Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (9 page)

Still nothing.

I decided to go for the jugular—always my best tactic at Pinnacle. Find the soft spot and press until it really,
r
e
a
l
l
y
hurts.

“So, how would you like it if I took something of yours? I know where you hide Dooley! Nothing’s stopping me from calling Child Protection Services right now—”

In a split-second, the mystery man had dropped in front of me, leaves falling all around us, as if he’d jumped down from a tree.

“You do that and you’re
d
e
a
d
—”

His large hands were around my neck in a heartbeat, all heat and hard muscle pressing down upon my skin, fully prepared to crush my throat.

And I’m pretty sure my pulse ceased right then and there. I was so scared I felt like my brain had flatlined.

But if I’ve learned anything from my incarceration at Pinnacle, it’s to stare down the enemy, no matter how terrified you are. Then kill ’em with a smile.

“So, you gonna do me in the same way you knocked off your mom’s boyfriend?”

I deliberately curled my lips into a wicked grin.

“Aw, come on, can’t you show me some originality?”

Creek’s whole body appeared as tight as a coiled snake. I swear to God, I could feel the heat of his anger radiating off his skin in waves. But his absurdly blue eyes—the kind that only belong to winged, celestial figures in Renaissance paintings—grew twice their size.

Ha!

I knew I’d found his tender spot then! He may be an incredibly tough customer, but at least he did have one bottomless wound that I could liberally dust with salt.

“You did kill that guy, didn’t you?” I pressed viciously, trying hard to keep myself from trembling like jello. “Or is that just a nasty trailer park rumor?”

Creek’s hold didn’t loosen a bit. But his eyes narrowed as he studied mine with the same intensity of Granny Tinker, as if he could somehow read the darkest corners of my heart that even I might not be aware of. Yet in his grip, all of a sudden I felt like we’d become one creature—one tense, balanced-on-a-razor’s-edge being—and if he dared to hold me much longer, I might just be able to see right into
h
i
s
most secrets places, too! With that thought, I felt the barest shiver run from his fingertips into my skin.

So, I smiled to myself, who’s the predator and who’s the prey now?

To my total surprise, Creek’s grasp seemed to ease slightly with my line of thought as if it had vibrated through my skin. And he very cautiously released his fingers one by one, leaving only the sweat from his grip that lingered upon my neck. His gaze seared into mine.

“I had that asshole on his knees,” he seethed.

Creek’s eyes were blue flames, so fierce and so very full of . . . rage.

“But Dooley came.”

His words hung in the air between us—bitter and painfully fresh—as though the incident had happened mere moments ago.

Slowly, Creek raked his hand through his messy, blonde hair. His gaze never flinched from my eyes.

I stole a deep breath—my first in what felt like a minute—and seriously considered making a run for it. But I knew my odds of escape at this point were infinitesimally slim. Instead, I swallowed hard, my mind racing to do the math.

“So . . . you were about to finish the guy off, when Dooley . . .”

I played out the scenario in my head.

“Walked in?”

Creek’s jaw clenched, then twisted.

“And you let him go, rather than allow a child to . . . witness something like that?”

“Smart girl, Silver Spoon.”

I nodded, grateful to be breathing. But I didn’t kid myself for a second—now was the time to negotiate some kind of pact with this guy, or spend the rest of my trailer park days trying to outrun him.

D
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g
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t
r
u
m
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c
a
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d
s
,
G
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i
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h
a
g
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l
!

“You know,” I said with every ounce of bravery I could muster, thrusting up my chin, “looks like we’re in the same business then, doesn’t it?”

Creek cocked his head. His eyes appeared hard.

“How’s that?”

“Well, we’re both trying to take care of people we . . . l—lo—”

I stumbled over the word, feeling prickles surface on my skin.

“Love,” I finally spit out, embarrassed.

Honestly, I’d never mentioned that term in connection with my dad in my entire life. And I wasn’t sure if I really meant it, or if I simply wished it were true.

Because dealing with my father had always been like stepping into a hall of mirrors at a carnival. Every time I thought I was getting close to him, his reflection changed on me, and even now I wasn’t sure who the hell he was.

