The Last Heist (Pretty Thieves Book 1)

by Samantha Keith

  Her eyes met his in the mirror. Tears brimmed along her lashes. The bottom dropped out of his stomach at the sight of the cerulean blues that always glowed when she cried. “Serena, what happened?”

  She shook her head and straightened. “I need to get this off.” She shrugged out of her sweater and a low wail escaped her lips when she found an even bigger stain on her white shirt. She ripped the material over her head, baring her white lace bra. She pumped the soap dispenser and began scrubbing at the bloodstain on her skin.

  “Honey, don’t worry about the stains. I want to know what happened.” His patience was thinning. “Where are you hurt?” He inspected her body.

  She stopped scrubbing and turned to face him. “Milo, it’s not my blood.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she dropped her forehead to his chest.

  “I—I killed someone.”

  He locked his arms around her. The need to comfort her, to erase whatever the hell had happened, scorched his body with the force of a flash fire. If she’d killed someone, it hadn’t been in cold blood. Serena was headstrong, not coldhearted.

  “Who?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she whispered. He rubbed his hands over the clip of her bra and down to the waistband of her skirt. Even in heels, she was so much smaller than him. Hell, how had he forgotten the mold of her body? His muscles had no problem laminating to her slight frame as easily as they had more than a decade ago. But his brain had forgotten this. How her shoulders fit perfectly against his ribcage, her cheek against his sternum, and her belly against his cock. Christ, if he didn’t get a handle on his lust soon, he’d be of no use to her. She needed warmth, food, and clean clothes. Not sex.

  “You can tell me everything after. Let’s get you cleaned up and fed first, all right?”

  She nodded, and he took one last inhale of her intoxicating floral scent. Every ounce of resistance that had taken up residence in his heart on seeing her vanished. She needed him. And this time, he wouldn’t cower. As soon as he got her calm, he’d find out what the fuck had happened.

  And then he’d kill the sonofabitch if she hadn’t already.

  CHAPTER 3

  The faint scent of cologne tickled her nose. Not the familiar scent of pepper and citrus he used to wear but something lighter and woodsy. After gathering her wits in the bathroom, she’d urged him out and changed into her gym clothes—too bad her gym shoes were still on the seat of her car. The leather of the chair in front of the desk crinkled as she curled her legs tighter under her. She dipped her chin again and inhaled the fabric of the black pullover sweater he’d given her.

  The office door opened and she dropped the material from her nose.

  “Food will be ready in ten minutes.” He shut the door behind him and strode to the desk, lifting his hip to rest on the edge. “Talk,” he commanded. It would be so much easier to talk if he were closer to her. Back in the day, just his touch had been enough to melt away all her troubles.

  No. She couldn’t get attached to him again.

  He’d pushed her out of his life twice before. Being here should be putting a huge ding in her pride, but instead it was filling her with longing. Not just for his hot body, but for him. And for the good old days of kissing under the stars, nineties music bumping in the night, and his roaming hands all over her.

  Milo had cared about her and protected her. Until her uncle—the useless, scheming prick—had ratted out Milo’s dad, putting him behind bars.

  Bitterness crept in but she pushed it away. Regardless of what had happened in the past, Milo wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.

  He raised his dark eyebrows. She tucked her ankles under her and toyed with the drawstring that dangled from one side of the hood. “I was driving home from a potential client’s house and someone smashed into me. I . . . I thought it was an accident, but he accelerated when I was in the middle of the intersection.”

  Milo frowned. “Did you see the driver?”

  “He opened my door and pointed a gun at my face, but he wore a mask.” Her voice wavered. The memory of the mouth of the weapon was branded in her consciousness. She wound and unwound the string around her finger, over and over.

  She’d stabbed someone. He might have been planning to kill her, but she’d done it first. She held her focus on the desk beyond Milo’s thighs. Her nose burned with the need to let loose the dam of welled-up tears, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—cry again.

  “Hey, it’s okay, you can talk to me.” He lowered himself to his knees in front of her and pressed his warm palms on the tops of her thighs. He gripped her hands and wrapped them in his much larger ones. Heat blossomed in that cocoon, melting the tension in her fingers. Pain flowed through her heart, and it had nothing to do with the man she’d stabbed and everything to do with the man she missed. Milo had always been her rock. Moving on with her life without him had been a double blow. The loss of him had also been the loss of her friend. Her mouth was resisting her brain’s desire to talk to him. Why?

  Because if she did, letting go again would be that much harder.

  She pulled one hand away and pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. She shouldn’t have come here.

  His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “Serena, please.”

  She lowered her palm to her thigh. The skin around his eyes crinkled. An ache opened in her chest. She wanted to trust him. God, why did it have to be so hard? Why did he have to screw everything up?

  “Babe,” he growled, more insistently.

  The endearment sent ripples of pleasure through her. Memories of him drawling out that four-letter word assaulted her. Jeez, he was teleporting her into the past with one damn word. She lifted her shoulders. “I grabbed the switchblade you gave me and stabbed him in the neck.”

  His eyes sharpened and his head pulled back an inch.

  Oh, crap.

  “The knife I had engraved?”

