Stolen Skye (Book One, The Skye Trilogy) (3 page)

“You can’t trust gypsies,” Jasper added, shaking his head as we made our way back to the cars.
After promising to meet for dinner the following night, I stopped by the market and then drove home. There was a coveted parking spot on my street, and I backed in, feeling very lucky, just as cold rain began to fall. I lugged my groceries and box of work items up the steps, searching for the right key for what seemed like an eternity. I was sure Brutus was waiting impatiently on the other side of the door. There was no way I could’ve known that he wasn’t alone.

Chapter
3. Revelation

“Hey
, Buddy. Miss me?” Brutus was sprawled across the leather couch. I heaved everything into the house and took off my shoes so I didn’t track wet sidewalk through my living room. Only the lamp by the door shone in the entryway. Shaking out my hair, I went into the kitchen to put down my things and decided to build a fire.

I walked through the living room to go out back for some wood.
“Crap.” I had already taken off my shoes. I spied my rain boots by the dryer and pulled them on over my jeans. I made a run for it out the back door and threw off the tarp covering the wood pile. I grabbed an armful of logs and darted back inside. After putting the wood down just inside the door, I took off my boots, picked up two logs and walked over to the fireplace by Brutus. Placing the wood just so on the grate, I straightened to get some newspaper.

Surprise and horror hit me in my chest, knocking the breath from my lungs.
A man stood in front of me in my darkened living room, between me and either door. He stood partially bent, like he was ready to lunge if I moved. He was large, muscular and terrifying, with an obvious commitment to subduing me. Suppressing a scream, I searched my memory for anything I’d learned about self-defense — stepping on the instep, knee to the groin, blunt force to the nose — all requiring me to get way too close to him.

“Evy, I’m a friend.
I’m not going to hurt you. Please, sit. I can see how scared you are.” He motioned to the couch. “I’m sorry I broke in, but I wasn’t sure how to get you to listen to me and I needed you alone.” I stared into his eyes, waiting to see him clearly and understand what he was saying.

“I don’t know you.
Please, get out. I don’t have anything valuable.” Tears burned in my eyes and my voice shook violently. He took a step closer. Faster than I thought I could move, I lunged to my left and grabbed the poker from the fireplace. I knew in that moment that I’d fight to the death if I had to, which made me feel stronger. He stopped his advance and cocked his head, evaluating my threat level. After considering me a moment, he removed his jacket, tossing it over the armchair. He put his hands up, surrendering to me.

“If you give me a chance, I’ll explain.
I know you’ve forgotten. Please put the poker down.” He looked at me with an intense mixture of exhilaration and worry. My mind cleared and I realized I’d seen him before. He was the strange man from the restaurant. My fear spiked. Was this more than a burglary?

“Sit in that chair and don’t move.” I pointed to the arm chair with the poker and tried to see if I could get around him to the kitchen.
A knife seemed much more threatening if I could manage it. To my amazement, he stepped aside to let me pass. I walked quickly over to the phone to call for help, giving him a wide berth. The line was dead. I cursed and reached for my bag on the kitchen island. My cell phone was gone. He moved his hand by his side and I saw the glint of silver off my case cover. I threw down the poker and grabbed a knife from the butcher’s block.

“We didn’t know you were alive.
Not until today. I get you wanting to kill me, but I haven’t been this happy in years.” He smiled broadly, making him look even more frightening to me. “Just hear me out. I have a photo.” He took something out of his jacket pocket and placed it gently on the coffee table. I tried to think clearly minus the terror. Maybe if I listened I could understand what was happening and see a way out? I was certain if I ran, he could catch me. If I screamed, he would be on me before anyone heard a sound. He looked determined and physically deadly, like a prize fighter.

“S-sit down and talk then,” I stuttered, trying unsuccessfully to sound like I was in control.

He paused, looking at me carefully. “Didn’t you want to light that?” He gestured toward the fireplace. I stared at him in disbelief, still holding the knife. He walked over to the kitchen and picked up a section of newspaper by the trash bin, crumpled some pages and struck one of the long matches from the mantle. I stood motionless, trying to make sense of his behavior. The fire roared to life as he sat in the armchair, gazing at me with a smile.

