Page 32 of It Takes a Thief

“Oh, you know it. With my pepper spray and taser.”

Wolf Glaser made a thumbs-up sign at me from where he stood with Tracy and Tobiah. I thought that was strange—Tobiah was his rival for Tracy’s affections. Wolf usually called him “nerd boy” and “four eyes” even though Toby didn’t wear glasses, and “played a clarinet in high school.” He always threatened to give Tobiah’s bowl head a royal flush, which I guess was a double swirly. In other words, war of the dorks.

But today Wolf declared, “This is dope!”

“You’ve never been before?” I asked.

“Nope. But I pulled off an extra special stunt the other day on the highway job. As a reward, I’m being treated like an old-timer. For now.”

“Well, you’d better watch out, Wolf. Tobiah is talking to Tracy right now. Aren’t you nervous?”

Wolf made an exaggerated shrug. “Nah. Who’s nervous? Who’d pick that nerdgasm over me? I’m the real deal. I’ve got what it takes.”

“You’re dope,” suggested Sabrina.

Wolf pointed at her. “I’m ultra-dope.” His other hand, embedded deep in the pocket of his chino pants, told me otherwise. He was nervous. I’d been reading these signs in patch holders for years. I looked at Tracy. She seemed to be giggling way louder than was necessary, even given the hubbub in the room. I could read the signs in women, too. Her eyes were shining with more than a good lungful of Young Man when she looked at Tobiah. I wanted to tell Wolf he’d better watch out for his rival, but it wasn’t proper for me to tell patch holders what to do.

Tobiah, however, wasn’t a patch holder.

I shouldered my way between Toby and Tracy and growled at the CFO, “Keep your nose clean, Toby. You’re talking to the old lady of a brother.”

Tobiah looked like someone had shocked him with a cattle prod. “What? What’m I doing wrong? Just standing here talking, is all. Tracy and I go way back.”

I shot Tracy a warning glare, too. She just leaned back from me, as though I had bad breath. I wasn’t sure if she got the picture, but I’d had enough of throwing my weight around. I didn’t do it very often. Some old ladies of Prez’ did. I didn’t.

As Sabrina and I moved down the row of offered auction items, I thought how I was willing to take my share of the blame for Ford and me drifting apart. After giving birth to Niko, I’d suffered a massive postpartum depression that lingered for months. At first, I couldn’t even get out of bed. I read schlocky romance novels on my device. I took the doctor’s antidepressants as I had when I was a teen, but this time they didn’t seem to help. I talked a lot to other mothers who’d suffered the same trauma. June had gone through it when she’d had Lara. Faux Pas’ wife Sapphire had endured it after having Sophie two decades before. It was very common. But it rarely hit women as hard and as long as it did me.

I’d driven Ford away. Not that he needed much incentive, but I dated our emotional separation to my depression. I’d finally dragged myself out of it, but by then we were accustomed to operating separately.

“I saw you kissing your husband.”

Gasping, I turned around. Adrenaline shot through my system, ready to punch the pervert.

But it was only Santiago Slayer, the suave charmer of a sicario who often worked for us. His mannered, enunciated way of speaking was seductive, and I lifted my hand for him to kiss. We’d grown somewhat close, or as close as an old lady and a hitman could be.

“Santiago! Yes, we’ve been getting along well lately.”

Santiago was very good at picking up body language. That was part of his job. He’d often seen me flashing Ford ungrateful or, shall we say, uncharitable looks, and he’d asked me about it. I’d confessed to him that I’d grown apart from Ford, and he’d expressed deep pity about it. He tried to assure me Ford was a busy man who loved me, and he did the same now.

“You see? Now you can make love with abandon.” He wiggled his eyebrows when he said this, and he just needed a cape to swirl.

“How did you know?” I giggled.

“I have faith in you almost as much as I have faith in myself.”

“Santiago!” Sabrina was butting in, lifting her own limp hand for him to kiss. He was going to get chapped lips if he kept kissing everyone’s damned hand.

But he looked back to me with assurance, his glimmering brown eyes swimming under his perfectly coiffed eyebrows. “Nothing is more important than family, Madison. I am very glad to hear you are back on the right track. And now. I am here to deliver some news to Ford that I hope will not derail your romance.”

“Oh?” I knew better than to ask what it was. “I’m just here making sure I’m high bidder on this Alaska cruise.”

“Oh, yes, that one,” he said thoughtfully, as though he went on cruises every day. “I was going to bid, because I need a good Inside Passage cruise with glaciers and optional whale watching. But if you’re bidding, I will step aside.”

“Thank you, mijo,” I said.

A couple stopped to investigate the Alaska display, and Santiago said to them, “You do not want this cruise. This cruise line has barfing and vomiting galore. I once went on a cruise of Norwegian fjords with this line. The norovirus struck, and people were having chorro off the side of the ship. How do you say in English…”

“The shits?” suggested Sabrina.