Maybe he could fix this.
He’d seen a diner a couple blocks away.
It was worth trying.
He made it to the diner, ordered food, and was back in less than half an hour, which, considering the dinner rush, was pretty fantastic.
For all he knew, Shelby had eaten. She’d left. She wouldn’t open the door for him, but he needed to do something.
Kade once more climbed the steps to her loft and knocked on the door.
There was music playing again, only louder this time.
Maybe Shelby hadn’t heard him?
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
He dug out his phone and shot off a text with a snapshot of the two shakes in the crook of his arm.
About five seconds later, something clattered to the floor.
“Shelby?” He knocked on the door.
Thumps that had nothing to do with the music came closer. The locks clanked against the metal door and it slid open.
Shelby blinked at him and then the food. She’d changed out of her kickass, black motorcycle leathers into oversized, paint-streaked shorts and a T-shirt. Her hair was up, and something was smeared on her cheek.
“I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry?” He held out the shakes. “I didn’t know if you were a chocolate or vanilla shake person.”
“Vanilla.” She just kept blinking at him.
“Oh, well good. They use real chocolate at the place around the corner. I’m partial to chocolate, myself.”
“You…got food?”
“Yeah, I maybe should have checked first, to see if you’d already eaten, before I came back. I’m trying to apologize.” And maybe he should have gone home, each to their respective corners, and tried this tomorrow.
“Why would you apologize?” She leaned back, her gaze flitting up to his face.
“Because…maybe you’re right. And I shouldn’t…my brothers fuck with my head. You shouldn’t have to, I don’t know. I’m sorry? Please put me out of my misery?”
Shelby shook her head and stepped back. Kade entered the loft, and she locked up behind him.
“Did you eat?” he asked.
“No, I was going to try to get something on the canvas first.”
“Canvas? What are you doing?”
“Making forgeries for the gala.”
“What?”
“Did they put anything on the burgers?”
“Uh, no. I had them stick it all on the side of…” He set the to go boxes on the counter and popped the top on first one. “This one.”
“Oh, good. I’m a plain and dry, dunked in cheese kind of a girl.” Shelby hopped up onto the counter and snagged the still-hot burger from the box.
“I think the cheese…” He watched her take a big bite. “It’s in the box.”
“Don’t care. Too hungry.”
“All right. Ketchup?”
“Yes.”
“On—”
“All of it.”
“Okay, then.”
Shelby added the cheese to her burger for her second and third bites. He wasn’t sure there was any left for a fourth. How someone her size put away a nearly-half-pound burger so fast was a mystery. He kept his comments to himself while she ploughed through half her fries before he was done with the burger.
“I get hangry,” Shelby said between bites after a while.
“And I was a dick.”
“We’re okay?”
“Sure.” He shrugged.
He didn’t know what Shelby’s past was. How far he could trust her, even though he wanted to. But his options were few and far between. The way he saw it, between his brothers and Shelby, she was likely the least dangerous co-conspirator.
Owen, his detective friend, hadn’t gotten back to him yet. The question was, did he want to know the truth? Or was he better off not knowing?
“You want to know the full, glorious plan or not?” Shelby sipped her shake, watching him.
“Lay it on me.”
“You can’t repeat anything I’m about to tell you. Rusty would rather you sign all the things first, but the way I see it, you’re in no matter what. Better if you know everything now.”
“I’m not going to agree to anything until I know what’s going on.”
“I figured.” She turned to glance across the room. “The guy we’re after? His name is Iestyn Odgen. He has subcontractors—for a lack of a better term—like Gil, who run his jobs for him. This means Odgen’s hands never touch the merchandise and he’s blameless, but we all know he’s got a finger in the pie.”
“And this time, he wants art?”
“Yeah.” Shelby made a face.
“What’s that for?”
“It just doesn’t make a lot of sense.” She sighed. “I’ve researched his other heists. They’ve been pieces you know about—well, maybe not you, but art people. This one’s all random, Renaissance stuff. Nothing important or major. A lot of landscapes and frolicking couples.”
“But you know he’s involved?”
“Yes. We’re assuming this stuff’s for him, since no one else has been trying to get their hands on it. Anyway.” She gestured at the easels, most of which were pointed away from them. “I’m making copies. That’s what I got in trouble doing, by the way.”
“Copying art?”
“Forging art. Fakes. Good ones, but still—fake. Passing it off as the real deal. I was a starving kid at the time, suddenly alone in the world.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t make it right, I just didn’t… I didn’t pause to consider if what I was doing was right or wrong. I knew how to paint. I was good at it. The theft came later.”
“Can I see?”
“Knock yourself out.”
“We sneak in, swap out the stuff, and steal the fakes?” He circled a canvas almost as big as he was and stared at a countryside landscape dotted by lambs. In the foreground, a couple lounged on a blanket, feeding each other from the bounty of a basket.
“The museum is in on it. They’ll store the originals and hang the reproductions. Most people won’t know the difference.” Shelby followed and paused with him.
