Page 118 of Stolen for Keeps
She couldn’t come herself, not after sending a ski-mask-wearing thug. She knew she wouldn’t get past Noah. Not with The Lazy Moose crew holding the line.
Elia and Claire would’ve cut her off before she got within shouting distance. And Hank? Right or wrong, big or small, he didn’t ask questions. He defended. Period. And the boys would follow his lead.
So this? This was her next move. Or her father’s. Same difference.
A desperate one.
I’d bet my last dime that she was paying this lowlife a fortune to reach me. Tried going cheap with the first guy and sent a knife, thinking I’d break.
She miscalculated.
“Detective Harlow, how can I be of service?” I asked, keeping my voice smooth and my expression neutral.
Harlow tilted his head, all smug confidence. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?” he mused. “Last time I saw you, Belrose, you were eighteen and running your mouth about how you didn’t do it.”
“I admitted I took the necklace,” I said, unblinking. “But I didn’t assault anyone.”
He chuckled, shaking his head like I was some cute littleliar. “Sure. And how about this time? No one was assaulted. But curiously, the same necklace has gone missing.”
“Wow,” I said dryly. “So it wasn’t just me who was after it.”
Harlow’s amusement flickered, then drained away as he leaned in, his voice dropping to something meant to rattle me. “Have you heard about another burglary at the Belrose Mansion?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It’s kinda far from here to take notice.”
His lips curved, but his eyes stayed sharp as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Where were you on the morning of September thirtieth, between five and seven?”
The exact date I’d fed that thug. So they’d taken the bait.
Harlow was watching me, waiting for the slip, the tell. “Ms. Belrose?”
And then a shadow loomed over the table.
Noah.
He didn’t say a word at first, but the tension in the diner shifted, ready to snap. The charm that usually rounded his edges was gone. What remained was a man who had already assessed the threat level and was one second away from action.
His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was deciding whether to go for words or something more direct. Harlow must’ve sensed the shift because he stiffened, his eyes darting toward the exit.
Noah stepped in close, crowding Harlow. My man was one second away from dragging the cop out of the booth. But he didn’t. Barely.
“You’re at the wrong table, sir.”
Harlow leaned back. Not exactly rattled, but not nearly as smug as before. “Relax, cowboy. We’re just having a chat.”
Noah’s fingers curled around the edge of the table. “Yeah,see, that’s the part I’ve got a problem with. The way you’re talking to her. Like you’ve got some kind of right.” He smiled then, but it was all a threat. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re gonna cut your little chat, get up, and walk out before I decide to stop being polite.”
“Noah,” I warned.
He stepped aside, giving Harlow a wide path.
Harlow made the right choice, keeping his sorry mouth shut and shuffling his way out of the booth.
Maggie appeared from behind the counter, drying her hands on a dish towel, her eyes sharp as tacks as she glanced between me, Noah, and the detective still dragging his heels. “Noah, everything okay?”
“It’s fine, Maggie,” he said, his voice even but firm. “Sorry about the noise.”
She huffed a chuckle. “Hey, diners thrive on noise! Let me know if you need anything.” Then, after glancing at the out-of-towner, she added, “And I see the sheriff’s just outside.”
