Page 48 of Stealing Blinds

“You are supposed to be legit now, Mom.” I take her dish, scrubbing it with more aggression than necessary before loading it. “Being so well versed in Noire speak is probably ill-advised.”

She shoos that away. “The FBI hasn’t bugged this place in years.”

“It’s doubtful you’ll be able to say that once you have renters in here.” I dry my hands and move back to the table to sip my Diet Coke. Maybe Cash thinks my anger is misplaced, but my mother and I both remember the days when someone was lurking around every corner. “Why not just send the FBI an invitation? We can decorate it with a picture of the mask.”

“So soon?” she volleys. “Didn’t you invite them a couple of summers ago?”

“That visit was courteous of Danny. Not me. And don’t bother being coy. I’ve already been interrogated about that this morning.”

“Good.” She beams. “Leading with an example of feminine rage is a strong move.”

“No need for a membership. She’s already covered.” Cash stares me down, his eyes like heated laser beams. “We take care of our friends.”

This kitchen is like a freaking tinderbox with fuses lit in every damn direction.

“Never mind the special treatment.” I arch my brows in challenge. “Sign me up. I’ll do what the members do and stay where the members stay.”

“I guess that would be better,” he grits out, suave and smooth, like always, but with a knifelike edge, “since I was going to put you in the servants’ quarters in the shed out back.”

Am I fighting both of them?

All my muscles coil with frustration. “Won’t my being there interfere with your lifestyle?”

“You mean my travel schedule? I suppose it will since the object of my obsession will be with me.” He glares at me—part wrath, but part compassion—and it cracks my chest open. “You sound jealous, Sylv, and you’re convicting me of someone else’s crimes.”

Fuck, he’s right. He isn’t Danny. And he doesn’t owe me anything. He should run. I’m so fucked up.

“It won’t happen again,” I start, and then I rub my forehead and amend the lie. “In all honesty, it might. Not because I’m … When it does, just know that I’m having an untethered moment. It’s not you.”

“That’s fair.” He takes a pull of his beer, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they sear into me. “I am the lunatic who keeps tracking you down.”

My mother is so quiet, watching us, that her duplicitous scheme is unveiled. She arranged this with him.

I shoot her a look that conveys I’m onto her. “Why are you doing this?”

She hears everything I’m not saying. I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know if I can pull this off. I need your guidance. I don’t want to end up like Dad.

Her green eyes glisten with regret. “This is best.”

“I’ve got two more jobs I need to complete. One is next week.”

“And what better place is there to work from? They can protect you, Sylvie. You need a team.”

“This shit again,” I snipe. “I’ve already told you, I’m only working alone. I couldn’t trust my own blood for common decency.”

“The final piece isn’t a one-person job.” Her tone takes on the talking-Sylvie-off-a-ledge quality I loathe and the world-renowned-thief wisdom I can’t ignore. “Yes, it’s a risk to work with people. But you’re in over your head, so the risk is warranted. I know a thing or two about how this could slip through your fingers. What happens if you fail?”

“You orchestrated this with him.” I slice my hand toward the man who is invading every facet of my life. “He shows up and dazzles you, so you’re abandoning me?”

She smacks the creamy quartz countertop to punctuate her words. “What. Happens. If. You. Fail?”

I shake my head, refuting her implication. “E knows there’s no guaran—”

“Who’s E?” Cash barks.

“No one.” I cast him a censuring leer.

“He might know it’s not guaranteed, Sylvie,” my mother says, drawing me back to her, “but he will not accept it. He owns you now.”