  If she could have shoved her foot in her mouth she would have. After they broke up, the only thing she’d had to remind her of Milo was the switchblade. He’d given it to her on one of their first jobs. He’d wanted her to be safe when he wasn’t with her.

  If it weren’t for that knife, she’d probably be dead now.

  “Yeah.”

  His face didn’t change. He rubbed his thumb over the dip in the center of his chin. Her fingers ached to drag over the stubble of his beard. She curled her hand until her fingernails dug into her palm.

  “Do you have any reason to think someone would want to hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No.” She’d gone over and over that possibility in her mind. Two years ago, maybe. Not now.

  “What about Dani?”

  Tension radiated down her spine at the mention of her sister’s name. Dani territory—or the past—wasn’t a place he should travel with her.

  “What about her?”

  “C’mon, Serena. I heard she and Peyton are still in that lifestyle. It’s not farfetched that someone would come after you to get to her.”

  “Dani would never endanger me.”

  He chortled, shook his head, and rose to his feet. “All right then, what about you? Are you still stealing?”

  She bristled. “No, I’m not.”

  He sank down on the desk again. “Ah, that’s right. You’re a big-time realtor now, huh?”

  Delight wormed through her heart. He’d checked up on her?

  Don’t be stupid. Your face and name are plastered over half the city.

  “I wouldn’t say ‘big time.’” She shrugged but didn’t stop her nose from turning up. She’d done damn good for herself. Had gotten out all on her own, without his help and despite her sister. “But I’m successful, yes.”

  His bright green eyes sparkled with amusement and . . . pride? He moved behind the desk and placed his hands on the top. His large palms swallowed up a good portion of the cheap wood. The motion was casual, but something told her he wanted distance between them.

  “I’m proud of
you, S. You deserve it.” Her gaze shifted to his chiseled cheekbones. “If all is peachy in paradise, who do you think is after you?”

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t be here.”

  “Why are you?”

  She shrugged. That was the million-dollar question.

  “Don’t play games. You know why you came here.”

  She seethed. He wanted her to say that she needed him or some bullshit. Well, he’d never hear it. Not after he’d so kindly told her to fuck off. She stood suddenly and moved to the door, but he stepped in front of her.

  I never want to see you again.

  The emptiness that had twisted her heart since that night clamored up her throat. Her fingers balled inside the sweater, and it took every ounce of her control not to shove him out of the way. Which wouldn’t do any good. She wouldn’t be able to budge him an inch, even though she worked out five days a week. No point embarrassing herself. No, she’d have to fight the urge to battle with him and keep her cool if she wanted to get out of here.

  But there’s nowhere to go . . .

  The tiny voice inside her head reminded her of how much trouble she was in. Dammit, she didn’t have time for this. She had an open house tomorrow afternoon and an older couple’s listing contract she’d landed this morning to submit tonight.

  She shrugged again. “I didn’t have time to figure out a plan. I acted on impulse.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked. “Do all of your impulsions lead you to me?”

  “I never said my impulses were smart.” She jerked her head to the side. “Now move.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” He slid his hands into his front pockets and leaned back against the door.

  Don’t hit him, don’t hit him . . .

  She squeezed her eyes tight and rubbed the pounding spot above her nose. “Look Milo, I can’t do this right now, okay? My nerves are on edge and we’re just going to fight.”

  “Who’s fighting?”

  She dropped her hand and studied the lines of his face. Interest prickled her senses. He’d changed in the last two years. Not just his hair, but his demeanor. More . . . chill. Or maybe that was because he’d stopped stealing from criminals.

  “Come on. We’re barely keeping tempers in check as it is.”

  The quirk at his mouth spread into a full, wide grin. “See, that’s your problem. You’ve always been so hotheaded. You’re the only one struggling with that temper.” He reached out and flicked the tip of her nose. The action should have irritated her, but instead, warmth spread through her, collecting between her thighs.

  God, how could she still have it so bad? How could one touch to her nose and a playful smirk make butterflies thump against the wall of her belly?

  His face turned serious and the green of his eyes reminded her of calm, open water. “Stay, Serena.” His tone was soft, pleading. “I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

  Her rigid muscles relaxed. She looked around the room. To stay, or to go . . .

  His hand circled her wrist, and as if they had a mind of their own, her fingers locked with his. How could he do this to her every time? Since the last time he gave her the boot, she’d had a speech—more like a damn annihilation—of curses ready to hurl at him. She’d been waiting for the moment to tear into him and then walk away with as much ease as he had.

  But for the life of her, she couldn’t.

  No, she didn’t want to.

  “All right, Milo. What do we do from here?”

  Knock, knock, knock

  The window behind Milo’s head shook, and he smiled. “We eat.” He opened the door, accepted the plates of food, and kicked the door shut. “Then we call the cops and report the accident.”

  * * *

  How the hell had the body disappeared?

  The Caesar salad sat like a ball of lead in her stomach. She curled her arms around her abdomen and pressed her back deeper into the cream-colored leather seat. If someone had told her that morning that she’d be sitting in Milo’s Range Rover, heading to his house, she’d have died laughing. But thank god for him. There was no way she would have thought to report the incident to the police. They’d found her vehicle, but not the vehicle that had hit her. She’d confessed that she stabbed her attacker, but the police had said a body hadn’t been found.

