EMMA

After hours of painting, we stepped back to admire our work, only to be reminded by the growling of our stomachs that we had skipped dinner.

We exchanged a look, our clothes splattered with paint, and realized no restaurant would let us in looking like this. So, we wandered to a nearby food truck and grabbed two hot dog sandwiches.

Once we had eaten, we decided to head to Central Park for a walk. I grabbed some napkins and laid them over the leather seats of Jake's car to protect them from our paint-smeared clothes.

When we arrived, we strolled through the park until we reached my favorite spot—a bench overlooking the Bow Bridge. The iconic arch stretched gracefully over the still waters of the lake, reflecting the city's skyline like scattered starlight.

We sat down and dug into our sandwiches. Jake then suggested a game of 20 questions, and I agreed, thinking it might be the perfect way to steer the conversation toward the case.

The mix of delicious food, stunning scenery, and lively conversation as we played made it an evening to remember. We laughed until our stomachs ached, traded playful jokes, and even shared a few heartfelt moments.

"So you've been to lots of museums. Which one's your favorite?"

Wiping my mouth with a napkin, I placed my finger on my lips, considering my response.

"Hmm... definitely not the Louvre," I said. "It's always so packed you can barely move without bumping into someone. And don't even get me started on the crowds swarming the Mona Lisa."

Jake chuckled. "Alright. What else?"

"The British Museum is impressive but doesn't feel very... British. And Egypt's museums are great, but unless it's winter, you better bring a fan everywhere."

"You're picky."

"Guilty as charged." I grinned. "Okay, my turn. What's your biggest regret in life?"

Jake furrowed and his lips pressed into a thoughtful line. After a pause, he shook his head. "I don't think I've lived through it yet."

As I studied his features, I noticed that his eyes were full of confidence, one that expanded from so deep within. It made me question my own.

To the outside world, I was the picture of confidence, but beneath the surface were layers of carefully crafted masks. At the end of the day, I was a con artist—a master at making people believe whatever I wanted them to.

I wondered what it felt like to go to bed and wake with a clear conscience every day. What it felt to realize that you were good to the core and know your real self-worth.

"From Earth to Emma."

I snapped back to the present moment when I heard Jake's voice. I gave him a small smile and apologized for zoning out.

"I was saying it's my turn," he said. "So, what's yours?"

I blinked. "My biggest regret?"

Jake nodded, and I mentally kicked myself for asking that question. I searched for an answer that wouldn't give too much away. Memories flooded my mind, each one more incriminating than the last, but I forced them aside.

"Well," I began carefully, "I think it's not following my dreams sooner. I've always loved art more than anything, but I let fear and doubt hold me back. Now, I'm finally fighting for what I want—no matter the cost."

I had no idea why I decided to be so honest with him all of a sudden. If he only knew how loaded that answer was.

When I glanced at him, I found his green eyes fixed on me.

"What stopped you before?" he asked. "From what I saw today, you have real talent."

You know, the family business, and perhaps the fact that stealing art was far more lucrative than creating it.

"You can say my family wasn't exactly a fan of the whole 'starving artist' thing," I said instead. "But I'm taking baby steps. I'm using my art history degree while working on my own pieces in my spare time. Who knows? Maybe one day, I'll have my own gallery."

A warm smile touched his lips. "When that day comes, I'll be your first customer. No doubt your work will be incredible, Emma."

A genuine smile made its way to my lips, and at the same time, I felt an ache in my chest. Why did you have to be so good and noble, Jake?

"Well, I promise you that my Untitled #1 will be dedicated to you."

Jake chuckled softly. "I'd be honored, but I think your art deserves a better title. Maybe 'Jake's Inspiration' or 'The Parker Effect.'"

I rolled my eyes, laughing. "Very creative. But don't think you've distracted me. It's still my turn. How about we talk about your high school days?"

Jake smirked. "That sounds more like an order than a question."

"Fine. Let me rephrase, what's your fondest memory of high school?"

"Prom."

"Wow, that was quick," I said amusingly. "Let me guess—were you the star quarterback or something? The heartthrob everyone voted prom king?"

Jake laughed. "Well, actually, I wasn't much of an athlete in high school. I was on the debate team and loved math and logic."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise, letting my gaze travel briefly over his perfectly fit physique. "Really? You seem like more of a sports guy."

