Thief of Hearts
Page 60

I sat down next to him to properly take in the piece. It wasn’t just flawless. It was magnificent. Dark, deep blue sea curled up into a violent pale wave. The ship tilted in its struggle to stay afloat as Christ and his disciples faced the raging storm. The waves were so vivid it almost felt like I could feel them bashing against the wood of the vessel, the sails billowing in the wind. Above there is a hint of yellow light where the clouds are beginning to part, anticipating Christ’s command for the storm to subside.
After a few moments Alfie sat up and we both just stared at it. Soon my awe of my cousin’s talent turned to worry. The piece was complete and now the next stage of the plan had to be put into action.
And I, well, abruptly I felt like I was suffocating with the finality of it all.
Too wired to go back to sleep, I showered, got dressed, and worked on my laptop as I mentally prepared myself to tell Stu the painting was ready. The date hadn’t been set for the transportation of Renfield’s cargo yet. He was still under the impression that Stu and I, or more specifically, Mr Kennedy and Miss Jordan, were ironing out the last few details.
Now that the painting was done there was no longer any point in delaying things.
I was still on edge when I arrived to work. Lots of students were hanging out in the lobby, chatting and drinking their morning coffees when I spotted Stu amid the crowd. His eyes met mine and he smiled tenderly, his gaze softening. This was how he looked at me all the time now, and it made my heart feel too many things.
I felt like I was falling for him, but given the strong, lustful pull toward one another it was hard to tell the difference, to make sense of my feelings.
“We need to talk,” I said when I approached him, my expression sober.
Stu got the message loud and clear and silently followed me to my classroom. The place was still empty, none of the other students having arrived yet. I let Stu go in by me before I closed the door, leaned back against it and exhaled a deep breath. He eyed me curiously.
“The painting’s finished,” I blurted. “Alfie completed it early this morning.”
Stu’s eyes flared, a moment of quiet passing as he ran his hand through his hair and turned to face the window. “Fuck.”
“I know.”
He turned back around. “I have to make some phone calls. I’ll probably miss class today.”
I nodded. “Yes, of course, that’s fine. Do what you’ve got to do.”
He came to stand before me, gripping my upper arms. “Andrea, listen, if anything goes wrong, you and Alfie had nothing to do with any of this,” he promised. “If the police come asking questions, you tell them you don’t know anything, do you hear me? And you have my word that I’ll never breathe a word of your involvement.”
“Stu, you’re talking like you’re going to get caught. The plan is foolproof. Nothing bad is going to happen,” I said, willing myself to believe it. Things had changed. They weren’t the same as they were when Alfie and I first agreed to help him. I had feelings for him now, real, strong feelings, and I couldn’t stand the idea of him going back to prison.
“I know that. I just need to make sure you understand. Even on the off chance that the shit hits the fan, I’ll make sure your name is kept out of it. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
My heart clenched, my stomach in turmoil at his words. I swallowed and looked at the floor. “What about the guy you hired to do the transfer? Are you sure you can trust him?”
Stu’s expression was stoic now. “I can trust him. Don’t you worry about that. Just . . .” he exhaled, his voice gentling, “just be my soft place to fall. I need you, Andrea.”
Be my soft place to fall. I need you. If only he knew how much I needed him too now.
My breathing turned erratic, my heart pounding faster. I wanted to say something to express what I felt inside, but before I could utter a word he bent and pressed a kiss to my lips.
“I guess this is where shit gets real.”
Twenty-One

I barely slept all week knowing the robbery was imminent. There was a lump in my throat and a brick in my gut that I couldn’t seem to shift. “So, today’s the day?” Alfie asked anxiously. He eyed me sitting by the kitchen window, staring outside as though searching for the answer to some unknown question.
“Yep,” I replied, lifting my mug and taking a sip of tea. Ugh. I’d been lost in my head for so long it was cold.
“When will we know if he got the painting?”
I glanced at the clock. “In a couple hours.”
“And where is Stu planning on storing the piece before he hands it over to the Duke?”
“I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”
“You never thought to ask him?”
“Alfie, why all the questions? It shouldn’t be any concern of ours where the painting is kept so long as it’s safe.”
My cousin hopped anxiously from foot to foot, chewing on his lip as though he wanted to say something but was unsure how I’d react.
“Oh, just spit it out,” I urged. I was way too stressed to humour his weirdness today.
“Well,” he began tentatively, “I mean, I feel like I’ll regret it the rest of my life if I don’t at least ask, but . . . um, what I mean to say is, I was wondering if you could convince Stu to bring the painting here first. This will probably be my only chance to ever see it in the flesh, and I’d just like to spend a few minutes alone with it.”
It was his earnest expression that did me in. Alfie was a lifelong lover of Rembrandt, so I understood how much it meant to him to see the real painting. After all, he’d spent weeks labouring over the replica. The least we could do was allow him a few brief moments to appreciate the original.
My features softened as I told him, “I’ll call Stu and see what he says. But if it’s too risky I won’t push the matter. You’ll just have to accept that it’s not possible.”
Alfie’s grin spread wide across his face as he hurried over to give me a hug. “Thanks, Andie. I won’t forget this.”
One long phone call later (Stu took some convincing), we sat down in the living room and waited for him to arrive with the piece. Only ten minutes passed when my phone rang and I practically dove to answer it, thinking it was Stu calling to say something had gone wrong. But it wasn’t him. It was Karla. For some reason seeing her name on the screen had my heart pounding fast. I remembered how we’d exchanged numbers all those weeks ago, but why was she calling me now?