Least Likely to Fall in Love (19 page)

Chapter One

“WHY ARE WE HERE, FINK?” Uneasy with the open space and too tired to argue with her little brother, Liberty stared at the decrepit neon sign that was doing its best to shine. TITAN was completely burned out and only part of the W was lit so the message was PAIN. The sign could be one of the truest cases of truth in advertising that she’d ever seen.

Forget about omens and faulty neon. Get the plan on track, Liberty.

This was supposed to be her “Farewell, California” tour, where Frank took her somewhere to cash her gate money check and dropped her at the closest bus station with a cheerful wave good-bye. She’d go as far as she could, while he drove off into the sunset in his landlady’s antique station wagon.

Since he’d sacrificed her, let her do the time for his failed bank robbery alone, it was the least he could do.

Frank would never say so, never confess their father had been the one to set her up, but she was certain he’d convinced Frank not to come forward. She’d promised her mother she’d always take care of Frank. Untangling him from Art Smith’s control would make that a simpler job.

Convincing herself to leave Frank on his own had been long, hard work in the dark, sleepless nights she spent in a small cell listening to snoring Darla, a girl who’d decided to blow up a car with her boyfriend in it. After nearly three years, she was ready to give her dream of “normal” a try.

She couldn’t let him derail her dream again.

“Come on. You love surprises! I bet you never expected to own half of a pawnshop. And Titan Pawn? It’s a Hollywood landmark.” Landmark? That was stretching the truth beyond its usual elasticity. Unless he meant a landmark for the…gifted in Hollywood. That might be true.

Almost everyone who lived in classy Olympic View, families like hers with a Greek god somewhere way back in the family tree, would wrinkle a nose at being called a part of Hollywood anything. Along with what might be called a sixth sense or strong talent, the gods’ offspring often inherited a disdain for normal people and their ways.

Not that everyday citizens knew that. The gods didn’t move among them much anymore. They didn’t have to. There were plenty of offspring like the Smiths to move around like chess pieces.

Knowing which citizen of Olympus had visited the family tree was important. For example, descendants of the god of thieves might have Liberty’s ability to track lost things or Frank’s way with locks, making second-story windows front doors, and enthusiasm. Unfounded, unstoppable enthusiasm.

She’d spent some time daydreaming about what it might be like to call Hestia, goddess of home and hearth, great, great grandmother instead. No one would know, since Hestia was one of the virgin goddesses.

Liberty wasn’t sure whether that meant Hestia deserved congratulations or condolences most days.

Frank rubbed his hands together as he walked up and down the broken sidewalk. He never stood still if he could pace, usually throwing his arms wide in excitement over his latest inspired and yet nearly always terrible plan.

In his perfectly ironed oxford button-down and crisp khakis, he looked a whole lot more like a well-fed insurance salesman than a pawnshop owner—or gambler, his first vocation. One of the lessons of successful theft was to blend in. Frank matched his marks. That made it easier to escape. On the other hand, in her prison-issue T-shirt and jeans, she’d be the first suspect for whatever crime he might have in mind.

“I hate your
surprises
. They turn out badly for me. Like when you were sixteen and broke into the car lot to go for a joy ride, and I lost my job for going to bail you out. And remember how I’m the one who broke my arm by falling off that ladder in Malibu? You walked away without a scratch. On my
birthday
. Neither one of us got to swim in that fancy pool. Somehow, I don’t believe my time in prison has changed the way your plans work.”

The ridiculous wave of guilt that washed over her as Frank’s shoulders slumped was exactly what had kept her fighting to hold him for so long. She loved him. She just couldn’t live with him, no matter what she’d promised her mother.

“What do we know about owning any kind of business, pawnshop or otherwise? This is the kind of place we used to hit, Frank.”

Resenting him for his mistakes was a waste of time.

He’s your brother, Liberty. Family sticks together.

Liberty could hear the words in her mother’s voice, more than a decade later.

