Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (3 page)

My dad stared at me as if I’d mutated into a sociopath.

“Hey, like father, like daughter!” I reminded him.

Gritting my teeth, I stepped on the gas. My poor dad’s head snapped back as though we’d rocketed to the moon.

Fortunately, I only turned over one garbage can and plowed through a small sign and two flower beds on our way out. But for all intents and purposes, we were as free as birds.

And that was how I began my career in crime.

I barely made my way through the tangled bird’s nest of streets in Cincinnati to find Route 125 and headed southeast, hugging the center line of the highway like a drunk driver. I didn’t dare look at my dad anymore, because the last time I’d checked, he had a white-knuckled grip on the dashboard with his good hand, and his face was as pale as a sheet.

Gee, Dad, if you’d sacrificed a little of your precious time to help me learn how to handle a car before
this, I might be a better driver! At least I didn’t hurt anybody.

But no biggie. As long as I ignored the twigs that were still stuck to the windshield from the shrubs I’d barreled through on Liberty Street, we were set. And I actually began to enjoy myself a little. I mean, here I am, in a siren-red convertible with the top down on a warm, spring day. It doesn’t get any better than this! Too bad there were only mullet-haired truckers and local yokels to flirt with. Just for the hell of it, I gave each one a wink and a toss of my long, chestnut hair. Hey, practice makes perfect. But by the time we’d passed our hundredth farm on this rolling stretch of highway outside the city and I still hadn’t spotted a single hot guy, I decided to use the downtime to focus on my main goal:

Bender Lake, Ohio.

Yep, it’s the kind of hick place that people head to when they’re, well, craving a bender. Just a remote, “hush-hush” neck of the woods, ideal for lost weekends of drinking, drugs and rock and roll, with minimal city ordinances against disturbing the peace, lewd behavior, or fraternizing with vampires.

Whatever you want, Bender Lake’s got it. And best of all,
n
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d
y
t
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k
s
.

Perfect.

But don’t think Bender Lake has anything like the bright lights of Las Vegas.

No, what we’re talking about here is a cross between the boondocks in that creepy
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movie you sometimes see on Saturdays and a Bermuda Triangle, of sorts, for losers.

According to the rumor mill in Cincinnati, especially crazy partiers like CeeCee Stone, who everyone at Pinnacle called a “drug-slut” long before she got kicked out, people have a way of “disappearing” into the miles of thick hardwoods and brush surrounding Bender Lake and never getting caught. Deep caves, camouflaged camp sites, mysteriously concealed trailer parks—hell, I’ve even heard talk of UFO abductions that helped people avoid arrest! If you’re running from the law, or you simply don’t want mommy and daddy to hear about the crap you’ve been jamming up your nose or into your veins, Bender Lake is
t
h
e
place in Ohio to go.

But there was only one problem.

We were running out of gas.

And since all of my dad’s accounts were frozen, making my credit cards utterly worthless, we didn’t have a dime. So before I hit Bender Lake to find us a little “out-of-the-way vacation cottage” to anonymously rent, I was in desperate need of cash.

And what better place to go than a bank?

Okay, so maybe my idea of robbing banks was originally a joke. My dad had checked off a startling number of criminal boxes lately, so I thought it would be fun to add a little “glamour” to his list.

But not anymore. This was serious stuff, and as the Miata’s low fuel signal flashed orange on the dash and rang at a furious pitch, I realized I needed to get down to business—quick.

Luckily, I’d spotted a blue-gingham sign for
H
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e
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S
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s
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near the highway, with a convenient exit up ahead.

Home & Hearth? I’d never heard of it before, but it sounded like the kind of place that handed out free crock pots to folks who opened savings accounts. As long as they filled mine with hundred-dollar bills, I could forgive the country-kitsch logo.

So I pulled off the exit ramp and onto a humble little road that held a white clapboard church, a seedy coin-op laundry, a boarded-up diner—and a small bank. I couldn’t even tell what the town’s name was as I steered towards the Home & Hearth building and jostled over their curb, cranking my front tires off the sidewalk and back onto the street with a jolt. Glancing around the empty town, I smiled sweetly at my dad.

“This’ll just take a minute!” I promised.

My dad clutched my forearm like a vise, squeezing the life out of me.

“Ouch!” I cried, trying my best to pull away. Jesus, for a man who was partially paralyzed, his left hand could still pack a punch.

“No, Wobbin,” my dad insisted, glaring at me. All of a sudden, his expression resembled a wounded animal’s. “Day-enj,” he struggled, the words turning into marbles on his tongue. “Day-enj! DAYN-JER-OOS!”

I nodded, getting his drift. Funny how a guy who’d hardly had anything to do with me until now suddenly thought he could play warden.

“Listen, Dad,” I sighed, “this isn’t exactly my first choice. But short of becoming a streetwalker, I don’t know how else to take care of us. Not even Graeter’s hires fifteen-year-olds! And in case you forgot, we’re probably wanted by the law, so I might as well give them a run for their money. Oops, pardon the pun—”

I planted a quick peck on his forehead. “Now I’m off, before I lose my nerve.”

Wrenching myself free from his grip, I bolted from the Miata and refused to look back, slipping the keys into my pocket. I could hear my dad’s slurred protests as I scurried up the sidewalk, but that wasn’t what really bothered me.

No, what really got under my skin was this strange, haunting feeling . . .

Like I was being watched.

And not just by my dad.

I froze in place for a second, mere steps from the bank door.

There it was again . . .

That odd sensation that someone’s eyes were on my back.

Could the bank have hired security to watch over the building?

I swiftly scanned the roof and did a little spin to check the street on either side.

Give me a break, I thought, this is Podunkville! It’s not like they’re gonna have snipers in the bushes.

