She was a world-class idiot. But it wasn’t too late to abort and restart.
Her blood pumped fast and hard. Her brain went into overdrive. Time for a new plan. He’d taken one diamond. If he found the others, he’d likely stuff them into his pocket and jet straight out of town. She’d have nothing in her hands to try to prove Eli’s innocence, though that was less likely. Still, if she had the diamonds, she could try like hell to convince her stepdad to do the right thing. She could help exonerate him. She’d tried talking sense into him, and he hadn’t listened.
But she’d have no chance of doing that if Jake beat her to the punch. She was not going to be screwed over once again by a man she trusted.
She huffed and turned around, coming face-to-face with a gentleman in slacks and a button-down. She flinched. She hadn’t expected to see anyone. But she breathed easier when his name tag indicated he worked at the church.
“Hello. Do you need anyone to pray with?” he asked, hands pressed together, bowing slightly.
“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “But it would be great if you can pray for mercy for Jake. Thanks so much.”
She practically vaulted her way to the stairwell, down the steps, and out the main door.
The new plan took shape in seconds, because that was all the time she had. She’d have to improvise, but her one supposed drawback—that people knew her in this town—was her one advantage. Steph could infiltrate. She could head straight into the gallery. Isla liked her, and Isla would probably insist she stay.
Have some beets. Enjoy some olives. Here’s some coconut flan.
She hightailed it to the gallery, pushing her shades up on her head. No need for the spy gear. She was invited, because she was always welcome. Privilege of being the stepdaughter, and she’d gladly take it now. She grabbed the handle of the gallery door, tugged it open, and entered a scene of art, laughter, and a smorgasbord of food she’d ordered with an untraceable gift card.
Steph waved, acting casual. “Just in the neighborhood. Wanted to say hi.”
Isla’s chocolate brown eyes lit up. She wore a sleek, short cranberry dress and her dark hair was curled in waves that fell on her shoulders. “So good to see you, Steph. You came by at the perfect time.”
“I did?” Steph asked, feigning surprise. “Lucky me.”
“Yes. Look at all our food,” Isla said, beaming as she gestured to the trays of food the caterer had set up. Isla promptly introduced her to the two employees and the caterer, and Steph hoped Clementine wouldn’t recognize her voice from the phone call.
Isla clutched her arm. “Can you join us? It’s such a treat to see you again. Come, have some beets and olives and we’ll discuss the amazing generosity of my favorite artist in the world, Lynx O’Malley. He sent this special lunch to us, and I can show you some of his art on the walls,” she said, gesturing proudly to the bright white walls adorned with his images. “And we can talk and catch up properly.”
“I would love to,” Steph said, though she had no intention of partaking in a tour. She gestured in the general direction of the back hallway, then lowered her voice. “I’m just going to pop into the ladies’ room first. Be right back.”
Isla parted her lips to speak, probably to offer to show Steph where the restroom was. But that was not going to fly. Steph might be pissed at Jake, but she didn’t want him to be caught. She spun efficiently on her heels and walked to the rear of the gallery, crossing her fingers that the trays of yummy food would continue to distract Isla and her employees. She turned the corner in the hallway, safe from the front of the shop. The food had worked its charm, rooting hungry humans to the trays, just as she and Jake had hoped it would.
Steph yanked open the office door.
Jake stood at the desk with some papers in his hand. She wanted to shout, “Busted!” but opted for a closed-mouth smile.
He furrowed his brow. Everything OK? he mouthed.
“No,” she whispered. “Get the diamonds and let’s go.”
“They’re not here,” he said quietly with a shrug.
Like she believed that.
“It’s not safe,” she said, then tipped her head to the door. “Go.”
Nodding crisply, he folded the paper, stuffed it into his pocket, and followed her lead as she shoved him down the hall and into the alley.
“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. Kept her lips closed. Patted him down. Ran her hands along his sides. He squirmed and laughed.
She fought back a grin. “Ticklish much?”
“Suspicious much?” he tossed back. “Seriously, what are you doing? Not that I mind your hands on me, but something tells me you aren’t trying to cop a feel.”
“I am. I really am. I can’t keep my hands off you,” she said, trying valiantly to maintain her act as she reached into one shorts pocket, then the other. Her fingers brushed across a small glass object. Her spine tingled, and she arched an eyebrow. It felt like a jam jar. “Did you put the diamonds in a jam jar?”
He shook his head. “No. That’s a gift. But now it’s ruined,” he said with a huff.
She didn’t have time to process this comment as she patted his shirt pocket. They were all empty except for his wallet, phone, and the folded-up piece of paper. Fine, this was promising. For the most part.
“Why are you acting like I’m taking something, then?” he asked skeptically, with narrowed eyes.