Stealing Rose (The Fowler Sisters 2)

She pulls on my hand and I step closer, shocked when she wraps her arms around my legs and rests her cheek against my thigh. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done. You have your reasons and I’m not going to question them. Just … let me have one more night with you before we leave. That’s all I want.”

“Rose …” My throat feels raw. My chest aches. Foreign emotions swirl within me and I don’t know how to control them. Or what to do. “Baby. What are you—”

“Don’t say anything.” She interrupts me, squeezing my legs tighter. “Don’t play stupid. Don’t deny what you’ve done. Just let me have this time with you.” She looks up at me. “Please.”

“I leave Sunday,” I tell her solemnly. It’s time for me to be honest. “Mitchell flies back Sunday night and I’m going with him.”

She lifts her head, keeping her gaze fixed on mine. “I fly out tomorrow.”

“What?” I rasp. The words stick in my throat, and it takes a concentrated effort to force the rest of them out. “Where to?” I croak. “New York?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Right before I came here, my father called me and we talked for quite a while. Your words stuck with me all day, Caden. You’re so right. I can’t quit. I’m not a quitter.”

“No.” I touch her hair, the silky, soft strands clinging to my fingers as I push it away from her face. My gaze roams her face hungrily. Are these really the last hours I get to spend with her? “You’re definitely not a quitter, Ro.”

“Will you come back to the hotel with me?” she asks.

“You don’t want to talk about …” My voice drifts. I can’t even say it.

She slowly shakes her head. “No. I don’t think there’s anything left to be said.”

There’s plenty to be said. But if she wants to play it this way …

I’m not going to stop her.

Chapter Twenty-two

Rose

What I’ve done is wrong. I know it. Deep in my heart I can see the fault in my reasoning, but I tell myself I’m keeping my heart protected. I’m throwing up barriers and pretending that what I discovered doesn’t really matter as long as I have one more night with him.

With Caden.

On the cab ride over to Mitchell Landers’s house I finally broke down and did a Google search on him. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much to be found. Society page photos, Caden posing with groups of people, all of them smiling, covering a wide range of years, from a late-teenage Caden to Caden today.

Some of those people he’s standing with I know. Most of them I don’t, but I’ve heard their names. All of them are wealthy and of a certain social status he lost long ago when his father killed himself rather than face his punishment.

There were mentions of that, too. Of Carl Kingsley taking his life. Of the many wrongs he did to his clients. Not one mention of what Caden might do for a living; not one mention of him stealing from anyone, either.

Thank God. I was both relieved and confused. What’s the truth? What are lies? I didn’t know. I needed more answers.

So I called Ryder during that cab ride too—traffic was unbearable and I couldn’t stand to be alone with my thoughts.

“Tell me the truth,” I’d said to Ryder when he answered. “About Caden. Tell me everything you know.”

And he proceeded to do so, hiding nothing, being brutally honest. So honest I flinched a few times, I felt tears come to my eyes, and at one point, I became filled with utter despair. He warned me at the end of the conversation that not all of the information he told me was confirmed, but he and Caden had some mutual friends. Friends who knew what Caden was capable of.

What he was capable of. Those words devastated me.

What would I do? How could I stand by this man when he’s done nothing but steal for a living? He’s not an honest man. He can’t be a good man, can he?

“People can change,” Ryder said to me before I ended the call. He was quiet. Thoughtful. Choosing his words in order to make the strongest impact on me, I could tell. “I think he cares for you, Rosie. I think he cares a lot. The love of a good woman can change … everything. Trust me. I wasn’t good for your sister at first. I didn’t care. Hell, I wanted to hurt her. But she made me a better man. Her love is everything to me.”

I couldn’t believe what tough, dark, and dangerous Ryder McKay said to me. His words cracked my heart wide open and filled it with stupid, glorious, just-out-of-reach hope. Hope that crashed and burned to the ground the moment I walked into that townhouse and saw Whitney with her arms around Caden, her boobs pressed to his chest and his hands on her waist.

I wanted to kill her. Pluck every bleached blond hair out of her head. And I saw it then. My reality. I knew there was no way Caden could give up what he does all for me. He might not be stealing for the best reasons—he is most assuredly no Robin Hood, though he doesn’t spend excessively, either—but he’s been doing it for too long. How can I expect him to give it up for me? How can I expect him to change?

Do I matter enough to him?

What we share is good. So incredibly, wonderfully good … but I don’t think it’s everything to him. The way he is for me.

I sit in a cab now, once again. This time with Caden by my side, his arm slung over the backseat, his fingers dangling and brushing against my shoulder every few minutes as he shifts and squirms like a little boy. He’s uncomfortable. I’m sure I shocked him when I told him I didn’t want to hear what he’s done. That I didn’t want to talk about it.