THIEF: Part 2 Page 5

  “Yes. But only because I have a record—they keep their money in a safe that I didn’t even know about while I worked there, let alone had access to.”

  “That’s good. I can work with it.” He looks at Silas. “And who are you?”

  “My character reference,” I answer.

  “And her boyfriend,” Silas admits. “But I can verify that Erin never had access to the money—counselors and managers take the parents’ payments, and the managers put them in the safe after logging it in the computer.”

  “Are bank runs made?” Kyle asks. “When the safe holds a certain amount, I mean.”

  “Yes. Two managers, or a manager and a counselor, go to the bank every Friday. But Erin always left hours before those even happened.”

  Kyle jots Silas’s answers on a legal pad. “Sounds like we’ve got a shot, after all,” he says. “We can at least prove it’s very unlikely Erin had access to that money, if not impossible. And the fact they don’t have any proof she did take it helps a lot. Are they taking you to court, Erin?”

  “Not yet. Just launching an investigation. I’m supposed to meet with the police tomorrow and give them my statement, but I figured I should get a lawyer—my last one was court-appointed.”

  “Let’s get a practice statement,” he says, “you know, make sure you aren’t confused by what the cops might ask.”

  I pull a face. “Practice? I was just going to tell them the truth. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

  Kyle laughs, taking a sip from his water. “Erin,” he grins, like I’m so adorably naive, “it’s not enough to tell the truth anymore—it’s all about delivery.”

  At the advice of my new lawyer, I comb through every single one of my possessions that night and get rid of all the things I’ve ever stolen. Clothes with ink-tags still attached, bottles of perfume in their lock-boxes, mountains of cosmetics from drug stores.

  A brooch from Jane’s jewelry box, pilfered when I was only fourteen.

  Cousin Pierce’s favorite flask, engraved with his monogram.

  A broken horseshoe from the ranch. Somebody’s busted watch, found buried in the hay.

  Irv the shuttle driver’s employee badge. It slid against my feet on my second day of work and slipped so easily into my pocket. The next day, he had a new one.

  When I finally finish, there’s almost an entire box overflowing with treasures and junk. At the time, each object held a promise—something I liked about it and wanted to have for myself. The perfumes looked beautiful, delicate. Jane’s brooch seemed glamorous, and she looked so confident when she wore it.

  Pierce’s flask was sturdy and secretive. Irv’s badge seemed beloved, just like him.

  Every object had called to me, once. Now, trying to heft the box into Silas’s car, I wonder what I’d really heard.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Erin.” Silas brushes off his hands on his pants and smiles. “Really. I’m proud of you. I don’t know that I’d have the guts to do this.”

  “This isn’t guts,” I sigh. “I don’t have any other option. It’s too risky to keep this stuff.”

  “Here,” he says, fishing the brooch and flask—the only two things I can safely return to their real owners—out of his pocket. “What’s your plan?”

  I look at the brooch. Turn it in the sunlight, slowly.

  “I’ll send these back to Jane and Pierce, tell them they left them at Mom’s house during a visit, or something.” I take a deep breath. “Or maybe I’ll tell them the truth. I don’t know yet.”

  “And the box?”

  “Goodwill, I guess.” Weakly, I laugh at the spatters of ink on his clothes. “Thanks for getting those security tags and boxes off.”

  He brushes at the ink to no avail; it’s long dried. “All in a day’s work,” he says, laughing with me. “At least we managed to salvage a few of those things, so they're worth donating.” He gets serious again. “Really, though—you should feel happy about this, Erin. You can start to move on now. You don’t need this stuff.”

  “I know.” I feel stupid, holding back tears. “I guess I’m just scared. And, to be honest, it’s really hard facing this head-on. It’s not something I like to think about.”

  “You had your reasons,” he says softly. His shoes kick at loose rocks in the pavement. “You can’t undo it. All you can change is what’s ahead of you.”

  What’s ahead of me. I face the sunset and sigh; Silas is trying his best, but it’s not enough to comfort me completely. His promises that everything will work itself out are sweet, but he can’t possibly know that. No one can. Least of all me.

