The Beautiful Thief (Stolen Hearts #2)(17)

“You’d be surprised how many dangerous things like to walk in the light.” The corner of his mouth hooked up but he didn’t say anything. “I thought there’d be more mosquitoes at night, though.”

“I sprayed some industrial-grade shit. Supposed to keep the bastards away for weeks. I give us a good hour before they come back.”

Good grief, he’d just made a joke. A non-sexually charged or offensive in any way joke. Nope. Too weird. She reached over and took the whiskey, taking a stiff drink from the bottle. The burning sensation of the whiskey was a welcome distraction.

Adam stared at her as she put the bottle back down. “Your lips on that... my lips on that. It’s almost like we kissed.”

She snorted. “I think the alcohol kills the cootie germs.”

He took the cigarette from his mouth and set it in the ashtray. “I think we’re going to have fun together.”

“This is revenge. Revenge isn’t fun. Besides, I was angry and bitter before Isobel was murdered.”

“If you think revenge isn’t fun, you’ve been doing it wrong.” He took the bottle and took a deep drink before he handed it over to her.

Despite what she’d just said about the cleansing effects of alcohol, when she wrapped her lips around the neck and took a drink, she couldn’t help but feel like something had passed between them. Adam reached for the bottle but she didn’t give it to him, instead setting it on the table and letting him get it himself. “So your deal. You tell me who Baldie is and if I take him out, then we’re done.”

“Easy peasy.” He picked up the cigarette again and put it in his mouth, still not lighting it.

“Okay. Tell me his name.”

“Once I tell you, there’s no turning back.”

“I crossed the no turning back point a long time ago. Don’t drag this out, Adam.”

His head fell back and he looked back at the sky. “The man who shot your mother—the one you stabbed, by the way—is named Matt Forbes.”





“Forbes, we have a problem.”

Matt Forbes sat down in the plush leather seat of a brand-new limo. The wound in his gut still stung, but he was careful not to show any sign of pain. The man sitting across from him, Jonathan Sterling, didn’t respond well to weakness.

“Point me in the direction and I’ll take care of it.” Matt knew that Sterling didn’t like his guys passive. He hadn’t crawled up the ranks by waiting for jobs to come his way. He’d even been the one who’d offered to get onto Stranger’s team to make sure nothing fishy was going down with the strangely rushed wedding. It would’ve earned him a spot forever at Sterling’s right hand if he’d been able to get the damn necklace back. Killing the Murray woman had been a small consolation.

Sterling handed a folder to Matt and he flipped through, looking at all the grainy photos. After the events in San Francisco, Sterling was being especially cautious, which was why he was only meeting with him in the still moving car. Matt would think the man was paranoid if he didn’t know just what kind of enemies Sterling was dealing with.

“When were these taken?”

“Last week, at a party thrown for Jadon Belli. I thought you said she escaped on her own.”

Sterling didn’t raise his voice, but the words were filled with reproach. “Smith never showed any indication of wavering.” From what he remembered about that night, Adam Smith had seemed as annoyed by the task of babysitting the woman as he had. But from the looks of the pictures in his hand, the Murray woman and Smith were still in contact.

“After she scared off those men with a gun, they both went to a hotel room together and then slipped off the radar. I think you can understand why this isn’t acceptable.”

“All right. Smith had a place out in the middle of nowhere in Louisiana. I can be on the next plane out.”

Sterling scoffed. “Please. You’ve already proved yourself more than incapable. There’s good news, though.”

Matt shifted uneasily in his seat. Sterling had killed men for a lot less than this. “What’s that?”

“You killed Isobel Murray. So that means I don’t have to wait to see how you fuck up going after her daughter. If they were in Chicago looking for your breadcrumbs, maybe they’ll go back. Get an apartment in your name, spread the word, and sit tight and wait. They’re going to come to you.”

Matt clenched his jaw and had to bite down the need to defend himself. This woman—named Melody, of all things—was the worst kind. She came off as innocent and helpless and the second you let your guard down, she’d literally stab you in the gut.

But this time he’d be ready. And when she came at him, he wouldn’t be taken by surprise.

Now she’d really know the meaning of the word helpless.





Melody stared up at the ceiling. By this point, she’d memorized every single crack and spot above her. The bed was strangely comfortable. Worn-out for sure, but it was warm.

She remembered staring at the ceiling in Whitney’s basement. Her weeks of wallowing in her own self-pity. It was nice to think that she wasn’t wallowing any longer. She had a name. She had a tenuous alliance with Adam. She had the beginning of a plan.

That was, assuming Adam ever came back.