Page 9 of Forever a Thief

“You’re French?” Savannah asks, drawing my full attention back to her. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. I love how feminine and delicate her features are—almost doll-like. And those freckles—taches de rousseur—sprinkled across the bridge of her nose make her look far too young.

“Oui, parlez-vous français?”

She giggles. “No. I took Spanish in school. Not that I remember anything.” Straightening up quickly, as though she caught herself doing something wrong, she clears her throat, and all the flirt seems to fizzle out of her. “I need to lock the door behind them. And we should go wait for your Uber.”

“Of course.”

I follow her through the restaurant, which has a great vibe. Cozy, yet with some elegance going on, too. I can tell she’s put a lot of love and care into it.

“This is your place?” I ask, noticing the family pictures once we reach the entryway. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s her parents and sister. There are several photos, and I lean in to study the one with two little blonde girls, their arms wrapped around each other and big pink bows in their hair. Both have that adorable smattering of freckles across their nose.

“It is. I named it after my dad.” She sounds so proud. “That’s me and my younger sister, Harper,” she says, noticing me checking the picture out. “I think we were like six and eight there.”

“Very sweet.” I don’t know many people who’ve worked hard to build a business like this. Okay, I don’t know any. The people I associate with already have a fortune or merely take what they want.

I watch as she locks the door and waves to Gray and Aubrey as they pull away from the curb. Something about Little Miss Freckles intrigues me, but it’s best to keep my distance. As much as I’d like to play with the lovely Savannah, the only thing I’d end up doing is screwing up her perfect life. She clearly has her shit together and works hard. I’m a thief and the furthest thing from legit. The smart move is to get into the Uber currently pulling up and leave with gratitude and a charming farewell.

“Looks like your ride is here.” She gives me a small smile.

I turn to face her. “Thank you for your help,” I murmur, extending my hand. She looks down at it then reaches out, but I’m not interested in a casual, impersonal handshake. Lifting her delicate hand to my lips, I brush a kiss against her soft knuckles. “Until we meet again, ma chérie.”

Which will probably be never. But I’m infamous for my dashing entrances and exits. Granted, tonight’s entrance wasn’t too debonair, but you can bet your last dollar my exit will be.

Savannah flushes as I push the door open and stride out with as much swagger as I can, considering I’m filthy and sporting fresh stitches pulling at my side.

Out of nowhere, a strange feeling washes over me—like I’m walking away from my future—and I pause mid-step. I’ve never experienced anything like it before, and for the first time in a very long time, I’m not sure what to do. Hesitation fills me.

Until the driver’s side door of the Uber opens and a man gets out. He moves around the vehicle and I spot the gun in his hand. Seriously? Why is nothing ever easy?

“Where’s the book?” he growls.

“I don’t have it.” Clutching the bottle of water, I slowly raise my hands and glance over my shoulder. Savannah still stands there, watching closely, a funny look on her face. I’m hoping she takes me putting my hands up as a warning to lock the door and get back out of harm’s way.

Instead, she throws the door open and motions for me to hurry back inside, calling, “Laurent!”

Shit. That definitely wasn’t the plan. Well, here we go…

Her presence distracts the guy just long enough for me to whip my water bottle into his face. He lets out a surprised yelp as I spin around and race back to the restaurant.

“Hey!” he yells.

I don’t want to drag Savannah into this any further, but I also don’t want to get shot. Getting stabbed was quite enough for one evening, thank you very much.

Running back inside, I yank the door shut and twist the lock.

“What’s going on?” she demands, but there’s no time for explanations. Getting her as far away from the glass door is my first priority.

My instincts are spot-on, because as we run through the dining area, I hear a couple of pops and the sound of shattering glass.

Her feet abruptly stop, mouth dropping open in shock, and I grab her hand, towing her forward. “Is there a back door?”

“Yes, this way.” As we pass her office, she digs her heels in. “Wait!” She pulls out of my grip, hurries over to her desk and grabs her purse.

“Uh, chérie, we really need to go.”

“Car keys,” she explains, rushing past me. “C’mon!”

The way she suddenly takes charge has me grinning. Who is this magnificent woman?