“How do we know each other?”
I began, trying to get a hold of what he believed to be the truth.

“We met a few years ago in London.
You became a part of our organization, so to speak.” He sat forward, glad that I was cooperating, I supposed. Many people knew I had memory loss and spent time in London. Finding out my nickname could have been easy if he’d listened hard enough. I thought he’d called me Evy. Having a little knowledge of me proved nothing.

“What’s your name?”
I asked, my eyes darting between him and the picture.

“Fintan Edwards.
You always called me Finn. Sometimes you went by Evelyn Skye. Does any of this ring a bell?”

Shaking my head, I answered, “What exactly are you telling me?” I began to get impatient, ready for a fight if there was going to be one before I fell exhausted from the waning adrenaline.

“You and I worked together. We were friends. Look at the picture.” He picked it up again and handed it to me, causing me to step closer. I was on a bench, sitting next to him by what looked like the Thames River off to our left. There were other people I didn’t know around us. They looked… we looked like we were having a good time. I recognized my favorite green cashmere sweater from college. It was lost with my other clothes in the accident. I threw down the picture in frustration.

“I don’t understand this.
Why are you here? What do you want?” I demanded, forgetting any pretense and the knife.

“You were part of a very talented group of people.
We were a team.” His face darkened. “We were led to believe you died in a car accident when you left us and nobody has ever really gotten over it. I’m here because I know you. I knew you’d want to know everything if you could.”

I let it all sink in.
I’d lost the power of choice or any control in the situation. Sincerity was in every word he spoke and I started to give up, wanting to listen to him. More than that, he had a picture of us together. How could I not give him a chance?

“You promise you won’t hurt me?”
I asked as I wiped at my eyes with my sleeve.

“Yes,” he swore emphatically.

“You’ll tell me everything?”

“Yes, everything I know.
I’m still catching up a bit myself.” He seemed to relax, easing back into the chair. I walked cautiously over to the couch sitting far away from him, by the fire, placing my knife on the table in front of me.

“Why did you say the name Evelyn Skye?”

“That’s who you operated as last. It’s easier if we use aliases when we travel,” he explained matter-of-factly.

“What did I do as Evelyn Skye?”
His reference to me as someone who “operated” was giving me a bad feeling.

He paused for a moment before continuing.
“You acquired things. You helped us take things for our clients.” He watched me, seeming to hold his breath while he waited for my response.

“I took things.
Are you saying I was a thief?” I could barely form the word.

“Yes, in a way
— a very talented one.”

We sat in silence as I stared at him, open-mouthed and confused.
What he was saying couldn’t be true. I was a good girl from Boston. I had been starved for excitement, yes, but I wasn’t criminal material. “No. There’s no way that I would steal.”

“Well, technically, you did.” His eyes narrowed in concern as he spoke.

“No, this is too much. I don’t know how you have this information, but I’m not this Skye person, and I’m not a thief. I need you to leave my house.” He sat and watched me for an extremely long minute. Then, he glanced around him, searching for something with a very doubtful expression. Eventually, he buried his face in his hands, looking defeated. If there was anything left for him to say, it appeared he’d lost faith that it would persuade me. Suddenly, his head snapped up with his face full of excitement.

“Where’s the BMW?”
he asked urgently.

“What BMW?”
Playing dumb was not a good look for me. I was sure I gave away my bluff instantly.

“The SUV you bought for your mo
ther that we shipped from England, you never got a chance to get it out, did you?” He was growing impatient.

“I don’t…
you mean my car? What are you talking about? It’s… outside on the street.” A victorious smile broke across his face. He rocketed up and snatched the knife from in front of me before I even knew he was on his feet. I cringed, anticipating pain, but he brushed past me and out the front door. Where was he going? I had my keys in my purse. I heard the familiar double beep indicating my car was now unlocked. Of course, he had already taken my keys as well. I ran out of the house in my socks, trying to understand what he was preparing to do. Was he crazy? Was I? All I could answer was
yes
to both questions.

