To Steal a Prince (2 page)

It’s like he’s asking me to steal it.

I try not to look too surprised as the door scissors upward. A group of tourists passes, some awed, some envious of my good fortune. I wink as I fall into the plush leather seat, closing the door after me.

All right. Taking a breath, I try to compose myself. Mr. Suit had to order and pay for two people at the café. He’ll be here any second. I have to work fast.

Taking my screwdriver from my bag, I pry open a panel on the steering column. Instead of the wires that have always greeted me before, I see a slew of computer chips. What am I supposed to do with these? I’m not a computer hacker.

I see movement in the side mirror. Mr. Suit and his large friend are crossing the street outside the shop. Shit, shit, shit. It’s time to bail.

As I reach over to the passenger seat to retrieve my bag, a glint of metal catches my eye. I have to laugh. Mr. Suit thinks he’s so immune from theft that he left his keys behind in an unlocked car. I shake my head. Rich people can be so careless. Luckily, he has me to teach him a lesson.

The two of them are on the sidewalk. I see Large Friend stop as our eyes meet in the side mirror. He shouts something at me, but I can’t hear it over the revving engine. Mr. Suit starts running toward me, coffee sloshing from his cup. Good. It probably tasted terrible, anyway.

Waving at them in the rearview, I step on the accelerator. The tires screech as I peel out. The men grow small in my mirror. I put the top down, letting the wind whip through my hair. I am Grace Sparrow. Like my name, I tend to hide in plain sight, stealing crumbs when no one’s watching. There’ll be no need to steal anymore. With this crown, and this car, I can go anywhere I want.

The wind takes my breath away as I put the car through its paces. The thing feels like it’s about to break free from the earth. What a glorious machine. And it’s mine now. The only thing I could do to complete the sense of triumph would be to put the crown on my head for all to see.

Compulsively, I check the passenger seat. My bag’s still there. So is the crown, isn’t it? You can never trust people with anything. They’ll steal everything you own given a moment’s opportunity. I should know. I want to slip my fingers into the hidden pocket, just for a second.

I jerk my attention back to the road. Everything’s fine. Traffic is light enough. I can risk it. Reaching for my bag, I touch the cold metal. I let out a shuddering breath. It’s safe with me. It’s safe.

Horns blare. A truck barrels toward me. It’s on the wrong side of the road. No, wait. I am. I scream, pulling the wheel. There’s a crunch of twisting metal, then everything goes dark. My last conscious thought is that I might have tried to fly with more crumbs than I could carry.

2

“Do you think she’s okay?”

“It’s a miracle she survived at all. The car flipped three times.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. The voices are so loud. I wish they’d stop shouting.

“She’s moving.”

“Hey.” One of the voices moves closer. “You hurt?”

The voice is so tender, so full of concern. More than anything, I want to reassure him. He sounds too kind to be so worried.

“I’m fine,” I mumble. “I’m all right.”

It’s not entirely true. I’m sore all over, and my lip throbs painfully. It takes great effort, but I manage to pry open my heavy lids. I find myself staring into a pair of vivid hazel eyes. I’m lost in swirls of green.

The man leans back. “You called for cleanup?”

“They’ll be here in three.” The other man crosses his arms, frowning at me.

I shift my gaze back to my savior. I try to reach for him, but my arms feel leaden.

“Are you sure nothing’s hurt?” His voice is like honey. I can almost taste the sweetness on the air.

Too weary to speak, I respond with a thumbs-up.

“Let’s get you out of there.”

Startled, I look around. Where
am
I? Why is it so hard to remember? I blink as I take in my surroundings. An airbag has punched through the steering wheel, and has already half deflated. I’m coated in a fine white powder. Though it hurts to move my neck, I glance to the passenger seat. That whole side of the car has crumpled, but it looks like my bag has survived the crash.

I sit bolt upright. The crown’s in there.

“Calm down.” The man wrestles with my seatbelt. He’s getting powder all over his fancy jacket.

My blood freezes in my veins. In a rush, I remember the café, Mr. Suit, stealing the car. This is his car, isn’t it? So why isn’t he screaming at me?

Grabbing the strap of my bag, I punch the seatbelt from its clip. I have to pull my bag from metal jaws that have formed around it. Hopefully the crown is intact. I leap from the car, trying to ignore the dizziness that washes over me.

