Steal Me by Lauren Layne

Author:Lauren Layne [Layne, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2015-11-23T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Son of a fucking bitch,” Anthony said, throwing the report back on his desk with so much force his pen cup slid off the back. “Damn it.”

The report was from Greenwich, Connecticut.

There’d been a break-in in some rich, uppity, gated community. As far as crimes went, it was a snoozer. Parents out of town, a teen that forgot to set the house alarm before sneaking out for a midnight rendezvous with her boyfriend. A picked lock, a couple stolen TVs, and a missing necklace.

All boring as shit crimes, with one very crucial detail.

There’d been a note.

With one Goddamn yellow smiley-face sticker on it.

“Yeah,” Anth barked at the knock on the door.

It was his boss.

Mandela’s eyes took in Anthony’s livid expression. “You’ve read it.”

“It’s not him,” Anthony said, standing and locking his hands behind his head as he paced in circles. “It’s not Smiley.”

“You read the file all the way through, right? Because the first responders found a note—”

“It’s not our guy.”

Ray Mandela kept his face blank and his voice easy as he dropped into one of Anthony’s guest chairs.

“You’re thinking copycat?”

“Yes.”

Ray lifted his hands. “Why the hell would anyone want to copy Smiley? The guy’s a second-rate criminal at best. Not usually the ones to inspire fans.”

“I disagree. For premeditated crimes, what’s generally the perp’s number one objective?”

Mandela shrugged. “Depends on the crime. To rob the bank, to kill the guy who stole your wife, to hot-wire the car—”

“Wrong,” Anth interrupted. “Your number one objective is not to get caught. That’s what the copycat is copying. He doesn’t care about the crime, he cares about the thrill of getting away with it.”

Mandela leaned back in the chair and considered.

Anthony charged on. “Eddie might be in the kiddie pool of criminals, but he’s not in the news because of that stupid yellow sticker. He’s in the news because there’ve been lots of those damn stickers. The guy’s dodged us for weeks, and the Cretans of the tri-state area are going to notice. They’re going to want in on the fun.”

Ray scratched his head and looked skeptical. “It’s possible, I suppose, that there could be another player, but without any proof, we’ve got every reason to assume we’re dealing with the same guy. The MO’s the same—”

“It’s not,” Anthony interrupted, knowing he was out of line and not caring. “Eddie Hansen has hit ten homes, all on the Upper West Side. All within five tiny blocks of each other. And now he’s in fucking Connecticut? I don’t buy it. As far as we know, Eddie Hansen doesn’t even have a car. Also, this house has an alarm system. Eddie never touches the ones with alarm systems, regardless of whether the alarm systems are actually set.”

“He’s a criminal, Moretti. A thief. He can damn well get a car if he wants one.”

“But why would he?” Anth said more to himself than to his boss. “The guy’s been doing just fine with his current MO. Why would he change it up?”

“Maybe he’s bored. Or hell, maybe he’s smart.

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