“This is… You did all this?” He turned, taking in over a dozen different works of art. Some had smaller stands next to them, with images of the reference paintings, while others seemed complete.
“Yeah. I’m about ready to be done with the Renaissance period.” Shelby munched on her fries.
He glanced at the smudge on her cheek. It was kind of the same brown on the painting.
There was some intangible, other quality about Shelby. When he’d first met her, he’d just assumed it was that connection, listening to her talk about her parents and the loss. Kade’s might still be alive, but they weren’t close. They didn’t want the same things. Now…he wasn’t sure what it was about her.
She was attractive, and he was attracted to her. He just wasn’t sure what that other quality was.
He’d tasted it last night. Her kiss…that was the kind of shit that could get a man hooked. But he needed to stay focused on what they were doing, not how hard she made his dick.
“That’s the whole plan? Deliver the forged art, steal it, and then what?” He wasn’t a pro at this, but it felt like something was missing.
“The FBI will follow us to the delivery spot and arrest everyone. You will be released quietly to go on about your life.” She never glanced away from the painting.
“What about you?”
“On to the next job.” She sipped from the shake, never once looking his way, and that bothered him.
“What kind of job?”
“The kind you don’t want to know anything about.”
“Shelby…” He stepped in front of her.
She stared at his chest.
This was all screwed up in his head. She’d conned him, and he was the one who thought he needed to apologize. For what? Yeah, he’d made his apology earlier, but it was more than that.
“You’re probably right about me,”
he said. “I never looked at it that way.”
“Sometimes, running away is the smart thing to do.” She lifted a shoulder.
He reached out and cupped her face. Her cheek was cool to the touch. From the ice cream? Or was she cold?
Kade bent his head.
He felt her suck in a breath.
“You should leave,” she whispered.
Her eyes finally met his. Was that a tremble he felt? Why the hell did he think kissing her was a good idea? It probably wasn’t, but hell, the rightness he’d sensed kissing her was the only thing that made sense in this whole, crazy plan.
“I have a lot of work to finish,” she said, this time without trembling.
“All right.” He tucked her hair behind her ear and straightened, stroking his fingers over her cheek.
She was shutting him out. He couldn’t blame her, but neither did he like it.
Whatever this was between them, his brothers be damned, it wasn’t over.
9.
Shelby watched for the long shadow against the sidewalk. She counted the seconds until she saw him.
Kade paused, glancing up over his shoulder.
She ducked out of sight, though it was likely too late. She hugged the shake to her chest and pressed her back against the fridge. What was wrong with her? Why was she being so…weird?
When it came to work, she did her job. She was good at it. Between her real crimes and the ones the FBI attributed to her, she had enough experience to swing either way—good guys or bad guys. These days, she only worked for the good guys. The bad guys were the ones getting conned.
That sort of life came at a cost.
Shelby slid to the floor and cradled her face in her hand, sipping from the vanilla-y goodness.
People didn’t understand her. Kade was a prime example.
When she’d been a normal girl he had chemistry with, everything was fine. But when he found out the truth… It always went bad. People who accepted her for what she was, typically fell on the wrong side of the line, or being with them meant putting them at risk. Things always ended, either when she arrested her lover, or when her job put pressure on the relationship.
She’d accepted that, for her, love wasn’t in the cards. Lust, scratching an itch? Sure. But that romance stuff? No one could understand and care for her. She was too broken, too much baggage, too…damaged.
Kade had reminded her of that.
She’d have to thank him.
Otherwise, they might be making use of that bed in the corner she barely slept in.
Her phone went off, vibrating against her thigh. She sighed and pulled it out. Instead of a message from Kade, she had a text from Gil.
Sending details for gig. Need done b4 noon.
Well, fuck.
She skimmed the attached file before forwarding it to Rusty for counter-instructions. Just what she needed, a firm reminder that she had work to do.
Shelby had to paint.
There was only a week left, and there were still three paintings she wasn’t finished with. But her mood was crap and that meant her work would be shit, too.
Damn Kade.
Why couldn’t he be like his brothers?
She dragged herself to her feet and plodded across the loft, past the easels.
The best way to fix this was to work out her emotions on paper.
Her mother had been a painter, favoring acrylics and oil. Shelby preferred digital art, but sometimes what she needed was something in her hand and a page she could touch. Regular old pencils did it for her, then.
She set the cup on a side table and pulled a large sheet to the center of her drafting table. It hadn’t seen a lot of use since she’d moved on to painting, but tonight they were going to spend some time together.
Kade wanted to put his life into nice, neat boxes—because of his family, because of the loss he’d experienced, because of people who’d wronged him.
He had a bit of the bad boy in him still, but he chose to be the good guy. A hero. She’d never mistaken him for a Prince Charming type, but he was close enough. And then there was that damn prince video. She hadn’t seen it when it made the rounds at first, but Rusty had pointed it out to her, and fuck if that didn’t make her like him a little bit more.
She drew, letting her mind wander to moments she’d captured, like photographs. How his hair had stuck up, the way he ran his hands through it. Starlight against his skin.
