I Stole His Car (Love at First Crime Book 1)

by Jessica Frances

  “I hate him.” His eyes narrow as he says this, and I sense his body vibrating with anger.

  “Hate is a strong word.”

  “I know.” His confident response is a reminder of how young he really is.

  You can be so decisive and confident when you are young. You don’t have to overthink things, or worry about consequences, or have any self-doubt. Many things are just so black and white.

  “He hates me, too,” he confesses, pulling at my heartstrings painfully just thinking about how anyone could hate this kid.

  I hesitate to ask the question, sensing there won’t be a nice answer, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. “What about your parents?”

  He glances out the window, tightening his arms around his middle, going back to hunching over himself. That cloud from earlier has returned with a full-blown storm.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to answer that.” I don’t want to be the reason he’s in pain, but if his brother really was happy to just abandon him to go to a strip joint, and his parents aren’t around or in a good place, either, then what am I supposed to do?

  I have gotten myself into a huge mess. I am nowhere near equipped to handle this.

  “They died a few months ago. Zander took me in after that.” His voice is barely a whisper. I only heard it because the music, which is still quietly playing in the background, was paused between songs.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I want to reach out and comfort him, but I’m still too much of a stranger to do that. “And sorry to hear you don’t get along with Zander. Does he often leave you alone in cars to do your homework?”

  “He says it isn’t safe to leave me at home alone.”

  My eyebrow rises as I consider how idiotic that reasoning is. It’s not safe for him at home, yet it’s safe for him to be alone in a parking lot while he’s watching women strip?

  “Well, I am going to have to take you back,” I tell him, wondering if I should just drop him off at a police station. That will show this Zander person how irresponsible he clearly is. Maybe it might scare some sense into him. How is he able to care for a twelve-year-old?

  Can I trust myself to get close to a police station, though? What if they see me? Things didn’t go well before when I was in one. And if they see me, then they will see this car, so driving it anywhere would be pointless.

  “No! Please don’t! I don’t want to go back to Zander,” he begs, his bottom lip quivering.

  “Does he …?” This is a hard question to voice. “Does he hurt you?”

  He stares at me for a while. I get the feeling he’s sizing me up. Maybe seeing if he thinks he can trust me. Then he finally shakes his head, looking annoyed to be doing so. “No,” he grumbles, turning his head to stare out the window again.

  In its reflection, I see him pouting as he glares at the passing scenery, his almost tears gone.

  “Does he call you names?” I try to guess where his anguish comes from.

  “Just my own,” he replies cryptically, which reminds me that I don’t have a clue what this kid’s name is. That probably should have been one of the first questions I asked.

  “What is your name?”

  “Van,” he says on a sigh.

  “My name is Ava. Nice to meet you.” I give him a small smile and try not to feel too self-conscious when he just stares blankly back.

  “So, then, why don’t you like Zander?” I get us back on track as I make another left. Am I driving around in circles?

  “Because!” he suddenly barks. For a moment, I think that might be all he says. I know I used that line a few times to “win” an argument when I was a kid. It never really worked, though. “He is strict and mean, and nothing I do is right, and I’m never good enough, and I hate him. I wish he died instead of Mom and Dad.”

  I’m stunned by his outburst and saddened by his words.

  I don’t know much about Zander, and what I do isn’t great, yet I feel some sort of need to reassure Van that I’m sure things aren’t as bad as they seem.

  Life has a funny way of making a situation feel worse than it is when you are in the moment. Although, I can’t say that works for my own situation. I don’t think any length of time will make the situation I’m trapped in seem any less awful. Still, it’s worth a shot if it makes Van feel less shitty about his brother, right?

  “I’m sure Zander is trying his best.”

  “Well, for once, his best isn’t good enough. He’s the failure this time.”

  I almost hear a penny dropping as this piece of information clicks into place.

  “Is he one of those annoying siblings who is perfect at everything they do?” I ask, getting a better picture of who Zander might be to Van.

  “He was always Mom and Dad’s favorite. I was never as good as him. I always came second,” he rants.

  I hold back mentioning that it is a bit hard to beat someone who is sixteen years older than you. Van likely needs to feel like someone is on his side.

  “I was the same. My older sister got to have everything first. She got perfect grades, had a perfect boyfriend, and nothing I did ever measured up to her,” I tell him.

  Van looks up at me. I can tell he is at least a little relieved to know he’s not the only one with a too-perfect sibling. “Is she your parents’ favorite?”

  “I used to think she was.”

  “But, let me guess, you now know it is all in your head, and you’re going to tell me I’m overreacting. And you are sure my parents loved us both equal amounts,” he grumbles, telling me he’s definitely heard that before.

  “No, I’m not going to say that. I have a feeling she really was their favorite. Or, at least, she was our mom’s. Our dad ran off when I was young. I don’t remember him much.”

  I have apparently stunned Van with my answer, so I take this moment to redirect the conversation.

  “I know you don’t want to go back to your brother, and I can’t say I want to take you, either, since it means returning you to that seedy neighborhood, but I can’t afford to keep you with me any longer. I am already in some serious trouble, and adding a kidnapping charge is not going to make my life any easier.”

