Molly Miranda: Thief for Hire (Book 1) Action Adventure Comedy Read online

  It stinks down here. And I’m pretty sure I just stepped on a worm. I miss robbing rich people in nice houses.

  “Speaking of relationships,” I said, feeling a jagged rock scrape against my foot. “Why the hell are you seeing Audrey Fox? She’s kind of awful.”

  “She’s not so bad once you get to know her.” He grinned. “I’ve always had a thing for powerful women, especially powerful, sexy British women.”

  “Ew. Thanks for that.”

  The tunnel widened as we reached the end, a blank wall staring back at us.

  “Look. It’s a dead end,” Dad said, elbowing me and grinning like an idiot. “Get it? Dead end? ‘Cause we’re in a cemetery. D’ya get it?”

  I shook my head. “This is no time for bad puns.”

  The round, underground room was likely sixteen feet at the widest point. I thought of the graves in the earth above us and shuddered. Dad ran his hand over the façade and looked around frantically, his flashlight flying as he searched for hints of a treasure.

  “This isn’t right,” he said quietly. Maybe to himself, maybe to me, I’m not sure.

  I ran my flashlight over the wall, looking for something. I had no idea what, though.

  “What did Audrey say?”

  “She told me where to find the grave and that’s it.”

  “That’s it? You didn’t think to ask her for a little more information?”

  “We were a little busy!” he snapped back.

  I stared at him, disgusted by his candor. “Ew!”

  He rolled his eyes and kept searching the muddy corners. I studied the smooth wall. I traced my fingers across it and felt a ridge. I poked my finger into the soft mud and hit something hard. I picked at it further and aimed the beam of my flashlight into the narrow hole I’d made. There was something silver in there and I kept clawing at it.

  “If I dig into this wall, what are the chances of this whole tunnel caving in?”

  “No idea,” Dad said, holding up his flashlight so I could keep digging with both hands. “Keep going.”

  I found the edges of a silver-plated jar and scratched away the mud around it, carving it out of the soil. I was suddenly like Dr. Grant in that scene in the first part of Jurassic Park, except for the sweet hat and early ‘90s computer.

  I slowly pulled the jar out and looked at the outside of it. Nothing was inscribed on the jar, but it certainly looked old. I picked mud from around the cap and twisted the top off. Dad aimed his flashlight inside.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Shit.”

  I looked inside. “Well, not nothing. There’s some dust.”

  “That’s not dust, punkin. That’s an urn. Those are someone’s ashes.”

  I am so totally gonna have a pissed-off ghost following me now.

  “Oh, shit! Oh, gross! Ugh!”

  I dropped the urn and it hit the ground with a clang. I stared down at it.

  Why did that just clang?

  I glanced at Dad and picked it up again. I turned on my flashlight and peered inside again. There was something glittering inside.

  “I am so sorry, nameless dust person.” I reached inside, cringing at the feeling of the remains on my skin. I looked at Dad again as my hand felt something smooth. I pulled my hand out of the urn.

  I stared down at my hand. “That … is a pretty nice necklace.”

  It was an antique choker-style necklace with diamond beading formed into a flower shape in the middle. Dust clung to every stone and every corner, but once cleaned up, it would fetch a healthy wad of cash.

  Dad froze. “Someone’s coming.”

  I heard the footsteps too. I slipped the necklace into my bra like a classy lady and dropped the urn again.

  “Whoever you are in there, don’t move,” a man hollered from the shadows of the tunnel. “I’m just here for what’s mine.”

  I know that voice.

  “You stay where you are!” I yelled back. “There’s nothing here for you!”

  Dad looked at me like I lost my mind.

  “Molly?” A form moved out from the shadows. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Hello, Rhys.”

  His hair was a bit disheveled and his jeans and boots were covered in mud, but it was Rhys, no mistaking.

  Dad looked at me, eyebrows up. Rhys gave him the once over.

  “Molly Miranda Senior, I presume.”

  Dad didn’t answer. At least he still didn’t seem to know Dad’s name specifically.

  Rhys eyed the urn at my feet. “Oh, good. You’ve done the hard work for me already.” He strolled over and picked it up, standing close to me, almost stepping on my feet. “Thanks, kid.”

  I stared him down.

  He picked up the urn and turned it upside down, not taking his gaze off of me until all the dust slid out. I cringed.

  At least that angry ghost is going to haunt Rhys now.

  He glared at the pile of dust on the ground and sighed. “Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” Dad said.

  “Don’t play dumb. I’m really not in the mood.” He looked back at me. “The necklace, where is it?”

  “It’s not here,” I said. “Someone else got here before we did. The urn was already dug out when we got here.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He stepped close to me again and smiled. He leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “Where is it?”

  “Don’t touch her.” Dad’s eyes were flaming and his hands were curled into fists.

  Rhys ignored him. “Where is the necklace, Molly?”

  He grabbed my wrist. I slapped my other hand over his, twisted my wrist and pushed on his elbow, flipping him over onto the ground. I pinned him in place with my foot planted firmly on the side of his face.

  Thanks, aikido self-defense training!

