by Kim Foster
“Not stolen?”
He shook his head firmly. “Nope.”
As Ethan held the ring out to me, his hand trembled—something I had never seen in all our escapades together. At that moment a kaleidoscope of images flashed through my head, my future life with Ethan. There were adventures, travel, laughter, the excitement of doing missions together. It was all wonderful and thrilling. But the most wonderful of those images was the last one: the two of us cuddled by a fire on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Me reading a good book, Ethan watching the football game on TV and rubbing my feet as they rested in his lap. I could almost smell the coffee brewing in the kitchen.
It was perfect.
“Yes, Ethan. Yes. I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
My eyes burned and I was helpless to stop the tears that flooded them. I smiled through it. Ethan exhaled with relief and his eyes turned glassy. I stared at the ring as he placed it on my finger. It was impossible not to think of the Lionheart, looking at the ring now. Equally impossible was not thinking of the ring I used to wear. Penny’s ring.
Then he stood and in one fluid movement lifted me up, right off my feet. He laughed and let out a loud whoop, and—heedless of the tourists all around us—murmured sweet words as his mouth found mine. We kissed for a long, long time.
I knew the adventures we’d been through together, as crazy as they’d been, were nothing compared to what would come.
“What is it with us and bridges?” Ethan murmured. I smiled. We stood there, arms around each other, and gazed back toward the city as the sky filled with fire. I glanced down at the ring; it was spectacular. Truly a jewel thief’s ring . . . worn by a woman who was finished being a jewel thief.
For the first time in a long time, there was no struggle inside me. Just peace. I would still go on scaling buildings and sneaking around and doing things most people—wisely, I might add—were unwilling to do. But now I would be doing those things for all the right reasons.
I’d always known that everyone broke the rules eventually . . . and some of us even made a career out of it.
But what I’d learned was this: there was good and bad inside everyone. Which side would win? Well, that was in our own hands.
Even if those hands happened to be exceptionally talented at pickpocketing.
Acknowledgments
First, heartfelt thanks go to my agent, Sandy Lu. Without her vision and tenacity, these books would never have been.
Thank you to my editor, Peter Senftleben, for bringing my books to life (and also for taking me out for my first publishing lunch in Manhattan). And thank you to the whole amazing team at Kensington and Lyrical.
An enormous hug of gratitude goes to Karma Brown for being a rock-star critique partner. Thank you to my writing support group on Facebook, the International Thriller Writers, the wonderful SIWC community, and my sister-wives at YMC.
I will be forever indebted to Writer’s Digest for awarding me second place for one of my first stories in their annual competition many years ago. Second place, of course, being the perfect place for a budding writer: high enough to be validating, not so high to make me think I knew it all.
Thank you to my parents for so many things. Life, mostly.
Kudos to my sisters for their never-ending support of their big sis and for letting me boss them around as we were growing up . . . and not holding it against me later.
Hugs and kisses to my boys—for many things, but mostly for their patience. Although I suspect a lot of that patience had to do with knowing there was another book launch party coming. My boys—always looking for an excuse to party. They’re not teenagers yet. I’m in trouble.
Thank you to my husband, Ken, for so much: for listening and brainstorming and not batting an eye when I burst from my writing room to announce random questions (“Would you expect to be served filet mignon on the Orient Express?”). Also for indulging me when I want to do things like go inside the Beverly Hills Hotel when we have no business being there. (“Yes, honey, inside. It’s for research.”) But most of all, for having the superpower of coming up with kick-ass book titles.
Thank you to the people of Yorkshire and Nottinghamshire for feuding and providing this writer with a germ of an idea.
And thank you, Robin Hood . . . whoever you really were.
About the Author
Kim Foster is the author of the Agency of Burglary & Theft Series, a series of novels about a professional female jewel thief. Prior to writing thrillers about thieves and spies, Kim obtained her degree in medicine, and she has been a practicing family doctor for sixteen years. (Don’t worry, it doesn’t make much sense to her friends and family, either.) Online, you can find her blogging about her left-brain, right-brain mash-up on www.kimfoster.com. Kim lives with her husband and their two young boys in Victoria, British Columbia, where she’s hard at work on her next book. And drinking a ridiculous amount of coffee.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Kim Foster
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
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ISBN: 978-1-6018-3066-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-485-0
ISBN-10: 1-60183-485-3