  “You’re in trouble?” He seems to perk up at that, letting go for a moment that he is trying to get me to not take him back.

  “You could say that.” I barely hold in my snort that tries to follow those words.

  Understatement of the year.

  Silence follows my words. I wonder what Van is thinking. Not that it matters. I need to figure out how to get back to that parking lot, and since I’m unfamiliar with this area, I don’t hold a lot of hope in succeeding.

  “You don’t seem like a car thief,” he finally says, back to looking me over carefully. “Though your clothes are dirty.”

  His observation embarrasses me. Being on the run for three days hasn’t allowed for a change of clothes. It has barely allowed me any sleep or food.

  “I’m just in a little trouble. Nothing you have to worry about,” I attempt to assure him. I don’t believe it myself, so I doubt it comes across as truthful.

  “Why did you need to steal this car?” he presses.

  Because I’m in serious trouble. Because I can’t trust the people I should be able to. Because, if I’m caught, then I am positive my death will soon follow.

  I don’t say any of this to him. Instead, I glance down at the time on the dashboard to see it is close to eight at night. Soon, it will be pitch-black outside.

  How much longer until Zander notices his car and brother are missing? What if he’s in the parking lot right now, completely freaking out?

  “I took this car because someone is after me,” I murmur. When his eyes light up with curiosity, I quickly shut that down. I shouldn’t have said anything. “How about I tell you after we talk to your brother? If he’s noticed you’re missing, then I need to make sure he hasn’t called the police.”

  “Zander can help you with your problem,” Van offers conf
idently, nodding as if confirming his own words.

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  “He runs his own P.I. business. He has for years.” A little pride leaks into his voice.

  “Oh really? And is he working on a case where a suspect is visiting a strip joint?” I snidely reply.

  “Huh? You mean the place across the road? Why would he be there?” Van sounds genuinely confused.

  “What do you mean?” I begin to feel uneasy. “If he’s not there, then where is he?”

  “Working in his office.” Van’s tone sounds like he wanted to end that with a “duh.”

  “His office?” My eyes widen as that implication sinks in.

  “Yeah, it’s in front of the parking lot you took me from.”

  Took implies kidnapped, which I don’t love. But, is that what I am now? A car thief and a kidnapper?

  “But all the lights were off,” I jump to argue. There were no signs of life in any of those buildings to suggest I was reading this wrong. That area was dead, and the car looked empty. Leaving a kid alone in a bad neighborhood must be equally as bad, right?

  “They turn the front lights off once Sasha leaves. She’s the receptionist. His office is in the back. He had to go back in to talk to a client and get some papers, or whatever,” Van drawls. Clearly, this news is incredibly boring to him.

  “Why don’t you do your homework in there, then?”

  He shrugs, no longer looking at me as he stares down at his hands in his lap. Okay, obviously a touchy subject.

  “Shit,” I hiss. Then, realizing that is a swear word, I quickly add “vers” to it. Given Van’s smile, I’m not fooling him.

  Forgetting my curse slipup, I consider what Van’s words mean. I have had this entire situation wrong from the beginning.

  “Do you have a cell phone I can use?”

  He nods, undoing his seatbelt to search his backpack that I threw into the backseat. Once he has it, he hands it over to me.

  I pull over, still having zero clues about where we are, and hand the phone back to get him to unlock it. “Can you get your brother’s number up? I want to talk to him.”

  When he hands me back the phone, I see the name written on the phone isn’t Zander like I assumed it would be, but Asshole.

  Not a good start.

  “I might need a map to get you back to him,” I mutter, connecting the call and placing it against my ear to hear it already ringing. I turn the music down until it’s basically nonexistent.

  “I know my way back,” Van mumbles, crossing his arms again as he watches me, annoyance clearly winning out over anger or hope.

  When Zander finally answers the phone, I get even more insight into Van’s life and his hatred for Zander.

  “What now?” a voice snaps at me.

  I glance over at Van, wondering if that is seriously how his brother greets him.

  I almost want to lecture this Zander about it, but I remind myself that, not only am I a stranger and it’s none of my business, I also need to remember that I have currently kidnapped this man’s brother. I should likely give him a break.

  “Hi, my name is Ava, and I am currently with your brother. I just want to assure—”

  “You’re with him? What has he done now?” Zander cusses.

  I narrow my eyes slightly, feeling annoyance at his attitude toward Van, who appears perfectly sweet to me.

  “He hasn’t done anything.” I glance over at Van and see his eyes narrowing as he pouts at the dashboard. “There has just been a little misunderstanding. I’m bringing him and your car back now.”

  “My car? Wait, what the fuck is going on? Did he take my car?” he growls down the line, his accusatory tone annoying me.

  “No, I did!” I quickly snap, wincing at myself for admitting that. This guy would have been less likely to call the cops if he thought Van stole his car.

  “You did? Who the fuck are you again?” Zander yells into my ear.

  “My name is Ava. I’m bringing both back to you now.” I try to find my calm and remain matter of fact, but inside, my heart is racing. I’m not sure if it is from nerves, anger at Zander, or both.

