Come A Little Closer Read online

  The only thing that kept me sane was Simon. He’d always had a way about him, and he used that stealth to get what he wanted. That hadn’t changed.

  Not only had he somehow found the little boy the day after the accident in Savannah Memorial Medical Center, he’d managed to get a glimpse of him.

  There was a nurse on the floor who gave him information regularly. I didn’t ask why she was doing that. I didn’t have to. I was certain Simon had used his charm and good looks to win her over, or maybe he even told her he was related to the boy.

  Either way, I knew he’d had to lie to find out the truth, and I couldn’t judge him for that. I needed to know. So did he.

  This time he used that spellbinding charm for something good, at least.

  Simon’s guilt was almost as heavy as mine. And because of this, every morning since the day he located the little boy, he’d taken the Caddy and drove to Savannah to check on the condition of the boy I’d hit.

  What that little boy was doing out on the road at night I might never know. Moon Island was a vacation destination, and who knew, maybe he was late getting back to his parents. Maybe he’d gotten lost. Or maybe he was running away. Like I said, I might never know.

  What I did know was the little boy was alive. Alive but injured. He needed a spinal cord operation to ensure he would walk again. Without the operation, his chances of walking were fifty/fifty. The family was uninsured, and the cost of elective surgery was just over one hundred thousand dollars.

  They couldn’t afford it.

  Neither could I.

  Neither could Simon.

  Turned out, Simon had less cash than I did. He didn’t even have a car. He’d left it in the Caribbean.

  Even if I could settle the estate and sell the small beach house Harvey had left me, I wouldn’t get the money in time.

  All we had was Simon’s past knowledge. He knew airports. He knew how to steal. And he had a plan of how to get what we needed. A plan that involved bad weather, an airport, and me.

  It wasn’t anything I ever thought I’d be involved with.

  It wasn’t anything I wanted to do.

  I was no Bonnie to his Clyde.

  And yet, every day for the past week I’d allowed him to teach me the ins and outs of pickpocketing. How to slide my fingers into a pocket undetected. How not to rush it once I made contact with the goods. How to take it nice and slow.

  How to become an expert thief.

  The reason I was doing this—time was running out. There was only a short window of time that the surgery could be performed before everything healed and possibly healed incorrectly.

  That meant we had to do something, fast.

  The entire situation I was in made me physically ill to think about. That was until I thought about the fact that the old Folgers tin in the kitchen only had thirteen thousand five hundred dollars in it for Riley Houston—the little boy in the hospital.

  The little boy I’d hit.

  Between the laptop I’d pawned, the car I’d sold, and my personal items I’d hawked, we still weren’t even close.

  In fact, we had eighty-six thousand, five hundred dollars to go.

  And we weren’t going to raise that kind of money on Moon Island, or in Savannah for that matter, not without getting caught.

  Atlanta was the plan.

  I was the plan.

  JAXSON CASSIDY

  I WAS THAT GUY.

  The lucky son-of-a-bitch who was on his way to achieving his dream. Everyone wanted to be me . . . for the moment, anyway.

  From a pool of thousands of entrants, I had been selected to be the lead photographer for the upcoming year’s Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.

  With the economy of print not faring well, Sports Illustrated hadn’t escaped the fallout of downsizing.

  After the head and staff photographers for the SI issue were let go, the publication held a contest to hire a temporary contracted photographer until they could revamp, and I won.

  I had fucking won.

  Three locations. Uncrowded beaches. Warm weather. Exceptional scenery. And my eye overlooking it all through the lens of my camera.

  Snap.

  Snap.

  It was any photographer’s wet dream.

  I didn’t hesitate to accept the job. Closed my business, sold my shit, and sublet my apartment.

  I was a free man.

  No cares.

  No worries.

  What about after the gig? I’d wait and see. I didn’t really care. I could start over if I had to.

  But right now, life couldn’t be sweeter.

  Over the next six weeks, I would be splitting my time between Antigua, Barbados, and Grenada, and I couldn’t fucking wait.

  I loaded my suitcase on the belt. “Your flight has been delayed,” the attendant behind the counter told me.

  Glancing at the monitor, I saw the word, “DELAYED,” flashing. Fucking hell. “I’ll wait,” I answered.

  The attendant hesitated. “All flights are probably going to be canceled soon. Are you sure you don’t want to come back tomorrow?”

  I was restless and edgy. I glanced at the text on my phone from my ex-fiancée.

  Jules: Our flight has been delayed. I hope you make it out of Atlanta before the storm hits. Safe travels and good luck. See you when you return.

  The thought of running into my ex-fiancée and her new husband while I waited for a cab didn’t appeal to me at all.

  I was happy for her, but it was time for me to make a new life as she had. “Yeah, I’m sure,” I told the attendant.

  The woman handed me my ticket, and I headed down the concourse to hit up the bank and a bookstore. After that, I’d be seated at whichever bar I happened across first.

  I wasn’t picky.

  I just wanted to forget—even for a little while.

  And that meant getting shit-faced.

  SADIE

  BRILLIANT RAYS OF COLOR ARCED in the sky.

