Author's note: And we're back! After a nice little hiatus, this is the official start of Book 5 of the Swan Jones Trio saga. It's only a prologue; I'm hoping to get the first chapter posted in a week or so. I wanted to get this out there, because I'm excited to bring you the next chapter in their saga. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Prologue
Fourteen Years Ago – Portland, Oregon
Neal casually glanced around the store, pretending to be browsing. That was the key: to appear as normal as possible, just another customer wondering where the paper towels were. Emma was a few aisles away, hopefully picking up their lunch. He didn't have a memorable face—he knew that. Boring brown hair, boring brown eyes, it allowed him to slip in and out of places virtually unnoticed. There were literally millions of men who looked just like him.
He eyed the keychain once more. It was a cheap gas station trinket, but he needed to get Emma something. It had been a couple of weeks since he gave her a gift. The little baubles never failed to make her face light up, which was the surest way to get him laid. It was kinda sad and pathetic, the girl was so starved for affection she would take whatever he gave her. Still, he got something out of it, so he did just enough to keep her sweet.
He had to admit it was nice having someone hero worship him.
After carefully pilfering the keychain and concealing it in his pocket, he went in search of his girl. Emma was sixteen, but she could pass for older or younger as the occasion required. Today she was a wide eyed teenager, off on a trip with family. If anyone asked (and no one ever did), Neal would be her older, more worldly cousin. They looked nothing alike, but that didn't matter. They never stayed anywhere long enough to be noticed.
"Got it?"
Emma nodded, carefully patting her jacket. "I know what I'm doing, Neal."
"Sure you do, kid." Her coat was a little puffier than when they'd arrived, so he knew she wasn't lying. She'd had some rudimentary skills when he first met her—trying to steal his ride, a yellow Bug he'd already stolen—but she'd blossomed in the couple of months they'd been together. He taught her how to pick locks without leaving a trace, the best places to squat for the night, the ideal candidates for a con. She might even better than him one day.
Might. That was a pretty big hurdle to clear if he said so himself.
"Let's go eat. I'm starving."
Emma followed him out of the gas station and climbed obediently into the yellow Bug. Neal made a show of hanging up the pump and waving to the attendant before getting into the driver's seat. Dumb sap. The stolen food would most likely come out of her wages, but Neal didn't care. It wasn't his problem.
"Could we go to the park?" Emma asked, unzipping her coat and pulling out food. "It's a nice day."
It was a bit chilly for Neal's taste, but he decided to humor her. "Sure. Anything you want." The more he catered to her whims now, the easier she would be to get into bed later. He was hard just thinking about it. Emma was young and nubile, blonde and fresh faced, still innocent in so many ways. He was surprised at how easily she'd given up her virginity; they'd only been doing the Bonnie and Clyde act for a couple of weeks at that point. Although, to be fair, he wasn't sure Emma knew precisely what was happening until he was inside her. It was cramped in the back of the Bug; they were practically on top of each other. After that first time, she was more amenable, though still not as often as he would like. Hence pilfering the occasional trinket for her.
Neal parked the Bug as close to the park as he could; Emma gathered up their haul in her coat, carrying it like a sack as they searched for a place to sit. A dilapidated picnic table sat near the edge of the playground; Neal guided her in that direction. He wanted to sit as far from the playing children—and their observant parents—as possible. The truth was he was older than Emma—by about eight years—and the last thing they needed was an overprotective mother to call the cops.
Neal wasn't ready to give up the free sex just yet. Or the hero worship.
Emma chattered on as they ate, but he was only half listening. She tended to do that, just ramble on about things like he was supposed to care. He made a good enough show—she never questioned him—indeed, they had enough in common that he didn't have to try very hard. Both orphans, both runaways, both willing to steal to survive. It wasn't a glamorous life, but he liked the freedom of it. He never liked staying in one place too long. As she talked he got the unmistakable feeling that he was being watched. He looked around but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Oh well.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Neal said, interrupting her. "I got you something."