He had found the car and opened the back door on the passenger side.
In one slice of his hand, before I could stop him, he slashed the seat cushion at the seam. He placed the knife on the car floor and plunged his hand deep into the leather and lining. After feeling around, he pulled out a black satin drawstring pouch. He took my hand, emptying the contents into my palm. Three crimson stones the size of tangerines spilled out, glistening in the light of the street lamp.

I shook my head
, unsure of what I was looking at. After a moment of staring at my handful of gems and violated upholstery, I laughed uncontrollably. The absurdity and terror of the last hour brought forth unexpected emotion. On the verge of hysteria, I searched his face for understanding, but he wasn’t smiling. The freezing rain beat down on us as he stared at me, his full mouth drawn tight from an emotion I couldn’t name. I quieted myself, no longer finding anything about the situation funny. He placed the gems back in the bag and noticed my soggy socks.

“Come here, let me get you in the house,” he whispered, moving closer to me and placing his hand on my back.
I allowed him to pick me up and carry me from the street. I was drenched and spent, pressed against his wet, warm body. He moved slowly, seemingly unconcerned with the rain. We cleared my front porch and I was put down gently on the couch by the fire. The black bag and my keys were placed on the coffee table. I found myself speechless, hoping he would say something that made sense of everything… something other than I was a thief.

Chapter
4. Houseguest

“Are you okay?
Not going to crack up on me?” He looked at me from the edge of the armchair while he peeled off my socks. His light touch tickled across my arches. I moved to free my feet, but he held them in place to finish. He had taken his shoes off at the door. How considerate, though he probably didn’t want to leave any footprints for the forensics team after my murder. Even as I thought it, I knew I no longer believed he was there to harm me.

“I’m alright, considering,” I breathed out, forcing an infinitesimal smile as proof.

“I can imagine this is a lot to take in at once.”
He looked apologetic and very cold, with his shirt clinging to him. I awkwardly sat up from the couch, making squeaking noises as I rose. He tried to stop me from getting up. “Just rest for a bit, you’ve had quite a shock.”

“Look, we’re both freezing.
I’m not going anywhere. I believe you… well, that you knew me. I have a lot more questions, but I can’t stay in these wet clothes. I’m going to change and get us some towels. I’ll be right back.” Brutus followed me up the stairs and plopped onto my bed. I towel-dried my hair and put it back into a tight pony tail. I changed into sweats and dug out a fresh towel for him.

Not entirely surprising to me, he had made himself at home while I was gone
, and was making coffee. The familiar smell wafting through such an odd series of events was quite calming. Begrudgingly, I couldn’t help but notice he had taken off his shirt. As he hovered over the sink waiting for the coffee to percolate, I took him in more since I had gained some assurance he wasn’t there to kill me. His back was sculpted magnificently, hard and muscular. There was a symbol tattooed across his thick upper arm in dark blue. As I evaluated his equally impressive lower body, I noticed he had a pair of folded khakis and shirt by him on the counter. How silly of me to think he didn’t have an overnight bag somewhere.

I cleared my throat to announce my return, ready to proceed with the interrogation.
“Here, I brought you a towel.”

“Thanks.
May I put some things in the dryer?”

“Oh, of course,” I responded with the faintest touch of disbelief in my voice.

He strode down the hall with his dry clothes in one hand and his wet shirt thrown over his shoulder.
While he walked, he started unbuttoning his jeans. I forcibly looked away and busied myself with finding mugs, cream, and sugar. Great, I was playing hostess to a man who broke into my home. Well, you can’t have your potential attacker go hungry or be cold — that would be impolite. Maybe I had a death wish.

I put everything he might like on the counter, poured myself a cup, and walked back over to the couch.
I was damned if I was going to ask him how he took it and pour for him. Thankfully, he was already in the khakis when I peeked into the laundry room on my way to sit. I slowed only a fraction as I took in his chest. Lethal or not, he was to die for. Then I remembered how very real that possibility had been to me. He walked back over to the kitchen while pulling on his shirt. He poured a cup of coffee, and walked over to what had become his chair in our melodrama.

“Better?” He gestured to my clothes and coffee.

