Page 17 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

Shrugging off my leather bag, I unzip it and withdraw the hard case nestled inside. Then I open it, revealing the ornament. The overhead light plays with the crystals embedded in the glass, as if the damn thing’s happy to be home.

Grandma Edith will never get to see it now. She’ll never know what I did to get it back to her…

Truth is, I’ve spent the last year trying to be the man Edith Whitman thought I could be. Most of the time, I’ve failed spectacularly. But I can be like a bulldog when I latch on to anidea, and I’d latched on to the idea of becoming a man she would be proud to call her friend and Jake would again be proud to call his brother.

The result?

It’s been a bumpy road, but I finally broken ties with my boss, Roark, a couple of months ago. I convinced Javier and his buddy, Roark’s other muscle, to do the same, and together we’d stolen back some of the valuable things he’d taken from other people.

Javier and his friend, the unfortunately nicknamed Bad Mike, took most of the haul to sell, but first I rescued two things: the watch that led to my falling-out with my brother and the ornament that rightfully belonged to Grandma Edith.

Is Roark feeling vengeful?

Probably.

But without his muscle or Jake and me, he’s just an old man. Too old for the game he was playing. Besides, while he might want to stab me in the back, he’d have to find me first, and he would never look for me here. Only an idiot would return to the scene of a crime.

It’s a well-known fact that Iaman idiot, but my former boss thinks everyone is as mercenary as he is. He’d never dream of giving away what could be sold. So he’ll assume I want to sell, same as Javier and Bad Mike are doing.

So if he’s looking for us, it’ll be on the dark web.

I get the sense that, like Bad Mike, Javier isn’t looking to go clean, but I don’t hold it against him. He’s a buddy of many years’ standing, which he’s proven many times over. Like when he helped me track down my brother, who had indeed left New York City.

Jake is living near Asheville, North Carolina now, and he’s got himself a girlfriend and a job.

He has a whole life that doesn’t involve me, and for all I know, he’d like to keep it that way.

Maybe I should let him.

I have his phone number, but I haven’t dialed it yet. He doesn’t have mine, because all I have with me is my junk phone. I guess he could email me, and maybe he has, but I haven’t checked the account. Can’t bring myself to, in case there’s nothing there.

I’ve changed, but a voice in my head suggests it’s not enough.

I pick up the box and run my fingers gently over the spikes of the sweetgum ornament. They bite.

Part of me wants to head downstairs, hang the ornament on Anabelle’s tree beneath the flat stares of over a hundred Santas, and be done with this place.

I’d promised to return, and I did. With the ornament, no less. Most people would agree that I’ve fulfilled my duty, done and dusted. I can leave Williamsburg so I can start figuring out what the hell a retired criminal with zero skills at anything else can do with his life.

I can get over myself and visit my brother.

But then there’s the letter…

Setting the ornament aside, I tug the note out of my pocket again, my gaze running over Edith’s perfect penmanship.

Dear Ryan,

Unfortunately, if you’re reading this, I didn’t make it. Believe me, I tried. I wanted to greet you here with some hot chocolate and hear your story. I imagine it would be an entertaining one. But our plans mean little to the universe, and mine, alas, will not come to pass.

I know you came back, Ryan. I have faith that you’re sitting in my parlor, reading this note. Inside of you, there’s a man of honor, of integrity. I might not have been able to see clearly through my eyes, but I’ve always counted myself an excellent judge of a person’s character.

Which brings me to my next point.

You have your own life, your own plans, I am sure. But I’m asking you for a favor, dear boy.

Anabelle is in trouble. She’s still with Weston, the heel, and I’m worried she’ll stay with him. I’m also concerned she’ll be in over her head with running the inn alone, if she has chosen to keep it open.

I’m begging you, boy. Stay until Christmas. I believe you two can help each other. I’m praying for it.

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