"You did?" Emma put down her sandwich and pushed her glasses up. Oh, right—she'd been complaining that her eyes hurt. She probably needed a new prescription for her glasses.
"Of course I did." He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the keychain. "I saw this and thought of you."
Emma beamed, accepting the silver and black keychain. There was a swan embossed on both sides of the circle; Emma ran her fingers over it. "It's beautiful. I love it. Thank you." She leaned across the table and kissed his cheek, mindful of people that could be watching. Then she took out her copy of the keys to the Bug and slipped it on.
Later that night, she thanked him properly.
Neal scanned the paper, checking the police reports and news. There wasn't any whiff of unusual activity, but he still couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched. He hadn't seen anything, but that didn't mean all was well. He'd fallen in with some nasty characters, even by his standards. It had been years since any of his old cronies had reached out. He was trying to put that part of his life behind him. Not that he wanted to go straight or anything like that—regardless of what he told Emma. She clung to this impossible hope of home and family; she was desperate for it. He'd learned long ago that such dreams were for the faint of heart.
Emma jogged over, a crumpled sheet of paper in her fist. They were supposed to be scouting their next target, but she looked distracted. "Neal?"
"What?" he snapped. Then he calmed. "What's is it, Ems?" He knew she hated the nickname, but that just encouraged him to use it more.
She shoved the paper into his hand. "Is this you?"
He smoothed out the sheet, dread filling his heart. So, he wasn't imagining things. The wanted poster displayed his face in the upper right hand corner, along with his name, birthdate, height, weight, the whole shebang. There was only one person who could implicate him in this particular crime. He needed to leave. Right now.
"Um, yeah. No big deal."
"No big deal? Neal, it says you stole watches. Expensive ones." She looked him square in the eye. "And now you're white as a sheet. What the hell is going on?"
He sighed. Every moment he remained brought him closer to confronting his past. "Nothing. Look, why don't you go see about lunch?" He would not be there when she returned. He needed to go right now.
Emma shook her head, stubborn. "Why? So you can leave like everyone else?" She laid her hand on his arm. "We can get through this. Together. Just let me in."
"Just what do you think you can do? You don't know the people involved in this," he growled, shaking the wanted poster in her face. "They're nasty unscrupulous gangsters. If I don't leave, right now, they're going to catch up with me. With us." Feigning concern for her should do the trick. "I don't want to put you in that kind of danger."
"That's my decision to make, not yours."
"Emma, you don't understand."
"Where are the watches?"
"What do you mean?"
"Where are they? These…people, they wouldn't still be after you if they had their merchandise. If we're going to run, then we need money. We can hock the watches and go. Far away from here. Please."
"Emma…"
"I can do this. You just have to let me. Please." She looked so desperately sad and pathetic, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her thick rimmed glasses perched on her nose. There was a certain amount of sense to what she said. Especially if they were going to cross the border. They were close enough to the Canadian border; that was probably the best place to go. He was unsure about taking her with him, but the cash would be welcome. Better she takes the fall than him. Jail was the last place he needed to be.
"Fine." He'd stashed the watches ages ago, not expecting that he'd have a chance to retrieve them. His plan had been to lay low for a while, move on; his bosses would eventually forget about him. They had bigger fish to fry, he'd thought. Clearly, he'd miscalculated. Emma complicated things, but not in a way that he couldn't turn to his advantage. It just required some ingenuity.
At nightfall, he dropped Emma off at the train station. It had cameras, so it was impossible for him to retrieve them himself. But Emma was an unknown. She'd told him that she was found at a firestation in Maine, with no idea who her parents were. After bouncing around foster homes and group homes, she'd finally run away. That was an advantage in a situation like this.
He couldn't deny he was tempted to keep going. To simply drive off. Emma would get over it. But he couldn't quite bring himself to do it. He'd grown accustomed to her presence. The sex was good too. He'd come to think of her as his and he didn't let go of things that were his. Not ever.
"Sending your girl to do your dirty work?" an all too familiar accented voice cut through the silence. "You've not changed a bit, my friend."
