Honor Among Thieves Read online

  “It’s not hot water. This condo is an easy mark. Dude is hardly ever home, and there’s no security system in sight. It’s easy money.”

  Rhys shook his head. “Those things look like they’d be hard to fence.”

  “Not for Paul McCoy,” I said, my arms crossed over my chest in defiance. “He can fence anything.”

  Paul McCoy was my Audrey before Audrey and I met. Even though Paul is a much nicer person and I’d much rather work for him, most of his assignments pay less and are located in the United States. I usually try to avoid shitting where I eat.

  Unless, that is, there’s a massive turkey dinner with all the fixins right in front of me.

  Wait. Is that the right metaphor to go along with the previous metaphor? Or do I mean … a big toilet? Never mind.

  I slumped into a nearby armchair. How come hotel armchairs are never comfortable? Is it because they’re rarely used? If that’s the case, hoteliers should save themselves some shekels and replace all uncomfortable armchairs with beanbag chairs. I bet those would get used way more. Who doesn’t love a good beanbag chair?

  “I’m not going to tell you what to do or not to do, but I won’t be joining you, and I’d really rather you didn’t keep thinking about it,” Rhys said. “The risks outweigh the benefits.”

  I flopped down beside him on the unmade bed, picking up the tourism guide. “Well, what do you want to do tomorrow?”

  We’d already done the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, Central Park Zoo, the Empire State Building, Times Square and the Natural History Museum. I tried to persuade Rhys into going to the Museum of Sex, but he got a bit blushy about it.

  He turned his laptop around to show me the screen.

  “A romantic helicopter ride followed by dinner on a private yacht tour around Manhattan,” I read off the screen. I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Rhys smiled mischievously, slid his laptop aside and flipped over and on to me, pinning me to the bed with his hands. “Really.”

  He kissed me, his lips lingering on mine. I smiled up at him as our lips parted, and I kissed him again, my fingertips on his chest and my heart pounding fast. As Rhys’s hand slid up my shirt, I fumbled with the button on his. He pulled it off over his head, and I sat up and pulled off my T-shirt. Rhys grabbed me around my waist with one arm, a little roughly, but kissed me softly and sweetly. He kissed my neck, my heart beating even faster than before.

  “Can you do me a little favor?” I whispered.

  Rhys slid one hand down to the fly of my jeans, popping the button open. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Actually, I didn’t mean that specifically, but I mean, that’d be cool too—”

  Rhys twisted his mouth, uncertain. “You’re not going to ask me to do something with the thing we got at the sex store in LA, are you? I’m really not comfortable with that. I mean, I consider myself a reasonable guy, sexually, but that looks really painful.” He stopped for a moment, considering. “Then again, that might be the purpose of that specific toy—”

  “No.” I laughed. “Um, I was actually wondering if you could do your, ya know, your computer magic and find out more about the-the guy in the condo.”

  He let out a long sigh and didn’t say anything. He scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for his shirt.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” I sat up.

  “You really know how to ruin the mood, Molly,” Rhys said, buttoning his shirt. “Not everything I do in my day is about money.”

  “I know that!”

  “Then why did you ask that while we were about to have sex?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out right away.

  Why the fuck did I do that?

  “Would you have pushed me off if I’d just said no? Is that it?” Rhys stared at me.

  “No, of course not!” I exclaimed. “Why would you even say that?”

  “Because that’s the only reason why someone would ask for an unrelated favor when you’re about to shag,” he snapped.

  “Shag?” I cringed.

  Why do Brits have such unpleasant words for intimate stuff? Shag. Snog. Why can’t they use more romantic slang, like “nookie” or “bang”?

  Rhys put his hands on his hips, huffing and puffing like a steam engine. “No, I’m not going to give you any information about the guy in the condo. It would just help you do something stupid.”

  “Then you’re saying you don’t trust my judgment!”

  “And you don’t trust my advice.” Rhys crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you ask me right then in that moment? Why?”

  “I don’t know!” I yelled. “Maybe it’s ‘cause-’cause we were about to do something that I think you would agree that we’re both good at together—”

  “Right.”

  “—which made me think of something else we’re good at doing together, which is breaking into places and stealing shit. One thing reminded me of the other.”

  I was really desperate for an answer. That was all I could come up with when put on the spot.

  Rhys sighed again. “I’m more than my job. You’re more than your job.” He shook his head at the floor. “I’m going out for a while.” He slipped on his shoes and opened the door. Before he closed it, he looked back at me. “Just so you know, I would be in love with you even if one of us had a different job. I would love you if we were both fry cooks at McDonald’s. But how you feel about me? I’m not even sure.”

  He closed the door before I could respond. But even if he had kept the door open for an hour, I’m still not sure that would be enough time for me to come up with a reply that would satisfy both of us.

  I dug the binoculars out of the suitcase and returned to my perch at the window.

  He said it again. Twice. And I had yet to say ‘the L word’ back to him.

  What’s the rush? We’ve only been a thing for a couple weeks. Rushing into saying it seems juvenile. He’s free to say it if he wants, but I’m just not ready to say it.

