Chapter Seven

Hope

I open my eyes and there is too much light, so I squeeze them shut again. My head is throbbing, and my mouth is dry as hell. I sit up slowly and touch my feet to the floor—the hardwood floor. What the fuck? Where am I? Squinting, I barely open my eyes and take in my surroundings. Grey walls, dark wood floors, cherry dresser, and bed. No, no, no.

Turning, I see Rowe still asleep beside me. Oh, fuck no. And I’m naked. I must have lost the bet. Okay, so the naked part doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m sure Mr. Detective used a condom, and even if he didn’t, I’m on the pill. That’s not my concern right now. No, I need to figure out where my clothes are, and how to get out of here, without waking him up.

Very carefully, I slip out of bed and go on the hunt for my clothes. In the kitchen are my bra and panties. The living room is where I find my shirt and jeans. I don’t look at the room or the furnishings. I have tunnel vision and only one goal. Plus, I worry if I start looking around and see another side of Rowe, I’ll like him even more. I don’t need that right now.

As I pass the front door, I see my boots and decide to wait to put them on until I’m dressed and on my way out. Walking down the hall to a guest bathroom, I notice a picture on the wall that catches my eye. I tell myself not to bother looking at it, or the one next to it, but my curiosity gets the better of me. That’s when I see him—the man who came to my front door to tell me my parents were dead. And the name on the police uniform he’s wearing says, “Falk.” Oh. My. God.

No, it can’t be. Rowe doesn’t look anything like this man. But then my eyes swing right and the picture beside it is almost identical. The man in that one is older, slightly greying hair, “Falk” on his uniform. Holy fuck. So that means his brother was the one who broke the news to me.

Standing in the hall, my jeans and shirt in one hand, bra and panties in the other, staring at this picture, Rowe emerges from the bedroom. This just went from holy shit to nuclear. I try to tamp down my feelings, and Rowe’s body is the perfect distraction. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of hunter green boxer briefs. His muscular frame is on full display. For a split second, I forget everything except for him and the way he is watching me as he walks up the hallway.

“That’s my dad,” he says, nodding to the picture on the right. “He died before I graduated from the police academy. The other one is my brother. He died in the line of duty.”

I face the pictures again. I can’t help but stare at the one of his brother. My hands shake as I hold my clothes. A sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I’m fighting tears. I have to say something. I can’t run from the house naked, especially since I don’t have my car.

“You don’t look like them,” I finally get out with a shaky breath.

“No, I take after my mom. She left when I was little. I haven’t seen her since.”

My heart shatters for him. I know all too well what it’s like not to have your parents anymore. Emotion clogs my throat, but I shove it down and whisper, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. My dad did a great job of raising my brother and me. I couldn’t have asked for a better role model.”

I nod, then glance over Rowe’s shoulder to see where the bathroom is. He must understand what I’m trying to find. “Second door on the right.”

“Thanks,” I mutter as I brush past him.

I close the door and lean against it for a moment while I try to collect myself. I can’t go back out there with tears brimming in my eyes. After taking a few deep breaths and releasing them slowly, I toss my clothes on the bathroom counter and pee before getting dressed fast.

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. This is all becoming too real. My past is colliding with my present, and I don’t like it at all. I’m still fighting tears as I wash my hands and smooth down my hair. There’s no chance of getting this panic attack to go away. Not now. Not after seeing his brother and having that day rush back to the front of my mind. The very worst day of my life.

Rowe is sitting on the arm of the couch, fully dressed, when I exit the bathroom. He smiles and I am barely able to return it. “Do you want something to eat?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. My stomach isn’t feeling too great.”

He stands, and that’s when I notice he’s holding a glass of water and two small, white pills. He holds them out to me along with the glass. “Take these.” I eye him skeptically. “They’re acetaminophen. Nothing more.”

I take them and down the entire glass of water. I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. Hopefully, this will help dull the sharp, stabbing pain behind my eyes. Fucking whiskey shots. I easily had eight of them last night. We played multiple games of pool, snacked on bar food, and I kept drinking. Rowe, on the other hand, only had water after those two initial shots he took. He was busy looking out for me while I was drinking myself into oblivion.

“Did we…last night?” I woke up naked, so I’m assuming we did, but who the hell knows.

“No. You passed out the second you hit my bed.”

“Ah.” I glance around the room, not really looking at anything, but not wanting to meet Rowe’s eyes.

