Page 47 of Brazen Criminals

Walker bobs his chin toward the door. “Go. I’ve got this. I’m useless at this kind of hunt and you know it.”

RJ claps Walker on the shoulder as he passes. Walker still hovers with the tray. The twinkles in his eyes are dimmed as he sets the cocoa on the black-and-white art deco side table. “I should have made coffee,” he whispers to himself, handing me a cookie fresh from the oven. The chocolate melts on my tongue and I melt with it. Once I’ve finished the cookie, Walker hands me some ibuprofen, followed by a glass of water. Last, he hands me a mug of cocoa and takes one himself.

“The guys and I talked, and I’m sure you have questions,” he says.

“Can you answer them?”

He takes a sip. “I can answer anything about myself, and anything about the others’ lives since freshman year. Anything before that is their own story to share.”

I take a sip, the warmth comforting. “That’s fair.” I look around my room, not sure where to start. “Why can’t you help RJ? He said he and Jansen were going hunting. Why can’t you, I don’t know, hunt? And what did he mean by that?”

Walker blinks down at his mug before meeting my eyes, a half shrug matching his half smile. “It’s not my specialty. I’m not the best either in the field or at gathering intel.”

“Are you guys spies or something?”

Walker chuckles. My face flushes, and I can’t decide if I want to yell or cry—I’m just trying to figure this out, and he’s laughing at me. He must have seen something in my face, because he takes my mug from my good hand, sets it down, and reaches for my fingers, holding them gently, both of our hands warm from the cocoa. “Clara, we’re crooks, not spies.”

I look down at our fingers interwoven on my lap, and I really don’t know what to say. I’m living in a house full of criminals?

Jansen’s joy, Walker’s mischief, RJ’s intensity—these guys don’t seem like criminals. Trips, maybe, but he’s also a top finance student at a nationally ranked business school. I stare at Walker, and while he looks relaxed, leaning against the side of the chair, an ankle crossed over his knee, my fingers held loosely in his hand, there’s a tightness around his eyes. He doesn’t know how I’ll react.

I don’t know how I’ll react either.

Chapter 26

Walker

Clarastaresatherlap like it holds all the answers, instead of cute little shorts and those damn beautiful legs. I wait, wishing I could have dropped that bomb any other way than the way I just did.

What was I thinking? “Oh, yeah, we’re all criminals, ha ha ha?” What the fuck, Walker? I’m lucky she’s still sitting here, and she hasn’t called the cops yet. Dammit. Why the fuck am I doing this and not Jansen?

“What kind of crooks?” she squeaks out, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding.

If she’s asking for more information, then I haven’t totally fucked up, right? God, if she records this and goes to the cops, we’re fucked. I look her over. One of her brows is arched, curious, but her eyes are watery, like she might cry. The look on her face makes no sense to me, and I’m the idiot who put it there.

I decide to go for honesty. I can’t make her decide this is okay, but lying about it will blow up on us if she ever finds out. “I’m a forger,” I say. “Mostly charcoal and oil pastels, and I’m working on my watercolor skills as well. But what pays the rent are fake IDs.” I rub my hands on my pants, watching her.

The truth seems to help. Her eyes are less watery. “And Jansen?” she asks.

That’s a tough one. “He’s a thief. You name it, he’s probably stolen it. It’s a compulsion with him. He steals from us just for fun, but he’ll always give the stuff back if we ask.”

Her eyes flash. “Has he stolen from me?”

Well, isn’t that a good question. “No idea. I know he’s been trying to be on his best behavior with you, so probably not. But I can’t guarantee that he doesn’t have one of your pens or hair ties or something.”

“And RJ? He’s a hacker or something, isn’t he?” Clara taps on her thigh with her good hand.

I nod. “He’s exactly a hacker. He specializes in social media manipulation and planting worms for later access to secure systems.”

We sit in silence, Clara tapping her thigh, staring at her messy bed. She picks up her hot cocoa, brings it to her lips, but puts it back down without taking a sip. “What about Trips?”

I want to reach out and touch her, soothe her, but she’s closed up, turned inward, so I hold back. “He does a couple of things. He runs an illegal high-stakes poker ring, he’s a bookie, he’s muscle if we need it, but he’s working toward taking on money laundering.”

Clara nods, chewing on her bottom lip, her good hand tapping her thigh, over and over again as she stares across the room, not looking at me. She hasn’t cried, she hasn’t yelled, she hasn’t called the police, but things aren’t good yet.

A big huff bursts from her before she grabs one of my cookies and eats it in three bites. She finishes her water, tucks a leg up onto the chair and turns toward me. “Why?” she asks.

I take the last sip of my cocoa, trying to put it into words. “It’s different for each of us. For me, it started as a game. I wasn’t a very good artist yet, so I felt like whoever bought my stuff should have known better. I mean, it was really obvious that my work wasn’t legit. But then I got better, and it became a way to prove that I was good enough, that I could be something special. The money was good, school’s paid for, and best of all, it’s fun—I get to compare myself to the top artists in the world and see how I measure up.”

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