Page 98 of Don’t Go Stealing My Heart

Of course she’d worry about that. “I have the necklace, love. And the record. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You haven’t lost anything at all.”

Especially not him. He wouldn’t give up on her. His lawyers would earn their retainer, fight to find a loophole in the system, ensure her freedom. She wouldn’t end up in prison because a man had lured a child into the criminal underworld.

He heard people rush down the stairs and one of the Elvi explaining Clementine’s injury, but he didn’t look away from her, could barely force his lungs to inflate.

A gloved hand landed on his shoulder. “Move out of the way, sir. We need space to work.”

“Don’t you dare give up,” he whispered to Clementine again.

He didn’t remember standing, or a woman tending to his hand. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Clementine’s limp body being loaded onto a stretcher, her blood a dark stain on the floor.

He shook off the EMT treating him. “I need to go to the hospital. I need to be with her.”

“She’s in good hands, sir. Let my team do their job. But is there anyone we should call? Family we should notify?”

The answer only worsened his distress. No one. She had no one.

“Jack!” His mother picked her way through the throng of Elvi, hand clutched to her chest. The second she neared him, tears sprang to her eyes. Because he was her son, because in his world family meant love and worry and support.

“I’m Clementine’s family,” he told the EMT, and he’d be there for her as long as she’d let him.

Epilogue

ONE YEAR LATER

Find Elvis Presley.

Jack’s scavenger hunt habit was adorable. The last one he’d sprung on her had led to a three-legged bearded dragon named Ethel. Unfortunately, this clue unearthed a slew of unpleasant memories.

Stop and breathe, her therapist would say. Count to ten and remember the good things in your life, the progress you’ve made.

Instead of thinking about Lucien’s similar text at the start of her fateful Van Gogh job, she focused on her current job and how much she loved greasing up her hands under a car’s hood, earning her paycheck with sweat and muscle. She thought about her Friday night gossip sessions with Imelda and Tami, family BBQs hosted at Marco’s, helping David Industries with their philanthropic work, obstacle-course racing with Chloe, and all the Elvi who’d hugged her at this year’s festival, thrilled to see her alive and well.

She thought about her favorite Elvis.

Kind Jack. Sexy as Sin Jack. Patient as a Saint Jack.

She didn’t know any other men who’d have stood by her after the lies she’d told and danger she’d caused. And Jack hadn’t just stood. He’d worked tirelessly with his lawyers and the cops so Clementine could help track Lucien, her clemency a mercy she still wasn’t sure she deserved. Thankfully Lucien hadn’t returned to his New York condo. Lucy had been there, unharmed, and Jack had helped reunite them. He had given Clementine space during her therapy, while she’d grappled with newfound trust issues and her even more complicated past.

She inhaled this goodness and let it fill her up, then reread Jack’s note. Lucien’s phantom thorns didn’t cut as deep, and she knew where to find Elvis.

She toed off her boots and padded from the entryway into the open kitchen. Another note was tucked into the frame of Jack’s family photo—Elvis with his arm slung around Maxwell David the First’s shoulder.

Her greasy fingers had smudged the first clue, but she pocketed it in her jeans. If Jack kept slipping notes into her car and purse and underwear drawer, she’d have a novel’s worth soon. Excited, she plucked the latest memento from its home.

Find the place where I learned to let go.

Definitely the bedroom. Although she loved when Jack took charge and possessed her mind and body, he’d allowed her some control, too. He’d released some of the insecurities tethering him to his past while she’d found ways to make him shake and curse. Sending handcuffs to his office had been good fun.

She jogged to their bedroom. A blue box lay in the center of the duvet, tied with a pink bow. She ripped it open like an impatient kid. Another note greeted her.

Find your favorite place.

Easy as pie.

She raced to the reptile shelter and pressed the Open button three times. Hurry up, already. The humid air wafted over her as she darted inside, the fly-away hairs from her loosening braid sticking to her face. A yellow box sat by the dragon enclosure.

“He’s being an adorable sneak,” she told Lucy.