  And that, really, is what’s so scary. I have no idea what’s ahead of me now.

  * * *

  The next morning, I walk to the lobby with two small envelopes. In one, there’s Pierce’s flask and a simple note: “Pierce—found this in our kitchen before I sold the house, figured you left it there.” Then a simple heart, and my name.

  Aunt Jane’s has her brooch, nestled in bubble wrap. “Aunt Jane,” my note to her reads, “I took this from you a few years ago. I’m really sorry, and I hope you can forgive me. There’s been some things I’ve had to work through lately, and I know there’s no excuse for what I did. But if it helps, I took good care of it. All my love, Erin.”

  The packages hit the bottom of the outgoing mailbox with a resolute thunk, and I let out a deep breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding since the elevator.

  “Erin St. James?”

  I turn to see a courier in the front hall. “Yeah,” I say, guardedly. “How’d you know?”

  “Didn’t,” he smirks. “Figured I’d ask before I went up to your apartment, though. Here.” He passes me two pieces of paper. “Got a couple summons for you.”

  “Summons?”

  “Yep,” he says. It bugs me how casual he is about this, like he just handed me a spa brochure. “You know, for court.”

  “I know what it means,” I snap. “Why are there two?”

  He shrugs, tips his baseball cap at me, and turns. “I’m just the messenger,” he calls out. The door hisses shut behind him.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Silas yawns when I return, stretching against the sofa like a cat. His hair is still matted from sleep. “What’s that?”

  “Summons,” I answer quietly, opening the second one.

  He cringes. “Fox Ridge sure didn’t waste any time on that, did they?”

  “No,” I tell him, shaking my head. “That’s this one.”

  “What? You got two?” he asks. He takes the first one, the one I opened in the stairwell and read twice. “Then what’s this—” He stops short. “Oh, my God. Is this serious?”

  I lean against the door and nod. “Gordon’s suing me.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Fortunately, Erin, we’ve got the edge in both of these cases.” Kyle’s confidence seems genuine, but only relaxes me a little. He must sense this, too, because he starts directing all his strategy at Silas, who seems equally sure I’ll win both cases.

  “No one has anything on you, babe,” he said last night, as I sipped a rum and Coke. My no-alcohol resolution shattered with Gordon’s summons, and I was thankful Silas didn’t make a big deal out of it. By the time we’d finally heard back from Kyle and scheduled a meeting, I’d put away at least four drinks to calm my nerves.

  “Sure,” I’d muttered, but as the drinks took effect, I started to catch his cavalier attitude. I knew I was innocent; surely, the courts would see it, too. And as for Gordon, I didn’t care if I had to pay him for the now-donated car or not. I could even face him in court, if I had to—even if the thought of a courtroom with Gordon, under different circumstances, had once terrified me.

  “I’m sorry I bought alcohol,” I slurred into Silas’s shoulder, as he helped me to bed. “It was stupid. I didn’t need it.” Stumbling out of my clothes, I watched him light some candles on the bureau. He smiled and looked at me in the mirror.

  “Don’t apologize, Erin,” he
said, turning down the bed. “I told you, I don’t mind if you drink. You don’t get blackout wasted every night, like I used to, and besides—you’ve had the official shittiest summer ever. Unwinding with a few drinks is totally justified, in your case.”

  “Well…thanks.” I smiled a little, shivering and naked, suddenly dizzy as he peeled off his shirt. We’d fooled around quite a bit the last few weeks, but hadn’t had a romantic night since my mom died. Now, in the candlelight, I stared at his muscles and smooth, tan skin, the slightly crooked smile I already knew better than my own, and wanted nothing more than to forget every piece of this summer, except him. Except this, the weight of his body against mine, pulling me into the bed and down to a world where nothing else mattered.

  “I love you,” he whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “I know.” I shut my eyes and pulled his face closer to mine. My head felt thick and stupid, swimming in liquor, but my hands were fast. His underwear came off easily; my fingers traced the muscles of his back, up to his neck and down his chest, then back again, endless. Whether it was liquor or Silas or both, I didn’t care. Everything fell away.

