Rosie gazed up at the old white house. It looked as though it had been plucked straight from the early 1900s, its exterior well-maintained. It was a beautiful yet simple two-story home. And inside lay wads of cash.

Guilt swamped her, nearly taking her to her knees, but then she thought of Lulu’s in ashes and Blaine lying dead on the sidewalk.

She hadn’t seen him since she kissed him, and she didn’t even want to.

How could she look at such a good man when she was covered in nothing but filth?

She was a thief, and she was about to break into Mr. Griffin’s house and steal his entire life savings.

Mandy would kill her for this.

Would it take her long to figure it out?

She had just been shooting the breeze the day before, amused and exasperated with her grandpa for not putting his faith in the bank. It showed a level of trust and acceptance in Rosie that she was about to demolish.

Thankfully, it was her day off. After staying late to lock up—and steal from the register—she’d gone to bed exhausted. She of course couldn’t sleep, so she’d sat up in bed and spent the night browsing the Web on her phone. She’d hunted down Mandy’s relatives until she figured out which grandpa Mandy had been talking about. She then looked at the house from every possible angle on Google Earth, which was damn hard on her small, crappy screen. She wished she could find house plans too, but she was no hacker. She’d just have to break in and do the best she could.

Having not slept all night, she was grateful that Louanne hadn’t called her to ask if she could work an extra day. Julio was still sick, but she’d managed to get Tania in. So Rosie had snuck out the back of the house and walked three blocks before calling an Uber. After a polite greeting, she didn’t say another word to the driver. He dropped her off and she walked the opposite direction to Mr. Griffin’s house, taking the long way around.

She was a freaking popsicle by the time she arrived and then had to hide out in his backyard, waiting until the man left in his 1950s Chevrolet. Thanks to some subtle questioning while they cleaned up the kitchen, Rosie knew that Mandy’s grandpa attended an art class every Saturday at two o’clock. It was the man’s new religion, and he never missed a session.

Rosie couldn’t miss the window of opportunity.

Her boots crunched in the snow as she approached the house. She stayed low in case nosy neighbors were peeking into the backyard. The curtains on the right were shut, and she’d seen no signs of life from the house on the left.

Holding her breath, she stepped up onto the back porch and tried the back door. Of course it was locked. She knew it would be.

Sliding her bag of supplies off her shoulder, she crouched down and pulled out the towel she’d taken from Lulu’s. Even though she was wearing a winter coat, she wrapped the towel around her elbow for extra protection and lightly thumped the glass.

It did nothing.

Wrinkling her nose, Rosie glanced around her, bit her lip, and punched a little harder.

The glass cracked a little.

Rosie gasped and held her breath, trying one more time with as much force as she could.

The glass splintered, cracking around her and falling to the wood decking.

She dropped the towel and quickly reached inside, unlocking the door with her gloved hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Slipping inside, she raced into the house and hoped like hell no neighbors had heard the disturbance. Her boots thumped on the wooden floors as she rushed through the kitchen and living room.

She made a beeline for the stairwell and scrambled up the stairs, her boots heavy on each wooden step. She glanced down each side of the hallway and saw what looked to be the master bedroom. She hurried in that direction, hoping Mandy’s guess about the mattress was right.

The room was pristine, which made her feel even guiltier for what she was about to do.

Her eyes landed on a framed photo on the dresser. An elderly couple, the man dressed in a gray suit, the woman wearing a pink hat with a bow on the side. They looked like they were at a wedding, sitting at a table with a beautiful floral centerpiece. Rosie had no doubt that the man smiling at her from the picture was the man she was attempting to rob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice breaking.

She closed her eyes and steeled herself for what she was about to do. What she needed to do.

For herself.

For Louanne.

And for Blaine.

She headed straight for the bed and lifted the mattress.

Nothing.

“Shit!” Like it was ever going to be that easy. “You stupid woman.”

Rising to her feet, she started at the corner of the room and systematically worked her way around, checking every drawer, under the bed and inside his closet.

The more minutes that ticked past, the more desperate she became, her movements growing frantic.

“You think I’m bad, this is a fucking tea party compared to what they’ll do.”

Damien’s words tormented her as she threw clothes and shoeboxes aside.

“Come on,” she whimpered, smacking her hand down on the closet shelf.

It rattled and tipped to the side.

Rosie’s eyebrows puckered. Hitting the shelf again, she noticed it tip up in the back corner. She grabbed the edge and gave it a firm yank. It came away, smashing down on her toe when it landed.

She winced and hissed, but couldn’t focus on the pain because all she could see was a black lockbox.

“Really?” she puffed.

Her hands shook as she pulled it out and watched it fall to the floor. It was secured with a padlock that rattled against the metal.

She needed to find something to pry it open, but was worried about her time.

“Just take it with you,” she whispered to herself. “But what if it’s not in here?”

Desperation and fear tried to choke her. Picking up the box, she shook it and felt certain that she could hear the shuffle of cash inside.

It was no doubt a safe bet.

Standing on trembling legs, she hugged the box to her chest and eased away from the closet. She glanced around the room in the hopes of some kind of tool that could help open the box, but she knew she was dreaming. She needed to find his toolshed, or maybe something in the kitchen or laundry. Stepping over the mess she’d made, she blinked, trying to stem the guilty tears beginning to well up.

She turned and her gaze shifted to the window.

She froze.

A police car was pulling up outside Mr. Griffin’s home, it’s red and blue lights silently flashing.