I grip the steering wheel with white knuckle force as I wait for the garage door to go up. “Come on. Come on.” I tap my hands nervously on the wheel as I watch the rearview mirror. “Just hurry up,” I whisper to myself. The garage door opens. I rev the car and fly out of the garage and down the street to the sounds of the tire’s screeching. I have just stolen Alastar’s car while he showers. He is going to kill me. I glance to the backseat at the three large garbage bags tied up at the top. The rolled up canvases of stolen art are inside and I have a plan. Alastar and I had heated discussions on and off all day yesterday. He is under the ridiculous opinion that this art belongs to us and that we can keep it in the basement; that nobody will ever know.
Realistically, I know that it’s only a matter of time before he gets caught and I will not let him be a fool and go to prison to prove some stupid point.
His memories of painting those paintings of me have clouded his judgment.
They are not ours to keep in this life.
The phone rings. It’s Alastar. Shit. I flick the button on the steering wheel.
“Hello.”
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” he screams in his deep Irish accent.
I screw up my face. Oh, he’s never yelled at me before. “I’m, umm, returning the art,” I stammer as I stick my tongue out in concentration to turn the corner. Ah, it’s weird driving on the wrong side of the road. I could die here any minute. “Get back here now. You don’t have an international license.”
I frown. Is he kidding. “Last time I looked, a fucking valid license was the least of our problems, Alastar,” I shout back.
“They will blame you,” he screams. “Come and get me and I will tell them I did it.”
“No.” Shit, what will I say? “I have already told Mark that it was dumped on my doorstep this morning when I woke up.”
“What?” He screams. “He’s not fucking stupid, Emmaline.”
“Yes, he fucking is!” I yell. God, I don’t need this shit. I’m stressed out enough already.
“If they blame me… come and bail me out.”
“Emmaline!” he yells.
I push the button on the steering wheel and disconnect the call. I inhale deeply and wipe the perspiration from my forehead as I grip the steering wheel hard again. Holy crap, what am I doing? This is insane. My heart is beating so fast. I pull up into a loading bay outside of work and look around for a parking spot. Shit. I glance into the back seat and I know the three bags of paintings will be heavy for me to haul a long distance. Screw the parking ticket. Alastar can frigging pay for it. He got me into this mess. After parking the car, I put my handbag strap across my body and grab the three bags. I struggle up the steps and into reception. Oh, great, Stephanie is here early.
She raises an eyebrow in question. “Collecting trash now?” She smirks sarcastically.
“Something like that…” I answer, distracted. Jeez, these bags are heavy. “You could give me a hand, you know.” I groan.
She smirks. “I could.” Then breaks into a broad smile. “But I won’t.”
“Why are you such a bitch?” I frown.
“Takes one to know one.” She waves sarcastically as I get into the elevator.
I give her the bird and the doors close. Fuck, I hate that chick.
I breathe heavily as I watch the dial turn, and finally I arrive at my destination. My floor. I drag the bags through the office and knock on Mark’s door. I hope he’s not in yet. Please don’t be here.
“Come in,” he calls.
My stomach drops. Shit. Go time.
I open the door. “Hi, Mark.”
“Hi, Emerson.” He looks me up and down. “You’re early.” I fake a smile. “Yes. I came out of my apartment and these bags were on my doorstep.”
He looks at them and frowns.
“Did you get them delivered to me for some reason? Or am I supposed to know what they are?” I ask calmly.
“What is it?” He frowns as he stands and walks around his desk.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just opened one bag and it looked like some kind of old samples or something.”
“Hmm.” He bends and opens the top of one of the bags and pulls out one of the canvases and opens it. “I’m not sure,” he murmurs deep in thought as he studies the painting.
Oh, man, he really is stupid. Even I would know this is the stolen artwork.
I put my hands on my hips. “Anyway, I will leave them with you. Maybe the auction team had them delivered to my home address by mistake or something,” I offer him as an explanation. He shrugs. “Hmm, I will look into it. Thanks for bringing them in.”
I smile broadly. “No worries.” I hesitate, I need to keep him sweet. “I’m going to the café before I start work to get a coffee. Would you like one?” I ask, looking for an excuse to move the damn car before it gets towed and the police can trace Alastar ever being here.