Free Steal My Heart by Linsey Lanier Page B

would be back. She’d buy her a huge toy to welcome her home. Her eyes tearing up, she rose and started toward the store. Her phone rang again, making her heart bang even harder in her chest. Shivering, she pressed the button and held it to her ear.
    “Dunbar. Where the hell’s my story?” It was Bigelow.
    She stopped short in the middle of the aisle and two teenaged boys in torn jeans nearly bumped into her. She stepped away. Good grief. What could she tell her boss? “Sorry, sir. I, uh. I ran into a little problem.”
    “Problem? The damn thing’s been stolen. You knew that, didn’t you?”
    She swallowed, trying to catch her breath. “The Fantasia? Yes, I heard that.”
    “Heard it? You were there. Didn’t you see what happened?”
    “That’s what I meant. Actually I didn’t really see anything Everyone was so panicked. It was frightening.” More and more lies. When was this going to end?
    “So where’s my exclusive?”
    “Exclusive? The necklace is gone.” Her pulse picked up. He didn’t know, did he? Nobody knew she was the one who took? The police would be after her, if they did.
    “Dunbar, have you lost your nose for news? You were an eyewitness. Why isn’t your article in my inbox already?”
    She exhaled in relief as her mind raced. Bigelow was right.
    If she hadn’t been the one instigating the robbery, if she hadn’t been so worried about Holly, if she hadn’t been dealing with a kidnapper, she would have been on that story like a starving dog on a bone. She would have been outraged that the Fantasia had been stolen. She would’ve produced a scathing column describing everything that happened last night, listing possible suspects, blistering Adolphus for his lack of security.
    She would’ve turned it into the Bigelow hours ago.
    She pressed her hand against her forehead. She’d have to fake it. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m having trouble with one of my sources.”
    “Doesn’t sound like you, Dunbar. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. I’ll get on it right away. I’ll get that column to you in half an hour.” She clicked off and headed back to the bench, then reached inside her bag for the mini laptop she always carried.
    She switched it on and felt almost delirious to get a Wi-Fi connection. She opened her word processor and started banging at the keys.
    Spiro Adolphus’ gala soirée at the Piazza hotel last night was marred by the unthinkable. The gorgeous multi-jeweled necklace, dubbed the Fantasia, which he intended to auction off for charity, was stolen.
    She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the details of the party last night. What came to her was the vision of Mark holding her in his arms as they danced to Misty . His touch, his lips. His strong, muscular body making love to her later on.
    No. Stubbornly she willed her mind back to the party. She remembered the rim shot that sounded like gunfire. The screams and chaos. And her own hand reaching inside the display case to get the jewels.
    She looked down at her purse saw the heart-shaped ruby twinkling under the mall lights. My God. She was in a mall with the stolen necklace. She grabbed her purse and tucked it between her laptop and her thigh, then glanced around, as if she were surrounded by bloodthirsty thieves.
    No, she was the thief.
    The article. She had to finish it before she totally lost it. With determination, she put her mind to work, letting her fingers fly over the keyboard. Facts. Details. The unbiased thoughts of a detached observer. Guilt bearing down on her, she described the scene, guessed at Adolphus’ reaction, invented possible suspects. She hinted the FBI might be involved in the investigation and promised a follow up.
    God help her. She’d never fudged facts before. She’d never falsified evidence. But her daughter’s life was at stake and right now, her career was the last thing she cared about.
    She gave the text a quick edit, pasted it into an e-mail, slapped Bigelow’s