"You have a funny way of showing friendship, Fanin." Neal didn't turn, he didn't need to. Fanin Maximovich was the man who'd gotten him involved in the life, by accident at first. By the time Neal realized his mistake, it was almost too late to get out. He was foolish enough to think he'd succeeded.
"I had to get your attention somehow. You've let the pretty girl go to your head."
"Leave Emma out of this."
"I would love to, but you've brought her in now. That was foolish."
"She made her choice."
Fanin stood next to him as Neal leaned against the Bug. Too close, but Neal didn't dare move. Fanin was dangerous at the best of times. "What do you want, Fanin? It's a bit late for catching up."
"Gagarin's calling in his debt, Neal. I wouldn't be here otherwise."
Neal laughed dryly. "Why don't I believe you?"
"You always were a smart one."
"What does he want?" With Gagarin Konstantin, the ask could be anything from petty theft to human trafficking to straight up terrorism. He wasn't picky about the jobs he took on. It was said that Gagarin had friends in the Kremlin, but Neal doubted it. Gagarin was little more than a thug. He simply didn't fit in government circles.
"He wants you," Fanin said simply. "You owe him."
"I don't owe him anything," Neal snapped. "He used me."
"I didn't hear you complaining at the time."
"Theft is one thing. Murder is another."
"Don't pretend you have scruples," Fanin murmured, his voice deadly calm. "You're using the girl right now. How long did it take you to get into her pants? A bit young for you though. Pretty. I might have a go with her."
Neal snapped. Emma was his and he would be damned if he let a sadistic prick like Fanin near her. "Stay away from Emma, Fanin. I mean it."
"How far are you willing to go for her, Neal? One word and she'll be safe from me. From Gagarin. Just come back into the fold and we'll leave her alone."
Neal cursed inwardly. Fanin wasn't wrong. He couldn't protect Emma from Gagarin. One look at her and Gagarin would make her disappear. To be his mistress. He would chew her up and spit her out, then not think of her again. Neal couldn't let that happen. She belonged to him, not a monster like Gagarin. Going back into Gagarin's service was the only choice. Once his debt was paid, he could leave, find Emma, and pick up where they left off. Simple.
She'd thank him for it.
"What do I have to do?"
"Told you I could do it." Emma climbed into the Bug, her young face flushed with victory. She handed him the backpack, planting a kiss on his cheek. "See, all there."
Neal opened the backpack, peering inside. Sure enough, all the watches were there. Twenty high end designer watches, stolen from a jeweler that Gagarin targeted. They would fetch a high price on the black market. "Well done," he said. "Let me contact my guy. We should be in Canada by the weekend."
Emma beamed. "I can't wait. It'll be a fresh start for us."
Neal nodded absently. "Yeah, a fresh start." He took one of the watches out, a genuine Rolex. After fingering it for a moment, he handed it to Emma. "For a job well done."
Emma's face lit up. "For me?"
"Why not? You earned it."
She accepted the gift, reverently attaching the watch to her wrist. "How long will you be gone?"
"An hour or so. I'll meet you under the bridge, near the park."
"Okay." She looked at him one last time, her eyes happy and full of hope. She might hate him for what he was about to do, but it was for her own good. He'd come back for her when the time was right. And then—once he could explain—she would thank him. In the meantime, he had a job to do. He was surprised when she leaned over and kissed him fervently. "Be careful."
"I will."
Once she was gone, he started up the Bug. He drove to the agreed upon meeting place, where Fanin was waiting for him. "Everything in place?"
"The cops were called ten minutes ago. Your girl should be in custody any moment." Fanin noticed the shadow cross his friend's face. "You're making the right choice, Neal. Our world is no place for her."
"No. No, it's not." This would be Emma's first offense; at her age, she should get off with probation. She would wind up back in the system, but it was only for a little while. She was almost seventeen; she'd age out in a year or so. By then, his debt would be paid, and he could find her.
It was only a matter of time.
