by Staci Hart
“Do you think they know?”
“I don’t know. I never took off my buff around them, but I can’t be sure Jade didn’t tell them about me.”
“They can’t come after you if they’re in jail. How will they even know it was you or what was taken? The cops are going to confiscate everything.”
The ground slipped out from under me as I looked around the table at three determined faces. “I can’t even believe you’re suggesting this.”
“I think it will work. We can go to the warehouse tonight and case it. Let’s just see. If it’s not realistic, we’ll forget it. We’ll come back and move past all of this. But if it’s easy enough, we can get in, get the painting, and get out of there before they even know. You can take the painting back to Van and tell him the truth. See what he says.”
“Right, like, ‘Hang on while I call the cops.’”
Erin nodded, her eyes sad. “Maybe. Can you live with that? Can you live with yourself if you don’t? I mean, the only other option would be to trip the alarm and leave without the painting. If you just want him to have it back, it will get back to him legally. Eventually. But I don’t think that’s what you want. I think you want to tell him the truth.”
And she was exactly right. I’d spent my whole life running, hiding, and it had left me alone and lonely. The one person who saw me, really saw me, I’d lost. He saw past the mask, past the front, and even though he didn’t what I’d done, he knew me on some essential, molecular level.
I didn’t want to run anymore. I wanted to tell him the truth. I wanted to own what happened. I didn’t expect him to forgive me, but I wanted him to know what I’d done all the same. Because it wasn’t about the painting. Not really. I would never let him go. I’d regret what I’d done for the rest of my life.
I imagined myself hanging the Rothko back where it belonged, imagined telling him what I’d done, telling him I was sorry. I heard him saying he understood, forgiving me so I could forgive myself. But I knew better than to be so naive. He would be angry and hurt at my betrayal, at the lies. At the invasion of his home and heart. He would tell me to leave and never come back.
Forgiveness or denial didn’t matter. What mattered was the truth. I owed him the truth.
The crushing weight lifted just at the thought of coming clean. What future did I have to lose, and what future to gain? There was so much risk, but it was suddenly the only thing that made sense. It was the only thing I could do.
Erin’s eyebrows lifted as she realized it.
I took a breath and straightened up. “I need to give you all my money for Jill. If I get busted, they’re going to take all of it. Promise me you’ll take care of her.”
She jumped out of her seat and wrapped her arms around me. “I promise.”
The loft’s door slid open, and we all froze, including Jade and Jace in the doorway. Erin let me go, and all six of us stared across the room at each other in silence.
Jade was the first to move, her eyes on me as she tossed her keys on the counter. No one spoke for a long minute.
I broke the silence. “Tell me Jill is safe.”
Jade nodded. “She’s fine. It’s over.”
“You called off your dog?”
“I said it was over, didn’t I?” Jade spat, her eyes cold. She pulled off her jacket, and I saw her trying to maintain the illusion of power over us. I almost felt sorry for her for not realizing it was already a lost cause. “I have another job.”
The room erupted in noise.
“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” Morgan yelled over the din.
“No fucking way,” Erin said, voice trembling. “You have got to be kidding. You fired us, remember? Or what, now that your shit fell through, you need us again? Fuck you.”
I just shook my head. As far as I was concerned, she couldn’t touch me. Not anymore. “I’m out, Jade. Find someone else.”
Her eyes were narrow, but she nodded and scowled at the other girls who were turning to leave. “Where do you bitches think you’re going?”
Cher folded her arms. “You’ve lost your fucking mind if you think we’d help you after what you’ve done.”
Jade leaned against the counter and folded her arms right back. “You’ll be back.”
Erin turned, spitting over her shoulder, “In your dreams, you psychotic cunt.”
I waited after school at the ivy wall, feeling stretched out and thin. I’d spent every second in a rush to clean out my safe deposit boxes, give Erin the cash, and set aside a few things for Jill. There wasn’t time for more. I needed to meet Jill, just see her once more before everything went down. Before the truth came out.
