Page 62 of Presley's Christmas Catch
I shake my head. “I feel so stupid.”
Thomas laughs. “I hope it deters you from a life of crime, if anything.”
“I promise.” I tilt my head at him. “So then you hid it at my apartment because…?”
He swallows, the amusement draining from his expression quickly. “When Shan and I got home from the party, she found the ring box in my jacket. She didn’t know the ring was famous or anything, and I hadn’t told her about my undercover assignment. She thought…” He clears his throat. “She thought I was going to propose. We’d tabled the proposal discussion when she got her diagnosis—her idea.”
“I know.” We were all aware that Thomas and Aunt Shannon were arguing over getting married, that she insisted she wouldn’t saddle him with an invalid so he could play nursemaidin her last years. “But how come she didn’t recognize the ring?” I knew what it was the moment I found it.
“I don’t know if you remember, but the Westcotts didn’t tell us at the party what had been stolen—just said something of great value to them. The family and the police didn’t release that it was the Christmas Ring until … later.”
Meaning, after Shannon had died. She never knew what she had.
“She…” He pauses, closing his eyes as he tries to compose himself, but his words come out soft anyway. “She was excited. And then she pretended to get mad about me ignoring her wishes, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her what the ring was for, because I had to argue with her about letting me take care of her.” He clenches his fist on the table, his frustration with her evident. And that must be complicated to deal with along with the grief. Mom and Aunt Shannon got into a couple arguments about Thomas, about Aunt Shannon pushing him away after her diagnosis. One of the few times I heard my mom raise her voice to Aunt Shannon was to tell her how stupid she was being, that Thomas loved her, and he was a good man. Then Mom had gasped, started crying, and pulled Aunt Shannon into her arms.
I can still hear their voices, their sobs, when Aunt Shannon cried that she couldn’t do this to him.
Tears run down my cheeks now in earnest. It feels as fresh as the day Mom called, crying so hard she couldn’t get the words out and Dad had to take the phone to tell me Aunt Shannon was gone. “She was so stubborn,” I whisper.
He nods, but he doesn’t go on yet. I reach across to him again with both hands, and he puts his in mine. Finally he clears his throat. “The next morning, the guys on the heist crew we thought were small-time got caught up with some terrorists, and I ended up on a flight to Albania. Everything happened fast—the addition of terrorists to the case had pushed the ring completely out of my mind, and the FBI thought I’d handed it off to my partner already. My partner thought I had it with me to play mypart. By the time we realized everything, Shannon was gone. And so was the ring.” He lets out a long, resigned breath. “The only explanation we could come up with was that another player we weren’t aware of tracked me and Shannon home and stole it after I left. FBI forensics combed over the scene, making sure it was nothing more than an accident.” He shrugs. “I don’t know why she put it in your box, Presley. That’s the only thing I don’t know.”
I think back to the morning that Mom found Aunt Shannon. She had fallen sometime the night before. When Mom couldn’t get a hold of Thomas right away, she’d called the FBI. He’d gotten home late that night, and as I think back to the fear in his eyes then, it makes sense. He’d thought his job had gotten Shannon killed.
“Itwasan accident?” I say to confirm they didn’t find out anything later.
“Yeah. No sign of anyone else playing a part, and everything lined up with what seemed to have happened.”
In other words, Aunt Shannon lost her footing, thanks to the ALS beginning to rob her of her strength in her limbs, and fell headfirst into her wooden coffee table, knocking her out, giving her a massive brain bleed that killed her within hours since she couldn’t call for help. Mom agonized for months after Aunt Shannon’s death about all the things she should have done, things they’d talked about for the future. Aunt Shannon’s diagnosis was less than a year old. They thought they had time to think about a caregiver who checked on her regularly or moving in with Mom and Dad.
Thomas and I sit in silence, both of us remembering the days that followed Aunt Shannon’s death and the shock that reverberated through us. Mom would say things like, “She hated the idea of us having to take care of her like she was a baby,” trying to find some sliver of comfort in what had happened, and it never worked.
“Well,” I say, breaking the silence. “That all means we know one thing, Thomas.”
He squints at me, his eyebrows coming together. “And what is that?”
“She was definitely going to say yes.”
He pats my hand, tears in his eyes, and then pulls away. “Let’s get you out of here. There’s averylarge man out there threatening all kinds of things, and we should avoid him getting arrested if we can.”
I blush. “He had nothing to do with this,” I say for good measure. Despite the fact that I’m basically innocent in all of this and Thomas can prove it, Brock and I still concealed stolen property, and who knows what other crimes. If Brock annoys LAPD enough, they might decide to charge him with something.
Thomas chuckles. “Sure, Pres. Sure.”
CHAPTER 27
BROCK
So much for grand gestures.
I have at least ten text messages from the Former Best Friend’s Club asking how my planned serenade to Presley went, and each one is increasingly desperate. Eli is now sending commiserating texts, telling me he gets how it feels to be rejected, since he thought Court had rejected him, and he’s coming up with a plan. I haven’t answered any of them. How do I explain that before I could even start singing, Presley got arrested for stealing a priceless family heirloom that turned out to be worth over three million dollars?
When Presley told me about her plan, warning bells rang in my head but I ignored them. I thought I was being dramatic, and the Christmas party would be the perfect opportunity to tell Presley I have feelings for her in a big way to make up for rejecting her.
I’m driving Presley to her apartment now, where I’m going to tell her the truth about how I feel and kiss her for a while.
That sounds like a perfect grand gesture right about now.
At least I’m holding her hand, and she hasn’t said anything.
