Page 93 of The Love Bandits

“And they got along great. Dale invited him over for lunch, thinking maybe he’d be his sponsor, and they got close. So he offered him the watch as a sign that he believed in him and his ability to get clean. I guess Jack said no the first time he offered, but a couple of days later, he came over and told him he’d given it some thought and it would be an insult to say no to a gesture like that. So he took the pocket watch and then disappeared. The guy never saw him again. He seemed pretty torn up about it, to be honest. He was worried about him. Thought maybe he’d done something self-destructive.”

I feel pretty torn up inside too.

My mind rewinds through everything, pausing at what Jake said to me this morning:if you make them like you enough, they’ll open the door for you.

From what Jake told me the other day, Dale’s gesture had changed him. It made him realize that what he’d been doing was wrong—and decide that he couldn’t do it anymore.

What else has he lied about?

Does he even have a brother?

Was there something stolen or dangerous in that bag I took for him?

My heart feels like it’s chomping its way out of my chest—a Pac-Man heart—and I feel a sharper understanding than ever before of what it is to feel like a fool, a dupe, a patsy.

Worse: I should have known better.

I knew who he was: he’d told me. But I’d let myself think I was different—that I was the person he’d decided to be himself with. That thought was as seductive as the way he looked at me, the way he touched me…the way he made me feel like there was a special connection between us.

Of coursehe was good at making people feel special. He’d made Dale feel special too—right up until he’d taken his most prized and sentimental possession.

But then I think of those text messages from ASSHOLE. I think of the countdown. Whatever else he’s lying about, I believe that Jake really is in trouble, and he’ll be in deeper trouble if he doesn’t get the necklace.

“Have you found out his last name?” I ask tightly, my whole body quaking.

“Not yet. The new cover name should help. I’ve got two names to follow—”

“He’s from New York City,” I say, my heart beating fast. Because even now I feel like I’m betraying him, sharing something he’d wanted me to keep to myself. “Although obviously that doesn’t narrow it down. He told me his first name’s definitely Jake, and that he either uses Jake or something close to it whenever he’s on a job, which matches with him going by Jack in Connecticut.”

“Thatwillhelp,” Damien says, “but Lainey, you shouldn’t be alone with this guy, and you definitely shouldn’t break into that house with him. Put him off. If he gets that necklace, he’ll take itand run. We’ll never see him again. You don’t want to be on the hook for that if it comes out that you helped him.”

Nicole groans, then says, “Fine. I’m coming back from Charlotte. I’ll break into the suit’s house with you, Lainey. We’ve got this. No problem.”

“No,” Damien says sharply. “Wait for me. I’m on a five o’clock flight. I’ll be home this evening.”

But not early enough to coincide with the Halloween play.

Maybe I’m a fool, a dupe, and a patsy, but I’m not going to lie down and let my friends solve this for me. I’m a woman who handles her own damn problems. I’m going to confront Jake

Whatever-The-Fuck-His-Last-Name-Is. And I’m going to do it tonight.

I will find out what’s real and what’s not.

And until I know?

I’ll be damned if I let him take that necklace.

CHAPTER THIRTY

JAKE

Message from ASSHOLE

Tick-tock.

The last few days have been a blur of working on my graphic novel, doing work for the Love Fixers, and preparing for tonight. I’ve done drive-bys of Anthony’s two-story arts and crafts house in North Asheville—the swanky part, different from where the apartment building is located. The houses there have gone all out with decorating for Halloween, and one house has so many realistic skeletons and zombies in their yard it’s obvious they dislike children and would love to give them nightmares. Anthony’s house doesn’t even have a single carved pumpkin on its stoop.

I’ve also studied the house on Google Maps so I can eye the layout and identify the best entry point—in the back, away from the neighbors’ prying eyes—and the best place to leave our vehicle: the parking lot at a trailhead located behind their home.

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