Page 2 of Stolen for Keeps
My mother had begged him to return it. Shealmostswayed him. She could be convincing like that. But not enough to go up against Princess Annamaria, who had already dreamed about a Hollywood wedding at sixteen. Antique diamonds were hot among celebrities then. At the end of the day, David didn’t do what was right. He did what his daughter wanted.
Well, next time she could grovel for it on her wedding day!
I lifted the necklace with gloved hands. Then, it went into my pouch. I closed the vault and walked out of the office. Clean. There was no trace that I’d ever been there.
Except…
I heard a faint sound.
I froze, my ears straining. Steps—too light for security, too heavy for a mouse.
My pulse kicked up, but I moved fast, slipping out the way I came. The night swallowed me whole, with the necklace pressed against my chest.
Before I disappeared into the tunnel, I glanced up toward the French doors, but there was nothing. Just a bird taking offfrom a ledge, its wings tapping against the glass. I exhaled, shaking off the tension.
I’d done it. I’d taken back what was rightfully my mother’s.
Bozeman,Montana – three days later
Sunlight poured through the kitchen window, warming my arms and catching the faint dusting of flour on my fingers. The whisk moved effortlessly in my hand, the rhythm smooth, almost meditative. Sugar blended into butter, the scent of vanilla thick in the air.
This was how mornings should be. The hum of the oven preheating, the tap of eggs against the bowl, and the certainty that today, at least, something good would happen.
The doorbell rang.
I wiped my hands against my apron, barely glancing up as I padded toward the door, expecting a delivery. The package for Mom, maybe. It was her birthday after all.
But it wasn’t a package.
Two men stood on the porch. One wore a police uniform. And the other, a dark suit and a tilted hat.
“Maya Belrose?” the man in the suit asked, tipping his hat.
I calmed my jumping pulse. Maybe this was about the guy who’d tried to steal my car the other night. It was possible a neighbor had seen something—or had the same thing happen—and reported it.
“I’m Detective Harlow,” he said. Then, he gestured to the officer beside him. “This is Officer Ramirez. We’re investigating a burglary that took place three days ago.”
Something cold slithered down my spine. “Okay…”
“Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
“Of course not,” I said, though my stomach twisted tightly.
“May we come in?”
Before I could respond, my father appeared behind me, his voice firm. “How can I help you, gentlemen?”
Harlow didn’t even glance at him. “Ah, we just need to ask Miss Belrose a few questions.”
“What’s this about?” Dad pressed, stepping up beside me, a barrier between me and them.
“We received a report of a burglary,” Harlow said. “We’re following up.”
“In this neighborhood?” Dad scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Not here. Bridger Canyon.”
A beat of silence.