“Don’t get up so fast. Here, sit awhile.” Mr. Suit is trying to be charming, but I know he just wants to keep me here until the cops show up.

“Thanks,” I say, “but I have to be going.”

His large friend steps up to block my path. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Nic,” Mr. Suit lays a hand on his shoulder. “Not right now. She was in an accident.”

“With your car. The one she stole less than a minute ago.”

“Let me handle this.” Mr. Suit’s voice is low.

Nic sighs. “Your father won’t like it.”

“He doesn’t like anything. You can handle the police?”

“Fine. What’s the story?”

“You know they won’t ask for one.”

I sway dangerously. Mr. Suit catches me against his shoulder.

“Careful,” he says.

I only have enough energy to lean against him.

Nic’s eyes trace my curves, not bothering with subtlety. “You think she’s worth it?” He ignores my glare.

Mr. Suit’s hand tightens around my waist. “I’ll see you later, Nic.”

Sirens wail in the distance. A car pulls up beside us, and Mr. Suit helps me in. The seats are chilled leather. Who is this man who can conjure vehicles from thin air?

“Where do you live?” His lips are close enough that they could brush my cheek. He doesn’t wear cologne, but the unmasked scent of his manliness is enough to fog my brain.

“Prince Street. Halfway down.” I wince. Why do I keep telling him things? How is he doing this to me? I generally try to give away as little as possible. He already knows too much about me.

The driver takes us down a side street, smoothly turning the wheel. I wonder if I should jump out, try to disappear down an alley. Peering out the window, I wait for an opportunity. We slow for a group of pedestrians. I tense. This is my chance to bolt.

Mr. Suit lays a hand on my thigh, making me jump. Not only did he startle me, his hand is much higher than what is proper between strangers.

“Sorry.” He withdraws his hand, and I feel a pang of regret. “I don’t want you to go, not yet. Can I make sure that you’re okay first?”

I nod. Taking a deep breath, I try to settle into my seat. I tell myself that I’m staying because it’s too dangerous to leave right now, not because his hand felt so good against my skin.

I hug my bag close as the city slides by. Should I tell him where I live? Can I trust him? I observe him from the corner of my eye. If he trusts me, he’s a fool. Why is he being so nice to me?

The driver slows as he turns down Prince Street.

“Just tell me when.”

Those hazel eyes will be the death of me. I bite my lip. We’re so close now, but my heart is pounding, warning me of possible danger.

“Here,” I blurt out.

The car stops sharply. In the rearview, the driver admonishes me with his eyes.

I hunch in my seat, terrified for a reason I can’t put my finger on. Mr. Suit gets out of the car. I try to breathe as he walks around to my side. No matter how pretty he is, I can’t let him in too far. Trusting people is a gamble, one that’s so easy to lose.

He opens the door for me, offering his hand. “Coming?”

Warily, I step from the car. I wish I could snub his hand, but I think I really do need the support right now. I take a moment to dust myself off as best as I can. The powder from the airbag is atrociously clingy. Mr. Suit waits for me, then gallantly offers me one arm. With his help, I wobble toward the building.

I only get to the steps before I have to rest. “You can leave me here. I’ll make it up myself.” I sag against the railing.

“Ah, but I don’t intend to leave you. No more arguing. Let’s get up to your flat.” Wrapping an arm around me, he whisks me through the door.

“Are you staying then?” I can barely believe this. The man has some nerve to invite himself in.

“No. You’re coming with me. I want to make sure you have all your things.”

I shake my head. This is a funny one. I won’t argue with him yet. Let him get us up these stairs first. Once we reach my flat, all I have to do is shut the door in his face. Hopefully I can escape before he comes back with the police.

“Do you really live here, or are you just trying to torture me with endless stairs?”

I grin. “Only three flights to go.”

“Only?”

“A bit out of shape?” My jab is patently false, but it’s so ridiculous that I can’t resist.

“Stairs are easier to climb when you aren’t carrying someone else.”

“You’re barely helping me. Look, I can walk on my own.”

“Oh no you don’t!” He catches me before I can wriggle from his grasp. I’m not sure I could get away even if I hadn’t just been in a car crash. He’s very strong. He holds me to his chest. We’re very still for a moment.

