Page 103 of The Love Bandits

His mouth quirks up. “Almost?”

I study one of the photos, trying to put my finger on what makes Ryan look different to me. “It’s the black tooth.”

“Very funny,” he says, reclaiming his phone.

I capture his hand. “It’s the set of his jaw, the way he’s sitting, and the little scar under his lip. It’s a dozen different little things, but he’s not you.”

He smiles at me as if this pleases him, then nods again at the suitcase. I take out my phone to get the photos of the jewelry.

Afterward, we pack it back up the way it was, returning it to the bottom of the stack. The ball goes back in its place too, and we flick off the light. I use the bathroom to clean up, drying off the sink so it doesn’t look like anyone used it, and we leave the way we came, Jake locking the door behind us.

We walk back toward the car hand in hand. I wait until we’re in the woods to ask, “That’s why he wanted you, isn’t it? The man—”

“His name’s Roark,” Jake says.

My heart soars, because this means he’s decided to accept our help, all the way. “Roark,” I repeat. “He wanted you because you were twins. Because one of you could be talking to the mark while the other took whatever he wanted.”

He gazes at me in the dark as we circle a tree. “Sure. It’s the perfect alibi if no one finds out. But I didn’t realize that when I was a kid. I thought he was just helping us. One abandoned kid to another. He told us he’d been a foster kid too. Of course, that was probably a bunch of bullshit, but I didn’t figure it out until later.”

“He used you,” I say, fury beating into the words.

He squeezes my hand, a smile playing on his lips. “We might have been kids when we met him, but we haven’t been kids fora long time. Still, I’ll gladly accept your righteous fury on my behalf.”

“I’m upset about Nina, too,” I admit.

He tucks his arm around me. “I know. But maybe we don’t just help women who’ve been heartbroken and used. Maybe we help anyone who deserves some vindication.”

I glance up at him, surprised, and see his eyes glimmering in the night. “You want to help Anthony?”

“I do.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing attractively in his throat, my fingers wanting to capture it, my teeth to bite. “I think we should. He’s a case for the Love Fixers if I’ve ever seen one.”

He’s talking about the future like it’s something we’re going to share. Hope blossoms in my chest, and with any luck it’s not the kind of bloom that lasts for only one day—beautiful and then dead. I want to preserve it in glass.

We get to our cars, and Jake kisses me softly before opening my door for me. I get in behind my wheel and watch while he does the same. Seconds later, a hand snakes around from the back and grabs my shoulder.

“Jesus!” I scream as I turn around in my seat.

“I’ve been called worse,” Nicole says, laughing. She’s wearing a beanie, a black shirt, and leggings—robbery gear.

“Did you follow us to the house?”

“I did,” she says with a grin, “and then back. I saw you canoodling with the thief, so air high five for winning my bet for me. I figured Damien had it in the bag when he found out about the old guy and the watch. He figured so too. He was gloating, but that won’t last.”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you two,” I say, my heart settling back into a more natural rhythm. “Are you riding home with me, or do you have your car here?”

“I took an Uber to the greenway,” she says as she climbs into the front seat next to me.

Jake rolls down his window a few cars down. “You’ve got to stop picking up strays,” he says. He’s joking, but I hear a thread of worry in his voice. He’s concerned she’ll convince me not to trust him.

“It worked out okay for me last weekend,” I tell him, rolling my window down to answer. The fall air comes seeping in, smelling of pine and crushed leaves. “I’ll see you back at the house.”

Turning forward, I say, “Buckle up, buttercup.”

She rolls her eyes but does it, and I pull out of the lot a few beats after Jake.

“So, as happy as I am to have won my bet,” Nicole says, “whywere you canoodling with the watch thief? Do you have a secret fetish for the tears of old men?”

“He didn’t do it,” I say. “He has an identical twin.”

---