To Have and to Heist(18)

“He’s out there.” I drained my glass. It could have been gasoline, or it could have been a $5,000 bottle of Screaming Eagle Cabernet. Already in sensory overload, my taste buds didn’t care. “But maybe you should focus on—”

“I won’t find him in prison.” Chloe moaned. “And you can’t come with me because you have to look out for Olivia. Kyle’s parents are her godparents, and I know they’ll take good care of her, but they don’t know me like you do. I’m worried Kyle might try to worm his way back into the family if she winds up with them.”

“Why would he care? He’s never wanted anything to do with her.” I hated talking about Kyle. I hated his name. I hated the man. If I ever did murder someone, it would be him. Even his parents didn’t like him. After the divorce, when the truth came out and Chloe was awarded sole custody of Olivia, they’d disinherited him and kicked him out of their house.

“Kyle’s grandparents set up a very generous trust fund for Olivia’s education before they passed away,” Chloe said. “If something happens to me, he could petition for custody so he can get his hands on that money. I don’t want him anywhere near her. I think he’d hurt her. I feel it in my bones.”

“If he ever touched her, my criminal career would get off to a flying start.” My hands closed into fists. I’d known Olivia since the day she was born. She was like my own daughter. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her.

“That’s the only thing that makes this bearable,” she said. “She would always have you.”

A sliver of guilt slid through my heart. If I’d gone to the museum with Chloe, she wouldn’t be sitting here worrying about Olivia. I would have known something was wrong when no one showed up. I would have dragged her out of there, and the only problem we’d be trying to solve tonight would be whether to tell Cristian’s girlfriend about his three “special baby girls.”

“I have to think it through.” Chloe twisted a thick strand of hair around her finger, her classic stress move. “The police might show up any minute to throw me in jail.”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I said. “No one is going to prison. The lawyers will clear all this up and then we can get back to living our lives. And even if they can’t, there is no way I would let you go to prison alone. You need someone to have your back in the joint or you might get shanked in the shower. It has to be someone hard, tough, and street-smart. Someone forged in the hell of being the only girl in a family with three boys.”

As I’d hoped, Chloe finally smiled. “You’ve been watching too many shows with Rose.”

“We’ll have to beat a few people up when we get there,” I continued. “We have to show our dominance; otherwise we’ll appear weak, and that’s when they take your stuff and turn you into somebody’s bitch.”

“I’m nobody’s bitch.” Chloe finished her glass and slammed it on the counter.

“Now we’re talking.” We were a little bit tipsy. Good thing Olivia was sleeping over at a friend’s house. She didn’t like to see her mother acting anything other than parental.

“I would look terrible in an orange jumpsuit.” Chloe grabbed the bottle and drank straight from the top. “It’s not my color.”

“That’s because you were never meant to wear it.” I didn’t mention that I looked great in orange. It made my skin glow and set off my dark hair.

“I’ve never shanked anyone before.” She pushed herself up, her forehead creased in a frown. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“I got you, babe,” I said with the confidence of someone who’d spent their childhood playing cops and robbers with her brothers and having pretend sword fights with sticks.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, half to herself.

“Of course it’s going to be okay.”

I said the words, but I didn’t believe them.

Six

Chloe and I walked into my parents’ house the next morning just as Nani was rolling roti, smoothing a small ball of dough over a marble base. My grandmother spent every Saturday preparing a big meal for the weekly family lunch on Sunday and every Sunday complaining about how tired she was after doing all that cooking.

“Howdy, ladies!” Nani said. “Pull up a chair. Get ’em while they’re hot.”

“You’re not a Texas cowboy,” Dad said from behind his newspaper. He liked actual paper when it came to the news. He didn’t like my slightly abrasive grandmother. Dad usually made himself scarce when Nani was around. He must have been taken by surprise. To say they didn’t get along was an understatement. Nani was not the kind of person to keep her views to herself and she hadn’t liked my dad from the day they met. My mom was supposed to marry a doctor or an engineer. She’d married a suit salesman instead.

“I’ve been watching Westerns at the gym,” Nani said. “It must have rubbed off.”

Nani was my mother’s mom, but she shared my dad’s obsession with fitness. Lean and slim, she worked out twice a day and had the biceps to show for it. Her jet-black hair—a result of cheap boxed hair dye—was a contrast to her softly lined face, but there was no hint of senility in her dark brown eyes.