“This is my flat.” I back away. He’s far too close. “Well, it’s really Gabe’s flat, but I’ve been staying with him for so long that I forget sometimes.”

He pierces me with a glance. “Gabe?”

The door swings open. The man in question plants one hip against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Where have you been? I tried calling you, but your phone rang on your dresser. You didn’t go through with it, did you?”

“Gabe?” He’s impossible to talk to when he’s like this. I can’t even get in the door.

“I know I’m not supposed to talk about your ‘profession,’ but I don’t want you bringing any more stolen goods in here.”

“Gabe…”

“So did you take it? Did you?”

“Gabe!”

“What?”

I push the door open so he can see Mr. Suit. “We have company.”

Gabe’s jaw drops. I can’t really blame him. Mr. Suit would have that effect on anyone. Gabe straightens, trying to pull himself together. His eyes look like they’re about to bulge from his head.

He bows low. I’m stunned by the absurdity. Mr. Suit is handsome, but bowing might make his inflated ego burst.

“Your Highness,” Gabe says, “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you, Gabe.” His mouth quirks at the corner. “This is a bit crass after your welcome, but could you direct me to the facilities?”

“Sure. Second door on the left.” Gabe points, his eyes never leaving the man’s face.

“Thank you.”

As soon as the door closes, Gabe pounces on me.

“What did you do?” His whisper is harsh. “Why is
he
here?”

The room spins. I plop onto the couch. “That’s a prince?” I ask. “
The
prince?”

“Yes, that’s the prince. How did you not recognize him? You’ve been here long enough.” Gabe collapses onto the couch beside me. “Oh, god. He knows, doesn’t he. He caught you stealing it.”

“Shut up. He doesn’t know about that.”

“So you did do it!” Gabe jumps up. “Why do you always do this? Do you know what you put me through?”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t complain when I chip in for rent.”

“Yeah, but you could do that legally. Like normal people. It’s a lot less risky.”

The toilet flushes.

I turn to Gabe. “There’s a prince in our bathroom.”

“A prince pissed in our toilet.”

“Should we frame the seat?”

The door opens. The prince towels off his hands. “Sorry. I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m Darius Alexander Lion. The Fourth. But please, call me Damon.”

“Damon,” says Gabe, unable to keep from bowing again, “I’d love to hear how you met the incomparable Grace Sparrow.”

“I had to chase her down.”

Gabe turns to me, eyes wide. “He chased you?”

“Well, I did steal his car.”

“You
what
?”

Damon strides into the room. “Crashed it too. Got it nice and mangled.”

Gabe mouths at me, too amazed to give voice to words of how stupid I am.

“Um…” I don’t really want to ask, but part of me needs to know. “How expensive was that car?”

“It cost 4.8 million dollars.”

I’m glad I’m sitting down.

“If it’s all right with you, Gabe, I’m going to take Grace with me. I want the family doctor to look her over, and keep her until we’re sure everything’s satisfactory. She flipped that car a few too many times.”

“That explains the split lip then. Unless you gave that to her? I wouldn’t exactly blame you.”

“No.” Damon reaches out to touch the other side of my lip. “She did that to herself.”

The air is practically humming. My heart thuds. It’s almost as if he’s testing to see Gabe’s reaction. I wish his thumb could linger here forever.

Shifting his hand, the prince breaks the spell. “Grace, ready to pack?”

I go to my room obediently. Gabe raises an eyebrow as I pass. Obedience is a trait I rarely employ. I scoop a few clothes into my bag. I don’t have much, and I’m sure the prince won’t keep me long. Why he wants me for more than a few minutes is beyond me. There are times when I can barely stand myself, so I don’t know why he’d willingly subject himself to me.

“All set?” Damon asks. “I don’t want to keep Rashad waiting.”

I realize that he must mean his driver. “I have everything.”

“Good. Gabe, it was nice to meet you.” The prince holds out his hand.

Gabe shakes. “If you need anything for her, straightjacket, riot shield, just let me know.”

“Thanks. I think I can handle things.” Damon steps outside to wait for me.

I give Gabe a small wave. “I’ll see you soon.”

He surprises me by wrapping me in a bear hug. “Be careful.” He looks at me meaningfully, though a little resignedly, as if he knows advising me is a lost cause.