Page 117 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“He wouldn’t do that. He’d keep them as leverage. Or tokens. But I’m guessing he would keep them close. He wouldn’t want anyone knowing what he’s done.”

Hope sparks in her eyes, followed by awhat the heck, Ryan?look of horror. “You arenotbreaking into his house. He has an alarm system.”

I hesitate, not wanting to remind her of the way I used to live my life, before I admit, “That won’t be a problem.”

“But itwillbe a problem if he catches you.”

I grit my teeth, not liking this next part of my plan but recognizing it’s the best way to keep Weston busy. “Tell him you want to discuss selling the inn. Cynthia can go with you, and you can text me before he leaves.”

She considers this for only half a second before shaking her head, her hair brushing my chest. “I’m not going to risk you. If you get found in there, you’ll be in much bigger trouble. Besides, what would you do if you found them?”

“Steal them back,” I say with a harsh laugh. “How’s he going to report us for taking something he supposedly doesn’t have?”

“So he can try something like this again?” she challenges.

She has a point. Ole Westie would be as pissed off as a wet hornet. But…

“Let me find out if he has them and where. Then we can figure out what to do next. Maybe we can call in an anonymous tip. Convince the police to do a search.”

“Ryan,” she says with a sigh. “Don’t you think there’s a very good chance they’ll do a routine search anyway? Weston would never keep them somewhere they could so easily be found. I don’t think they’re at his place.”

Shit, she’s right.

“Then where would he keep them?”

A little crease cuts between her eyebrows. I run my finger over it. Her lips part but not in pleasure. “I’m afraid I might know the answer to that,” she says after a moment, “and I don’t like it one bit.”

“I probably won’t either, then.”

She tells me, and I was right—Idon’tlike it one bit. I’m also not terribly surprised.

“So how do we handle this?” I ask.

She sits straight up, her legs on either side of my waist. I can tell from the unconscious way she does it that she has no idea straddling me with her tempting bare chest on display could make me forget Weston even exists.

“I have an idea.”

“So do I,” I say, thrusting my hips up, and her smile is the best reward a man could claim. Okay, the second best. “Can your idea wait five minutes?”

“Oh, I think this will take longer than that.”

God help me, this woman is going to be the life and death of me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

ANABELLE

Sunday, December 23, 2 days until Christmas

Terrifying plans: 1

“I’ve changed my mind,” I say. “I don’t think it’s a good idea anymore. It may be a horrible idea.”

“Too late.” Ryan traces his hand down my hair. “No take-backsies.”

We’re sitting in the parlor with Cynthia, Jeremy, and Joe. Ryan and I are on the sofa with Joe, while Cynthia and Jeremy are on the love seat. It’s their lunch break, and we’re discussing Operation Save Christmas.

Unprincipled though he is, Stanley the Serpent at least left our trees. They’re frightfully bare, though, and I long for my little men in red. Even Ryan said he was surprised by how much he misses “the little suckers.” Of course, he didn’t say suckers.

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