"I exercised a lot, and I played baseball with my dad whenever we had the chance," he said. "But, I always enjoyed problem-solving and critical thinking, so yeah, math and debate were more my thing."

I looked at him with a teasing smirk. "So you were the ultimate nerd in high school, huh?"

He grinned. "I prefer the term intellectual, thank you very much. And for the record, I won the state debate championship in senior year."

"Oh, aren't you full of surprises, Agent Parker?" I said playfully. "But seriously, what was so special about prom?"

Jake raised an eyebrow. "That's two questions in a row."

I crossed my arms. "Call it a follow-up."

He laughed softly. "Fair enough. Prom was special because it was the first time I danced with someone I really cared about—my little sister."

I tilted my head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds like a story. Do tell."

"Well, I better start from the beginning, then."

I rested my chin on my hand, looking at him expectantly, and Jake let out a small laugh at my reaction.

"That year, I was dating a girl named Jessica—my first love, actually," he began. "She was in the drama club, so when I asked her to prom, I went all out with a Romeo and Juliet-style 'promposal.'" He used air quotes around the word and shot me a sheepish look.

The grin that spread across my face must have been a little too amused, because he immediately glared at me.

"I know it's cheesy. But come on, cheesy is basically a synonym for high school romance."

I laughed and made a gesture of zipping my mouth to reassure him I would keep my thoughts to myself until he finished.

"She said yes, and I planned everything down to the smallest detail. But a week before prom, I found out she was cheating on me—with the captain of the football team." His voice softened, tinged with the kind of sentiment only a first heartbreak could bring. "I was crushed. But I refused to let it ruin the night, so I asked my little sister to be my date. She was thrilled to dress up and go out with her big brother, and honestly, seeing how happy she was made it all worth it."

As Jake finished his story, I felt a wave of admiration wash over me. His honesty was disarming, and as I gazed into his jade-green eyes, a warmth spread through my chest.

I had heard plenty of fancy words, seen faces full of grace, and been offered gifts of gold. But never had I encountered such raw authenticity—someone who seemed so real, unburdened by the masks that people like me wore every day.

And yet, the thought crossed my mind like a shadow—Jake and I were a contradiction, two forces destined to collide. He was sunshine, and I was rain. But there would be no beautiful rainbow from our collision, only chaos.

Suppressing the thoughts threatening to overwhelm me, I smiled at him. "Full of surprises, indeed."

A playful smile tugged at his lips. "Okay, my turn. How about you? What was your prom like?"

I winced but tried to hide my discomfort with an even tone. "Well, I was homeschooled. So, no prom for me."

When his face softened with pity, I rushed to lighten the mood. With a small grin, I added, "But since I didn't give you a juicy story, I'll make it fair. I've had my own bad experience with first loves. Does that help even the score?"

"It doesn't," he said sincerely, his eyes meeting mine with a rare vulnerability. "I'm sorry you went through that."

I shrugged. "It's all part of life's ups and downs, right? But since we've both had less-than-stellar experiences with love, let me ask you this. Do you still believe in it?"

Jake looked thoughtful for a moment, but then his expression relaxed, and he locked his green eyes with me. And in them, I saw a glint that was just as mesmerizing as the city's lights.

"Well," he said slowly, "you can't stop believing in the sun just because it's been temporarily eclipsed, can you?"

Jake's words caught me off guard, and I found myself lost in his gaze as my mind drifted back to a moment in my life when I had foolishly believed love could conquer all.

But love without trust and respect was a castle built on quicksand, and in my world, trust was nothing more than a myth. I had learned that the hard way and had no intention of rebuilding a castle destined to crumble again.

Forcing a smile, I replied, "That's a beautiful way of putting it. But sometimes it's hard to believe in something that caused so much pain."

"I know," he said gently. "But I think it's worth it. Even if it means risking hurt again. Because when it works, it's one of the most beautiful things in the world."

Looking at Jake, I wondered if he was secretly a poet, crafting verses in the quiet of his mind after long days spent catching bad guys at the FBI.

Even if love was real, I didn't believe it was meant for people like us. Thieves and criminals weren't supposed to want too much. Ironically, it was a truth we couldn't escape.

