Page 24 of The Love Bandits

So I enter that room, wearing Jake Jeffries as much as the suit. The first person I see is Anthony, who’s probably only been in his childhood home for a matter of minutes and is already rocking a flop sweat in his grey suit. His choice of clothing is a micro-rebellion, probably, against black tie optional. He lights up the instant he spots me, which would make me feel guiltier if I hadn’t already drawn devil horns on him in my head. He leans in toward the pretty, dark-haired woman standing next to him and says something. When they step forward together, Anthony’s hand pressed to her lower back, revealed by a dip in her silver sequined dress, I see it. Behind her is a four-foot-high cleardisplay case—and nestled inside is the very fucking necklace I came here to steal—the Heart of the Mountain, out and proud.

Well, goddamn, I think as a genuine smile stretches across my face.

This is the first piece of luck I’ve had in weeks.

CHAPTER NINE

JAKE

“Nina, this is my friend Jake,” Anthony says, stepping up to me.

The dark-haired woman nods and smiles. She looks lovely in her silver dress, which was obviously chosen with care and precision, much like the updo of her perfectly styled dark hair, but her eyes are cold and dark. Calculating. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” I say with a return smile, falling into the familiar rhythm of “light” conversation.

Her fake laugh sounds like a fork beaten against a champagne glass. My teeth want to grind together against the assault of it. “Of course…” She asks me questions about my therapy practice, which I answer with as much genuine interest as it was asked. I can’t find it in myself to pay attention. My heart is beating too fast.

I want to go check out the necklacenow, but Jake Jeffries, therapist extraordinaire and dopey nice guy, would probably never have heard about the Heart of the Mountain. That being said, it would be strange if I ignored the elephant in the room. It’s not fucking normal to put out display cases in the middle of a party—because now I can see there’s more than one—and if I failed to comment on them, that might also be noticed.

I make a couple of casual remarks about the beauty of the estate and the lady’s dress before finally letting my eyes rest on the box.

If Ryan were here, he’d probably lean into my ear and say, “My precious,” in his best Gollum voice, and I’d make a joke about getting into a rich lady’s box. The thought makes me want to smile, right up until I remember my brother is in Roark’s not-a-Club-Med and that I haven’t talked to him for the better part of a year.

“What’s this?” I ask, nodding toward it with casual interest.

Anthony swears under his breath, and for an instant, I see something real pass over Nina’s face.

“My mother’s idea of a joke,” Anthony finally says in a tight voice, his gaze flitting across the room to an older woman who’s shorter than half the people in the room but has the bearing of someone who’s much taller. Her hair is snow white, slicked back into a perfect bun, and she’s wearing a kaftan-style white dress threaded through with gold. She’s talking to a couple of people.

Something tells me she’s aware that white is supposed to be reserved for the bride-to-be at these things. After all, I know from my research that she’s been married three times. Imagine that—wanting to shackle yourself not once but three times.

I’ve got nothing against relationships. Sure, I’ve never been in one that’s lasted more than a few months, but blame the job for that. There aren’t many women willing to understand if you disappear for several weeks or months at a time and can’t tell them where you went. I’ve been accused of everything from having a secret family (false) to being an emotionally stunted man child (probably true). I walked away from that life last fall, but I still haven’t gotten close to anyone. Part of it is that I can’t tell anyone how I’ve spent the last seventeen years of my life. Add on to that that I also don’t have much I’m willing to sayabout the thirteen years before that, and there’s not much left to talk about.

Anthony’s looking at me expectantly, and I realize Jake Jeffries’s sympathetic side needs to be rolled out. “Oh?” I say with interest, tilting my head.

Nina gives us a constipated look, then says, “I’ll let you boys talk,” as if we’re a couple of schoolboys in uniforms. Then she takes off, probably to sneak a cigarette outside or go shoutfuckinto a fancy pillow. I can’t say I’d blame her.

Anthony shakes his head slightly, then walks toward the display case. I walk beside him, trying not to act too eager. When we reach it, I peer down at it for half a second, taking in the blinking red light of the censor attached to the box.

I expected some kind of alarm, so that’s not a surprise. Not really a problem either. If there’s no auxiliary power, I turn off the breakers in the basement and take out two birds with one stone—giving myself an opening to take the necklace and making it possible to do so. Of course, that’s assuming we’re not going to be stuck in this room for the rest of the evening like a tin of sardines.

“This is the Heart of the Mountain,” Anthony tells me. “Have you heard of it?”

I look back up at him, going for a quizzical expression. “No, should I have?”

He quickly explains what I already know. A Smith family heirloom, check. Worth a shit ton of money, check. Subject of a documentary, check.

“You said it was your mother’s idea of a joke?”

His mouth tightens, then he sighs, glancing at the older woman across the room again. This time she catches his eye and offers a little wave, her eyes bright. He does not return the gesture.

“Nina asked to wear it as her something borrowed for the wedding. Mom declined. She said putting it out tonight is a compromise, but she’s doing it taunt Nina. Same thing with the uniforms.” He angles his head at a woman with bright blonde hair, a purple streak weaving through it. Like the other servers and employees, she’s dressed in a black button down with a red tie and black pants.

“Oh?” I ask, tilting my head.

“Nina used to work at Red Lobster.”

A smile crests across my face. The old woman’s savage, and I can’t help but admire someone who’s not afraid to play dirty.

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