After moving back into town and the safe house the night before, Malcolm hadn’t stopped staring at those three words. One message, from a burner phone and untraceable. Marie would be on the streets of Portland today, doing God knows what for Dimitru.
He rubbed at the smooth, worn spot on the side of his phone cover.
For the first time since she’d gone in, he felt like he could relax. Anticipation rocked through him. He got up and started getting ready. He put baggy pants on, and a tank under an oversized sweatshirt. He left his hair down and covered his head with an old hat. The brim covered his eyes and ears.
He grabbed a stack of cash from his wallet and slid his knife harness onto his belt, and then added his smaller blade inside his boot.
After checking in with Hawk, Malcolm made his way downtown.
He came to a street with an eclectic array of buildings built sometime in the seventies. Some brick, some with aluminum siding that needed paint. A community center on the corner followed by a line of low-income housing. Crappy aluminum windows, crappy siding, cracked sidewalks, and doors that weren’t hung square and didn’t close.
The opposite side of the street had a five and dime, a coffee shop, and an antique shop on the corner. A table outside the shop was surrounded by a bunch of old guys, who were arguing the latest in politics, and Ruby’s pie and which was better—the apple or the pecan cream.
The peeling gingerbread trim of the antique store might have proven this little street hadn’t always been so run-down. The old-style gaslight street lamps also brought a little bit of charm.
He went another block and found the street sign in front of him. He recognized the name, went half a block more, and turned into the alley. Too narrow for traffic, it was more like a courtyard for the back door to the few vacant buildings. In its heyday, he imagined kids running in and out, playing stickball.
Weird. He wasn’t usually the guy filled with nostalgia. But the crap conditions reminded him of home. The city living, the hunger, the excitement of a cool day in the fall…
And the anticipation of joining the military.
The hope of having a woman at his side for the long haul. But the disappointment of losing didn’t seem so strong any more. So he’d failed in his first marriage.
Heather had failed him.
The air stilled around him, but he noted every scent, every flutter of the cold breeze. There was an unlocked gate in a brick wall straight ahead, connecting this passage to another on the next block over. Two fire escapes, one on either side of the corridor, rose from the stained blacktop.
He sat on the overturned barrel next to the big dumpster, crossed his feet under him, and leaned against the cement block wall at his back. He checked his watch. On time.
She was late.
From under the brim of his hat, he gazed out onto the main street. Traffic was slow and random, the most activity happening at the café across the street as the older men razzed each other, a few leaving and more taking the empty spots as the minutes passed.
The longer he sat, the more infused Malcolm became by the life around him.
He’d thought the street looked run-down and dead. Yet as he sat, he heard arguments above him. Children played around the corner, out of his line of vision. A radio blasted from an open window somewhere on the block.
And he heard Marie’s family language, too. No doubt there was a reason he was meeting his little Romanian thief in a neighborhood filled with her people. He never would have thought to find it, not of this modern city known for its hipster communities. It was like a special hidden subculture.
So hidden, no one even knew it existed. Well, not him, anyway.
Marie came around the corner with her head down. Malcolm tensed at his post and watched her pull the stocking cap off her head. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her neck, and her hands shook as she tucked the cap into her coat pocket.
He slowly got down off the trash barrel and leaned back against the brick wall.
She walked deeper into the alley, where he could tell she was gathering her wits, perhaps calming her racing heart. His heart was racing as well. His spot kept him hidden, and when she turned, she made a beeline for him.
He wanted to grab her and hug her and kiss her, comfort her in the only way he knew how, because he was a man, one who didn’t know how to use words.
“I wasn’t followed,” she started.
But at the sound of despair in her voice, the word fuck went off in his head, and he grabbed her into his arms and stepped further back into the semi-hiding place next to the dumpster. She gripped his jacket and let out a sob, even as she fought to maintain control.
“Talk to me, Marie.”