Sucking up my courage, I pointed my finger beneath my school cardigan like a concealed weapon and prepared to head inside. My heart started to do backflips, and I felt like any second it was going to spring from my chest.

“You can do this,” I barked under my breath, “you’ve got to! Just walk in there like you own the place, head to the nearest teller, and make your demand.”

Aside from the full-blown terror that popped and sizzled through my brain, another sound began to filter into my ears.

Laughter.

I slid my hand to my chest, just to check if it was me. After all, people do weird things in a panic, but I soon discovered that I wasn’t the source of the sound.

Glancing up, I spotted a shadow.

Straight ahead, beside a large sycamore tree. And it
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e
d
.

I squinted and inched to the left, peering into a particularly dark patch beside the wide tree trunk.

And that’s when I saw him.

Or I guess I should say, he
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s
e
to reveal himself.

A tall guy, maybe a year or two older than me, in a black t-shirt and torn, faded jeans. His tangled, sun-bleached hair looked like it had never seen scissors, yet it framed his tan skin and piercing blue eyes like a rugged surfer’s. To my surprise, he flashed a half-smile, making the jagged scar across his cheek press into a dark, thin line, like a dagger. For a second, I wondered if it was a warning—

“You gotta be kidding me,” he shook his head, folding his tattooed arms. “You honestly think you can take on this place?”

He leaned his tall frame against the tree, appearing amused. Instantly, I could tell from his ripped clothes, sinewy body, and nearly feral gaze that he was pretty much
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y
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h
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n
g
Pinnacle had been paid so handsomely to keep out of my reach.

Beautiful.

Deadly.

And
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l
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within kissing distance—

Without warning, his intense eyes locked on mine as if we were the only two people who’d ever mattered on planet earth.

And all at once, I felt a weight dislodge and explode into a gazillion pieces inside my chest.

This is my heart—

This is my heart on CRACK.

I hyperventilated for a moment, fully acknowledging that I
a
m
the most undersexed teen this side of Mississippi. As long as no one counts kissing Laura Ritter, but that was only because she sobbed and got all needy on me and promised to write my “Female Power in Japanese Culture” essay.

Get a grip, I snapped at myself. Focus!

Okay, so I know most girls like me are diamond-wise and boy-foolish. Except for CeeCee Stone, of course, whose conquests rival alley cats. So surely the only reason the hottest thing in the known universe is standing in front of me right now is because . . .

Well, um, because . . .

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o
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s
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.

“Dammit!”

The guy laughed like I’d said that out loud.

“Shit!”

Yep, I’m pretty sure he heard that one, too.

I shuffled my feet, heaving a big sigh.

All right Mr. Rugged & Beautiful, I thought, folding my arms across my supremely-dorky school sweater. Think you can psyche me out? Well I’ve just completed a year and a half in mean-girl lockdown, where they make you check in your soul at the door in exchange for verbal switchblades, so don’t even
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n
k
I’m gonna cave any time soon.

No fear.

I lifted my chin and gave him my iciest stare.

“First one inside hits the jackpot!” I said, darting into the bank’s front door before he could blink.

At least, I’d thought I’d made it before him. But in the time it took me to absorb Home & Hearth’s truly horrendous country-blue lobby with white geese & little red hearts on the perky gingham wallpaper borders, I could feel the guy’s warm breath against my neck.

“Okay, Silver Spoon,” he whispered from behind me with a laugh, “let’s see what you got.”

I whipped around, but he was already half-way out the door.

Holy crap.

It’s
s
h
o
w
t
i
m
e
.

Without wasting another second, I marched up to the only teller—a round woman with a doughy face and gray, curly hair—and shot her my very fiercest look.

“Give me the money,” I stated, spying the name tag on her blouse, “Darlene.”

No finger in the cardigan, or note, or even a hint of violence.

In the heat of moment, I’d forgotten all about that stuff, but there was no retreating now.

The woman’s face broke into the sweetest smile I’d ever seen.

“Thank you, Jesus!” She clapped her hands together loudly, her eyes tearing up. “Honey, I been prayin’ for you!”

She waved her hands in the air to some unseen troop of angels and nodded at me as if I were her walking dream-come-true. Then she turned to grab a basket full of muffins.

“Here, sweetie. We usually hand these out to customers who open up new checking accounts. But I thought it might be a nice touch to give it to you, too.”

Before I could speak, she’d plopped the basket into my arms. Then she pulled out a quilted fabric purse and opened it wide, removing a thick wad of bills held together by a rubber band. Eyes sparkling, she dropped the bills into the basket like it was Easter candy.

“There you go—three-hundred and fifty whole dollars! I won it at bingo last Wednesday, and I been askin’ the Lord
a
l
l
week to show me a sign for who to give it to. And here you came in like sunshine and made it clear as day!”

Her gaze narrowed for a moment as she carefully looked me up and down. “What’s your trouble, honey? You pregnant?”

“Huh? N-No!” I replied, utterly confused. “I mean, what? This isn’t the bank’s money—it’s
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o
u
r
money?”

I couldn’t help it. I started to cry. I’d never seen anyone do anything so . . . selfless . . . in my whole life.

“Th-thank you,” I sputtered, hugging the basket to my chest. The blueberry muffins smelled like pure heaven. “I-I hardly know what to say—I—”

“Go on!” she smiled. “An’ spread your blessings out there like seeds, child. The way the good Lord showed us. Now hurry up, before the day gets away!”

Thoroughly stunned, I turned and walked in a total daze to the door. But as I opened it, I began to wonder: What if that guy tries to snag the basket from me?

Clutching the basket tighter, I quickly stuffed the bills into my pocket and steeled my back, taking confident, measured strides out the bank door to our car.