  Rhys groaned into the mud and wiggled to get loose. He might have been a genius hacker but a fighter he was not.

  “I don’t have it.” I said, still holding him tight while he squirmed. “It’s gone. Now back the fuck off.”

  I looked at Dad. “Maybe we got the wrong grave.”

  Play along, Dad. Just do it.

  “I don’t know. That’s just what he told me.” He shrugged and looked genuinely pissed off. Having his daughter harassed right in front of him probably didn’t help.

  I lifted my foot and Rhys scrambled to his feet.

  He rubbed his wrist and looked at me. “Who told you about the necklace?”

  This time it was Dad who got to smirk. “I don’t have to tell you who I work for.”

  Rhys reached into his back pocket and aimed a pistol directly at my face.

  “Yes. You do.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Life feels a bit different at the mouth of a pistol. It’s funny what things pass through your mind.

  My father is going to see his daughter get shot. That totally sucks. I’m a terrible person. I should have stayed in college. I should have gone skydiving while I had the chance. I should have gone swimming with dolphins. I should have seen The Spice Girls perform on their reunion tour!

  “It is far too easy to buy a gun in this country,” Rhys said, nearly doubled over with laughter. “God bless America!”

  I glanced at Dad but didn’t dare move. He looked tense but not scared or angry.

  “Tell me who told you about the necklace or I’ll shoot her.”

  Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “My guy is named Stan. He works out of Los Angeles. Now can you please lower your gun?”

  Rhys’s eye twitched. “Does Stan have a last name?”

  “Stan doesn’t give out his last name. He’s a professional,” Dad said. “Unlike some people.”

  If you hadn’t noticed, Dad, there’s a gun pointed at my head. Please don’t be sarcastic.

  “Stan from Los Angeles, you said?” Rhys thought for a moment, shrugged and put his gun away. “Well then. Guess I’m going to Los Angeles.”

  He headed out back down the tunnel and winked at me ov
er his shoulder. “See you soon.”

  We waited a moment to say anything or move.

  Dad cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, my heart still pounding. “I’m fine.”

  We squeezed back through the dank tunnel, peering out of the entrance to make sure the coast was clear. Then we climbed back over the fence and got in the car.

  I closed my door and glared at Dad.

  “What?”

  “That’s all you have to say?”

  He started the car. “At least we got him out of our hair for a while.”

  “What happens when he can’t find—” I did air quotes. “—Stan in Los Angeles? I’ll tell you. He takes it out on me.” I closed my eyes. “I’m finished.”

  “You’re fine. Stan is a real guy.”

  “What?”

  “He’s an old business associate. Old-school mobster type.” Dad stared at the road ahead of him. “I hope that little shit does find Stan and confronts him. Stan will have him killed. Maybe I should give him a heads up and let him know he should be expecting him—”

  “I don’t want Rhys murdered!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I steal things from rich people. Murder’s not really my scene.”

  “But it would solve all your problems. And he just pointed a gun at your head.” He shrugged. “Even if it was just a fake.”

  I stared at him. “What did you just say?”

  “Oh, that gun wasn’t real. Plus, he wasn’t even holding the damn thing right.” He glanced at me. “You couldn’t tell it was a fake?”

  Oh. My. GOD.

  “Not from where I was standing, no.”

  “You should brush up on your firearms knowledge, punkin. It’s helpful to know.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that,” I muttered.

  “That creep may know a thing about hacking and burglary but he obviously doesn’t know anything about guns or self-defense. You should have broken his arm. That would’ve been awesome.”

  I stretched the neckline of my shirt out in front of me and pulled the diamond necklace from my bra. The sharp edges of the stones had been poking me in the under-boob since we were in the tunnel. It was probably once draped around the neck of a very rich person or a celebrity or a Real Housewife of Key West. Even though it was covered in dust, it was quite unique and pretty. And by “dust”, I mean remains.

  Someone’s ashes are in my bra. Oh my god, that is gross.

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “It’s yours,” Dad said. “You’re the one who found the urn.”

  “Audrey told you about it, not me.”

  “I’m not taking it. You need the money. I don’t.”

  “You heard Audrey,” I said. “She can’t have anything to do with me. I probably shouldn’t even contact her again at this point. It’s unsafe.”

  He sighed. “How about I sell it to Audrey for you? I’ll wire you half of what I get and then invest the other half for you. She’ll never even know you were involved.”

  “Rhys will somehow figure out we found that necklace.” I assured him. “He always seems to just know what’s going on with me.”

  “I’m trying to help you out, punkin. Do you need the money or not?”

  I slumped down in my seat. “Fine.”

  Financially, I was not in a position to say no, but I still felt weird about it.

  * * *

  A few days later I packed my stuff back into the trunk of the rental car and hugged Dad goodbye.

  “I wish you’d stay a little longer, punkin. It was nice having you around.” He smiled and patted me on the back.

  “Thanks for having me. It was nice being away from, well, everything. But I gotta go do a thing.” I gave a weak smile. I wasn’t very confident about it.

  “Did you decide what you’re going to do about your roommate?”

  “No, not really. It would help if I knew how he might respond.”

