Page 99 of The Love Bandits

“What I came here to do.”

I’m furious with myself. I let myself forget why I was here. Despite those daily texts from Roark, I let myself forget that thiswhole thing is about saving Ryan—the one person who reallydoestrust and rely on me. It was stupid of me to think otherwise, to let myself get pulled into these peoples’ lives as if I could matter to them.

It was like that when I was a kid. Ryan and I would get used to a foster home, we’d come to rely on it. And then, once again, we’d be taken away and brought to a new one. The only person who lasted for him was me, and me for him.

It’s better not to rely on other people, and smarter not to rely on them so quickly.

Still, those dandelion seeds are inside of me. I’m riddled with them. With sprouts of love for this woman who’s staring at me, again, like I’m an accident that dared to dirty the bottom of her shoe.

So I look away and start to pick through the trees that’ll eventually land me in Anthony Rosings Smith’s backyard.

She’s quiet, but I hear her moving right beside me, lithe and graceful as always, but angry. Really fucking angry.

Well, so am I. Mostly, I’m angry at myself, but I’m angry at her too. I’m angry that she’d think so little of me that I’d lie about Ryan, and lie a lot.

The two-story house looms in front of us through the trees, visible long before we reach the yard. No fence. No cameras, or at least Mrs. Rosings told Lainey there aren’t any. Anthony wants to live a ‘normal’ life. The house is a dark blue that’s vaguely depressing, as if it’s somewhere light goes to die. The roof is metal and modern and probably makes it sound like popcorn is popping whenever it rains.

Elaine grabs my arm, her touch radiating through me. “They’re gone. Mrs. Rosings just texted me.”

“Fantastic,” I say tightly, taking another step.

She tugs harder. “Jake, I’m not going to let you take that necklace if it’s here.”

“Try and stop me,” I say, even though I’m pretty sure she fucking could. I’d die before hurting her, and if she got the jump on me, the way she did at Smith House, I might not be able to dislodge her without doing her harm.

I make my way to the back door, Elaine still gripping my arm. But when we reach it, she drops her hold. In mutual agreement, we creep around the side of the house to verify that there’s only one car in the driveway before returning to our spot at the back door. She lets me take out my toolkit, but I can feel her watching me with disdain. With the bitter knowledge that I’ve done this before. It makes me feel like a stain on humanity, and even though it’s not fair, I resent her for that.

For treating me like someone who deserved to be loved and then realizing what everyone else has: that a man who does bad things is, deep down, a bad man.

I get to work with my tools, and after a couple of minutes the lock clicks over.

“You sold yourself short,” she says, her voice bitter. “I’d give you at least an A-.”

I ignore her. I don’t look at her. I can’t.

I just swing the door wider and let her follow me in, hearing the slight creak as she closes it behind us, leaving us in the darkness of a living room. It’s smaller than I would have thought, with a sedate but classy beige sofa, love seat, and chair set, an expensive-as-fuck-looking coffee table, and a flat screen TV. There’s some framed art propped against the wall, as if Anthony and Nina couldn’t agree about what to put up so decided on nothing—or maybe she took down what he already had up.

From what little he’s told me, I’m guessing it’s the latter.

“I’m not going to let you take it,” Elaine reminds me.

“The way my day is going, it’s probably not even in here.” I sigh. “We should probably split up so we can get through the house quicker.”

She laughs without any humor. “Yeah, right. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

“Okay, ball and chain,” I say flatly. “Where do you suggest we start?”

“The bedroom.”

“Too obvious,” I say. “I’m guessing the kitchen.”

A snort escapes her as she surveys the bland room, taking in the same details I noticed. “You think either of them cook?”

“No,” I say pointedly. “That’s why we’re starting in there. She’d want to hide it somewhere he wouldn’t easily find it.”

We go through every cupboard, look inside every dusty glass and bowl. Nothing.

So I let Lainey decide where to look next. There’s nothing in the bedroom, but it’s worth noting that it doesn’t look like two people have been sleeping in here. There’s a king bed with slate gray covers and an amount of throw pillows that suggests a woman’s touch. One nightstand has a glass of water, aSouthern Livingmagazine with reading tabs, and an iPad. The other small table is completely empty.

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