Page 108 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“You think we don’t know you’re behind this?” I hiss through clenched teeth. He looks so damn pleased with himself, and I guess he should be. He’s probably going to get away with it. Rich, self-important assholes almost always do.

He smirks at me, his eyes a pale blue—like they’ve sat in the sun so long the color’s washed out. “I’m rich, Ryan. What would I want with a bunch of tag sale trash?”

From the way he says it—with his sneer and taunting tone—I know he’s not just talking about Anabelle’s precious belongings. He’s talking about the love of my life. So I don’t think. I just lunge forward and punch him in the face. Exactly the way he wanted me to.

Five minutes later, Officer Asshole is dragging me out of the B&B and cuffing me, in full view of dozens of tourists.

Here I go again, creating a mess, when all I wanted to do was avoid one.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ANABELLE

Santas: 1, and he’s in jail!!!

Emotional breakdowns: Does it count as more than one if it lasts for longer than a few hours?

“He did what?” I squeak, sitting up in the bed. Saint Nick yowls, and I gather him up in my arms, needing the reassurance of his soft orange fur.

Joe must have called Cynthia, because she’s standing by the bed with him. She’s wearing a too-big sweatshirt that has to be Jeremy’s, and her hair is a mass of messy curls. I have no idea what time it is, or about anything but the emotions throbbing inside me—so many of them, I can’t hope to untangle them. The overall feeling is a sense of deep unease. Of everything being horribly wrong and so messy there’s not a broom in existence that could clean it up.

Cynthia shoves a glass tumbler at me, and I don’t question her—I grab it and slug down a mouthful, cringing a little at the earthy bite of the whiskey. But it pools needed warmth inmy stomach. She takes the glass back from me, her expression pinched.

Joe rubs his face nervously. “I’m trying to think of a nice way to say this, Anabelle.”

I’m brought back to the beginning of the month, when I said much the same thing to Ryan about my grandmother. I often take pleasure and reassurance in echoes, but I don’t feel that way at the moment as I repeat Ryan’s line back to Joe: “There probably is no nice way.”

He furrows his brow. “Yeah…I guess not. So…I don’t think Craig was behind this at all.”

“No one believed Craig was behind it,” I mutter numbly.

“Weston made an appearance, and he was a dick. It was super obvious he’d arranged the theft, so Ryan punched him in the face. It was awesome actually. I mean, damn, Ryan is really strong. I think he broke Weston’s nose. But he did it in front of the cop, and the cop put him in handcuffs, arrested him, and dragged him off in his squad car.”

“Oh my God,” I say, new fear engulfing me like a cocoon. First, I thought I might have lost Joe, just like I lost Grandma Edith a few months ago, and then I found out someone had taken the collection I’d spent years piecing together, not to mention every last ornament except the one that we’d hidden. But losing Ryan…that’s unthinkable. Even worse to imagine him in some jail cell by himself. Three days before Christmas.

I’ve never truly hated anyone before now, but I hate Weston. Ihatehim. The memory of having ever touched him with anything but the intent to injure is so completely repulsive to me.

Tears run down my face, and in this moment, I hate myself too. If I hadn’t melted down earlier, then Ryan wouldn’t have gone downstairs alone. I could have held him back. I could havekept him from playing Weston’s stupid games, the way I had in the past.

“It’s okay,” Cynthia says, leaning in and rubbing my shoulder. She probably means to do it gently, but I suspect Cynthia doesn’t know how to do anything gently. “My dad’s a defense lawyer, and he brought Jeremy with him as his assistant. They’re down at the police station working to get Ryan out on bail.”

“Your dad went with Jeremy?”

It’s a stupid detail to latch onto, but she smiles. “Yeah, so we’re all screwed, I guess.”

I smile for half a second, which is all I have in me. “I’ll cover whatever it costs, of course.”

I don’t have a lot of money in my bank account, especially after replacing the pipes and wiring, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll sell the ornament if I have to. I’ll strip the inn of any antique that’s worth more than a few bucks. I’m going to get Ryan out, and I will not, under any circumstances, allow Weston to win.

“We’ll all chip in,” Cynthia says firmly, rubbing my shoulder again. It’s still uncomfortable, but I appreciate the sentiment behind it too much to tell her to stop. “Ryan’s important to all of us.”

A rush of warmth fills me as Joe nods in agreement. I can tell they mean it—and I know how much it will mean to him to realize he’s so loved by all of us.

Joe blurts out, “There’s more, Anabelle.”

“More?” I ask, my voice coming out weakly.

“Someone was outside taking photos of Ryan being walked out. It was a total setup, and photos are already circulating online.” He gulps air. “There are kids reposting them, telling the police department tofree Santa. Someone tagged Curio.”

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