  “And I’m calling the police! Put Vaughn on the phone right this second!”

  I gulp loudly, knowing that begging to leave the police out of this won’t help matters. Then I hand the phone over to Van and glance out the window to stare at the packed pizza place down the road.

  I can’t remember the last meal I ate before all this happened. God knows I have barely eaten anything since. If I had enough money, I would jump out and grab a slice, especially since it sounds like this might be my last meal.

  “What?” Van grumbles into the phone, his glare getting fiercer as he listens to whatever Zander says to him. “No! If you call them, I’m going to tell them that I don’t want to live with you anymore,” Van cries into the phone.

  I wonder what Zander is saying to get him so upset.

  “Don’t call me that!” he screams into the phone then throws it at the windshield. I half-expect it to either smash the phone or the windshield. It does neither. However, Van doesn’t make any attempt to pick it up, either.

  “You okay?”

  “No,” he snaps.

  I hesitate to ask, but I can’t leave it at that. “Want to talk about it?”

  “I hate him!” he cries, his outburst momentarily shocking me.

  I let that hang in the air for a bit, not sure how to respond. In the end, Van carries on so I don’t have to.

  “He thinks he knows everything, and that he’s so perfect. Well, he doesn’t know everything, and he’s not perfect!”

  “No one is perfect,” I say gently. “And no one in the world knows everything.”

  “Yeah, well, my parents thought he was perfect.”

  “I think parents usually have blinders on when it comes to their kids,” I explain carefully. This isn’t an easy discussion, given I never met them. However, I’m pretty sure this is rather universal to most kids with siblings.

  “They didn’t love me like they loved him,” he whispers like he’s telling me a confession.

  My heart tugs again as I wonder over how much I feel for this kid, only having known him less than an hour.

  “My older sister was perfect, too. Our mom adored her. Growing up, I always knew they had a special connection. People say being the youngest makes you special because you’re their last everything. But I think it’s much more special to be their first. It’s a connection we can never compete with.”

  Van nods in agreement before fully catching on to what I said, proving to be a sharp kid.

  “Why do you say she was perfect? What happened to her?”

  Now my heart pulls for a different reason. I never talk about this, but maybe something good can come out of this story. If I am to be caught soon, then at least I can say I did something helpful with my life, even if it was just something small.

  “She died a few years ago. She was mugged and shot; killed for the thirty-eight dollars in her purse.” I sound robotic, but I can’t bring emotion into it. If I do, then I might cry. If I cry, then this whole situation will overwhelm me, and then I will be a snotty mess for a long time. Long enough to be distracted and easily caught.

  Van, however, doesn’t seem shocked or saddened by this, more like curious. “So, your mom loves you more now?”

  “No, she died before my sister died. When I was fourteen, she got cancer. My sister was even perfect throughout that—nursing her and helping her while still maintaining great grades. She graduated with top marks. I couldn’t even manage anything close, and I wasn’t up half the night, cleaning my mom up after she …” I glance down at Van and decide those details are best left out. “Anyway, what I’m saying is, I understand what you’re saying. But just because things felt different, doesn’t mean they loved you less.”

  “You don’t get it.” Van sighs loudly like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and no one to understand him. “
Mom always talked about him. She always told me how much she missed him once he moved out. She never missed me.”

  “How often did your parents see Zander?”

  Van shrugs. “He used to come over once a week for family dinner.”

  “One could argue that she missed him more because she was able to spend a lot of time with you. One could also argue that, if we were to go on how much time you spent together, you would win that round since you still lived with them.”

  “Doesn’t matter. They still loved him more,” he stubbornly states.

  I sigh, realizing this isn’t a battle I’m ever going to win. “Okay, but that’s probably not Zander’s fault.”

  “You’re on his side now? Even though he wants to call the cops and get you arrested?”

  I gulp, wondering if the cops are already waiting for me, or are they prowling the streets searching for us?

  “I’m not on his side. I’m on yours. Look, you seem incredibly smart, no doubt much smarter than a man who runs a P.I. company, who can’t even stop his car from being stolen,” I rush to say, hoping to get Van back on my side by throwing Zander under the bus.

  It works. Van immediately releases a small giggle.

  It isn’t much, but I will work with it.

  “I’m just saying that, if Zander is the only family you have, do you really want to spend all your time hating each other? It just seems like a lot of effort that doesn’t accomplish much.”

  “But he’s so annoying,” he quickly states like this explains everything. “He beats me at everything, and he acts like I’m some bratty, stupid loser. But he’s the loser!”

  “Zander might be older and more successful than you are now, but truthfully, he will always be ahead of you.” Van pulls a face, and I quickly rush to continue. “Which means, by the time you reach the prime of your life, he’ll be way over the hill. Old man style. He’ll be the first to lose his hair, first to wear adult diapers, and the first to be doing full-time drooling and misplacing his false teeth. Plus, you’ll be able to beat him at everything. Younger, fitter, stronger, and definitely smarter.” I wink at him and am grateful when he laughs again, this time more openly, and the smile stays afterward.