Leather was a good look on him. And yet…he was kind.
Rusty had profiled Kade, because that was what Rusty did. His assessment and Shelby’s impression of Kade lined up fairly accurately, but all that did was help her predict his next move.
She should have seen the apology coming.
When she’d opened that door and seen him standing there with food… She hadn’t been ready for that. But she should have been.
Kade would save his brothers, because it appeased his desire to do right. But then what?
She would move on to the next gig Rusty had for her and Kade would stay here. That was how it would continue to go. Until this life killed her.
Shelby knew that.
It was why there wasn’t any point of putting down roots, in making friends, in having a life outside of work. First, her work put others at risk. Second, she probably wouldn’t make it to the age of forty. She’d get on the wrong side of someone and she’d die before the FBI could pull her ass out of the fire, but at least she’d go down doing something good.
That was all she had left anymore.
Doing good to right her wrongs.
Which was why…putting Kade out of her life was what she had to do. For him, and for her.
“Gil for you, sir.”
Iestyn held out his hand and took the phone from Brent.
“How goes our little side operation?” Iestyn asked.
“I gave the details to Shelby like you asked.” Gil ground his teeth loud enough Iestyn could hear them. “Can I ask, why her?”
“I have my reasons, Gil. No, you may not ask. Play nice with Shelby.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gil was straining at his leash, asking too many questions, assuming too much responsibility. Iestyn had known Gil’s usefulness was near expiring, he’d simply hoped for one more smooth job. Oh, well. Gil would serve his purpose and then be gone.
“Anything else?” Iestyn asked.
“No, sir. Everything else is right on schedule. Everyone believes what I’m tellin’ them.”
“Good, good.”
Some jobs were too big, too important, to tell the team exactly what—and when—they were doing the heist. This was one of them. Absconding with a dozen works of art was a big project, and left room for errors. Sellouts. Mistakes.
Iestyn and Gil covered a few more points and then hung up.
No, Iestyn couldn’t tell Gil what the side job was about, because that would mean letting Gil know they were working more than one angle. That was for Iestyn to know, and no one else to find out. At least, not until it was too late.
Kade woke from a fitful rest, his senses already on high alert.
What was that noise?
“Anton? Sasha?” He sat up. Sleep had mostly evaded him. Was he dreaming again? More pools of orange juice and logs of bacon? What had his brothers stolen this time?
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” The floor outside his bedroom creaked and a figure stepped into view.
Her husky voice in the darkness brought him to full awareness. He’d dreamed about her last night. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body. He wasn’t completely certain this wasn’t a dream now.
“Shelby?” He threw the comforter back and swung his legs out of the bed.
“I have the paperwork from Rusty. Go back to bed. I’ll leave it on the counter. He got everything you asked for in there.”
“What are you doing here?” He walked, or shambled, across the room.
“Rusty? He agreed to lesser charges for your brothers if every
thing goes according to plan. Go back to sleep.” She took a step back. Light from the windows fell across her face.
He leaned against the doorway, peering down at her, as if he could read the future in the lines of her face. That was a gift he hadn’t been able to pick up. Shelby looked…different. Grim. Resigned. There was a different energy clinging to her.
“What’s going on? Something happened.” He cupped her elbow, needing to assure himself this wasn’t a dream, some sort of omen. He wasn’t superstitious, but he also didn’t deny that sometimes the universe gave people signs. Shelby could be his.
“Nothing.” The strain in her voice betrayed her. She must have heard the lie, too. Her shoulders slumped and he heard the whoosh of breath leaving her lungs. “There’s just a lot going on.”
“Like what?” He tugged on her arm, pulling her closer. Needing to comfort her.
“Nothing for you to worry about.” She patted his chest, then backed up a step. He moved with her. That waver when she spoke, he didn’t like it.
“What’s wrong? What can I do to help?”
“Nothing.”
“If I’m in this, I’m in.” From what he’d seen, Shelby was a one-woman task force. A single, highly skilled operative could do a lot, but she wasn’t infallible. She needed someone to guard her back at least. “Tell me what I can do.”
“You don’t want to be part of this.” Her voice was strange. Cold. Distant.
“I’m going to get dressed.” He tugged her closer and kissed her forehead, because it felt right. Because her tough exterior needed to be met with gentleness. “Tell me what we’re doing.”
“We aren’t doing anything, Kade.”
“Then why are you still here?”
He squeezed her elbow and let go.
Shelby remained rooted to the spot.
“I’ll be a second. Start talking.” He turned back to the bedroom, finding his clothes by touch. She followed, hovering in the doorway, which he took as a good sign.
“This…it doesn’t make any sense.” Shelby sighed and leaned against the bedroom door.
“What?”
“I’m supposed to break into this building downtown, or walk in during business hours. I have the floor plans, and I’m supposed to go to a server room in the basement, find a terminal, and stick this thumb drive in. Wait five minutes. Then leave. That’s it. I can’t figure out why. What use does it have?”
Her Prince (Twisted Royals #2) Page 8