My thoughts circled back to Van, obsessing over his reaction as I had all day. I replayed every possible scenario. Me in handcuffs in the back of a squad car. Van kissing me. Yelling at me. Rejecting me. Accepting me.
I must have looked worse than I thought because Jill’s brow dropped when she saw me.
She rushed over, clutching her books. “Hey. What’s the matter?”
I gave her a weak smile and shook my head. “I’m fine. I just wanted to see you today.”
“What’s going on, Cory?” She searched my face for answers.
“Everything’s going to be okay. How was school?”
Jill’s face was drawn. “Don’t do that. Talk to me.”
I shook my head, caught in the current. I tried harder, stood straighter. “It’s okay.”
“It obviously isn’t. You’ve been so weird lately, and it’s freaking me out. Please, tell me what’s the matter.” She touched my arm.
“I just … I have some things to take care of, and I may not see you for a while.”
Her face went pale. “What does that mean? You’re scaring me, Cory.”
“It’ll be all right.” Somehow. “If you need anything, I want you to call Erin, okay?”
“Why are you saying goodbye?” Her words wavered, her eyes shone. “Does this have something to do with how you’re making money?”
I was at the end of a tunnel that stretched longer with each breath. “What?” I whispered, fingers numb.
“Cory, I know you’re not just a bike messenger. There’s no way you could pay for school and give me cash on that salary. I just don’t know what it is you are doing. You didn’t want to tell me, and I wanted to respect that. I knew it must be wrong, but now I’m afraid it’s dangerous.”
I dropped down to sit on a low wall, staring at the cracks in the sidewalk as I struggled to comprehend what I had heard. All the years, all the worrying, the hiding from her. “All this time I was afraid to tell you, but you already knew.”
She sat down next to me and nodded with her eyes on the sidewalk. “I’ve suspected for a long time.”
“I thought you wouldn’t take the money if you knew.”
“Well, you were partly right. If you’d come clean, I probably would have tried to convince you to stop, that it wasn’t worth a risk to you. Secretly, I’d hoped I was wrong. I was afraid to know.”
“It’s best if you don’t know what’s going on, but I have one last thing I have to do, and then it’s over.”
“Are you in danger?”
I looked into her eyes. “Yes. And I could go to jail. But I’m righting a wrong. I don’t think I can move on until I do.”
She nodded.
“I … I just wanted to see you and tell you that I love you. Erin knows what to do if anything happens to me. You can trust her.”
Jill leapt into my arms and squeezed with all her power, and I gave it all back to her. “Please, be careful. Come back to me,” she whispered.
“I will.” Or I’d at least try.
MY BREATH WAS HOT under my buff as I ran behind Erin toward the warehouse. It was after midnight, and I’d had enough time to think over every step, every outcome as I stood at the fulcrum of judgment with my choices weighing on either side of me.
We hit the block of warehouses, navigating across the long, flat roofs
to the building where we’d met the thugs, where Jace told us everything was stored. A skylight ran the length of the roof, a slice of light in the night, and we neared the edge of the angled windows to look down into the warehouse. Rows of pallets lined the walls with boxes and crates wound up in plastic wrap. At the far end of the dark warehouse sat a table where a handful of guys smoked behind hands of cards and stacks of poker chips, guns on the table and in chest holsters as they played.
But then I saw the motherlode.
At the other end of the warehouse were rows of metal shelves of valuables, from furniture to books, racks of paintings and mirrors, lockboxes and safes. I pointed down into the corner, and we all stared, wide-eyed. I signaled for the girls to follow me, and we made our way toward where the valuables were, assessing the space along the way.
The easiest route in would be through one of the high, rotating windows against the back wall. The guys were sitting in an island of light and wouldn’t be able to make out anything in the shadows. The windows that I’d use to get in were shielded by shelves, but I wondered if the painting would fit through. The only other way in would be a door, but that was too risky. Too many variables.