“It seems to me,” I pressed on, hoping Creek hadn’t caught a whiff of my uncertainty, “that we both might be more effective if we joined forces to help our family members. You know, combined my female intuition and charm with your, um . . . street smarts? After all, I did beat you at the bank. Sometimes a soft touch works wonders! We could be the next Bonny and Clyde, like—”

“Partners?” Creek said, incredulous.

He wasn’t exactly wide-eyed anymore. In fact, he was—

Laughing.

A grin had burst on Creek’s face, as if the idea were beyond preposterous. And he rocked back on his heels with his thumbs in his front pockets as he let out a deep, throaty chuckle. His tousled hair fell loosely about his shoulders, pure gold in a shaft of light that had broken through the trees. And for the first time since we’d met, his face glowed with a warmth that was downright guaranteed to bowl most chicks over, even if it was at
m
y
expense.

It was enough to make a girl . . .

Pretty much keel over and drop dead of a heart attack.

Seriously, this guy was public enemy number one, a pure menace to women’s health. There simply ought to be a
l
a
w
against anyone that beautiful running around wild and temporarily . . . unkissed.

And I couldn’t help licking my lips, fantasizing about what it would be like to seal that kind of deal.

When suddenly, I spotted it—

A bold scar on his right bicep, inside a tattoo of a big, red heart.

Like he’d scratched out someone’s name. And even more to the point: the name of a former girlfriend.

Creek swiftly folded his arms, covering it with his large fingers so I couldn't see. A hint of red flashed on his cheeks.

Ah, so you’ve got more than
o
n
e
deep wound, I realized, feeling as evil as those she-monsters who used to torment me at Pinnacle. But I have to admit, now that I’d tasted a little of their power, it felt truly intoxicating.

Especially when the handsomest creature in the solar system was standing right in front of me with sunshine glinting off his flaxen hair and pure, unadulterated vulnerability in his eyes.

Creek stiffened his back and swelled his chest a little, appearing tall and tough as nails, like usual. But I knew his secret now. He had a heart that had been broken once, and might still be in pieces—and I intended to exploit each and every shard in my favor.

“Just what do you propose we do as partners?” Creek persisted with an edge to his voice, a bit too eager to divert my attention from that scar on his arm.

I sucked up a deep breath.

Oh, maybe make out till next Tuesday! I wanted to say, hoping he hadn’t somehow heard my thoughts on a breeze. But really, that face and physique all in one package? Truly God does display a twisted sense of humor on us poor girls.

I shook my head to try and regain my focus.

“Um . . . how about rob banks?” I blurted in a quick save, hardly believing those words came out of my mouth. “I mean, think about it—after just a couple of big hits, we could be set. Right? No more money troubles.”

“Like that whopping three-hundred-fifty bucks you got from Home and Hearth?” he taunted, shaking his head. “High roller, Silver Spoon.”

Boy, oh boy—I was pissed off now.

“For your information, that three-fifty was better than what you hauled in, as I recall. And if it weren’t for the Miata I, uh—borrowed—you wouldn’t have gotten the seven hundred, either. So don’t be callin’ me Silver Spoon. I’ve earned my keep.”

“Then what should I call you?” Creek interrupted, leaning in closer to me. I could feel his eyes traveling over my ridiculously too-tight clothes, lingering on the tender curves they revealed, as if they’d been freshly picked just for him. Then the warmth of his breath brushed against my ear, sending every nerve ending I had on high alert.

“Jail bait?” he whispered.

Until that very moment, I didn’t think it was scientifically possible for every single skin cell in my body to blush in unison. Nevertheless, I’m quite sure that even my bare midriff had turned a bright, cherry red.

Dammit! Creek had totally derailed me with that one. But I still had some fight left in me.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” I replied, slipping up my hand to skim the scar on his bicep. “After all,
y
o
u
brought me these threads.”

There it was—a slight pink to his cheeks again. And I was all ready for round two, when I saw Creek’s blue eyes narrow a little.