  I put the binoculars up to my eyes as Condo Guy entered the living room. He made a bowl of popcorn and watched something funny on TV, his shoulders twitching as he laughed.

  I mean, do I know how I feel about Rhys? Yes. Do I need to just share every little thought and feeling in my brain and in my heart as they happen? No, of course not!

  Condo Guy hadn’t even finished his popcorn when he received a phone call. He looked at his watch and hung up.

  So what if I’m not a romantic like Rhys? It doesn’t mean I’m—wait, what’s this guy doing?

  Condo Guy put on his shoes and got his jacket from the closet and left, taking a suitcase with him. His doorman held the door open for him as he left the building and got into his car parked on the street.

  Now. Go now. This is your chance.

  I changed my clothes as quickly as I could, slid a card key into my pocket and headed for the stairwell. I wasn’t really thinking, just moving.

  I reached the bottom and slipped into the back alley behind the hotel. Looking up at the condo building across the street once I reached the corner, I considered how I’d get up there without being noticed by the doorman.

  And then I saw him.

  A man, his back pressed against the wall, slid his way along the high ledge of the building. He hopped over the railing of a nearby balcony and then pulled himself up to the condo I’d been watching for days. He took out a tool and carefully cut out a chunk of the window, about the same height and width as his body. Once inside the condo, he started grabbing stuff.

  Rhys wanted that condo for himself? That son of a bitch.

  I marched back to the hotel room, slamming the door closed behind me. I stripped my gloves off and threw them in my suitcase.

  I turned around to go to the washroom and ran into Rhys, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. My heart hammered against my ribcage.

  “Oh my god,” I yelled, slapping my hand over my chest. “How—”

  “What the hell?” He loo
ked down at my clothes and then back up to me. “Oh, come on!” Some white toothpaste foam escaped from his lips.

  “You’re back already,” I snapped. “How’d you get back before me?”

  Rhys, a mouthful of foam stopping him from speaking, shook his head at me, looking unsure of what I was talking about. He went to the bathroom to spit.

  I went to the window and watched as the man I’d seen earlier continued to stuff items in a pillowcase. Rhys joined me at the window to watch.

  “Just so you know,” Rhys said, “that’s not me.”

  His cheeks had a special rosy glow to them. Someone had obviously located the hotel bar downstairs.

  I shook my head, glaring as I watched the theft unfold. “What a waste.”

  “We just made half a million a few days ago. Don’t you ever just take a break?”

  I shrugged and got ready for bed, grumpy about missing out. I know “the kids” are saying FOMO for Fear of Missing Out, so I guess I was GAMO.

  Yeah, that’s it. GAMO.

  The next morning, the condo across the street was crawling with police. One took photos of the window while another dusted for prints. A few others inspected other parts of the unit while someone else interviewed Condo Guy. The cop looked through the hole in the window and saw me watching him.

  I looked down. “Shit. What if they come over and ask if we saw anything?”

  “Then we say ‘No, officer.’” Rhys flipped through the channel menu with the remote, scanning our viewing options. “TV is a barren wasteland in the morning.”

  We stayed at the hotel for another week. I stopped watching the condo. Rhys continued to do online surveillance on Ezra and The Muscle, but neither of them seemed to be doing anything of interest. Stan was still a patient—alive but still in a coma.

  Rhys and I had an early lunch at the hotel bistro. I was almost done my sandwich when my phone buzzed.

  Unknown: Hey Molly. It’s Grace. Are you available this afternoon? I’d like to talk to you about something. It’s important.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Oh, shit,” I said, looking at my phone. “It’s Grace.”

  Rhys looked down at me. “As in Ruby’s cop girlfriend?”

  “That’s the one. I don’t like this.”

  Unknown: Will you be home in two hours?

  “My place might still be a mess or missing furniture at this point,” I said, considering how to respond.

  Molly: My place is actually getting fumigated. Bugs or whatever. I’m staying at a hotel in Manhattan if you want to come by.

  Rhys winced. “Do you want me to stick around for that?”

  “She already told me she has a weird feeling about me—”

  “What, like a lesbian feeling?”

  “What? No. Not a lesbian feeling, fool.” I pinched his arm. “No, like she suspects something of me. I’d rather not have you on her radar too if I can avoid it.”

  “Is inviting her to one of the poshest hotels in the city going to be a problem?”

  “No, she knows I have money,” I said. “Ruby told her my parents have a ski lodge, and that’s why I don’t have a job, because my mommy and daddy pay for everything.”

  Rhys laughed. “Well, that was nice of her.”

  “‘My best friend?’” I said, doing my bad impression of Ruby. “‘Oh, yeah, she’s just a spoiled brat. She’s like Paris Hilton but less business savvy.’ Thanks, Ruby.”

  * * *

  I opened the door for Grace and let her into the hotel room.

  “Swanky place!” she exclaimed, setting her NYPD backpack on the floor as she looked at the lavish room, her mouth slightly open. “Maybe I should bring Ruby here for our anniversary someday.”

