Page 37 of The Love Bandits

I wasn’t prepared to believe him, but the truth rumbles in his voice. It’s there in the desperation in his eyes. And I understand. I know what it is to only have one person you love unconditionally—one person with whom you can unreservedly be yourself. One person who makes you human.

Claire is that person for me, and I ask myself: would I have done it for her?

When I have my answer, I stand from the chair.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

JAKE

Elaine gets to her feet—her bare feet, which were pressed about four inches away from my dick a few minutes ago—and I know I’m sunk. Why the fuck would she believe me? And, if she does, why would she care? Ryan’s problems are his and mine, not hers. Besides, I’ve just admitted I was hoping to steal a multimillion-dollar necklace from her boss.

Even if she doesn’t much like her boss, she seems like a woman who believes in doing a job thoroughly.

Hell, I know she is. She adopted a damn cat to get into my apartment. A voice in my head suggests that she took pity on an abandoned cat, and I could use that to my advantage. Maybe that’s true, but I’d rather spend the rest of my life in jail than play the pity card. If she’s decided to turn me in, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll lie, obviously, but the truth will come out in the end. Ryan will get hurt, my nightmare of being contained will come true, and that will be that. Maybe it’s how it was always going to end for us—Ryan hurt and me in jail. He’ll feel guilty, and I’ll have to carry that too. And…

“Will youpleaseget out of the way?” Elaine says tightly, and I realize I’m still standing directly in front of her, our legstouching, my head tipped down to her, the same way we were outside this house a couple of miserable hours ago.

Back when I thought I had a chance at ending this thing tonight.

“Sorry, by all means,” I say, “let me clear your path so you can ruin my life.”

“You ruined your own life.” She gives me an annoyed look and shoves my arm, her hand leaving a soul imprint on my flesh, and I step aside, watching as she walks away from me.

My mind’s barely functional, and even though I know I should be thinking of a way to talk her around, the only thought that’s surfacing is that she has a truly spectacular ass—the kind of ass some dead British guy would have written a sonnet about, only he’d have pretended he was talking about a grapefruit. And what the fuck is the matter with me?

I need to convince her to help. I—

I take a step toward her. “You remember the Suicide Squad from the DC comics?”

She glances over her shoulder at me, clearly caught off guard. “Uh, yeah. You think now is a good time to discuss comic books, Jake?” Her brow furrows. “What’s your real name, anyway?”

“Jake.”

Her expression shutters. “Sure.”

“It is,” I blurt, needing her to believe me. “Just like you’re really Elaine. It’s easier to react naturally if people are calling you by your real name, or something close.”

“Okay,Jake,” she says, turning a little toward me. “Do you have a point?”

“The reason the government formed the Suicide Squad is because they needed people who have superpowers to fight people who have superpowers.”

“And for some reason Superman wasn’t enough,” she scoffs.

A solid point, but I don’t actually want to get into a discussion of comic books. Not when the seconds are ticking out on my chance to turn this thing around.

“My point is that you need a thief to find a thief,” I say with emphasis. “Someone stole the necklace, and it wasn’t me, and I’m more motivated to get it back than any officer of the law would be.”

She raises her eyebrows. “But you wouldn’t want to give it back to Mrs. Rosings.”

“Maybe not,” I admit, feeling my plan sink in on itself. “But couldn’t we work that part out later? Maybe there’s a compromise.”

There’s not, not with Roark. Especially not with Roark when he’s this pissed.

“We’ll see,” she says in a voice designed to remind me that she has all the power in this situation and I’m vapor. She keeps walking. I take another step toward her, hoping I can convince her that she needs me. That she can’t do this without me, and the cops wouldn’t be able to do it at all.

“What if it was Anthony or Nina?” I ask. “Do you really think Mrs. Rosings would want you to unleash the police on them?”

Even as I say it, I realize that, yes, Mrs. Rosings would absolutely fucking love to see Nina behind bars for the rest of her life. She’d probably visit her in prison just to see her handiwork. Her precious son, though? I’m guessing she cares a lot about him, in her screwed up way, if she went through this whole charade to convince him he was marrying the wrong woman.

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