  “There was so much blood. Wouldn’t they be able to tell that someone died by the amount of blood?”

  Milo pulled off the interstate, and the wipers on the windshield slowed. He turned them off and shook his head. “I don’t know. It was raining at the time, so whatever blood was on the road was probably washed away.”

  “He couldn’t have gotten up and walked away. I—” The image of his slack face, of his wide eyes as his body crushed against hers blinked through her mind. The moisture left her mouth. She licked her lips and tried again. “I saw his eyes . . . I’m almost positive he’s dead.”

  Heavy metal hummed low through the speakers. For the dozenth time, Serena slid her gaze toward Milo. His left wrist hung loosely over the top of the steering wheel and his other arm rested on the console between them. His long legs stretched into the footwell. Despite the rainy weather, he didn’t appear the least bit cold in a T-shirt.

  Jeez, he’d matured. Gone was the baby face of his teenage days, and the clean-shaven skin. Thick hair sprouted around his mouth and halfway up his cheeks, just enough to hint that he kept it neatly trimmed close to the skin. They passed under a streetlamp and the yellow glow that flashed across his face revealed the white, shiny skin of a scar on the edge of his jaw, where a tiny patch of hair hadn’t grown. That hadn’t been there when they were kids.

  Milo’s hand stretched across the console and folded over her thigh, reminding her of the solid reassurance he’d emanated at the bar. It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to get her to go with him. As a matter of fact, it had been pathetically easy. The safety his large, warm hands and soothing green eyes offered had been impossible to refuse.

  “Maybe someone called the paramedics and he was rushed to the ER. We’ll find out more tomorrow once the police check the hospital.”

  Her leg tingled beneath his hold and her toes curled into her shoes.

  “Do you think I’ll go to jail?”

  His thumb moved across her leg. “No. I talked to a friend before I called the cops. He said you were acting in self-defense.” His other hand slid from the steering wheel to hit the turn signal, and he slowed at the red light. “Besides, there needs to be a body before anything like that can happen. My guess is the attacker was someone from your past. You were involved with a lot of dangerous people, Serena. People who wouldn’t want loose ends. They would have fled the scene.”

  “How could he flee the scene if he was dead?”

  His shoulder lifted. “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe the guys you said were after you went back and collected his body.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. Murder, self-defense, hiding bodies . . . it was all too much.

  “Try not to think about it. You reported the incident, wrote your statement, and had your vehicle towed. There’s nothing more to do right now.”

  She nodded and coiled her arms tighter around her. A few minutes later he pulled into the attached double garage of a large stucco house.

  Is this his house?

  The single-family home was in Lakeside. Not where she’d expect to find a bachelor, let alone Milo.

  Oh my god . . .

  What if he wasn’t single? Milo’s marital status was as foreign to her as that of a stranger. Hell, he could even have kids.

  Maybe she should have gone to Dani’s. But in that moment at Tasha’s bar when she’d been so close to losing it, she’d grabbed on to all the safety and security he’d offered. Being at Dani’s would only bring trouble to her door. Being at Milo’s would keep her family safe, and he was more than capable of protecting her. Even after all this time, and all the shit that had gone down between them, in her heart she knew he wouldn’t tu
rn his back on her when she needed him.

  She closed her hand around the door handle, and her gaze took in the interior of the garage. The second half held a bike, tool bench, lawn mower—no room for a second vehicle.

  Milo got out and grabbed her bag from the back. “You coming?”

  She hopped out and followed him into the house. Her gaze took in the light wide-planked hardwood floors and cream-colored walls of the entryway. Not too feminine. She removed her shoes and then curled her toes. Despite the change of clothes, she hadn’t been able to shake the chill.

  “I have a spare room you can use. Want some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  “Feel free to shower if you want.” He reached over and flicked on the hall light, illuminating their way to the kitchen.

  She swept her gaze around the tidy living space. No high heels at the door, purse on the kitchen chair—nothing that indicated a woman lived here.

  She cleared her throat and flung her hair over her shoulder. “Uh, does anyone else live here?”

  He turned on the coffee maker and leaned against the gray granite countertop of the island. His lips twitched with amusement.

  Damn him.

  Her fingers ached to brush the dark strands of hair back from his forehead, but god, they only made him even more tantalizing. The cords of his bare forearms flexed. She trailed her gaze up his body, tilting her head back to take in every towering inch of him.

  “Relax, Serena. There’s no one else.”

  That one word drummed into her. “Else” indicated there was someone—her. The playful smile flew from his face. He’d caught the slip. She floated closer to the island. Only a few feet separated them. His eyes never left her body, coasting over her shoulders and down to her fingers with a feather-light caress. They moved back up to her face, and the earthy-green irises slammed into her. She tucked her chin and narrowed her eyes.

  He’d walked away from her when she was seventeen, not giving a shit about the turmoil in her life. Her ruthless uncle had taken custody of Dani and her when they were eleven and nine years old, after their mother died from a drug overdose. They’d never known their father.