  “If it doesn’t work out, you’re always welcome back here. Just think of the all the grave-robbing adventures we could go on!”

  I frowned at him. “I’d rather not do that again. Besides, Florida is … it’s just not my style.”

  “The alligators aren’t so bad. I mean, there is the occasional gun fanatic but…” He shrugged. “You could buy a mansion here for the amount you paid for that apartment. You should talk to that boyfriend of yours about moving down with you.”

  “I’m not doing that, Dad. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

  He laughed. “I’m just teasing. You’ll move elsewhere when you’re good and ready.”

  We hugged and I drove home to New York.

  * * *

  A couple days later I was back in Manhattan, returning to a silent apartment.

  When Nate finally got home late that night, dark shadows underlined his eyes. I looked up from my book and smiled as he slipped off his shoes. His mouth tightened when he saw me.

  “Hi.”

  “You’re back.”

  “Yeah.”

  Awkward silence. Cricket, cricket.

  “There’s some Chinese food in the fridge … if you’re hungry,” I said, trailing off at the end.

  Oh my god, this is the worst.

  “I’m fine.” Nate stared at the wall.

  He couldn’t even look at me. This was going to be awful.

  Nate got a bottle of water from the fridge—just one for himself. Usually he would ask me if I wanted anything while he was up. But I was no longer his concern. He sat down in the armchair across from me, instead of on the sofa beside me.

  I was right. He hates me.

  “How are you doing?” I forced a weak smile.

  “Fine. Where did you jet off to this time?”

  “Florida, to see my dad,” I said. “And I didn’t jet. I drove.”

  I intended to do this honesty thing the right way and keep it all legit.

  I pulled my Betty Bruce passport from my back pocket, opened it to the page with my picture on it and held it up. “I want to talk about this.”

  Nate glanced at my passport. “Okay.”

  I really should have prepared a dramatic speech or something.

  “Betty Bruce is the identity I use when I’m working. I use a fake name for safety reasons.”

  “You have a job?”

  “Yeah. My parents don’t actually own a ski resort. They didn’t buy this apartment for me. I bought it myself.”

  “Jesus, what the hell do you do?” Nate’s eyes grew wide.

  Okay. You can do this. Just spit it out. One. Two. Three… No? Okay. You can just lie to him, you’ve gotten really good at it. It’s fine. No. No! It’s truth-tellin’ time. He deserves to know the real you. Or does he? Maybe it’s unsafe for him to know, especially with blackmailing jerks just running around. Yeah. That’s it. I’m not telling him for his own safety! No! Just do it.

  I cringed and finally pushed the words out. “I’m a professional thief.”

  His eyebrows went so high on his forehead, I thought they might leap off his face. “What?”

  “People like having nice things that other people own. I’m hired to retrieve specific items in exchange for a fee. I deliver this item to my contractor. She gives the item to the client who requested it. I get paid.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  I bit my lip and watched his face slide back and forth between confusion, disbelief and dumbfounded blinking.

  Nate sat back in the chair, staring straight ahead. “I thought you were an international escort or something. Or maybe a spy. I don’t know.”

  “You thought I was a hooker?”

  Spy, maybe. But prostitute?

  “What kind of things do you steal?”

  I suddenly felt like I was being interrogated on a bad police procedural.

  “Historical artifacts, paintings, jewelry,” I said. “Anything the client wants, really.”

  “Have you ever robbe
d a bank?”

  I burst out laughing but stopped when I realized he was serious.

  “No! I’m not a 1920s gangster. I mostly just steal from museums and private homes in Europe.”

  “Are you a kleptomaniac?”

  “No.”

  He crossed his arms. “How much money do you make by stealing from people?”

  “Like I said, I bought this apartment.” I shrugged. “I’m doing alright, I’ll put it that way.”

  His eyes were still wide. “Have you ever been caught?”

  “Once, in college.”

  “You’ve been doing this that long?”

  Longer, technically.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever shot anyone?”

  “No!” I blurted out, surprised he would even ask that. “I steal things. I would never intentionally hurt anyone.” I looked straight at him. “I would never intentionally hurt you. I lied to you about a lot of things. And the only reason I’m telling you all of this now is because I care about you. I just … please don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. I’m just not sure… It’s a lot to process.” He shifted in his chair, creases forming in his forehead as he thought hard about this whole new version of me. “Who else knows about … your job?”

  “My dad, the woman who hires me for assignments, the guy who used to hire me in New York when I first started out, Ruby—”

  “Ruby knows?” Nate gestured wildly with his hands. “How did Ruby know before me?”

  He might not know his cousin is a crooked accountant. I should probably keep my mouth shut.

  “She’s my best friend. Anyway, it’s not exactly something I broadcast.”

  “You trust me to keep your secret?”

  I nodded slowly. “And that’s really something, ‘cause I trust, like, hardly anyone.”

  Nate stood up and paced. “How do you know I won’t tell the police?”

  “I’ll have to evict you if you do.” I smiled but my grin quickly faded.

  He’s actually considering it.

  “If you don’t go to the police, I’ll stop charging you rent,” I said, my voice laced with desperation.