“Look, your little private-school getup was a dead give away,” he stated flatly. “And so was that shiny, red convertible—it had an electronic tracer. You’re lucky the cops hadn’t caught up with you yet, Hot Pants.”

I blushed in equal measure.

“But I do kinda get your point,” he said grudgingly. “We both have folks to look after here, and we’re the only breadwinners they’ve got left. So listen up. I’ll try giving you a test run. There’s a small store with an ATM that has lousy surveillance up the road. I’ve been casing it for weeks, and it’s an easy hit. With any luck, we could get a decent haul—if we play our cards right and don’t use weapons while we’re still young enough not to face federal time.”

F-Federal time? I thought, queasy at the very sound of the term. That’s right, I realized, this is hard-core crime we’re talking about.

Up until now, it had all been kind of a lark for me—a rollicking daytrip away from the iron chains that had kept me imprisoned at Pinnacle. But with all of the deep shit my father was in right now, and the fact that I couldn’t even qualify for a job that didn’t include peddling drugs or turning tricks, suddenly robbery seemed like the cleanest option.

“You’re on, partner!” I burst emphatically, before I could dare to let myself chicken out. I mean, what other choices did I really have? “But from now on, you call me Robin.”

“Sure,” Creek replied casually, even though he was staring me down with his glacial blue eyes to test my courage. “So meet me back in these woods tomorrow morning at six o’clock, sharp. No more sleeping in till noon. We’ve got work to do.”

He turned and walked away.

And I absolutely hated myself for thinking it, but even his back side was beautiful.

Just as he’d entered a really dark patch of shadows, and I thought he might slip away entirely, he hesitated for a moment and glanced back.

“By the way,” he said with steel in his voice, “I man the getaway vehicle from here on out. Got that? ’Cause you drive like shit.”

By the time I found my way back to the clearing at Turtle Shores, I was still shaking. Holy Moses, near as I could tell, I’d just closed a deal with the Devil! He was a drop-dead gorgeous Devil, I had to admit, and I think that’s what scared me even more.

But if I didn’t do something serious about my cash flow, these trashy clothes I had on weren’t just going to be a trailer park joke—they’d be the story of my life. And I’d probably end up pregnant at 16 with a dozen crummy tattoos all over my body and only two teeth left after getting strung-out on meth.

Yet as I neared our trailer, the thought
d
i
d
occur to me that if it hadn’t been for Creek hiding him in a bunker last night, my dad might’ve been nabbed by the mob. Or cops could’ve traced us to the Mazda, and we’d both be in the slammer.

Why did everything have to be so complicated? Creek was good/bad, bad/good—which one was it?

I halted in front of our trailer door and shook my head.

Maybe that’s not the right question, I thought. Maybe I just need to shut down my emotions and get all the money I can, as fast as I can, and sort out reality later.

I took a deep breath and braced myself to face Brandi before I opened the door, knowing she was probably playing a rousing hand of cards with my dad by now. Hopefully, it wasn’t strip poker.

But when I swung the door open, Brandi was nowhere to be found.

In fact, my dad was all stretched out, asleep again on the couch. I noticed that the plate of ham and beans sat empty on the small table beside him, so Brandi must’ve succeeded in feeding him something. Stepping inside, I gazed at my father, who looked so cozy with Granny’s colorful patchwork quilt wrapped around him like a cocoon. His face appeared sweet and innocent, with none of the “Crocodile Cunning” that had made him so famous at Tweedle, Beckman & McArthur.

Hesitantly, I crouched down in front him and pushed aside a wisp of hair that had fallen across his forehead. It felt strange to stroke his warm skin and feel the slight perspiration on his brow—to touch his face at all, for that matter. I mean, this was the man who’d never even bothered to give me a fatherly peck on the cheek, let alone read me a bedtime story or tuck me in at night.

“Was I really so unlovable, Daddy?” I whispered, my voice splintering a little. “Or were you just too obsessed with work all those years to ever notice me?”

Inside, I half-hoped he might fess up for once to his role in our pathetic family tragedy, even though he always pretended it didn’t matter, since he made more money than God. So when his breathing hitched for a second, it sent my heart racing.