in the bathroom mirror as he finished wrapping my arm. “I liked it. Making Stan feel pain, I mean.”

  “You liked it?” I raised an eyebrow.

  He nodded slowly. “I don’t like that I liked it.”

  I turned around to face him. “I don’t understand.”

  “I thought about the look in your eyes when Delacroix had you pinned down to the bed and when we were in that farmhouse, and the look on your face when you saw someone had a knife to your sister’s throat. I thought about how you looked at me when you thought we were going to die that night. I never want to see that look ever again as long as I live.” He shook his head. “I just can’t.”

  My heart thundered in my chest.

  He really does love me.

  I grabbed a fistful of the front of his shirt and pulled him closer to me. He cupped my face with his hands and kissed me passionately. We fell back against the sink as I pawed at his pants, fumbling with the zipper. Rhys stopped kissing me for a moment and just watched me as I slid my jeans down over my thighs and let them drop. I bit the corner of my lip as his jeans joined mine on the floor. We attacked one another with wandering hands and hungry kisses. Rhys lifted me up, perching me on the bathroom counter, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist, my fingernails digging into his shoulders.

  And then we … uh … let’s say volunteered to help some blind orphans. Yeah, let’s go with that.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The next afternoon, after a short flight from Amsterdam to London, we were back at Rhys’s place. We decided it was probably safer than going back to my place in New York. Rhys had been watching Team Stan’s online footprints, and they all looked to be in Amsterdam, New York and California. London was safe for now.

  “I’m starving,” Rhys said, pushing our suitcases to the side on his way to the kitchen. “I’ll make us some supper.”

  I folded my arms together and leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, watching Rhys open cabinet doors and scan the fridge.

  My phone buzzed as a text message came in.

  Grace: I see you’ve abandoned your apartment once again. Does that mean you’re not coming back this time? The least you can do is let Ruby know. She’s worried about you and really upset. Turns out you’re a criminal AND a bad friend.

  I glared at the screen and stuffed the phone back in my pocket.

  Go fuck yourself, Officer.

  Rhys looked back at me and sighed, defeated. “How do you feel about stale cereal?”

  I laughed. “It’s not my favorite.”

  We walked to the café a few blocks away and grabbed a sandwich. As I chewed on my delicious veggie wrap, I looked around at the other café patrons. Couples. Parents with their kids. An older couple. A guy working away on his computer, probably trying to write the great British novel. All from different walks of life and backgrounds, all just trying to get by. Doing what they do. Living their lives.

  This city isn’t so different from New York.

  I smiled at R
hys. “You wanna go to a movie tonight?”

  “A movie?” He looked surprised. “Sure, we can go to a movie. I’m surprised that’s something you’d have an interest in doing.”

  I sat back in my seat. “That’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do, isn’t it?”

  Rhys’s eyes widened. “Boyfriend? Oh, this is awkward. I’m not really into commitment or labels or stuff like that.”

  I stared at him until he burst out laughing.

  “You’re a jerk,” I said laughing. “I’m never making a romantic gesture ever again.”

  He leaned over the corner of the table and kissed me on the lips. “Whatever you say, darling.”

  * * *

  My eyes flashed open, and I bolted up in bed. Rhys sat up on his elbows.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was raspy and quiet.

  “I thought I heard something downstairs.”

  Rhys put his arm around me and pulled me close. “It was probably just Freddie. Go back to sleep.”

  I nodded and laid my head on his chest. His smell was comforting.

  “But Freddie is still at the kennel,” I said.

  Rhys sighed. “Do you want me to go check?”

  I tugged the sheet closer. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  He threw the sheet off, put on his old man slippers and headed downstairs. I sat up and waited for him to come back to bed.

  But he didn’t.

  I heard something break downstairs, and I dashed to the top of the stairs. “Rhys!”

  Two men in black balaclavas held Rhys’s arms behind his back. A piece of fabric was stuffed in his mouth and tied behind his head. They forced him out the door, Rhys grunting and yelling as much as he could while gagged. He kicked at them wildly, but the two men overtook him.

  “No!” I screamed. “Let him go!”

  By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, they’d already shoved Rhys into the back of a car and sped away.

  “Shit,” I whispered out loud, standing on the front porch, tears in my eyes. I couldn’t breathe. I held the railing and wiped furiously at my eyes. “SHIT!”

  I went back inside, locking the door behind me. I looked in every room, making sure I was alone. The back door had been busted open. My mind raced. I rubbed my aching chest.

  Shit. Shit. Fuck. What do I do? Do I call the police? Why would they take Rhys? What do they want? How did they know where Rhys lives? He’s very protective of his privacy, and he was watching them online. How did they find out where he lives? Nobody knows where Rhys lives.

  My stomach dropped.

  One person. One person knows where Rhys lives.

  I leapt upstairs and grabbed my phone, skimming my contacts for Audrey Fox. Audrey had us followed not that long ago and found out where Rhys lives.

  There was no answer. I dialed again. No answer. I dialed again and just let it ring and ring.

  Finally, Audrey answered. “Molly, it is four in the morning. This had better be impor—”

  “Two men in masks just broke into Rhys’s house and kidnapped him,” I said, trying my best to stay calm. My voice was very shaky and a little too loud. “You’re the only one who knows where Rhys lives. Did you tell someone, anyone, where Rhys lives?”

  “No,” she said, “I didn’t. Goodnight.”

  “Audrey?” She’d hung up on me. “Fuck!” I threw my phone on the bed and croaked out a painful sob.

