“I’ll admit I was attempting to acquire a certain item from the museum, but someone got there before me.” He stepped back, deeper into the bushes, pulling me with him. I felt him moving, adjusting my position, his hips pressed firmly against my ass.
My muscles tightened, ready to run if it turned out I’d made a serious error in judgment. “What’s going on? I watch a lot of crime and mystery shows, so I know that the deeper people are dragged into a forest by a stranger, the lower the chance that they’ll make it out alive.”
“You were standing on the hellebore,” he said. “It’s a workhorse in a small garden, but the stems break easily. My favorite pairing is hellebore planted near brunnera and fern for a trifecta of shady textural goodness.”
Not what I expected to hear from a stranger in the dark.
“Are you for real? This place is about to be crawling with police. You’re a kidnapper and self-professed would-be thief, and you’re worried about the plants?”
“You don’t like plants?” The disappointment in his voice was unmistakable.
“Sure I like plants. I’d take a house with a garden over an apartment in a high-rise any day, but that’s not the point. You need to get your priorities straight.”
“What’s more important than plants? They give us food, fiber, shelter, medicine, and fuel. The basic food for all organisms is produced by green plants. In the process of food production, oxygen is released into the air we breathe, and as I’m sure you know oxygen is essential to life.”
Oxygen was also essential for lowering anxiety, or so my therapist said. Since I didn’t seem to be in any imminent danger, I tried my 5-5-5 breathing technique, then 4-7-8, and then I chose a calming focus and tried mindful breathing.
“Are you hyperventilating?” he asked. “Or trying to fall asleep?”
“I’m trying to use the plant oxygen to calm down so I can think. And by the way, people are more important than plants. Specifically, the people you love.”
“Is that why you showed up here with a bag full of—what do you have in there anyway?”
I felt his hand move down my arm, fingertips brushing my fist clenched tight around the top of the suit bag.
“Things to help Chloe escape—rope, hangers, a blanket, a roll of duct tape—”
“Tape?”
“I was in a panic, okay? Tape is useful in many situations. It can repair things, close things, seal things . . .”
“I’m aware of the wonders of tape,” he said. “I’ve just never thought about it in the context of escaping from a second-story window in the rain.”
“Obviously, you lack imagination.”
“I’m imagining it now,” he said, “and I’m laughing inside so you don’t feel embarrassed.”
“I appreciate your restraint.”
He shifted behind me, adjusted his hold. “Why a suit bag when there are many more functional bags out there? Gym bags, shopping bags, tote bags, suitcases, travel bags, even backpacks. I’ve always found handles to be particularly useful.”
“My dad owns a high-end suit store. The only other bag options were luxury leather satchels and briefcases, and they hadn’t been rain-proofed. I can’t afford the thousand-dollar hit.”
“Is that why your friend was trying to steal the necklace? You’re both desperate for cash?”
I looked back over my shoulder, gave him the side-eye. “How do you know a necklace was stolen?”
“It’s the only thing of real value in that museum. There was supposed to be a private security team watching it in anticipation of every low-life amateur trying to steal it when the exhibit is announced tomorrow.”
“Like you,” I said.
He bristled, his body tensing behind me. “I’m a professional.”
“If you’re a professional, then how did someone else get to it first?”
“If I could answer that question, we wouldn’t be here,” he said. “Very few people knew it was going to be part of the exhibit. The thief also had help from someone with extensive knowledge of the security system.”
Chloe. But I wasn’t going to share that information with him.
“So what happens now?” I asked. “Do you wait until the police are gone and steal something else?”
He gave a snort of derision. “I don’t steal; I retrieve and return to the rightful owner.”
“Semantics,” I said. “If it’s not yours and you take it, then it’s theft.”
“We will have to agree to disagree.” He ran his hand up the sleeve of the suit jacket to tug gently on my fedora. “What’s with the hat?”
“It’s a disguise in case there were cameras on the street.”
“I dealt with the cameras,” he said. “No one will know you were here with your suit bag full of tape.”
“Tape is underrated.”
“So are plants.”
I would have laughed except that we were hiding from the police, and I didn’t want to draw any attention by raising my voice above our hushed tones. I was also enjoying our conversation despite the curious circumstances. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have done so by now and I’d slowly let down my guard. Passing the time chatting in the arms of a thief in the bushes behind a museum wasn’t how I’d imagined I’d be spending my evening.
“How did you get into the retrieval business?” I leaned against him because he was warm and solid, and nothing about him screamed threat.
“Did you ever read Oliver Twist?” His free hand dropped to rest easily on my hip, sending a rush of warmth through my body.
“My mother is an English professor. Other kids got picture books at bedtime. We got the classics. I’ll give you Oliver Twist in a few short words. Orphan. Workhouse. Apprentice thief. Bad things. Worse things. Happy ending.”
He paused and said, “That’s pretty much my story but without the happy ending.”
“Then it’s a sad story.”
“Depends how you look at it. If you’d met me in a bar and I was wearing a fancy suit and paying for everyone’s drinks, you’d think it was a happy story because I’d overcome a difficult childhood and made something of myself. You’re making a situational judgment.”
“Are you wearing a suit?” I felt behind me, stroked my hand over his thigh. “Feels like jeans.”
“You’re making it very difficult to be a gentleman,” he said. “I think we should keep the below-the-belt stroking for later.”
“You’re assuming there’s going to be a ‘later.’？” I moved my hand as far away as I could, given my limited range of motion. “How do you know I won’t scream and run away as soon as you let me go?”
“Because I intrigue you,” he said. “If you weren’t intrigued, you could have screamed as soon as I removed my hand and disabled me with a well-placed heel. Of course, I would have released you the instant you indicated you wanted to go, secure in the knowledge that I had done my moral duty to stop you from running headlong into danger.”
“Maybe I’m not as intrigued as I am astonished at the size of your ego.” There was definitely more to him than he let on—the way he talked, his interest in literature, his knowledge of plants, and his decision to save me from myself when he could just as easily have stayed hidden in the bushes all suggested he wasn’t an ordinary thief.