Page 25 of Brazen Criminals

Did I forget to lock my door last night? Trips will kill me if I forgot. “How did you find it?”

“Walker found it for me. I might keep it a bit longer. I don’t know if I’ll have to build anything after I buy furniture today.” She wipes some sweat out of her eyes. “It sounded like Walker was going to clean your room for you, too. Did you notice?”

I think back to this morning. Itwaseasier to get to my desk than it usually is. I’ll have to thank him. “I was a little out of it this morning. And no worries about the drill. You can just leave it in the living room, and I’ll grab it whenever.”

“Can do.”

We run in silence for a while. I think through all the different things I should ask. I mean, we’re probably past asking about the weather. I could ask about her major, but I already know everything I can find about that from my research, and I’ve never been an actor. What don’t I know about Clara? “So, how do you like your room?” I ask and immediately regret it. It feels like the lamest question—besides the weather, of course.

“I think I got pretty lucky in the last-minute room lottery.”

Okay, I should just roll with it. “Is it a lot like the other place you were going to live?”

Clara’s lips purse as she looks over the river. “Not at all.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” I guess.

She shakes her head, “No. I broke up with my boyfriend yesterday, that’s all. We were going to live together in one of those new-build apartments. And now, well, I guess now I’m single and living with you guys. So not a bad thing or a good thing. More of a thing thing.”

So, no boyfriend. I slow a step and watch her chestnut ponytail swish behind her again, the longest strands only inches above her ass. The jittery feeling I’ve had all morning spikes. Great. Now that I know she’s single, I’m never going to be able to talk to her again.Come on, RJ. Get your shit together.“Are you okay? Was it mutual?” I force out.

Her lips press together in thought before we power up an incline. “I’m okay. I guess I broke up with him, but he wasn’t sure about us living together, so in a way, it was mutual.” She shrugs.

We run in silence for a while longer. I can’t seem to force out anything else to say. A bridge appears up ahead and I decide it’s time for me to head back. I’m too nervous to keep up a conversation, and I keep catching myself staring at her, looking at the curve of her eyelashes, the slight bump on the bridge of her nose, the flare of her eyebrows. I’m going full-on creeper. Waving one arm at the bridge, that communicates what I’m planning, right?

“Heading back?” she asks.

“Yup,” I croak. Thank God.

We both stop at the cross light. She takes a drink of water and then offers me one, too. I wave it off. Instead, I stare across the bridge, the river water tumbling over the rocks underneath. “Bye then. Have a nice run.”

“Thanks for joining me,” she says.

With half of a nod, I run away. I’m sprinting by the time I reach the middle of the bridge. Do I look crazy? Probably, but I don’t really care. I need to get away. Beautiful single girl living in the house? Yeah. This year is going to be a bitch.

Chapter 15

Trips

It’s9:02whenIroll out of bed. Jansen and I finished cleaning up at 3:30am and I can hear the lucky bastard snoring down the hallway as I head to the kitchen, cursing my internal clock.

I find half a pot of coffee and I immediately pour myself a cup and guzzle it down. I swear my brain is fucking sandpaper, and it’s grinding down all the rough edges of my skull this morning, even though I only had one drink the whole night, nursing it so I could stay sober, going up to Jansen for “refills” that were just info drops about the various players. The first cup gone, I drip out what’s left in the pot, hoping that will fix the fuzzy ache in my head.

At least I have some money to play with again. I’ll bring the cash we got last night to a couple of different banks this morning so I can transfer the cash and e-payments to different holding companies over the next two weeks.

Analyzing what level of risk I’m willing to take on can wait for tonight—I thought I was up for anything, but the lovely fucking combo of a failed gig and a market drop last week left me feeling like someone yanked my balls up through my fucking bellybutton. I fucking hate losing.

I’m debating between eating cold leftover Indian from last night and mangling some eggs when Walker waltzes in and shoves the empty coffee pot into my face. “Dude. That was my coffee.” He punches me in the shoulder, and I take a step back, waving off another attack.

“I was up half the night. What’s your excuse?” I ask, grabbing my coffee grounds from the pantry and making a new pot for both of us.

Walker leans against the island, a pencil tapping against the tile. I glance at it, annoyed at the sound, and Walker quirks a brow before tucking the pencil behind his ear. “I was working on my Rubens. It’s so close, Trips. I’ve almost got it.”

“When do we have to finish it by?”

Walker looks out the window. “NightAntiques says the buyer would like the original by the end of March, so we have some time. I just thought I’d be closer by now.”

“I still think your fence has a dumbass name.” I pour the water into the pot and flick the machine on.

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