Page 131 of Stolen for Keeps
I squinted. “That you’d only move here if someone built you a wine bar inside a courthouse?”
He grinned. “That, and the fact that I’m already cleared. I represented a Hollywood producer here years ago. The idiot staged a fake shootout for a film scene without permits. Cops swarmed the place mid-take, thinking it was real.”
My brows hit the ceiling. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Made the six o’clock news. Judge gave him a public service fine, and the sheriff walked away with a signed photo for his wall.”
I shook my head. “What a life.”
Somehow, after all these years, he still had stories I hadn’t heard. But right now, I didn’t care how wild they were. I was just grateful he was here. Because we were going to need every legal angle, every loophole, and probably a miracle or two.
“So, my friend,” Dom said. “The court remembers me, and I’ve still got my local sponsor on file. I’ll refile if they ask.”
Maya brought over three plates, along with a tray of mac and cheese, crispy on the edges, creamy in the middle. She doled out generous servings. Comfort food with zero apology.
Lunch faded into the clink of spoons and the churn of the ice cream maker. A brief illusion of peace—Maya even took a second helping—but as soon as we settled again, Dom went in.
“Maya,” he said, his voice razor-clean. “Tell me again about Annamaria and that assault charge.”
Her fingers knotted in her lap, twisting like they needed somewhere to send the tension. She sat upright, but I could see it. The way her shoulders stiffened, and the way her jaw stayed clenched as she spoke.
“I thought I was alone in the house that night,” Maya said. “In, out, done. That was the plan. But she was there. I didn’t see her. I just heard a noise. I thought it was my own footsteps. Or maybe the bird that flew off when I opened the balcony door.”
Dom nodded his head. “I’ve seen the photos. The bruises were real. But the doctor’s report was useless. No cause, no timing. Just a list of where she was marked up. It read like someone checking boxes. But it was enough to tip things against you.”
“I know,” she said, her voice tight. “But those bruises weren’t from me.”
Dom leaned forward. “Then we need to find out where she really got them. What about the glove?”
Maya’s expression shifted into that hopeless anger. “The one with my hair under the button? Planted. Harlow must’ve lifted a strand from my car. That morning, I caught him snooping around inside. He must’ve slipped it in.”
Dom simply gave that unreadable nod of his. Calm on the outside, calculating underneath. He’d probably already suspected as much.
“And the DNA results came through the next morning,” she added. “Too fast. Like they already had them.”
I pressed my fingers to my brow, tension burning behind my eyes. My mind was already racing to the next step. What Harlow had set in motion and what he was willing to fake, twist, or destroy just to get her locked up again.
Maya rubbed her arms. “Have you found the evidence they’re using now? From the second heist?”
“No,” Dom said. “Not yet. If there even is any. It could’ve been planted again. Same tactic, different stage. But the silence tells me they’re holding something and letting the tension do the work.”
She drew her mouth tight, not trusting herself to speak.
“Maya,” Dom said, leaning in. “You were close to Annamaria. Can you think of anything—anything—that might explain those bruises four years ago?”
“You think there’s a pattern we can use?” I asked.
“Possibly,” Dom answered.
Maya shook her head. “She was never one for confrontation. Not with strangers, not with me. My best guess? It was an accident. She tripped on something and fell face-first into a drawer? Who knows?”
Dom sat with that for a long moment, his silence heavy in the air.
“All right. I’ll dig,” he determined. “I’ll find out what Harlow’s holding. And if there’s something in her history that can help us, I’ll uncover it.”
Maya’s voice softened. “Thank you, Dom. For going all in for me.”
He didn’t smile. He just said, “I don’t take cases halfway. If I’m in, I see it through.”
