Stone of Thieves (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

if still lost in dreams. The only thing I hear is the gentle chortle of pigeons searching for crumbs. But then a bell peals through the twilight haze of morning, just five rings, and in the distance I spy several gleaming crosses that rise over the city, indicating churches. As we continue to meander through tight alleys edged by lazy canal water, the ruby heart begins to wobble in my pocket. The closer we get to an old stone building with an arched door marked by a primitive cross, the more the ruby heart grows warm.
    I stop in my tracks.
    This wasn’t the plan—
    We were going to spend the morning knocking at as many religious institutions as we could find, showing them the old newspaper photo of my mother and asking if Alessia de Bargona ever lived there.
    But the photo of my mom went the way of our backpacks.
    And I didn’t know the heart in my pocket might suddenly start acting as a compass.
    Frozen, I wrap my arms around myself, completely weirded out again.
    “What is it,” Creek asks, pulling me into a dark gap between buildings where he knows we’ll be safer. He folds his arms around me like wings.
    “It’s
her
,” I reply, patting my pulsing jeans pocket. “Whatever her name really is. I think she’s telling me where Alessia is—or used to be. At that old church up ahead.”
    Creek is quiet. He nods.
    “You know, you
are
Granny Tinker’s second cousin,” he whispers. His lip lifts at the corner with a smile. “That means you’re one part magic—and one part crazy.”
    I give him a punch to the ribs.
    “Ow,” he laughs. “It’s true! Now c’mon—let’s get this over with and meet your mom ’cause I’m hungry. If we time it right, we can finish up and still swipe some fruit and bread before the vendors start really watching.”
    Just as Creek says that, I spot a canopy rolling up at a nearby market. The smell of cheese floats strongly past us, and before I know it, I’m drooling. If it weren’t for the stone beating insistently in my pocket, I would have dived to grab a hunk by now.
    “
Focus
.” Creek gently grabs my shoulders, and we quietly move from shadow to shadow like snakes. When he sees the old church I mentioned, he guides me around the side to a door away from the street that looks as though it hasn’t been opened in years.
    And the stone burns like a coal in my pocket.
    Istituto de Santa Pellegrina
reads a chipped wooden plaque beside the door. I swear, it looks like it was carved centuries ago.
    Drawing a deep breath, I peer into Creek’s eyes for courage and raise my hand to the rusty, wrought-iron door knocker to give it a lift. It falls with a weighty boom that surprises us both.
    And nothing happens.
    Creek and I exchange glances. We know we can’t afford to go to the front of the church. Whoever shot at us last night is hardly going to respect the public doorstep of a sacred building. I extend my fingers to give the door knocker another rap when Creek stops my hand.
    Sure enough, we can hear the slow sound of shuffling feet.
    Heart in my throat, I watch the faded mahogany door creak open.
    She’s a vision in all white, this woman who peeks at me through the crack. But her face is deeply lined and her brown eyes appear a bit cloudy.
    “Alessia—is she here?” I gasp. I hear the desperate-child quality in my voice, fully betraying the earnest-daughter-searching-for-her-mother that I truly am. But I can’t help myself.
    The nun squints and looks us up and down with an impartial gaze.
    And slams the door.
    Before I can pound it with all my might, Creek’s arms clench around me like a straitjacket, his big hand over my mouth nearly suffocating me.
    “Don’t you
dare
holler,” he growls.
    In spite of my thrashing, I know this is for my own good—we can’t afford to reveal where we are. But that doesn’t stop me from biting his palm.
    “Dammit!” Creek hisses barely above a whisper, waving his hand. “Can’t you listen to me for one sweet second?”
    My