“Come on. I’ll take you home.” Thank God! At least I didn’t have to ask him.

The drive to my apartment seems like it takes hours. We don’t talk. We sit in the most uncomfortable silence. I don’t breathe a sigh of relief until he finally pulls up to my apartment.

Before I can open the door, Rowe reaches for my hand. “I’m not sure what this thing is between us,” he says. His face is only inches from mine. “But I’m not ready to let it go. I want to keep seeing you.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I know this is scary as hell. Neither one of us is the commitment type, but how can you deny this?”

I peer out the passenger side window and say, “I don’t feel the same way you do.” The words are bitter on my tongue and pain hits my chest, knowing I’m hurting him.

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

I turn to him. “No, what I know is that I was fine before you came along, and you keep pulling me out of my comfort zone. I like my life. I like how things were before you entered it. I don’t need any complications.” Yes, it’s harsh, but maybe it will get him to keep his distance.

“That’s what you consider me? A complication?”

“Yes,” I reply with a steady voice, then I open the door. It’s for the best. I’m leaving anyway.

Purse in hand, I don’t look back as I take the stairs to the brownstone. Once inside my apartment, I grab my suitcase and do a final sweep of the apartment, ensuring I grab all the stashed money to take with me. With a quick glance out the window to make sure Rowe has left, I walk out of the apartment and close the door behind me. I had planned on leaving the money on the counter, but instead decide to slip the envelope under my landlord’s door, along with my keys.

Sticking to the alley, I make my way down two blocks to where I have my car parked. I never park it out front of where I’m living. I also rarely drive it unless I absolutely need to. If people don’t know what kind of car I drive or where I live, it’s harder for them to find me. But Rowe…Rowe was a mistake. I should have never allowed him into my place. I should have never allowed him into my heart.

I won’t forget the way his voice sounded the moment before I got out of the car. But with that voice comes his brother and Rowe’s knowledge of what I really look like. And in the town he lives are men I’ve stolen from. No, it’s all too close. All too real and I want nothing to do with it.

I toss my suitcase in the trunk of my silver Honda Accord and start the drive home. My car is average. Silver is a popular color. It blends with the other cars on the road. I’ll probably stay at home for a week, tops, before I find a new city to go to and new targets to hit. It takes a bit of research on my part before I put a plan together. I don’t just jump to a new city and find victims once I get there. No, I search towns with wealthy men and women who are close to my age. I find single people who have tons of social media pictures of them drinking and have different women hanging on their arms.

The women I go after are more loner types, who don’t live with their parents anymore, but it’s obvious they are still receiving money from them by how they are living. Lots of money funneling into their bank accounts. These are women who would take to someone like me, who doesn’t act like every other person out there. I pretend not to care about their wealth. In fact, when I first meet them, I act like I haven’t a clue who they are.

The women and men like the idea of becoming friends or lovers with someone who isn’t familiar with, nor knows, how much money they have. I can’t blame them. If I were that wealthy, I’d be suspicious of everyone, too. Money changes people. It did me. And not for the better.

We all have our demons. Mine are just bigger than others’, and they don’t fit in a closet. Mine are in my face daily, begging me to do something huge so I can get my next rush. So I can feel like I’m alive again and thrill in the fact I’m wealthy, even for a short period.

I can’t blow my money all in one place, unless I’m buying something big like a car or a boat. Yes, I have a boat docked out in California at a marina near another house my parents owned. I couldn’t let it go. It was our vacation home and one which holds so many amazing memories.

I don’t live there, though I could. Instead, I use it as an investment property. I rent it out to the wealthy in exchange for them paying me a ton to stay there and enjoy the views and amenities it has to offer. I go there one week a year. Always in the summer. I feel closer to my parents when I’m in that house. Wonderful memories of my childhood come back to me, and for a moment, I pretend they are still here. Just like I do at this home during the holidays. I will always find my way back here at Thanksgiving and Christmas. I guess no matter how much I’ve changed and how wrong the life I lead is, I still want those things in my life.

Then my mind drifts to Rowe and how maybe if I wasn’t a thief and wasn’t always on the run, I could have settled down with him. We could have made our own traditions. Christmas curled up in front of a fire. New Year’s Eve, toasting and making love throughout the night. But I can’t let my mind go there. It will only make my anxiety worse and cause me to rethink everything I’m doing. Even if I were to give it all up, I couldn’t have someone like him. He’s the opposite of who I should be with. If I go down one day, I’d never want to take him with me.