“That will make us experts! We made a good living off of shady businesses. We ought to know every trick in the book to make this one work. Come on.” Frank wrapped his hands around her arms and gave her a little shake. “You can’t help but see the opportunity here. And I need you. Jail made you nervous. I get that, but this is our chance.
Your
chance to start fresh.” He turned her to look down the street. “We’re in the best location in town. All we need is luck, and this could be what we’ve been waiting for.”

Liberty stared hard at the lopsided DEAD END sign hanging on the barricade that marked the end of the sidewalk in front of the shop and back at Frank.

“Plenty of parking.” He shrugged like everyone could see the benefit of being literally the last stop before the dead end.

He turned her to face the other direction. “And the rest of the businesses are nice.”

They were. The street might have been a beautiful movie set, perfectly clean and ready for its close-up. From here, she could see a statue of Kate and Leo,
Titanic
king-of-the-world style, a squeaky clean pie shop, two upscale dress stores, a glitzy gym, a florist, and what seemed to be a bookstore. All of them were painted in bright colors and well lit. They also seemed to be leaning as far away from the pawnshop as they could get.

The shoppers wandering the sidewalks were dressed well, the selfies were flowing freely, and not a one seemed to imagine life would shock or disappoint them. That was the draw of Olympic View.

But the pawnshop’s gray paint, malfunctioning neon sign, and general air of surrender of the front window discouraged people from stepping inside.

Titan Pawn was a blight on the open-air tourist destination that was Olympic View, home of some of the cleanest streets and quirkiest boutiques in the Hollywood Hills. Naïve tourists flocked to the area hoping for a celebrity sighting. When all else failed, they could pose with one of a hundred different movie scene statues and snap the perfect souvenir shot with the Hollywood sign in the distance. While they were there, they could eat, drink, and spend money merrily, leading to tidy profit for the Olympic View in-crowd.

Her father had never quite forgiven her for moving herself and Frank here to get a job after her mother died. Jobs were four-letter words to Art Smith. His escalating crimes made it clear Liberty had to find her own way and take Frank with her. Since she’d been seventeen, it had taken some ingenuity.

And larceny.

How had ugly Titan Pawn escaped a visit from the Fourteen, the force the gods used to police each other and the gifted while keeping their existence secret from the rest of humanity?

“What’s the worst that could happen, Lib?” Frank rolled his eyes. “I’ve got no money in this. If we walk out with none, what have lost?”

He had a point. He usually did. That was what made him so dangerous. Blaming him was easier than dealing with the fact that, even though she knew better, she still followed him. Tried to save him.

“Don’t you know what kind of people come into pawnshops?” Liberty said and towed Frank farther away from the door. “Criminals. People who’ve stolen stuff and plan to dupe upstanding citizens into buying it. People like us, Frank. We’ll be arrested in less than a week. Or worse!”

“What could be worse?” Frank asked.

“Death. Dismemberment. Those would be worse.” But not by much.

Frank cocked his head to the side like he was considering her point. “Okay. Death and dismemberment
would
be worse. You definitely need to watch less true crime TV. But I can’t figure out what you think will happen. Surely with your special talent”—he tapped the end of his nose like that talent was a nose for…she had no idea what—“we’ll have no problem keeping to the straight and narrow.” He didn’t turn his head but he looked out the corner of his eye to direct her attention behind him. “And did you miss the giant guarding the door? We’ll hire a few more.”

Liberty leaned around him to stare at the statue man standing next to the shop’s glass door. His hands were clenched at his sides, his shoulders square. She wasn’t sure he was breathing. Black ink trailed down his hard bicep and muscled forearm. Grim face. Nerdy black glasses that did little to distract from his dead stare.

“Okay, so that guy looks like he eats broken glass and shattered dreams and then craps machetes.” She ignored Frank’s strangled laugh as the giant’s head turned. Nothing on his face changed. His lips didn’t quirk. His eyebrows didn’t arch. But he blinked twice. She was going to take that as surprise. Then he tipped his chin a fraction, gave it a small shake, and faced forward again.

