Dirty Thief

My lips move down her neck to her breasts, and she laughs, her fingers moving through my hair. “We’ll have to try different times of the day. No telling when I’m most fertile.”

“It’s getting better every minute.” Her back arches up, and I return to her lips as I sink once more into her depths.

Her legs circle my waist as our mouths chase each other’s. We’re lost in a haze of passionate preference and love and creation.

Chapter 4

Ava

Freddie sits beside me in front of the laptop as I spin a little white lie. “I mostly want to be sure the camps where they’ll be staying are clean and spacious.”

His lips curve into a frown. “I’m afraid most of these camps are pretty primitive. Refugees bring nothing but strain on the host coun

tries. As such, they’re at the mercy of charitable organizations.”

I think of Rowan’s comment about the council, and I can’t help being defensive. “Do you think I’m wrong to be helping these children?”

“Of course not!” He sits back quickly. “I told you. We’re proud of what you’re doing. I think Reggie is wrong.”

“Why are they so afraid, Freddie?” It’s times like these when my lack of education feels like a real handicap. “I was an orphan,” I add softly.

My instincts are motivated by my personal experience and my heart, but I’m sure Reggie and the men working with my husband, smart men with years of experience, must have a reason to be angry about what I’m doing.

“Don’t worry about them. Rowan is handling the council. Just keep doing what you do.” His focus is back on the screen, and he smiles. “There. See what I did?”

On the screen is a clear image of a sea of white tents. It’s a satellite image of the Swedish camp.

“Show me again.” I scoot closer in my chair.

It only takes a few moments for Freddie to walk me through surveillance, and again, he takes his leave. Again, I tiptoe to the door and close it. I know the bit of surveillance I’m about to do falls into the grey zone of privacy, but I want to see them. I need to know how they are, what their lives are like now.

Maybe I feel guilty I’ve done so well, and I want to know they’re thriving in some way. It might not be the best justification, but it’s not like I can go in person and see them. I’m a magnet for publicity and paparazzi. It would humiliate them if my reasons for visiting came out.

Anyway, they don’t even know me. I don’t know them. It’s not like we’re friends or like we’ve ever even had a conversation. Our only connection is this shared past. We’re all pictures in Dwayne Vega’s special wallet.

My excuses firmly in place, I start with Grace. I enter her London address and wait as the screen flickers and changes.

I’m above a long, red-brick building. It’s a series of old Victorian residences that have been converted to rentals. A small park is across the street, and it’s all so quaint and lovely. I can’t imagine what Grace must do now to afford to live here. It makes me happy that she’s doing so well.

Moving the visual, I try to figure out which door is hers. I sweep to the right, going up the row until I find it. My heart beats faster, and I lean closer to the screen.

“That’s silly, Ava,” I mutter. “It’s a computer screen, not a window.”

Opening another browser, I follow the same steps for Ramona. Then I do it again for Emily, until I have all three women’s addresses up on the laptop. The windows are tiny so I can see them all at once. I’m hoping someone will go out or return home, and I can catch a glimpse…

Ramona’s place in Florida interests me most. Zelda and I lived almost a year in Ft. Lauderdale, and we often went into Miami. I enlarge her window and move the target down the street in the direction of her apartment.

The area is run-down, and people wander the sidewalks. Guilt squeezes my chest. It doesn’t look like Ramona has done as well as the others.

For several minutes I sit watching the street like it’s some kind of personal reality television show. An old woman in multiple layers of clothes makes her way from garbage can to garbage can. She stops at one and lifts out an item I don’t recognize. It looks like a sock or a boot. Just as quickly, she tosses it back.

Studying her body, the hunch in her shoulder and her bent arm, I see she’s cradling something to her chest. My stomach sinks, and I think it might be a baby… until she lifts it to her mouth. It’s a bottle.

My mind drifts to when Zelda and I lived in similar circumstances. Hell, it was worse than that. At least Ramona has an apartment. Even if vagrants and alcoholics line the street, she has somewhere to go when it rains.

Once Zelda met Seth, and he taught her how to count cards and run short cons, we started having enough money to stay in cheap motels. If someone had sent us five thousand dollars… I try to imagine how our lives would have changed.

At that moment, a younger woman with dark hair appears on the screen. She’s small, and she’s moving quickly in the direction of an apartment.