Honor Among Thieves

by Jillianne Hamilton

  If this animal isn’t even here, I’m going to be so pissed.

  Something caught my eye underneath the window. Miguel the Siberian Tiger looked even bigger close up. He sat up, stretched his legs out in front of him and yawned wide, displaying an intimidating set of large, sharp teeth. He seemed even plumper up close than he did on the TV show.

  I hope they put you on a diet when you get to the San Diego Zoo, Mr. Kitty.

  Rhys clipped the lock on the door opposite the viewing room with bolt cutters and unlatched the door. He put the dish of meat we’d prepared inside and quickly closed the door. Rhys tapped on the door on his side to get Miguel’s attention.

  Miguel turned his massive head, glaring sleepily at Rhys. He smelled the air, picking up the scent of the tasty treat we’d brought him, his nostrils flaring beneath long white whiskers.

  And then he proceeded to lie back down again.

  Rhys put up his hands, palms up—the universal sign for ‘I don’t know what the hell to do here.’ Rhys crouched down and tried calling it over to his side of the cage. Miguel didn’t even open his eyes.

  We didn’t have all night. The tranquilizers we gave to the house-sitters would wear off eventually.

  Rhys unlatched the door and picked up the meat dish, bringing it outside the enclosure again. He rolled the meat into a ball a little bigger than a softball. He was several yards away, but I could see the look of disgust on his face from the viewing room. He opened the door a tiny ways and stepped inside.

  What the fuck is he DOING?

  I gesticulated wildly with my arms, shaking my head. I waved him back to the door as he took a second step inside the cage, leaving the door open behind him. At least Miguel hadn’t noticed yet.

  Rhys pulled his arm back and pitched the meatball toward Miguel and then got the hell out of there, locking the door behind him. The meatball hit the glass window in front of me and slid down to the grass below. It fell apart, but a piece of it fell on Miguel’s head, waking him up. He shook his head and sniffed at the other pieces of the meatball that had bounced just out of his reach. Miguel, too lazy to get up, rolled over on his side and gobbled the meat up, picking them up with the side of his mouth.

  Wow.

  Rhys held up his phone and typed something in. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

  Rhys: And now we wait.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was feeling anxious.

  He should be asleep by now.

  It was hard to tell if the sedative in the meat had taken effect or if Miguel was just snoozing. Rhys had gone to check on our two sleeping beauties in the mudroom, so I was alone, watching the tiger.

  I knocked gently on the window. He didn’t stir. I banged on it with my fist. Nothing, not even the twitch of a whisker.

  I pushed down on the door latch. It opened with a creak. The gravel crunched quietly under my foot as I stepped into the tiger enclosure. I was only a few feet from the giant cat, the sound of his nap a mixture of purring and snoring. I took another step closer to him and then another. I knelt down and watched his enormous furry chest move in and out with every breath.

  Rhys, back outside the cage, spotted me and waved his arms at me. He stayed silent so not to wake Miguel or alert the neighbors, but the speed of his flailing told me he didn’t want me in there. He rushed for the other door and let himself in, only coming in a few steps.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” he whisper-yelled.

  Miguel’s ear twitched and his head jerked up, his eyes snapping open.

  Good job, Rhys. Now I’m cat food.

  Miguel stood up and looked at me. I froze.

  He can’t see me if I don’t move. Wait, that might be T. Rex, not tigers. Shit.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Miguel, the massive Siberian tiger, took a step forward, sniffed my knee gingerly. He looked up at me, his pink tongue running over his lips.

  “Nice kitty,” I whispered.

  Miguel’s shoulders slumped, and he weaved to the left and then slightly to the right. He gave his head a shake and fell over on his side. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the snack we’d given him was too strong. His head fell over limply.

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. Rhys rolled his eyes and headed back to the van to get our supplies—rope, a dolly and a heavy-duty tarp.

  I know, I know. Gimme a break. Neither of us had ever stolen a tiger before. It’s not like this shit comes with a manual.