A catwalk ran around the high ceiling, above the hanging lights, near enough to the sprinkler pipes that triggering one wouldn’t be a problem. I could see the glass tubes inside, full of red liquid. Break one, alarm tripped. Job done.
Just like that, I’d decided to do it. I could get in and get the painting out. I’d be climbing out the window before they even realized the alarm was no accident.
I backed away from the window and walked the edge of the building, checking the holds, looking for cameras. There were none. I stopped at the end of the building and waved the girls over.
“The windows are high, but I can get in. I’ll drop into the corner where the goods are. Just give me a lead rope to take down, and I’ll send the painting out ahead of me. Don’t wait for me. Once you have it in your hands, go straight to The Kyle Building. It’s going to take longer because of its size, so try to stay out of sight and help each other. I’ll meet you at the access door. Morgan, you’ve got the message covered, right?”
She nodded and reached into her pack for the spray paint.
“Go to the docks next to the entrance. Someone’s bound to see it there.”
We all looked at each other in agreement, saying so much without speaking a word. Erin slipped off her pack to pull out her rope and anchor it.
I walked over to the ledge and leaned over, looking for holds that would get me to the window, finding the path I would take to reclaim my life. When I turned a final time to Erin, she handed me the end of the rope. I tied it to my pack and nodded, the only goodbye I could give before dropping over the ledge.
My heart pounded as I made my way down the side of the brick building. The window was right below me, and I lowered myself, looking over my shoulder as I descended. I reached to move laterally for a better hold, my fingers just hooking over the edge when a burst of laughter echoed from inside. My foot slipped, my breath frozen in my lungs, and I gripped as tight as I could as my leg swung around. I flexed my core, forcing my body against the brick, finding my footing as I glanced over my shoulder at the pavement below.
I blew out a breath and began to descend again. When I reached the rotating window, I pushed the pane to force an angled opening and untied the black rope, tossing it into the warehouse. I assessed the pane, hoping to God it was wide enough.
Another round of laughter came from inside, and I peered in at the guys. No one had gotten up or looked in my direction. But even if they had, they were in a fishbowl of light, and I knew they wouldn’t be able to see me unless they moved out of it. I slipped in the opening and climbed down the rope, shifting through the shadows to the racks of paintings, finding the Rothko almost immediately, still in the case. I walked over to it reverently, eyes wide and heart pounding. The minute my hands were on it, I felt the gap close between me and Van.
The rope hung innocuously from the window, and I hurried to tie the pack on before giving the rope a tug. The painting moved in a split second, and the rope zipped against the pane as it sped toward the window. It was going too fast, and I climbed the shelves to try to catch it, but when it hit the window, the pane clanged against the frame. My heart stopped. But I didn’t.
I kept climbing, shifting the pane when I reached it and maneuvering the painting through to the sound of scraping chairs and shouts from behind me. As soon as it was free, it disappeared through the window and into the night.
Their footfalls were heavy, and gunshots rang as I climbed high enough to volley over to the catwalk. I took off running in the dark, heading for the far end of the building, wanting to hit a sprinkler far enough away not to damage the valuables.
I scanned the room with a new perspective now that I was level with the sprinklers to really see them. They were far enough away from the catwalk that I’d have to climb, though I found one close enough to the metal walkway to reach and routed myself as I ran. There was no way they could see me well enough from below to get a clean shot, but that didn’t stop them from trying. I ducked wild bullets, pushing harder, feet clanging against the metal under my feet.
I neared the point where I would jump and held my breath when I leaped for the rail. My boot landed squarely on the metal, and I pushed with all my weight, launching my body into the air with my eyes on the metal rafters a few feet away. My hands hit the beam, and the force of my body weight shot up my arms as I swung, hanging on with all my strength. I hauled myself up, panting to the pings and pops of gunfire.
