Page 33 of Forever a Thief

Back in the living room, wearing our comfy robes again, he calls in, ordering way too much food, while I curl my legs beneath me on the couch and pick up the book again. Instead of reading where I left off, I casually flip ahead, scanning the familiar text, skimming the beloved story. Searching for anything else that stands out or seems suspect.

I’m about to go back and pick up where I left off, when something weird snags my attention. In chapter seven, the Mad Hatter recites a silly parody of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” And what I’m reading isn’t right.

“Cat.” I touch the word on the page, getting excited.

“What did you say, my little bookworm?” Laurent drops down beside me.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little cat!” I exclaim, and he looks at me like I’m as mad as the poor Hatter. “It should be bat! Twinkle, twinkle little bat!”

“Did you bump your head?” he teases, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

“The poem is wrong!” I flip the book around, pointing at the text. “Twinkle, twinkle, little Cat! Now I know where you’re at! Up above two continents you fly, like a blue heart in the sky.”

“Blue heart? It actually says that?” He leans down, inspecting the strange poem.

“These aren’t the regular words. It’s been changed. Another poem is different, too, but I can’t make heads or tails of it. They have to be clues though.”

“But what does it mean? A location maybe? Savvy, can you tell me exactly what’s different from the original poem?”

Nodding, I point out the differences. “It should be a bat, not a cat. And instead of wondering where you’re at, it specifically says ‘Now I know where you’re at.’ The two continents thing? That’s different.” I tap a finger against my lip. “And, of course, blue heart isn’t normally in there. It’s supposed to be tea tray.”

“You’re a genius.” He plants a kiss on my lips.

“No, just well read.” I send him a saucy smile.

“Do you have any idea how sexy that is?” His voice drops, thigh pressing into mine.

“Focus, monsieur,” I scold. Reaching for my phone, I start a search and type in some of the changed words and phrases.

“Right.” He gives his head a shake and follows my lead, doing the same thing.

While I focus on “Cat,” he keeps talking about the phrase, “Up above two continents you fly.”

“It has to be a location. A place where two continents merge,” he muses, skimming his phone’s screen. “It says here, Iceland is the premier destination where two continents merge and pull apart.”

“How does that relate to a cat?”

He gives me a quizzical smile. “I was hoping you’d figure out that part of the riddle.”

With a chuckle, I keep searching. “The letter C is capitalized. That must be significant. Maybe the city or country starts with the letters C-a-t.” Out of the blue, an idea strikes me. “Two continents. They don’t have to physically merge. Maybe it’s more like… I don’t know, separate cultures.”

“Maybe,” he agrees.

The only place I know where two continents meet and divide a culture is Turkey. I remember reading a book and it went into detail about how it’s famous for being the only city in the world to span two continents. I did a little research of my own—well, because I’m a nerd like that—and ended up watching a bunch of videos on social media. Talk about going down a rabbit hole. There was an especially good-looking influencer who lived in Istanbul and always shared pictures and stories about the city. Including all the cats who live there.

I gasp. “I know where it is!” Laurent just blinks, looking at me like I’m speaking Russian. “It’s in Istanbul, Turkey! It has to be there.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s where the East meets the West. The only city in the world that spans two continents. And Istanbul…” I quickly do a search, pulling up the city, “also known as Catstanbul, is home to an estimated 200,000 free-roaming cats.” I give him a triumphant smile.

His green eyes go wide. “Putain! It makes perfect sense.”

“It kind of does,” I agree, and he pulls me into his arms, kissing me hard. Before it can turn more heated, I come up for air, placing a hand on his chest and looking deep into his vibrant eyes. “Being a bookworm pays off,” I joke.

“Come with me,” he invites, voice silky.

“What?” My eyes must go comically wide.