  Like you’re going to still be dating Ruby Watson for that long. You couldn’t afford this hotel anyway.

  I almost recoiled at my own mental viciousness. Yeesh.

  We sat in the stiff armchairs near the window, a table between us. It felt a bit … interrogation-ish, actually. I could feel my anxiety picking up.

  Grace, looking out-of-character in regular clothes instead of her cop uniform, smiled at me, tracing her finger on a ripple in the wood of the tabletop. “How have you been?”

  “Good. And yourself?”

  “Fine,” she said, crossing her legs. “I came by your place last week, but you weren’t around.”

  “Oh, yeah, I was at a wedding with a friend.”

  “Was that why you were in California?”

  Okay, don’t panic.

  “No, the wedding was in Scotland, actually.” I smiled. “My friend’s cousin was getting married. It was lovely.”

  Grace nodded. “So you weren’t in California after that?”

  I tilted my head slightly. “No, I haven’t been to California in several years. Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged. “I was just curious.”

  This is the most passive fucking aggressive conversation I’ve ever had.

  “I wanna show you something, Molly.” She left her chair and got something from her bag. She slid a thick folder onto the table and took her seat again.

  I looked at the brown file and then back up at her. “What’s this?”

  Grace opened the cover. On top of the stack of papers was a photo still from the video taken that night in California. Miguel’s butt was hanging out of the van as we tried to get his arse end in there so we could get away. I looked back at Grace.

  “What’s this?” I said again.

  “I think this is you,” she said, pointing at the shorter of the two people in the photo.

  Uh-oh.

  “Ruby mentioned you were in California,” she said, “and you would have been in California the night this tiger was stolen.”

  Ruby said what?

  “Ruby needs to be a better listener. I was in Scotland.” I stared at Grace.

  “You certainly do travel a lot.”

  “Well, when you’re a spoiled, rich bitch like me,” I said, referencing what I knew Grace thought of me anyway, “you get to travel. But like I said, I haven’t been to California in a long time.”

  Grace slid the photo aside. She spread out the twenty pages of type underneath. They were all short descriptions of thefts from California, Florida, New York, Canada, the United Kingdom and France.

  “I want you to take a look at these,” she said, her voice losing its chipper tone. “All of these thefts are unsolved. Any of these look familiar to you?”

  “Why would any of these look—”

  “I asked if any of these look familiar to you.” She folded her hands in front of her, resting them on the table.

  My stomach turned as my eyes drifted from sheet to sheet. “I mean, I heard about a few of them on the news.”

  Most of them weren’t me. Some of them kind of made me jealous that I hadn’t been involved in those heists. The Picasso theft in Paris was there. The James Bond car theft was there. I tried not to let my eyes linger on any thefts I’d done.

  I looked back up at Grace. “Why are you showing me these?”

  “Because I think I finally figured out why you make me feel uneasy,” she said. “You’re into some shady dealings, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I said. “Why would I steal things? I don’t need to—”

  “That reminds me,” she interrupted. “I looked into your background a little bit. Your parents don’t own a ski lodge. Your mom and stepdad seem like nice middle-class folks making a decent income, but not enough to put you in a hotel like this.” She smiled weakly. “I think you make your money from doing another type of work.”

  I knew Ruby screwing a cop was going to fuck me over somehow.

  “In fact,” she continued, “you were caught breaking into a professor’s home in college. Got you kicked out of school.” She sighed like a condescending asshole. “You should’ve gone back to college, finished your education and become a bestselling author or something. I know how much y
ou love making up stories.”

  I bet she practiced that line before coming over here.

  “So, is this how the NYPD gets the bad guy?” Smirking, I sat back in my seat. “You find a person, track where they go, and if a crime happens to occur while they’re there, then that’s obviously the guy who did it.” I laughed. “See, they always make it look so much cooler on CSI. Or at least it doesn’t seem so desperate and paranoid.”

  Grace didn’t miss a beat. “How’s your dad doing?”

  “I have no idea.” At least that much was true. “I have no contact with my father.”

  “It’s cute that when you chose a career, you followed in Daddy’s footsteps.” She smiled. I wanted to punch her, but I think she could take me. “Do you guys trade crime tips over Thanksgiving dinner?”

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Ya know what, maybe you should go—”

  Grace pulled a photo from the bottom of the file. It was a photo of me standing at the hotel window a week before, watching the condo with binoculars up to my face.

  I didn’t have a canned response for that one ready to go.

  “This is from security footage from the condo across the street. It’s a hidden camera, so you probably didn’t even see it,” she said. “You watched that place for days before it was broken into.”

  Oh nooooooooooo.

  “I did not break into that apartment. Find some evidence that puts me in that apartment—”

  “Oh, I know it wasn’t you. We have our guy. He left prints everywhere. Molly, do you know what a honeypot home is?” She continued when I didn’t say anything. “It’s a fake home set up by law enforcement, used as bait to catch thieves like you.”

  I frowned. “I’m glad you got your guy. I really have no fucking idea what you’re talking about or why you’d think that of me, but this is going to make our blossoming friendship a little bit awkward.”