Page 121 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

RYAN

Group text

Cynthia: Krampus has left the North Pole.

Cynthia: I repeat, Krampus has left the North Pole.

Jeremy: You don’t need to do that unless you’re on a radio, Cynth.

Cynthia: You’re no fun.

Jeremy: Not what you said this morning.

Ryan: What happened this morning?

Ryan: Also, when do you think he’s going to the station?

Cynthia: Krampus has gone to the ranger station.

Cynthia: Repeat, Krampus has gone to the ranger station.

Jeremy and I are drinking coffee in a park across from Weston’s house, both of us wearing dark colors and plenty of layers to keep from being noticed. We’re too far away to be heard and probably too far for anyone without perfect vision to identify.

Westie just walked in with two police officers, the three of them shooting the shit as if they’re bros headed out for a drink.

At least he’s not with the guy who arrested me last night.

“You think they’ll find it?” Jeremy asks nervously.

“Hell if I know,” I say, tossing my empty coffee cup into the trash a foot away from our bench so I can run my hands through my hair. I’m working on a few hours of sleep and starting to feel it. We took a chance, and if it doesn’t pan out, we may have just given the man who wants to ruin Anabelle and me exactly what he wants. I can’t stop fidgeting. It’s like I’ve been body-swapped back into my middle school self.

We sit around for fifteen minutes. Twenty.

“Is it always boring like this?” Jeremy asks, swinging his legs as he glances at the house, where nothing appears to be happening. It’s a modern house with small, slit windows and grey siding. Inside, there’s an open floor plan and minimalist furniture, which should take less time to search.

I fidget some more. “Yeah, mostly.”

It’s not totally true—the adrenaline’s addictive—but I don’t want to do my friend a disservice and lead him into a life of crime. This needs to be a one-and-done experience for Jeremy Jacobs. And my last act of breaking and entering.

Five minutes later, Jeremy leans forward, as if he can squint his way into seeing through the funky windows. “What are they doing in there? Watching home videos of the first time he ate spinach as a baby?”

“Is that what you do when you have people over?” I ask, amused.

“I’ll have everyone over after Christmas. You’re in for a treat.”

I laugh, but everything inside of me is still on alert.

“They’re gonna find it,” I mutter to myself.

Our mission went something like this…

Anabelle figured Weston would never leave the Santas lying around his house, knowing there was a chance the cops might ask to search it.

So we couldn’t break in and steal them back.

But we could break in and plant the expensive-ass ornament he’d hoped to steal from her, which she’d reported missing this morning, along with the other treasures that had actually been stolen.

---