The Beautiful Thief (Stolen Hearts #2)(13)

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. Blondie 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.”

Confusion passed over her face. “You get what?”

“You want to die.” She seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but it made all the sense in the world to him. “You came to Chicago but I distracted you before you could get yourself caught by Belli’s guys. And now you want me to finish the job.”

She tightened her lips and her hand rested over her bag possessively. Adam wondered whether she had the same gun as before or whether she’d bought one once she’d gotten down South.

“If I wanted to die, there are easier ways than coming out here and tracking down the likes of you.”

“Yeah, but that would be suicide, wouldn’t it? And you’re too prideful for that. But if the villain who killed your mom did the deed, that would just be poetic, wouldn’t it?”

She took a deep breath. It probably wasn’t possible for her to get any more tense, but he could see the flash of rage in her eyes when he brought up Isobel. Maybe if he pissed her off enough, she’d leave him for good.

“You didn’t kill her,” she said. The words were forced, clipped.