  Miguel was so out of it, we could kind of position him however we wanted. He just kept on sleeping. We just needed not to hurt him in the process and get the thing done as quickly as possible. Of course, Miguel’s extra girth wasn’t going to make it easy.

  We slid the tarp under the tiger’s middle, but his gut wouldn’t let us push it farther under him. I pulled it out and positioned it at his rear instead, getting Rhys to lift up his legs and then his rump.

  Turns out moving a passed-out 700-pound tiger is no joke.

  While pulling the rump high enough for me to get the tarp under, Rhys groaned.

  “I know it’s heavy,” I said. “Just hold on one more second.” I pushed the tarp in a few inches more underneath him.

  Rhys winced, his arms quivering under the weight of the lion’s hindquarters. “No, this fucking thing just farted in my face.”

  I let go of the tarp and sat up. I looked at Rhys and burst out laughing.

  He let Miguel’s back end land on the tarp, rapidly shaking his head, trying to get the scent from his nostrils.

  With a little more wriggling and maneuvering of different parts of him, we got Miguel onto the tarp and then, little by little, managed to pull the tarp onto the dolly. Thankfully, his weight was spread out over a large area. Then we just had to deal with getting the dolly into the van using the ramp. We tied rope around the tiger and the dolly so that he wouldn’t roll off during this process.

  I felt bad for the big stripy guy. But I knew he would have a better home where we were taking him.

  Inch by inch, we pulled and pushed Miguel up the ramp. His back legs still dangled out of the sliding door when we heard something.

  Rhys peered around the back of the van. “Shit! We gotta go!”

  From inside the van, I looked out the back windows. I could see one of the house-sitters stumbling out after us, his steps uneven and sloppy like a drunk person’s. He was still a bit out of it because of the sedation, but that didn’t stop him from lumbering in our direction.

  “Fuck!” I jumped into the driver’s seat while Rhys slipped into the back of the van, pulling Miguel’s legs out of the way as he slid the van door closed.

  I started the engine and ripped out of there, the van tipping as we peeled around the corner and down the street.

  Rhys, still in the back of the van, fell into the wall, bounced off that and landed on Miguel. He grabbed onto the driver’s side headrest to steady himself.

  “Ow,” he said, sounding annoyed.

  I winced, meeting his glaring eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Sorry.”

  Rhys looked back at Miguel. “He’s still under, but I’d rather get him in that cage before we do anything else.”

  “Except we gotta get out of Malibu like, now.” I turned down another street and then another, not exactly sure I was driving in the right direction. “That guy shouldn’t have woken up that soon.”

  “Getting the tiger into the van took longer than we expected.”

  “Do you think you can get the tiger into the cage by yourself?” I glanced back at him in the mirror.

  “Probably not.”

  I nodded. “Okay. I have an idea.”

  Don’t do this at home, kids, but I fumbled with my bag down on the floor of the passenger side, feeling around inside as I drove. I pulled out a mini bag of Doritos I’d grabbed for the drive to San Diego and tossed them into the back of the van. Rhys tried to catch it but missed. Instead, the bag bounced off Miguel’s forehead.

  Rhys sighed, unamused. “Doritos? Real
ly?”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have a beef shank in my purse,” I snapped.

  “And what if he’s not into Doritos?”

  I smirked at him in the mirror. “You mean, what if he’s more of a Chex Mix sorta guy?”

  “This isn’t funny,” Rhys said. “If he wakes up angry—”

  “I told you we should have had extra drugged hamburger with us,” I said. “If he wakes up and doesn’t like Doritos, you might get eaten.”

  Rhys sat back against the wall of the van. “Oh good. It’s my dream come true.”

  About an hour later, Miguel’s eyelids fluttered open. He had a hard time keeping them up. We immediately pulled off into a rest stop, just in case we had to abandon ship.