Instead, she stood on tiptoes and dragged his head down. He opened his mouth to hers, tasted her tears, lived her frustration, and cradled her into his embrace. He slowed the kiss, touched her face, her hair, her neck. And then finally, as her angst was spent, he pressed slow, tender kisses on her trembling lips. He stopped in order to breathe her in. She looked untouched, but he also knew looks could be deceiving.
“I saw someone kill a woman, Malcolm,” she whispered. “Like he shot Uncle Bert. Point blank, his man put a bullet into her chest.”
He drew back and gripped her chin, his brow furrowed. “What did you say?”
She swallowed. “He killed her over the heroin.”
His mind screeched to a halt again. “What?” She wasn’t making any sense. “Killed who? Is Uncle Bert all right?” He did another scan of her person, looking for any injury.
Marie’s head fell to his chest, and she took a deep breath.
“Marie, you’re scaring me. Are you okay?”
“The women are only part of what he’s doing. Last night, a truck delivered drugs. Heroin, Malcolm. And then he killed the woman delivering it.”
Every protective instinct was screaming. “How did you get out?”
On a cold, harsh laugh, she glanced to the road as if checking her six. “I’m proving my loyalty. I need to go steal a piece from the Old Boys’ Club. They meet once a month to brag about their finds, their possessions.” Her face softened. “But that’s only what Dimitru sees. They’re really there to share stories and keep the old country alive in their hearts.” She looked up sharply at him. “I can’t let him win.”
“We can come in now.”
“No,” she disagreed, gripping him hard. “We finish this. He can’t get away with any of it.”
“They can stop him without you. You can leave with Uncle Bert—”
“Dimitru isn’t going to let us go now.”
He froze. “Why the fuck not?”
“He thinks I’m going to marry him and make him immortal.”
A little explosion happened in his brain. “What the fuck did you say?”
“He thinks owning the armband and marrying a Bălan will make him immortal. I’m the last of the Bălan family. And though I’m in it for the gold we intend to steal next week, I’m willing to go along with it. Materialist bitch that I am—”
“You’re not marrying him.”
Marie gently gripped his chin. “Of course not.”
“Be careful, iubire.”
She tensed in his arms for a fraction of a second, confusion at his use of the Romanian endearment clear in her eyes. Love washed away confusion, and she threw her arms around his neck. He kissed her lightly and set her down.
He didn’t want to let her go back. “You better go.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised, watching her tug the hat back over her head as she nodded.
“I think I love you, Malcolm.” And she was gone, disappearing around the corner.
He grinned, wishing he’d kissed her one last time.
***
She had the gold piece when she got back to Dimitru’s place later. She set it on the front table, on the black velvet runner he’d meticulously laid out. A spotlight was already shining down, center stage, so to speak. Out of a weird spiteful vibe, and on second thought, she picked the little box up and moved it off to the side.
The conversation she’d had with the guild’s president hadn’t lasted long, and he’d handed off the valuable as if it didn’t matter a whit to him.
For the niece of my good friend Albert, anything.
She’d made sure he would report it to the police. A stolen artifact was definitely something amiss, and she couldn’t have Dimitru suspecting she’d gotten it without stealing. By the time the eleven o’clock news aired, word would be out the gold piece worth twelve thousand dollars was stolen.
And she would be the primary suspect.
And her loyalty, her willingness to take one for the team, would be proven.
Up the stairs, she found Uncle Bert, sitting in bed, legs crossed in front of him, and she smiled as she entered. “Well, you are doing better, aren’t you?”
“I’m still feeling too tired. But yes. A change of clothes would be nice.”
“Let me check the wound.” Marie lifted the shirt so she could get to the shoulder, and pulled back the tape and gauze. “It looks too red, Uncle Bert.”
“It’s going to be fine, Marie.”
On the back side, the wound looked worse, but even there, it wasn’t bleeding anymore. And he was sitting up, apparently in only a little bit of pain. Well enough to be short with her.
“I’ll see what I can do about clothes. Hopefully—”
He squeezed her hand and shook his head, looking at her intently. His warning came through, and she silently reprimanded herself for being so careless as to talk as if no one would hear.
Someone could be listening, watching.