It would be a much nicer thing to sign his paycheck than to meet him a dark alley…without a paycheck, so maybe Frank had a point.

“You have quite a way with words, sis.” Frank frowned. “Be careful not to alienate our best employee.”
Our?
Was he doing it again, talking her into going along with his plan? She should have refused to get out of the car.

Frank smiled over his shoulder at the statue man who didn’t acknowledge his existence. “The place is already staffed with people who know what they’re doing. The manager’s been running the place for years. We’ll let her continue and”—he waved his hands in front of him—“oversee. Cash the checks.”

“Those imaginary checks you’re always counting on.” Liberty glared at him. “Cash my check. Put me on a bus. That’s my plan, Frank. Come with me. Nebraska or Kansas, places no god would search for us. When Dad shows back up, we don’t have to follow him anymore. We could be…accountants or even insurance salesmen.” She could hear the wistful tone in her voice, but knew Frank wouldn’t.

“Dad’s around, Lib,” Frank said and patted her shoulder. “You know how it is. Sometimes he has to lay low and he’s sorry—”

“Forget it. I don’t want to talk about him. Let’s talk about us. Our family. What we could do anywhere but here,” Liberty answered.

“Stay long enough to build up some cash, make the move easier.” Frank held out a hand. “Or at least step inside. Then, if you haven’t changed your mind and want to turn your back on this awesome opportunity, I’ll take you to the bank and the bus.”

Before she could answer, Frank added the fatal blow, the one that had always overridden her better judgment. “Please, Lib. I need your help.” When she stared up at him, she could see Frank with bright eyes, messy curls, and a beat-up math textbook.

She could also hear her mother’s voice again.

Family sticks together.

“One month. I want more guys like that one.” She pointed over Frank’s shoulder at the statue man who might have nodded. “And if you get me arrested, I will murder you in your sleep, and then I will hunt you down wherever you end up and really make you suffer.”

“Come on. Don’t look like that.” Frank wrapped his arms around her and pulled her around in an awkward dance. “We can make this work.”

He’d always been able to lighten her mood. “Thanks to you, I’m always caught between ‘this is a terrible idea’ and ‘here goes nothing.’”

He pulled her hand through the crook of his elbow. “Such a cheerful outlook on life.”

“Jail can do that to a girl.” Liberty bared her teeth at him as he patted her hand like he was a courtly gentleman.

Frank almost looked sorry for two seconds and then the expression faded to one of unfounded confidence. “Let’s meet our newest friends.”

They stopped in front of the statue man and Frank held out his hand. “Franklin Smith. And you are?”

The statue man considered the hand as if he was considering how to defuse a bomb. After a long, uncomfortable few seconds, his hand engulfed Frank’s. “Ty.” Then he crossed both arms over his chest and waited.

“Liberty.” When she realized she’d said her name slowly and pointed at herself like she was communicating with an alien, Liberty shook her head. “My name is Liberty.
Smith.
It’s nice to meet you.”

Ty added nothing to his previous statement. No last name. No pleasantries. No discernible reaction. One syllable that might be a first name or part of a last name or maybe his word for the day.

She wondered who his people were. Knowing which god was in the family tree might mean the difference in friend or foe.

Stumped, she turned to Frank who nodded like everything was perfectly normal. “Nice to meet you. Don’t know if Shorty had a chance to explain, but we’ll be taking over the day-to-day operations here.” Ty neither confirmed nor denied. And Liberty had the overwhelming urge to ask what Frank meant by the “operations” comment. New owners. How hard was that to say?

But Frank was in motion. Liberty cleared her throat, and Ty lifted his chin in acknowledgement. Before Frank could push the door open, someone came flying through it to land on the sidewalk in a pile of fleece and curses. “You can’t throw me out like this. I got business to do. Get Shorty now.” The pile slowly unfolded to stand on the sidewalk in the form of a tall, thin man with no hair and three eyebrow piercings.