  Rhys pulled open the Doritos bag, wafting the scent of Zesty Ranch toward Miguel. The tiger’s pink nose twitched inquisitively as Rhys put a handful in front of him, trailing them into the cage.

  Again, instead of standing up to have a snack, the tiger just scooted closer to the snack and snatched it up. We continued this trick until he was inside the cage, where the rest of the Doritos lay in a pile.

  And then Miguel plopped his head down and went back to sleep. Turns out he was much more interested in Doritos than thief meat.

  Rhys locked the cage and sat down again. “Remind me never to steal a tiger again.”

  * * *

  The sunrise peeked over a hill, slapping me in the face so hard that I woke up.

  I snorted as I woke. “Buh? Ow!” I shielded my eyes with my arm and sat up in my seat. “We gotta be almost to San Diego by now.”

  Rhys winced. “Remember when we stopped for gas and we both got our face paint off and we switched so you could get some rest?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Well, I think I took the wrong exit and went that way for quite a while—”

  I closed my eyes. “So do you know where we actually are?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

  “Because I didn’t realize that I was heading in the wrong direction until a few minutes ago, when I saw a sign saying we were almost in Malibu.” Rhys smiled weakly.

  I groaned.

  “It’s fiiine,” Rhys said. “We’re not due to meet in San Diego for a few more hours. We’re fine.”

  I looked over my shoulder and into the back of the van. Miguel stood in his cage and paced the few steps he could, back and forth.

  “Do you think he’s hungry?”

  Rhys shrugged. “He ate not that long ago.”

  “I’d rather keep him well fed during the trip, just so he doesn’t get any big ideas.” I pointed to my eyes with two fingers and then pointed at Miguel, just so he knew what was up.

  “Probably not a bad idea. We’ll stop at the next exit and get some meat of some kind.” Rhys adjusted his sunglasses. “And figure out where the hell we are.”

  I slid out my phone. Before I could check Google Maps, I noticed a text message had come in a few minutes before from an unknown sender. It was a link to a news story. I tapped on it.

  “Rhys,” I said, my eyes widening. “Rhys, there’s a video of us.”

  The news had already broken about the tiger theft. One of the neighbors had captured a short video of us pushing Miguel into the van and taking off. It was pretty dark, and our faces and the license plate weren’t visible, but it was there. Police and anyone who’d seen the story knew two people with an unmarked white van had taken Miguel.

  “Shit.” I put my head back. “Shit!”

  Rhys turned on the radio and looked for a local news station. Turns out the theft of a B-list celebrity’s exotic pet is pretty high priority, because we found coverage of it almost immediately.

  “Miguel is missing,” Xander Rose said in an interview, choked up. “I don’t know who took him, but he’s in danger. I can only assume it’s someone who is jealous of my success. If anyone knows anything or sees anything, please let the police know so I can get my boy back home safe.”

  “I really hate that man,” Rhys said, scowling.

  “The police have no suspects yet,” a reporter said. “The public is asked to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity in regard to two potential suspects driving in a white cargo van in the Los Angeles area.”

  Another text message came in, again, from an unknown contact.

  Unknown: Get out of SoCal.

  I read the text to Rhys. “Who would that be from?”

  “Could be your dad,” he suggested.

  Molly: ? patch

  If it was my father, he’d text back “punkin,” his nickname for me. Or, at least, if it was my dad and he wanted me to know it was him.

  There was no reply, just an error message.

  We pulled into a little grocery store parking lot in a small town east of the main highway between LA and San Diego.

  I ran in to get some meat—the best this place had to offer was sausages and hamburger patties—and when I came back out, my stomach dropped.

  A cop was walking around our van, inspecting it very, very closely.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I took a few deep breaths and shoved the grocery bag of meat into my purse.

  I really hope meat juice doesn’t drip onto my things.

  Rhys was playing with his phone and obviously hadn’t noticed the police officer checking out our van. Ya know, our unmarked white cargo van that was featured in a recent video of a theft. Nothing suspicious or anything.

