Chapter 4
Holding on to the turquoise silver cuff was a risk, and an unprofessional one at that. He wasn’t a psychopath; he didn’t take trophies. He’d stolen from people he knew before—acquaintances, friends and, even in moments of desperation or weakness, family.
Attachments meant nothing in this business but trouble. Yet he’d chosen Zephyr Gallery knowing it belonged to Sassy Colton. Knowing full well he had unfinished business with her.
He’d thought the years since he’d last seen her would have cooled the resentment.
He ran his thumb over the cuff’s rounded edge and felt the pleasant stir in his belly, the one he’d felt when he’d spotted it in that shaft of moonlight on her desk.
The job had been to leave everything as it was. No sign of a break-in. No forced entry. No indication that he’d been there at all.
And yet he’d known as soon as he’d laid eyes on the bracelet that it was hers and he wanted it.
He’d lifted the piece like an amateur thief with no street cred. Like an idiot who never considered the consequences. Who chased the thrill and nothing else.
He didn’t make mistakes. He hadn’t. Not in years. So much was riding on his presence here in Dark Canyon. He couldn’t afford complications.
His old feelings for Haseya Colton would not be his downfall. He’d come too far for that.
He set the cuff down and ignored the tingling at the tips of his fingers he always felt when he fondled the piece. He pried on the black nitrile gloves, one finger at a time. On jobs, he used them in place of latex because they were less likely to transfer the natural oils of his skin or sweat onto anything he touched. Thanks to the mistakes of his youth—when he’d chased thrills and danger like a kid possessed—his prints were in the system. He could leave none behind during tonight’s visit to the gallery.
There would be no need to visit her office upstairs, no reason to touch anything that belonged to her or smell her scent on the air.
He only needed to access the back half of the lower floor. That would be the safest place for the transaction to take place during the Coltons’ famous silent auction in a few weeks.
He would leave his feelings for Haseya Colton at the door. He hadn’t come this far to allow her to lead him down a path of disaster once more.
* * *
“That dog can’t be here.”
Nick dropped his hand from the handle of the door leading into River House, a long-term care facility just outside Dark Canyon. The man sitting on a nearby bench frowned so deeply that the lines cut sharp diagonals across his pale cheeks. He raised a arthritic finger to the leash in Nick’s hand.
At the end of the leash, Riot’s perked ears lowered a fraction. He gave a whine, looking from the man to Nick and back again, waiting for instruction.
“Mr. Kincaid,” the nurse said as she approached the bench with a cluster of wildflowers clutched in her hand. She extended them to him, gently wrapping his fingers around their stems. “That’s Riot. He’s the therapy dog that goes round residents’ rooms.”
“What for?” Mr. Kincaid asked, narrowing his eyes on Riot distrustfully.
In response, Riot plopped onto his rear and hung his tongue out of the side of his mouth, as if he were trying to look as harmless as possible.
Nick petted his boxy head. “He’s a real people person,” he explained to Mr. Kincaid patiently. “He likes being around everyone and meeting new people.”
“What if he jumps on them?” Mr. Kincaid asked. “People fall down all the time in there.” He jerked his thumb to the building at his back. “My neighbor broke three ribs last week just getting out of bed.”
“He’s well trained,” Nick assured him. “He’s got his certifications. He’s been volunteering here and at other homes for years and he’s never jumped on anyone. Never so much as barked at anyone, either.” Nick had been as surprised as everyone else when he’d discovered Riot’s knack for comforting people, particularly the sick and elderly.
“Is he clean?” Mr. Kincaid asked, the edge of suspicion in his voice undiluted.
“He just had a bath yesterday,” Nick replied. “No fleas or ticks, the groomer assured me. And he’s up-to-date on all his vaccinations.”
The nurse gauged Mr. Kincaid’s pinched expression. “Would you like to pet him?”
Mr. Kincaid’s lips pursed as he and Riot engaged in a stare down. Despite the man’s unwelcoming facade, Riot’s tail wagged happily against the sidewalk.
“Oh, hell, why not?” Mr. Kincaid muttered.
Nick exchanged a smile with the nurse. Carolyn, he recalled. He whistled to Riot, who rose to all fours and followed Nick to Mr. Kincaid’s side, where he sat again.
