Page 49 of Brazen Criminals

His eyes whip to mine, a grin lighting up his face. “Hey. Are you okay? How’s the shoulder?”

“Hurts. Can you get me some more ibuprofen?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He disappears out the door. Walker rubs his nose against the back of my head and sighs.

I should feel weird about this, shouldn’t I? I’m cuddling with one of my roommates. My roommate who is also a forger. And super hot and nice and an excellent cuddler. Sleep deprivation explains this, right?

Jansen hurries back with a glass of water and a handful of pills. I scoot to mostly upright and take the meds, the throbbing more noticeable when I move. I whine as I slump back down to my pillow. Jansen sets down the glass by the wall but stays squatting next to me, bouncing on his toes, one of my curls twirling around his fingers.

“If you’re staying, can you at least pretend you’re tired?” Walker gripes.

Jansen laughs. “Move over, you lump, and I’ll get cozy, too.”

Walker grumbles but scoots across the bed, taking me with him. Jansen pulls off his belt and pants, then tucks himself into my bed in just his T-shirt and boxers. I catch some nice leg muscles before he’s under the sheet and rolling onto his back in front of me. He looks across the bed, smiling. I find a mirrored grin stretching across my own face. “Why are we smiling?” I ask.

“Because I don’t have to lie to you anymore.”

“Oh.”

He twists onto his side to face me while Walker mumbles something about wiggle-worms and hooks. Jansen runs a finger down my cheek. “I had so much fun tonight. I’ve needed to do something like that for a while now. Thanks for giving us the go-ahead.”

I don’t know what to say about that. Walker said that for Jansen, stealing is a compulsion, that he doesn’t feel like himself when he isn’t taking things. But he also just broke into my ex-boyfriend’s apartment—what could have been my apartment. So, not knowing what to say, I nuzzle the finger on my cheek, and he flops back onto the pillow, curling his hand into my hair and brushing the ends with his fingertips.

Somehow, I fall asleep, Walker warm against my back, Jansen flopped at my front.

The doorbell sounds long before I feel like waking up. Jansen’s snoring, most of his hair out of his ponytail and brushing along his jawline. Walker groans behind me, and I feel him stretching. I carefully turn onto my back so I can see him. “Good morning,” I say.

“Hi.” He smiles at me, the twinkle back in his eyes. When voices drift back from the front of the house, I figure RJ or Trips must have gotten the door.

“I have a huge favor to ask,” I start. Walker looks a little concerned, his twinkle dimming in his night-dark eyes. “I mean, it’s really big, but I hope you can do it.” His smile drops as I try to keep my own from blooming. “I really, really, really would be grateful…if you got me some ibuprofen.”

Walker laughs, the rich sound making my smile flare, even as I feel my heartbeat pounding in my shoulder. Jansen snorts, rolls, and starts snoring again, causing Walker and me both to laugh harder. “You’ve got it, princess.”

“I’m not a princess.”

“Why not? Someday you’ll be queen, but not quite yet.” He winks as he rolls out of bed to get the drugs, and I flip him off, his chuckles trailing him into the hall.

I listen to the house, realizing whoever rang the bell is still there, the conversation muted by the door between my hallway and the front entryway. Curious, I sit up, straightening my tank top as best as I can with one hand. Walker comes back and hands me the pills, catching my face. “What?” he asks.

I down the pills. “The door. Whoever rang the bell is still here.”

Walker’s brows pull together. “I’ll go check.”

I ease my way off the mattress to follow him, waiting half in my room as he inches toward the door separating the front and back of the house. He presses an ear to the wood before motioning me over. “It’s the cops,” he whispers. “Back up Trips, don’t give more than the bare minimum of information, and if they offer to put a restraining order on Bryce, say yes.”

Before I can process any of that, Walker opens the door and drags me into the living room. Sure enough, two cops are sitting on the couch, Trips in his favorite chair. If I were just meeting him, I would think he was totally at ease. He’s leaning back, one ankle tucked over his knee, his face impassive. But I’ve spent enough time with him to see the tightness around his eyes, the way he’s keeping his knuckles turned toward himself, so the cuts and scabs are more difficult to see. It’s the black circles under his eyes that make tears spring to my own. He hasn’t slept since last night.

The cops turn to Walker and me. Walker nudges me to the other chair before perching on the arm next to me, supporting me without touching me. “Hello,” I say.

One cop clears his throat. “Hello.” He looks at Trips, then back at me. “Are you Clara? Clara McElroy?”

I nod. The cop turns toward me. “I was just talking with Mr. Westerhouse over here. I would love to chat with you about what happened last night, if that’s okay. Maybe we can grab a glass of water?”

I want to look at Walker to see if this is what he was expecting, but I can feel Trips’ eyes searing into me, and I know I have to get at least one cop out of here before Trips loses it. “Sure,” I say, leading the officer into the kitchen.

I go to pull down a glass, but he reaches around me and gets two down himself. “Why don’t you sit down and relax? I’ll get it. I’m Officer Reed, but you can call me Tom if you’d like. I see you’ve got a bit of a busted wing there,” he says, motioning at my sling.

Sliding onto the barstool on the other side of the island, I watch as the cop gets us both glasses of water. “What happened to your arm?” he asks, sipping his water, pretending not to care about my answer.

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