  I sat in the dark bedroom, struggling to breathe.

  The phone rang. I lurched for it. My hands were so jittery that I almost dropped it.

  “Who is this?”

  “Hello, Molly. It’s Ezra.”

  Of course it is.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes so he wouldn’t sense my fear and desperation through the phone.

  “Just so you know,” Ezra said, “Rhys isn’t the only hacker for hire.”

  I closed my eyes. That’s how they’d found us. I felt so stupid. And afraid.

  “I had a little chat with my father this morning,” he said coolly. “He said you and Rhys came into his hospital room and threatened him. What, were you planning to murder him and got caught by a nurse?”

  “He’s lying.”

  “You really think I’m going to believe your word over my father’s?” He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  “I have a recording of him saying Delacroix shot him, not us.”

  “Dad mentioned you might say that,” Ezra said. “He said you were going to smother him with a pillow if he didn’t say it.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “What do you want with Rhys?”

  “I want to make a trade,” he said. “I’ll give you your boyfriend back if you give me your father in return.”

  “I already told you I don’t know where Dad—”

  “Yes, I know, I know, I know. Ugh. This is getting so repetitive. You need some new lines, sweetheart.” He exhaled an exaggerated sigh. “You have three days to locate your father and bring him to Key Largo.”

  I didn’t want to ask “Or what?” because I was scared to know the response.

  “And if you don’t,” he continued, “then I’m going to take a video of me shooting Rhys in the head and send it to you so you can watch him die.”

  I could hear Rhys struggling to speak in the background, still gagged but still alive.

  “Byyyyye.”

  “No, wait!” But I was too late. He’d already hung up.

  My heart thundered in my chest so hard, I could hear it pounding in my ears. I wanted to scream and put my fist through a wall, but there was no time for that.

  How the hell am I supposed to find a person who is the best at not being found?

  I took a few deep breaths and picked up the phone again.

  Audrey answered after six rings this time. “Molly, I told you I didn’t tell anyone where Rhys—”

  “Shut up!”

  She hung up on me. I called her back.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly before she could speak. “Please listen to me. I know you and my dad broke up or whatever, so this may be a dead end but I just need to know… Do you know where he is?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Well, there goes that plan.

  “Wait, please don’t hang up,” I said. “Do you know anyone who might know?”

  The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “I think he stays in touch with his sister sometimes.”

  “His sister?”

  Click. She hung up again.

  Aunt Lily?

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  I arrived at Orlando International Airport the following afternoon. I hadn’t slept in … with the time difference between London and Miami… Ya know what, it doesn’t matter. I hadn’t slept since the break-in. I couldn’t, not even during the flight. I kept thinking about Rhys and how they could be torturing him.

  You never told him how you feel.

  Moving through the airport like a zombie, I dragged my suitcase behind me on the way to the exit. I got a rental car and a bucket of coffee and headed south.

  I’d spent the remaining hours in London trying to contact my aunt. The phone number I had was now someone else’s—and that person didn’t appreciate getting a phone call so late at night. Lily had always hated technology, so I couldn’t just send her an email or a Facebook message. I wasn’t even sure she knew what a tweet was. I hadn’t seen Aunt Lily in maybe twenty years. She mostly kept to herself. I happened to have an old home address in my email from back when my mom strongly suggested (ordered) I send her a Christmas card.

  So I would start there. It wasn’t like I had any other option.

  As I chugged coffee like a madwoman, I thought about my conversation with Ezra the night before.

  I know why he wanted my dad, to kill him. But why did he want to meet in Key Largo? I mean, yeah, Dad lives there, but he’s obviously not going to be there when he’s in hiding. So why there specifically? And if I actually manage to find Dad, what then?
I can’t exactly just hand him over to Team Stan like “Here ya go!” He’s my dad, I can’t just pick one over the other—

  I was so deep in thought that I almost rear-ended another vehicle on the highway. The driver blared his horn at me and displayed a very specific finger in my direction.

  I smiled weakly and mouthed “Sorry!” as he sped away.

  Why isn’t there a horn in vehicles specifically for announcing “Sorry about that!”?

  Following the GPS directions to Aunt Lily’s house in central Florida, I found myself on a dirt road weaving between wetlands. The farther I drove down this road, the more like a swampy bog my surroundings became.

  There’s no way anyone lives down here … aaaaand there’s a house. Right there.

  I suddenly remembered going to this house before when I was a kid. The Victorian home, painted light purple with bright orange trim, was surrounded by dreamy weeping willows, a lush, colorful garden and various farm-esque animals. I had to drive slowly to avoid several ducks, a chicken and a goat.

  I turned off the engine and sat in my car for a moment with a plump cat staring at me from the veranda.

  A woman appeared on the porch, tugging her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She pulled her glasses off their spot on top of her head of thick gray hair. About a dozen colorful bracelets hung from her wrist, standing out against her long tan cotton skirt and white peasant top.

  “Can I help you?” she yelled from the porch. “I already told the other guy last week that I’m not interested in getting a phone or Internet package. I have no use for…” She stopped and studied me. “I know you.”

  “Are you Lily Miranda?” I stepped closer to her.

  Her face relaxed suddenly, and the corners of her mouth perked up. “Molly?”

  I smiled. “Yup.”

  “My goodness.” She put a hand on her chest. “You’re all grown up!” She threw her arms around me and squeezed me. I hadn’t really prepared myself for a hug.