She sighed. “Hopefully, I can manage a trip to Macy’s later today. There’s so much to do before a wedding, right? A dress? I’ll get you something while I’m there.”
“You’re going to go through with it?”
“And why not? It’s what I’ve always wanted. A chance to use my skills, improve them, and make a living.”
Uncle Bert frowned.
“You don’t look pleased. Isn’t this what you always said? You want me to be happy?” She bit at her lip and shrugged. Pretty sure she failed miserably at sounding chipper, she sat on the bed. “Unfortunately, I’m going to be a complete failure at being a wife,” she said, the sentiment heartfelt.
When Malcolm declared she wouldn’t marry Dimitru—when he’d gone alpha and possessive—she’d seen in him what she felt inside herself. She wanted him, and he wanted her. And she’d never felt more certain she and Malcolm were going to be together for a long time to come.
“You’ll be richer than Midas, dear. Making up for your failure as a wife?”
“I can hope.” She smirked at him. He played along with her, knew her thoughts, because he’d raised her. Her heart squeezed. She couldn’t lose him.
“I need to find Di—Vladimir,” she said, correcting herself to the familiar. If, by some chance, he was listening, he’d want to hear it that way. She got up. The first part of this charade was over. Time to initiate part two.
“You’ve been like a daughter to me,” he said. “I want you to know—”
“Stop.” She turned back as tears threatened. “You’re going to be fine. We’re going to”—get out of here—“be fine. Vladimir is going to take care of us.”
She backed toward the door, not able to break his gaze. It stung. It reminded her of her mother. Her eyes. She thought of her mother often. But she didn’t see her, not like she was seeing her in Uncle Bert’s eyes right this minute.
He nodded and settled back down as if the exchange had worn him out.
Marie made her way to Dimitru’s wing and her temporary quarters. Even though she was sorely tempted to stop there and hide out until the FBI came in, she knew she had to play her part, pretend she knew nothing.
The besotted fool? The greedy whore?
What the hell was she in this role?
The lying and conning part of being a thief she’d never done well. Her uncle was good at the con. She preferred going in under the cover of darkness.
Her thoughts went to the women and then to the drugs. Jiminy Cricket, this guy had balls. She bit at her thumbnail as uncertainty settled beside the anger. She hated the feeling she was being played.
Did he know of her duplicity? Had she really fooled him?
It didn’t seem possible.
“There you are.”
Marie sucked in a breath and turned. God, she hadn’t heard him approach. So close he could touch her face, he tilted her chin up. “What bothers you? I will fix it.”
“I don’t know. Melancholy?” Marie patted his chest. “I have acquired the gold. We should plan for next week. And would you mind calling your doctor friend back in?”
“At this time of night?”
She looked at her watch. Already after five p.m. “Yes. You have the resources, and if not you, then I do.”
His eyes lit with intensity and amusement, and creepy-ass desire. He liked when she made demands.
Her hands shook, and she clasped them at her waist.
“I will see what I can do.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. A cold shiver raced down her spine.
“Until then, why don’t you go eat? Perhaps we will spend the evening getting to know each other a little better. And you can tell me about your plans for this heist on the East Coast. Yes?”
“Doctor first.”
This time when his eyes lit, it was with a temper. His hand, so gentle a moment ago, gripped her ponytail and pulled it. “Be careful of this confidence.”
With false bravado, she said, “Let me go.”
He trailed the back of his fingers down her neck, drew a line to the slope of her breast, and cupped her. “You’re a small thing, but you’ll do.”
She smacked his hand away and stepped back. “Hey,” she said, channeling Malcolm’s rage, wanting to spit in Dimitru’s eye. “Don’t—”
“Ah-ah,” he said in a way she’d only ever heard from a villain in movies. “A marriage for gold and powers beyond your imagination. You want it…or do you?”
The line of speculation stopped her from backing up, and she drew up against him and peered up. “I’ll get that gold if it’s the last thing I do. Don’t doubt it.”
When satisfaction lit on his face, she turned and walked away, ignoring the quake of fear rippling through her.