“You just break into places.”
I could see how one might be confused. “I didn’t break in. I just—accidentally entered.”
“What?” He stared at me like I’d spoken in tongues.
“It just happened. I was in the hall—and then I wasn’t in the hall—”
“If youarea thief, you’re the most incompetent one I’ve ever met.”
All of a sudden, I had thief pride and he’d offended it. “Oh, and you’ve met so many thieves? What areyoueven doing here?”
He ignored me, gaze falling to the bottom shelves of the bookcase. “You were looking at the photo albums?”
“No.” I didn’t even know why I denied it, unless, along with my thief pride, I had a heretofore unknown affinity for deception.
“Hm.” He crossed to the fireplace, lifting a tiny vase from the mantel and placing the flower in it. “Why were you looking at them?”
“You’re missing water.”
“Thank you,” he said, voice so dry that if any waterhadbeen present, it would have evaporated. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Eesh.What an honor, to meet the king of sarcasm. I looked at the strange multicolored petals again. “What kind of flower is it?”
“A poisonous one.”
“Oh.” I drew back. “Do you usually walk around fancy parties with poisonous flowers?”
“Only when I need to confront secretive thieves.”
“I’mnota thief.” I scowled, then held up my hands. “See? Nothing.” I darted a glance at the door. He was several steps away. If I dashed for it—
I dashed.
He moved faster, throwing his body before the door. I skidded to a halt an inch away from him, and now we were too close, so close I could see each of his black lashes. My pulse ratcheted up and I hopped back, unable to catch my breath, unable to stop staring at him. His throat worked convulsively, his chest rising and falling like he, too, couldn’t find enough oxygen.
But any momentary enchantment died when he opened his mouth. “Empty your pockets.”
“These are girls’ shorts,” I shot back. “They don’thavepockets. They’re fake pockets.”
He blinked. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I know.”
“Your purse, then.”
“Why should I listen to you? You’re sneaking in here, too.”
“Because I actually belong here.”
I sighed and handed my bag over. I’d brought almost nothing—phone, keys, wallet. He flipped open the wallet. “Abigail Schoenberg,” he read. His eyes flicked up. There were cues you looked for when you were trying to decide if someone else was also Jewish. Abigail could go either way, but my last name and my dark corkscrews were a strong signal. (And fine, my nose wasn’t precisely subtle.) His gaze returned to my license. “Nice picture.”
It was not a nice picture.
“If I was going to steal something,” I said witheringly, “I wouldn’t put it somewhere so obvious. I’d tuck it in my bra or something.”
He looked up. The corners of his mouth twitched.
Shoot. “Which you’renotchecking. Obviously if I had, I wouldn’t have planted the idea in your head.”