  I might have to degrade myself, but if I was ever going to do it, now might be the best time.

  I yanked my tank top down in the front. I probably looked like shit, tired and panicked, but hey. Boobs.

  “Can I help you, Officer?” I opened my mouth, and a charming British accent came out. I sounded like a character from a Jane Austen movie. Apparently my sleep-deprived brain thought that would help.

  I folded my hands together, subtly pushing my boobs together to enhance my cleavage. Or at least make it look like I actually had cleavage.

  “Good morning,” he said sternly, nodding at me. “Is this your vehicle?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t know if you’re aware, but state police are currently looking for a vehicle matching this description.”

  My eyebrows went up. “What? Like this?”

  Rhys had finally looked up and noticed what was happening. He got out of driver’s seat, and before he could come out with an American accent, I cut him off.

  “Darling,” I said in my fake accent, “they’re looking for a van like ours.”

  Rhys went with a well-moneyed Londoner accent, one of my favorites from his wide collection of voices.

  “Goodness,” he said. “What for?”

  “A tiger was stolen from a man’s home—”

  “A tiger?” I said, placing my hand on my chest.

  “Yes. A tiger.” He looked at me and then at Rhys. “What are two Brits doing in California?”

  “We’re relocating,” Rhys said. “We tried basing our business in LA, but everything’s in Silicon Valley now, so we’re just heading up that way with our stuff.”

  Too much detail, Rhys. Too much detail.

  The officer nodded. “Right.” His eyes lingered on our license plate. “What are your names?”

  “I’m Betty Bruce.”

  “I’m Fred Gable.”

  I forced myself not to give Rhys the most questioning look. Fred Gable? Really?

  I police officer nodded, still looking at the license plate. “This plate and the vehicle are registered to Lucy Williams.”

  Oh shit. He already checked the plate.

  Rhys nodded. “Yes, that’s a friend of ours. We borrowed the van from her. Do you need her contact info?” He reached for his phone in his back pocket.

  Ohmygod Rhys, what are you doing?

  “No, that’s fine.” He stepped back, surveying the side of the van. “If I open those van doors, I’m not gonna find a stol
en tiger, am I?”

  Just then, a gray truck sped by on the highway, whipping past the parking lot way beyond the speed limit.

  “Ah, shit,” the cop muttered, turning back to his car. “Y’all have a good day,” he shouted over his shoulder at us. He turned on the siren and ripped after the speeding truck, spraying gravel as he exited the parking lot.

  Without a word, Rhys and I got back in the van. We looked at one another and burst out laughing.

  “Holy shit,” I said, giggling, my hand over my mouth to lower my volume.

  Rhys shook his head. “What the hell were you doing with your boobs and the accent, young lady?” His shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

  “I was trying to distract the guy. I was desperate, and he didn’t even look at my chest anyway!” I wiped a tear away. “Okay, Fred Gable. Who is Lucy Williams?”

  “If he had called Lucy Williams’s number, he would have reached her voicemail,” Rhys said. “Lucy doesn’t answer the phone much. Never, in fact.”

  “Okay. She’s not real. Then how is the van registered to her?”

  Rhys rolled his eyes and started the engine.

  “Right,” I said. “You hacked into the DMV records. Of course.”

  Rhys was grinning ear to ear, and my heart was pounding. I grabbed the front of his T-shirt and kissed him.

  The tiger growled loudly behind us, sprawled out in his cage.

  “Okay, Miguel. Calm down.” Rhys pulled out of the parking lot, winked at me and we headed for San Diego.

  * * *

  “What a handsome boy!”

  Angie, the zoo employee we met up with to deliver Miguel, climbed gleefully into the back of our van and inspected the tiger in his cage.

  “He’s quite overweight.” She frowned. “What was Xander feeding him?”

  “Former employees,” Rhys quipped.

  Angie and I both slowly looked at him. I shook my head.

  He leaned over to me. “Was that inappropriate?”

  “A bit,” I whispered.