Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(44)
“What?” I already told him where the book was. He doesn’t think I actually have it on me, does he?
“Come now, pet, you can’t be that stupid, can you?” My expression must be as blank as my mind because he follows that up with, “Of course you can. Your phone, pet. I’m going to need your phone. Can’t have you calling for help, now can I?”
Not that I have anyone left to call. I pull my phone out of my boot and toss it across the floor. I’m not going any closer to him than I absolutely have to.
Petrov doesn’t bat an eyelash and just kicks the phone through the open doorway into the next room.
“Now check her for weapons,” he instructs Uncle Samuel.
My uncle looks apologetic but approaches me anyway. Will steps fully in front of me, and for a moment, I think my uncle might actually back down. Until Petrov clears his throat loudly. That one simple gesture spurs my uncle into motion and gets Will to move out of the way. Uncle Samuel makes short work of relieving me of every single one of my weapons—and I’m not surprised. He’s the one who taught me how to conceal weapons on my person when I was twelve.
When he’s certain I’m disarmed, he returns to Petrov’s side, and Will immediately steps back in front of me.
Petrov smirks at Will but doesn’t comment. Then he turns on his heel and leaves the room. Uncle Samuel is slower in leaving and throws an unreadable, but loaded, look in my direction as he shuts the door.
I relax, but only slightly, because now Will and I are alone, and the tension between us is taking on a life of its own.
Chapter Twenty
I turn my back to Will, but not out of desire to shut him out. At least that’s what I tell myself, that I’m only moving away from him to test the window as a possible escape route. But bars block any potential exit. I push lightly up on the bottom windowpane, hoping it will slide open easily. When it doesn’t budge, I push harder, putting most of my weight into it. Nothing. They’re stuck solid. But instead of admitting defeat and returning to Will, I press my forehead to the glass and stare through the bars, down to the street below. It’s basically deserted—there’s no one I can call out to for help. But I stay in the window. The cool glass against my face is a tactile distraction from the stormy wildfire of emotions dominating my thoughts right now.
“I wanted to tell you.” His voice is whisper soft and so close, I can almost feel his breath on my neck. When did he get so close? I’m really off my game tonight.
“Then why didn’t you?” I chew on the words for a moment before asking the question, considering them, considering possible answers I may not want to hear. Then, as an afterthought, I add, “Are you working for him?”
Will’s sharp intake of breath is answer enough, but I wait for his words anyway. “Never. I wouldn’t ever, flower. Please believe me. Petrov Rosinsky will never get his claws in me.”
His voice is earnest and pained, and I can’t help but believe him. But too many questions remain. I spin to face him. He’s barely a step away, and I have to press myself back against the windowsill to keep enough space between us to maintain my bravado. “How did you know who he was?”
“I know of Petrov because my family’s…in the business.”
The business? “As in…your family are thieves, too?” In the weeks since I met Will, the idea that he could be involved in the same type of illicit lifestyle I’ve been trying to leave behind never occurred to me.
He drops his gaze toward the floor and looks suitably ashamed when he answers me. “Grifters, actually.”
“So you’re a con.” It all starts to make sense—the immediate interest in spending time with me, the air of charm, the fact that no matter what I threw his way, he was cool as a cucumber. “And all this time, you’ve been running a con on me.”
He swallows hard, and his gaze remains somewhere south of my knees. I know he heard my question, but he doesn’t answer.
His betrayal has left me cracked and vulnerable, and my own anger is beginning to fester in the wound. “So, what was the con? Were you after the book, too? In on the plan to bring me to Petrov? Or did you have your own endgame?” The venom in my voice is potent and threatens to seep into my soul.
Before I even finish speaking, his gaze swings up to my face; his stormy eyes are wide and red-rimmed with overflowing emotion. “No, nothing like that! Please just let me explain.”
Something in his expression softens the hardest edges of my anger—maybe it’s the hint of tears pooling in the inner corners of his eyes. Against my better judgment, I motion with a dramatic wave for him to get on with it.
“My father grew up with yours. They were friends a long, long time ago. When I was a kid, my mom gave him an ultimatum: us or grifting. So he went straight. For the most part. For her. But he stayed in contact with your father. I guess when he heard that your dad had…” He pauses and scans my face, maybe for a sign that he’s about to cross some sort of line by mentioning my father’s death.
I miss my father a lot, but he’s been gone for years, and I’m not in denial about what happened. “Died?” I offer.
Will nods, then continues. “So he kinda looked out for your mom after that, I guess. Just, you know, kept informed on how you guys were doing and helped out whenever he could. When you came back to New York, she came to us and…”