“Better. Now why did I have gems in my seat cushion?” I thought I would start small and work my up to the big picture stuff. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.

“You had them sewn into the cushion after you got the car.
Once you got home, you were going to repair the cushion before giving the car to your mother for her birthday. I think you got them from Bounce, but I’m not sure.”

“Who is Bounce?”

“She’s another friend. She knew you first.” He took a long sip while regarding me.

“So, the car was for my mother?”
There had been a big 60th birthday party planned. I wondered before how I had justified spending trust fund money that I hadn’t touched otherwise. It made sense I would have done it for her. A luxury car purchase for myself had always appeared extravagant to me. “What kind of jewels are they?” I looked over at the bag on the table, fighting the desire to pick them up and hold them again.

“They’re rubies.
Not very valuable because of their color, but the clarity is good. Probably worth about five hundred a carat based on their size.”

“How many carats are they?”

“Oh, I measure about fifty a piece.”

“You’r
e saying each stone is worth $25,000?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not much compared to what you’ve been around.”
He looked like he was enjoying my reaction.

“Are they the reason you’re here
— the stones? Take them, if they are. I don’t want them.” Maybe this was just about money.

“I haven’t even thought of them since we
had the car shipped.” He responded with some hurt in his voice. He shook his head and we drank our coffee in silence. He’d provided some overwhelming proof, but all of it was so difficult to accept. It was hard for me to think I would have engaged in a crime, but considering my intruder and the gems, I started to see the possible allure, at least.

“How did I start?”
When did I lose my mind?
was what I really wanted to ask.

“Bounce brought you to us once you showed an interest.
I think she can give you more detail about your early motivation.”

“Where do I find her?”
I figured I already knew the answer.

“She’s in London, dying to see you.
Ari filled in the rest.” He looked away from me to gaze at the dying fire.

“Why did you think I was dead?”

He rose from his chair and took a deep breath, “That’s something I’d rather have Ari tell you.” His anger was palpable as he stalked back to the laundry room to collect more wood.

“Is Ari in London as well?
Is he a friend too?”

“Yes, he’s in London.”
He tossed the wood onto the graying logs, causing a burst of sparks. He went back to the chair, his features smoothing into a less severe expression. His opinion of Ari felt like a closed topic for the time being.

“So, why are you in Newport?”

“I took a job with another crew based in New York.”

“Are you really staying in my hotel?”

“The flight crew was. Quite the coincidence, isn’t it? When you walked past our taxi, I thought I was dreaming, or so jetlagged I was seeing things. I called back to London to understand why my dead friend Evelyn was walking through a parking lot. Not running up to you then almost killed me.”

“Why didn’t you?”
Suddenly a vision of him holding me looked like an incredibly desirable thing. I batted down the emotion as best I could to keep my senses.

“Well, I was also informed that you’d lost your memory, but I couldn’t be sure of anything.
I wanted to see for myself so I followed you. You didn’t know me at the bar, clearly, so I had to figure out the easiest way to talk to you. Also, you were glued to a man, which… complicated things. I couldn’t be sure what your relationship was, but after watching you both during the evening, it seemed I may be more his type. Again, I’m sorry to have scared you, but I knew this was going to be hard. I had a better chance with us alone.”

“How’d you get into my house?”
I didn’t have an alarm, but there were locks and dead bolts.

“Through the upstairs window, nothing too trying.”
He shrugged his shoulders, assuming there was no need to elaborate further. For the first time, as he relaxed, I noticed that he had an accent.

I felt more tired as the minutes ticked away.
Though my body was exhausted, I couldn’t stop my mind from going over the things I had learned. For years, I had struggled to put pieces together, and here was somebody to be the glue. However, what I’d learned was unbelievable and brought up many more questions than answers. Finn seemed to have a liking for me, and was not coming off as a dangerous criminal. It was probably using poor judgment to trust him, I knew that, but he’d quickly become an important person to me. Maybe he really had been a friend.

“Are you hungry?”
I was famished and, regardless of his answer, I went into the kitchen to make turkey sandwiches. He accompanied me and assisted in the prep work. My cordless phone base caught my eye. “Listen, I’m not going to call the police. Do you think you can fix my phones?”