  My orgasm happened quickly, intense, but brief. Still, I tried not to be greedy as Silas pulled out of me. “Your turn,” I grinned, still catching my breath, and slid my hand towards his cock. In the dim light, I saw it glistening with my juices.

  “No,” he protested, and started to pump it himself, the veins in his arm pushed up against his skin as he flexed.

  I was taken aback, to say the least. I've never had a guy refuse a hand job in preference of himself, even if he did actually prefer himself, because hey, somebody new, right? But Silas shut his eyes and kept masturbating, like I wasn't even there. My post-orgasm glow started fading, though I felt a little horny again, watching him.

  Then, Silas opened his eyes. “I'm sorry,” he apologized, “it's just, I was really close to coming, and I'm not ready yet. And your hand doing it would definitely send me over the edge—I want to make it last. Besides,” he said, “if you're doing me, I can't do this.” Before I could react, he pushed two fingers inside me, locating my G-spot. He slid towards the foot of the bed, his mouth hovering over my pussy, breath hot and quick against my skin.

  “Come for me again, Erin,” he commanded, voice low and just a little mischievous.

  It felt so good—he fingered me perfectly, sucked and nibbled gently at my clit—and I wanted to let go and do as he said. “But I've never had a multiple orgasm,” I protested. “I don't think I.... Oh, my God, that feels good—faster, deeper, Si....” I paused, recollecting my thoughts. “I don't think I can.”

  “Sounds like a challenge, to me,” he smirked. His speed became preternatural; I couldn't think straight. I wasn't sure there were even real words leaving my mouth. All I could focus on was his tongue, moving in fast, steady circles.

  “Wait, Silas, wait,” I stammered. Obediently, he stopped.

  “You okay?” he asked. “Am I hurting you?”

  “No,” I said hurriedly. “God, no. Not at all.” I pointed to his rock hard cock, still getting half-hearted attention in his left hand. “It's...I want to make you come too, Silas. Please let me.”

  He smiled. “All right. If you really want to.”

  I nodded eagerly, and Silas lay on the bed beside me. I positioned myself overtop of him, into the sixty-nine position. It wasn't something that had worked in my favor in the past—most guys used it as an excuse to slack off, honestly. But Silas immediately set to work, picking up right where he'd left off. His fingers and tongue moved quickly, and my orgasm surprised me again. I felt his cock swell inside my throat as I came on his fingers, and knew the feeling of my orgasm excited him.

  “Again,” he said firmly, and kept his pace steady as ever.

  “No, Silas, I know I can't orgasm three times—”

  “You let me worry about that,” he said, and somehow worked even faster. Within seconds, I felt another orgasm mounting.

  “Oh, my God,” I sighed, “Silas...another one....”

  “I know, baby,” he said knowingly, a little arrogant. This time, when I whimpered his name, my orgasm quaking around his fingers, his cock didn't just swell.

  “Erin, I'm gonna come,” he moaned, half asking. My response was to slide his cock even deeper, and within seconds, I could feel his milk pouring into my throat. Our orgasms overlapped by a split-second.

  Even as Silas pulled me up to lie beside him, and even as we drifted to sleep, his arms around me with my head on his chest, my worries didn't return. It wasn't until I awoke the next morning, eyes adjusting to a shaft of white sunlight, that I remembered. My skull recognized the pressure of dehydration. My brain booted up and brought it all back.

  I had a record. Mom was dead. I was being accused of theft I didn’t commit, for once. Gordon Williams was suing me over a stupid car I hadn’t even wanted.

  The hangover hit hard. Drinking rarely affects me the next morning, but this one was bad. So now, here I was, trying to remember the night before and nothing else—if I could think about how weightless I’d felt with Silas, how nothing mattered but him and the candlelight and the spinning room as he fit his body to mine. But the feeling of Kyle Meegan’s leather office chair against my sweaty skin, and the throbbing headache building behind my eyes, were too much to ignore.

  “Erin?”

  I blinked at Kyle. “Hmm?”

  “I was asking if you’d like to take Mr. Williams to court over this, or settle instead.”

