Page 58 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

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Jack closed the door as he left, but Clementine still held her breath. Jack was here. Jack, who was supposed to be at his house, had almost caught her red handed. Or black handed, considering her gloves. He probably had stayed to care for his family, and if he’d taken one more step inside the sound room, or had angled his body slightly to the right, he’d have seen Clementine shoved behind the open door.

She crouched forward, elbows on her knees, as air whooshed out of her. She gulped in ragged breaths and waited long enough for Jack to return upstairs, assuming he would. What if he didn’t? What if he decided to lie on the couch? Watch TV? She’d have to slip behind him and up the stairs because the lower level exit was in the games room, right by that couch.

She really was one fumble from getting caught.

The notion should have had the ache in her ribs intensifying, but resignation turned her body leaden. She’d already made her decision, knew she couldn’t keep this up. If she left Jack and Whichway now, he’d be none the wiser. She could still break the news to Lucien and not have to watch Jack’s face harden as he realized what she was. She could start fresh in another small town. Maybe one that hosted a Dracula festival. She could get down with that.

As long as she didn’t wimp out like she had five years ago. She’d been close to walking away then. So close to shedding her skin. The Monet Job fallout and notion of losing Lucien had silenced those thoughts. The same could happen again. She was weak where Lucien was concerned, and he was good at talking her down. But if she marched upstairs now, told Jack who she was and why she was here, there would be no turning back. The wheels of fate would come for her.

She rolled out her neck and took one last look at the Van Gogh.

Time to let the chips fall where they may.

18

Jack settled back into bed. He stretched and yawned and focused on his breathing, slow inhales and exhales. His eyelids grew heavy, his mind fuzzy around the edges. Sleep, glorious sleep.

Thump, thump, thump.

What in the actual hell?

The pestering noise was muffled but rhythmic. Footsteps? His mother returning to her room? Or an intruder. He got up—again—snapped on his light and searched his room for a weapon, just in case. All he saw was a pink yo-yo and model airplanes. He didn’t even have a baseball bat. The models were pointy at least. He grabbed his B25J Mitchell Bomber and moved toward his open door. The footsteps grew louder. Chloe’s room was too far to reach quickly. If someone had entered through that window…

Fuck. His pulse rattled.

He walked into the hallway. A person approached, too tall for the nurse or his mother, too far away to see clearly. He raised the bomber.

Clementine stepped forward and yelped.

He startled and bit back a curse. “What are you doing here?” He winced at his volume, worried he’d wake Chloe.

Clementine clutched her chest, then glanced at his torso. “You’re not wearing a shirt.” Her gaze dipped lower, to his briefs. She released a needy sound.

“You didn’t answer me.” And why was she wearing tight black clothes and black gloves in his parents’ house at way-too-late a.m., staring at his goddamn briefs?

“Is that a weapon?” she asked.

“Excuse me?” Disbelief edged his tone, until he realized she was talking about the plastic plane in his hand, not his crotch. Using the model as a bludgeoning tool made as much sense as Clementine standing in his hallway at this hour. “What are you doing here?” he asked again, more guardedly.

She didn’t reply.

He gripped her elbow, steered her into his room, and closed the door. Whatever had brought her here, he wasn’t about to wake Chloe while finding out. He stood back, still clutching the stupid plane. “So?”

Clementine worked her jaw. “I was here to steal from you, but I couldn’t do it.”

He dipped his head and squinted, sure he’d heard her wrong. “To steal from me?”

“The Van Gogh in the sound room.”

“We have a Van Gogh?”

She nodded, her jaw still bunching. She folded her arms, but her hands kept moving, her fingers fidgeting by her elbows. “I’m a burglar. It’s why I came to Whichway. To find you and case the estate and steal the painting, but then I met you and your reptile shelter, and your family isn’t what I thought. Chloe is amazing, and I didn’t know your dad was sick, not that it matters. I just can’t do this anymore. Not to you. Not to anyone. But really not to you and...” Longing and desperation twisted her features. “I’m so sorry, Jack. You can call the cops or whatever. I’m prepared to deal with the consequences.”

Clementine.

Burglar.