  I studied the spectrum of light with intense curiosity. The subtle way the red on the outer top-most side changed to orange. The somberness in which the orange morphed to yellow, then green. And finally, the way the green turned into blue before fading to violet at the bottom-most inner rim. Together the varying hues of color formed a rainbow.

  A freak of nature that was truly beautiful.

  Rainbows were meant to symbolize all things good . . . Hope. Dreams. Love. Serendipity. What a cruel joke. Every single one of those things seemed so very far out of my reach.

  Had they always been?

  I had wanted to believe. Tried to believe. Life wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, and I knew this now more than ever.

  Before everything changed, when I saw something like this, I would have reached for my camera and photographed this incredible sighting for my blog. The photograph would have inspired an Instagram post about love, with a byline something like, “In a city with over 80,000 more females than males, doesn’t it make sense to hurry up and catch the liquid love pouring down all around us before there’s none left?”

  Today, though, there would be no picture, nor would there be any such post.

  No camera.

  No computer.

  No job.

  What I did have was a boy who needed an operation . . . because of me.

  I blinked tears from my eyes, and then, just like that, the spectrum of light was gone. The moment stole my breath because what took its place was anything but beautiful.

  Big, fat, ugly droplets of rain began to fall.

  I hated the rain.

  It wasn’t like I didn’t know that Atlanta’s dry spell wasn’t going to last forever. Still, that didn’t stop a small part of me from wishing, hoping, and even praying it would.

  At first, the downpour was only a slight, slow drizzle, and I thought perhaps the weather predictions had been wrong.

  There would be no storm.

  It was only going to shower.

  A sun shower.
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br />   That was why the rainbow had shone so brightly in the sky. And without a storm, there was no sense in proceeding—we’d have to turn around.

  It would be both a blessing and a curse.

  The storm did not stop.

  We did not turn around.

  Instead, we continued southwest. I leaned my head against the glass of the old Cadillac and watched as the wind rustled the fronds of the palm trees with increasing intensity. Gone was the view of the Atlantic Ocean. Miles and miles of I-75 asphalt had taken its place hours ago.

  Soon, too soon though, big, fat drops were pelting the light-green paint on the car’s hood, hard. So very hard in fact that I had to lean forward to see anything out of the front windshield.

  The weather predictions had been correct after all. Tropical Storm Helga was arriving, and right on time.

  As the fury of the storm muscled around the car and gallons of water fell from the sky, I closed my eyes and prayed.

  I wasn’t religious, but it seemed appropriate.

  It did no good.

  The onslaught continued.

  Nevertheless, I crossed my fingers in hopes the storm would blow over quickly.

  I wasn’t ready to do this.

  However, as soon as the pounding thunder rumbled in the sky, my eyes snapped open, and I knew faith had, once again, screwed me.

  It was time.

  And Riley needed me to come through for him.

  The weather wasn’t going to let up, and this was just what was required for what came next.

  For Simon’s plan.

  Pickpocketing.

  Thieving.

  Taking what wasn’t mine.

  Making bank.

  For Riley.

  Slowing, the car turned onto Maynard H. Jackson Jr. Blvd. When the airport came into sight, Simon looked over at me. “The weather is only going to get worse. That means you’ll have all night. But still, it’s really important you only mark the men who are alone and appear to be worth the risk. Understand?”

  “The wealthier looking ones,” I said softly.

  Single men in airports were my targets. According to Simon, women weren’t as fruitful as men, nor did they hang out alone in the airport bars during storms as much as men did, which was why he couldn’t do the job.

  The men were going to provide us with what we needed and never suspect a thing.

  Simon nodded. “Yes, that’s right. And don’t forget, you can spot them by their brand of luggage and the clothes they are wearing. Just remember what I taught you. Slow. Easy. The impulse to grab and run can be overpowering. Fight it, and don’t rush the ending.”

  I sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. I couldn’t believe I was actually going through with this.

  Being bad wasn’t by choice, but by necessity, I reminded myself.

  It was for that little boy.

  “I got it.”

  He reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “I know you do.”

  To that I said nothing.

  The imposing façade of the concrete and glass lit up by a bolt of lightning. The brilliant, jagged flash caused me to practically jump out of my seat.

  It had been over two weeks since even a drop of water had fallen from the sky. And during those days, I had truly started to believe it would never rain again.

  Dumb.

  Dumb.

  Dumb.

  Funny, I never remembered just how scared I was of thunderstorms, until now, until then.

  Blinking lights warned of stopped vehicles, and as the old Cadillac pulled to the curb, I closed my eyes one more time.

  Run.

  Run.

  Run.

  I wouldn’t, of course.

  Couldn’t.

  With my heart pounding and my veins flooding with an unwanted adrenaline, I forced myself to get out of the vehicle.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” Simon called.

  I gave him a nod of acknowledgement. If the airport remained closed until morning, I had a long night ahead of me.

  “And Sadie.”

  I dipped my head to look back into the car.

  “Remember, no unnecessary risks, or you’ll get caught.”

  That frightened me because I had no idea how I was supposed to survey risk. To me, it was all one giant risk, but I gave him a nod of acknowledgement anyway.

  “And you can call me if you need to.”

