I didn’t know it was possible for a heart to soar, but I cover his hands, holding him so tight that he never lets me go, or I just might float away. “I love you,” I whisper, though the words aren’t adequate for how I feel about him.

Our heads straighten, but our eyes reestablish the connection as we stare into each other’s gaze. He says, “I’ll get your brooch back.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.” He kisses me and then whispers against my lips. “I promise you, Lark. One day, you’ll have it back.”

It’s not what he says or even his tone. When his soul made a pact with mine, I knew he’d keep his promise.

35

Harbor

I could have just called the cops on Dane and Mia. They’d match it to the burglary report, arrest them for stolen property, and Lark would get her mom’s jewelry back. All would be well again.

But it’s not a simple situation. It’s not strangers involved, but her close friend and the woman carrying his baby. I know she wants the brooch back, but I also know Lark would never want to ruin lives to get it. I’m not above it, but I think patience will be our ally.

I must convince him to give it back to her. I’ll pay more than its street value since I know he can’t pawn stolen goods. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her whole again. I can’t bring back her mom, but I can get back the only thing she has left of her.

After Amanda didn’t answer at her place, I’m trying a different route. Might not be my best decision, but I’m desperate.

It’s been years, three, maybe four since I’ve been to the house on Dobson, but it appears abandoned—letters overflowing the mailbox and flyers hanging from the handle of the screen door and littering the front porch. The landscaping and lawn are in need of a good trim. It’s the broken window and ripped curtain that doesn’t sit right with me, though. Lucas and I used to party here on occasion, but it was late, usually after midnight. If I had seen it in the daylight, I might not have come.

I don’t mess with the rusting screen door. The sharp metal pieces look ready to stab its next victim. I knock beside the door on the rotting wood, hoping I don’t break right through. Stepping back, I leave space for whoever answers the door, not wanting to crowd them.

The curtain inside is shifted to the right. Beady eyes peer out at me and then to my car at the curb. “You a cop?”

“No. I used to come around back in the day. I’m looking—”

“I don’t care who you’re lookin’ for. Go away.”

I dare to peer in, but he scurries behind the safety of the door. “Is this Terry? Hey, I’m looking for Dane. You remember him?”

There’s rattling, like the sound of a cage, and then he replies, “No, so fuck off.”