  “Settle?”

  “Pay him off.”

  As if I didn’t feel sick enough.

  “No,” I managed, firm, if not harsh. “Definitely not.”

  Kyle gives Silas a look, then slowly turns his attention back to me. “You’re sure?”

  “You said he doesn’t have anything against me, right?” I ask. “So why not go to court?”

  Kyle spreads his hands. “There’s always a chance of losing,” he says. “And sometimes, people settle just to avoid the hassle of court. But if you don’t want to settle…”

  “I don’t.”

  “…then court it is.” He picks up some notes. “Now, on the Fox Ridge matter—”

  Silas holds up his hand, smiling, and stands. “Actually,” he says, and helps me up, “I think we’re going to have to practice testimony another day this week, Kyle. Erin’s not feeling well.”

  I squeeze his hand, a silent thank-you. Paying Kyle for the full hour is worth it, when I feel like this.

  Our apartment’s spot is taken when we arrive. “Shit,” Silas breathes. “That’s Abby’s car.”

  I groan. “What does she want?”

  “Her alimony, I’m guessing.” He runs his hands through his hair, cursing, and parks in a visitor spot. For a long time, he just stares, like Abby’s car might vanish if he tries hard enough. Finally, he takes a breath and opens his door. “Let me go talk to her—you mind waiting here? I promise, it won’t take long.”

  “Go ahead.” I recline my seat to lie down and pull a blanket from the backseat over my eyes. “I just want to sleep, anyway. I don’t care where.”

  “All right. I’ll be back soon and give you the green light to come inside.” His laugh is sarcastic.

  I fall asleep quickly, but it’s a light, dreamless sleep, stuttering back into consciousness every few minutes. My heart races with dehydration, and every burst of sunlight when the clouds shift pierces my eyes.

  At some point, I’m not sure how much later, I hear a woman’s voice. Then a little girl’s.

  I push up on my elbow. Across the lot, I see Abby climbing into her car. She looks so different from that night at the bar: hair combed and straightened, a smart skirt-and-jacket combo, and crimson lipstick. As much as I hate to admit it, she looks hot—like a sexy lawyer or professor.

  Then, I look at the little girl. She’s in a cute pink dress, and she’s holding a doll. Stamping her feet, she whines, �
��Mommy, I want to stay!”

  Abby gets back out, opens the door to the backseat, and barks, “Get in now. I’m serious.”

  And as the little girl turns, I see two things. First is the locket—the one I left in my locker at Fox Ridge, the one that’s been sitting on Silas’s dresser the last few days, taunting me. It glints in the afternoon sun, winking at me, just like the day I found it. The second thing I notice: she’s missing one eye. No socket, just a concave section of skin. Smooth as stone.

  “Now, Emma,” Abby says sharply, and Emma gets into the backseat dutifully, but still pouting. I don’t even wait for them to leave before I rush past, up the stairs to the apartment.

  Silas opens the door before my hand touches the knob. It takes him a millisecond to register who I am, and he jumps back, gasping, “Jesus, Erin, you scared the shit out of me!”

  I’m panting, sweat streaming down my face. At first, I don’t know what to say: a thousand possibilities enter my head at once.

  “You…okay?” he asks, slowly.

  My anger has reached its breaking point; incapable of screaming, my mouth whispers, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He stares at me a few seconds, then swallows, flicking his eyes away from mine. “I…I’m sorry, Erin.”

  I step towards him. He backs up and winces as I kick the door shut behind me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask again. It’s amazing how calm I might sound to a stranger, but to Silas, I must look terrifying. He keeps backing up, inch by inch, even when I stop moving.

  “Okay,” he sighs, finally, “you got me. Emma’s my daughter.” He glances at the window, like he can see them now, merging onto the highway. “Abby and I…we’ve got a kid.”

  “No shit!” At last, I can scream. The echo of my words, useless as they might be, make me feel a little better. I stalk across the apartment, into the kitchen, and grab my half-empty rum bottle from under the sink. Silas follows me.

  “Don’t do this,” he says, in a tired voice. Like I’m such a ridiculous burden.