Without commenting, he walked over, lifted the base and plugged the phone line back into it.

“Oh.
Thanks.” There wasn’t a way to convey how utterly gullible I felt. He looked over at me and smiled, biting into his pickle. I was disturbed by the way his smile made my heart race unexpectedly. “Are you Irish?” I asked, spitting out the first thing that came to mind.

“Born there, but more a citizen of the world these days.”
Nice ambiguous answer.

After we’d eaten, the next step began to dawn on me.
There were people wanting to see me, people he said I knew. London was the place everyone seemed to be. Maybe going back would help me learn more about my time there, or remember it. I’d been living a shadow of an existence since I’d come back from Europe, but I’d been doing it fairly well. Maybe Finn and London could fill in the empty holes and then I could start over. After all, I had the time.

“So, now that you’re here, what’s next?
I mean, what’s your plan?”

“Well, I guess I was hoping you might come back with me, let me help you remember us.”
He said it tentatively, like he was afraid of my answer.

“Do you really think London would help?”

“Absolutely.” He began to look hopeful, a smile deepening on his gorgeous face.

“If I go, tell me the truth
. Am I in danger?” I had no idea what I was in for, but the people in the photo looked more like catalogue models than killers.

“You’re not in danger from us.
However, there are mixed emotions regarding your return. I want to remind you who you are, but others prefer differently.”

“Who doesn’t want me to come back?”

He shifted uncomfortably as he responded, “Two were overruled.”

“How many are there?”

“Five.” His mouth tightened into a thin line as he watched me try to understand what that meant.

“Why don’t they want me back?”
I sounded as confused as I felt.

“Their hesitation isn’t about their feelings for you.”

“Well, what’s it about then?”

“Some argue you’re better off not remembering us.”
He winced as he said it, as if the idea was painful to him.

“No, I want to know everything.”
He smiled in relief and I tried to ignore the flip in my stomach.

“That’s what I told them you’d say.”

“And, you think these people, Bounce and Ari, can give me more of the story?”

“Yes, all that we know.”

“My friends and family, they’re safe with all of this?”

“Yes, you have our word, of course.”

“I suppose the word of thieves is all I have to place my faith in right now.”
I said it almost to myself, marveling at how precarious my situation was. I desperately wanted to learn more, but I failed to really believe anything I’d learned so far. The only thing I felt I knew for certain was that Finn had known me.

He took my hand, sensing my trepidation.
“We are thieves, yes, but we aren’t killers. It’s quite simple. We’re a group of friends you chose, not crack-dealing psychopaths. There’s nobody coming after anyone. Though, that one fellow is lucky he turned out to be gay.” He smiled to try and lighten the mood.

I couldn’t resist smiling back at him, but I was worried and exhausted.
Was I really going to London with this man? Was I ready for what I might find there? “I think I need to get some sleep. We can discuss everything more tomorrow.” I yawned bigger than vanity should allow.

“Do you object to me sleeping here?”
He waited for my response, but with an air of confidence that suggested he knew what I would say.

“Do you object to the couch?”
I patted the cushions for emphasis.

“Only mildly.”
He smiled as he walked over to get his clothes from the dryer.

I trudged upstairs and got him a blanket from the linen closet and returned to make a bed for my guest.
My guest, who had scared the ever-loving-life out of me, but would soon become a travel companion. He emerged from the bathroom and came to stand beside me. I looked up at him, feeling an odd mix of gratitude and disbelief. “Finn, thank you. I’m not thrilled with the story, but I always felt there was something I needed to know. It seems I wouldn’t know anything if it wasn’t for you. Anyway, thank you for telling me.”

He smiled in response.
“Nothing could have stopped me. You’re standing here, talking to me. We’d lost you forever. I’m the one that’s grateful, more than I can say.” His emotive stare held me in place as he stepped closer to me. The sadness in his voice made me want to reach out, but I didn’t know how to comfort him. We may have been close before, but he was a stranger to me. I couldn’t be sure who I was to him, or if I even wanted to know. I gestured to the couch, lifting out of his influence.