  “I know.”

  He gave me a nod. “Be careful, Sadie. I wish I could do this for you.”

  “I know,” I told him, his concern was palpable, and I knew if he could take this over, he would.

  Slamming the heavy door, I sprouted my umbrella even though I didn’t really need to shield my body against the torrential downpour since I was under the overhang. Feeling a little lost, I started walking very slowly. The tires squealed, and the old Cadillac’s headlights shot two brief cylinders of light in my direction. Then it was gone, Simon was gone, and I was alone.

  Pulling the designer luggage that Simon had acquired just yesterday behind me, I hurried along the easement like the shoes I was wearing were what I wore every day.

  They weren’t.

  In fact, I couldn’t even walk in them. Seriously, they were the fuck-me pumps Elise had given me, and they were way too high. The whole placing one foot in front of the other was harder than it looked. You had to allow your hips to swing from side to side to stay balanced, and with the state of disarray my mind was in, concentrating on something so ridiculous as strutting felt impossible.

  The late October night air held an unusual chill for this time of year in Atlanta, and my short dress, thigh-high pantyhose, and designer raincoat didn’t provide much warmth. My nipples peaked through the black lace of the Chanel dress, and I wished my hands were free so I could bundle up.

  I settled for drawing in breath after breath of the stormy air. It did nothing but leave me feeling like I was suffocating and caused my ribs to scream.

  The glass doors spread apart, and as soon as I stepped out of the storm and into the brightly lit terminal, I felt that very familiar ache in my stomach. I was going to be sick. Alarmed, I searched for the women’s restroom, and once I spotted it, I darted straight that way.

  Five minutes later, I was re-applying my lipstick in the mirror and making sure I looked like a million bucks.

  I did.

  Dark-lined green eyes against pale skin. My naturally auburn shoulder-length hair was hidden beneath a blonde wig so I couldn’t be identified, and it hung just below my shoulder blades. Rich-looking hair. Tight dress. High shoes. All so very unlike me. Or the real me, anyway.

  I glanced down at the watch on my wrist. A cheap Timex that hid my tattoo. Although I was wearing it, it wasn’t mine. Then again, neither was my underwear.

  The small hand on the watch face read six and the big hand fifty-eight. It was almost seven, and I had to hurry.

  Walking tall and full of forced confidence, I made my way across the industrial tiles and toward security.

  The large space was quiet, and there weren’t too many people lulling around or in line. With all the flights grounded, there wasn’t much reason to be here.

  Unless you were stranded or—

  Fear shot through me as I searched for the tall, bulky guy with red hair and blue eyes. Thankfully, I spotted him right away. He was behind the podium to the far right. Getting in the short line, I had to literally order myself to stop trembling. I didn’t even think I was breathing when I handed him my passport with the ten, neatly folded, crisp, one hundred dollar bills inside.

  After setting my identification down on the flat surface, Simon’s contact glanced over at me, then down at my passport. It was the only thing that actually was my own.

  When he slipped the money out, and the airline ticket in as if it had always been there, and then handed everything back to me like nothing out of the ordinary had just taken place, I knew he’d done this before. “Have a good night,” he said.
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  Blowing out the breath I’d been holding, I answered with, “You too,” and then followed the other people in line like I actually had a flight to catch. A flight that, although had been delayed due to bad weather, I was still determined to wait for. To catch. To board. Like them. But I was nothing like them.

  I wouldn’t be on the flight, of course. Whenever it did take off, I’d be on my way back to Savannah to pay for Riley’s surgery. Or that was the plan, anyway.

  My feet whispered on the cool, industrial tiles as I tipped my red-soled pumps into the plastic bin and pushed it along the rollers toward the X-ray machine. After I hoisted my luggage up, I used another bin to add my coat and umbrella.

  While I waited for my turn, I glanced at the name on my ticket. It read: “SARAH BARNES.” Wow, that really was close.

  For a moment, I allowed myself to wonder who she was and why she wasn’t able to make her flight. Flat tire? Fight with her husband? Missed connection?

  “Next,” a deep male voice boomed.

  Crap, I wasn’t ready.

  Then again, I never would be.

  Stepping through the metal detector, I wanted to run as soon as the beeping started. It had to be the metal clips on the tops of my garters.

  I should have refused to wear them.

  The older man called me aside, and I knew I was going to be caught, right here, right now. I was going to go to jail. Just like my father.

  However, his gaze dipped to the seams of my stocking toes as it lingered on my legs before he drew it up.

  Men liked pretty women, especially those with silky hair, clingy dresses, and gartered stockings. Add the manicured nails and sultry look, and I was every man’s wet dream.

  And I had to become his.

  A rich call girl or wealthy man’s wife or tycoon’s mistress, I didn’t care which he thought I was, as long as his mind was on my body and not on the ticket with a name printed on it close to mine, but not mine.

  Shifting my body in just the right way, I ignored the stabbing pain in my ribs. Like this, the slit in my dress parted enough to give him a glimpse of my bare thighs, and I knew I’d hit payday when his breathing started to pick up.

  I felt sick.

  “Where are you off to tonight?” he asked, as he bent to move the wand up my body.