The girder was about the width of my body, and I took the half-dozen steps to the nearest sprinkler, hanging between the beam I was on and the next one over. Close enough. I crouched down and hung on tight, balancing on one foot, taking a deep breath. I kicked my leg out, straight and hard. My boot connected with the sprinkler, and the glass in the tube broke with a crunch. The alarm was loud enough to rock me, even though I’d been expecting it, and water shot out of the device, raining down on everything below.
The bells clanged as I stood and ran down the narrow girder with my eyes on the windows that would get me out. I glanced back to see two guys finally climbing the catwalk, the other three down below, standing still in the middle of the warehouse. I couldn’t hear anything over the alarms, and thought it was strange that they were just standing there until I realized they were firing at me.
I climbed down the wall, pushed the window open, and slipped out, navigating my way up to the roof. Relief washed over me when I found it empty, and I hauled ass toward The Kyle Building, looking back once I hit the next building to admire Morgan’s handiwork.
Hot pink words stretched up as tall as she was, which was tall enough, lit up by the spotlights of the perimeter lamps.
Stolen art inside.
I smiled as I took off, hoping it would work. But there was one final task. Only one more thing that was in my control.
It was time to come clean.
I found the girls on the roof of The Kyle Building, waiting for me. They rushed me.
“You guys okay?” I huffed with my hands hanging on my hips, trying to catch my breath.
“We’re fine,” Erin answered. “But are you okay? We heard the gunshots as we were leaving. What the hell happened?”
“I outran them.” I said with a smile.
They smiled back, and relief slipped over us.
“Of course you did.” Cher laughed and hugged me.
“I’m glad you’re okay. Are you ready for this?” Erin asked, reaching for my hand.
“I have to be.” I squeezed her fingers and turned to the group. “I don’t know if anyone answered the alarm. If they didn’t—”
“I’m sure they did,” Erin interrupted. “We’re going to run by there and make sure.”
I nodded. “Don’t get caught.”
“Don’t worry about us. We won’t get caught.” Erin handed the painting
to me.
I took it with shaking hands, and each of my friends passed by, giving me their silent blessings before they ran off into the night, Erin last of all.
“You can do this.”
“I’m going to do this.”
She smiled once more and pulled me into a hug, wrapping her arms around my neck as mine wound around her waist. She squeezed tight before letting me go and taking off after everyone.
I took a breath as sat on a vent and pulled out my laptop, searching the IP for the cameras again. The insurance company and cops would investigate once the painting showed back up, which meant the security footage would be checked for sure. I couldn’t afford to make any more stupid decisions.
Goosebumps trailed up my arms and neck, even though I was so hot I could barely breathe. I put my gear away, slung on the painting and punched in the code. Walked down the stairs. Down his hall. Knelt in front of his door, a sinner in confession, picking his lock with my heart full of fear and hope, humbled and repentant.
His apartment was dark and quiet, and I wondered where he was. Maybe he was out with someone. Maybe he’d written me off for good. Part of me hoped he had. The rest of me couldn’t stomach the thought.
I walked over to the space where the painting was meant to be and took off the case, setting it down in front of me. I unzipped it carefully and lifted the painting out, held it at arm’s length for a moment, just looking it over. And then I stepped to the wall, lifted it up, and hung it where it belonged.
It was just like Van said. As I stood in the stillness, I could feel what Rothko felt when he’d painted it, but it was more than that. It was a reflection of myself. The cold blues. The heavy red, pooled like blood at the bottom. Hot and cold. Good and bad. Love and pain. And when I couldn’t see it anymore for my tears, I turned my back to the painting and sank into his armchair to wait for my fate.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AS ALWAYS, THE FIRST person to thank is Jeff Brillhart, husband extraordinaire. Thanks for putting up with my inconvenient need to keep myself (and in effect, you) constantly busy. Thank you for being so incredibly supportive, as well as being an incredible badass.