Never live in a place you can't walk away from. Never own anything you can't leave behind. Never get attached to anyone you can't abandon.

They were all rules I longed to break but couldn't afford to—not until things worked out in my favor. And for that to happen, I needed to focus on my plan. I had to get Jake to bring up the case.

"So," Jake said, breaking my train of thought, "you mentioned something about using your art history major. Have you applied anywhere?"

"A few places," I replied, keeping my voice casual. "But I'm really hoping to hear back from the Museum of Modern Art. They have an open position, and I sent in my résumé. Fingers crossed."

"I'll cross my fingers for you too," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I really hope things work out for you here in New York, Emma."

I hope so too, Jake. And I'm sorry you'll have to be the scapegoat to make that happen.

I gave him an appreciative smile, shifting slightly in my seat as I thought of how to steer the conversation. Finally, I raised my gaze to meet his and softened my expression into one of genuine concern.

"Enough about me," I said, aiming to shift the focus. "You seem really stressed out lately. Is there anything I can do to help?" Besides turning myself in, of course.

"You've done plenty already," he replied with a small smile. "Today has been great. It's been a long time since I've been able to enjoy myself without thinking about that case that's living in my mind rent-free."

I fought the urge to wince and plastered on a smile. "I'm glad to hear that. But if you ever need to vent or talk it out, I'm here to listen."

"Thanks, Emma. I really appreciate that."

"Of course," I said. Then, as casually as I could, I added, "I understand you can't talk much about it, but you mentioned it was a high-profile art theft. The only one making headlines lately is the Van Gogh stolen from the Met. Is that the one?"

I felt like I was treading on thin ice, but I needed to get him to talk, one way or another.

Jake's expression grew guarded, though not suspicious. He sighed and mumbled, "Yeah, that's the one."

Relief flickered through me—I had hit the mark. I leaned forward slightly, adopting a sympathetic tone. "I can't even imagine the pressure that comes with working on a case like that. It must be frustrating."

Jake shrugged. "You have no idea. But it comes with the job."

"Do you think you're getting close to solving it?" I asked, careful to keep my curiosity in check.

There was a pause as Jake seemed to weigh his words. "It's hard to say with a case like this. We've been working on it for months, and it's like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing."

A slight feeling of relief started to creep into me, but I stopped it immediately. I couldn't afford to let myself be lulled into a false sense of security. I still needed more information. However, before I could press further, Jake spoke again.

"But I believe I'm finally onto something. I think whoever pulled the heist made a mistake, and if I'm right, I'm going to use it against them. It'll lead them straight into our grasp."

My heart stopped. Or at least, it felt like it. When it started again, it thundered in my chest, each beat loud and erratic.

My mind began racing with a thousand different scenarios, each more terrifying than the last. What mistake was he referring to? Did he find out that the painting had been sold? Did he manage to uncover the identity of the buyer? Was he using him to get to Eric and me?

Was it possible that he knew everything and was the one conning me all along?

But if that was true, what was he waiting for? Why didn't he just slap the cuffs on me and arrest me the moment he laid eyes on me?

I felt like a spider caught in its own web, tangled in threads I had spun too carelessly. Yet, despite the panic clawing at me, I couldn't let Jake suspect anything. Not even for a second.

Drawing on every ounce of self-control, I did what I did best—I faked it. Plastering on a calm smile, I replied in measured tones, "Well, maybe you will. You never know what might turn up."

I didn't either... All I knew was that I had to be careful and play my cards close to my chest, or I would risk losing everything.

We chatted a bit longer, and I masked the fear clawing at my insides, playing the part of someone utterly at ease, laughing and smiling at all the right times.

As the night grew colder, I seized the chance to end the evening. Suggesting we head home, I wasn't surprised when Jake offered to drive me. Hesitant as I was, declining would have been suspicious, so I agreed. Eric would probably kill me if he found out I let an FBI agent drive me home, but that was the least of our problems.

If Jake had found the buyer, Eric and I were in deep trouble. It was only a matter of time before he connected the dots and tracked us down.

When I finally got home, Eric wasn't there. I reached for my phone to call him, but froze when I noticed an unread message from one of my contacts who had been helping me track the buyer.

My heart pounded as I opened it, and once I read the name written inside, my blood ran cold.

Eric, what did you do?