Page 118 of Under Daddy's Spell

Except her bill from the bursar’s office was still sitting on her desk in her apartment, waiting to be paid. She remembered the balance due because the number in bold type—$1378.24—had burned into her brain. It might as well have been thirty thousand since she still had to buy books, a campus parking pass, get groceries, and pay rent.

What she earned tonight would cover only a fraction of what she needed.

She eyed the stack of coats on the bed. It was oh-so tempting.

They were wealthy, and no one would miss a fifty here or a twenty there.

She closed her eyes, fighting the internal battle being waged between hard-working Krista, the good girl she’d become, and the misbehaving teenager she’d left behind. The one with the juvenile record, who wouldn’t think twice about taking what she needed, without remorse and blaming the victim for not securing their money in the first place.

If she did it, she’d prove the old adage of the apple not falling far from the tree.

Standing there with a mountain of debt weighing her down, she knew she would come up short and be purged from her classes. She’d be a semester further away from her goal, in addition to being broke, having a piece-of-shit car that half the time wouldn’t start, and in her same crappy apartment. No matter how hard she tried, she came up empty—a lot like her gas tank right now.

But no one cared, no one cut her any slack, or offered her a helping hand. And while she could sit there feeling sorry for herself, she didn’t. Instead, she got pissed. Mostly at her mother, who was responsible for all of this, but also at her father, who should have been here to offer love and guidance, or simply give her a come-to-Jesus, get-your-head-out-of-your-ass lecture.

She cursed fate more than anything. It had been dicking with her since she was twelve years old, and still wasn’t finished, getting its jollies by taunting her tonight, evidently. Why else would it drop a wad of cash at her feet?

Slowly, as if her fingers were operating independently from her brain, she slid a twenty out of the clip. When alarm bells didn’t sound and a cop didn’t immediately jump out of the closet and haul her away in cuffs, she took another and tucked them both in her apron.

Like an addict discovering a stash—only her drug of choice wasn’t crack but money—she searched through the other coats, shoving bills in her pocket. She was wrong; millionaires didn’t carry twenties and fifties, they mostly had one-hundred-dollar bills. In no time, she had amassed a sum equal to what she owed, but crack and greed are powerful addictions, and she kept going.

Her frenzied search came to a grinding halt when she hit the mother lode—a long, narrow jewelry box inside an evening bag.

She stared down at it, hands trembling, her heart pounding in her throat. Although she knew she shouldn’t, Krista opened it. Upon seeing the contents, she almost swallowed her tongue. On a bed of black velvet lay a silver choker inlaid with a row of glittering diamonds. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Only, considering the number and size of the stones, she doubted it was silver and more likely white gold or platinum. It had to cost a small fortune.

While practically drooling over the gorgeous piece, she suddenly came to her senses.

“What are you doing?” she whispered aloud.

A sour feeling settled heavy in her stomach. She’d worked in food service since she was sixteen. When something went missing, it was always the service staff who got blamed. Worse, since she had been the only one taking coats tonight, she’d be the prime suspect.

Frantically, she started putting everything back.

“You’ve worked too damn hard to fuck things up now,” she muttered, but quickly discovered another problem. She had no idea how much went where.

Betting the wealthy probably didn’t keep track down to the dollar, she divvied up the bills two at a time. A purse got two fifties, as did the pocket of a black overcoat, and the money clip that had nearly caused her to relapse into a life of crime got its forty bucks. She held a stack of bills in her hands and the jewelry box still lay open on the bed—who knew it would be harder to return things than to take them—when she heard footsteps in the hall.

Paralyzed with fear, her lungs ceased working, and her heart felt like it lurched to a halt. Her eyes shifted to the door as she prayed for the steps to fade away.

But the prayers of a would-be thief must be low on the priority scale for the man upstairs. The footsteps drew close—too close—and Krista was mere seconds from being caught red-handed if whoever it was decided to come in here.

Panicked, and lacking a better hiding place, she shoved the money deep inside her apron pocket and tossed the coats she’d dropped on the pile with the others. At the last second, she spotted the black evening bag lying open in plain sight. She grabbed for it, snapped it shut, and sent it flying like a Frisbee toward the bed. It skidded over the top, smacked the wall with a thud, then slid behind the headboard, disappearing just as the hinges on the door squeaked and it swung inward.

Krista spun, her hands flying behind her even though they were empty. It was a rookie mistake she wouldn’t have made at fifteen. Being on the straight and narrow for six years, her skills had grown rusty. She forced her gaze to the man who stood in the now open doorway.

He was huge, taller than the frame, so he had to duck to enter, with broad shoulders so wide she was surprised he didn’t have to turn sideways to get through. If there was anyone with him, she couldn’t tell because his big body blocked everything in the hall behind him. Not that she would have noticed—his thick wavy hair, compelling dark eyes, and ruggedly handsome face, in addition to his intimidating presence, captured her full attention.

Folded over one arm was a fleece-lined coat, and he held a white Stetson clutched in his hand, which she found odd since this was the southeast coast, not Texas. Both items had a sheen of wetness from the wintry mix of sleet and snow that had been falling for the past hour. Winter storms were a rarity this far south; she’d only seen snow once in the twelve years she’d lived here.

Was it a full moon? If not, something bizarre was in the air for sure.

“What are you doing in here?” the late arrival asked, his low drawl full of suspicion.

“I, uh...was just...um—” She jerked her head toward the bed, blurting out the truth, mostly. “I’m working here tonight and was dropping off some coats.”

His dark eyes dipped to her hands, which she immediately brought forward, proving they were empty. When he didn’t say anything more, just stared at her with an assessing gaze, she couldn’t keep them from trembling. Her grandpa, who’d been an avid card player, would call it a tell, and this man didn’t miss it.

“You seem mighty nervous for someone on an innocent errand.” He walked forward slowly, leaving the shadows of the doorway and into the full light of the room. “How about you try again with the truth, girl?”

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