The Heart Heist by Alyssa Kress

same, "I'm going to follow you."
    "I don't understand," Kerrin complained, awed by the solid strength of his grip as he propelled her down the arcade toward her car. Oddly, this steady, confident touch stilled her jumping nerves. "It's five easy miles. I drive it all the time -- sometimes late at night. What's the big deal?"
    "I guess," Gary told her softly, "it's a matter of respect."
    ~~~
    Twenty-five minutes later, Gary watched from the windshield of his plain white car -- standard FBI issue, he guessed -- as Kerrin waved to him from the front door of a rambling wood ranch house perched on a foothill a few miles outside of town.
    Even in the dark he could see the exasperated expression on her face. Yeah, he supposed it was kind of ridiculous to expect a man doing twenty-five to life to provide much in the way of a security escort. Well, that was just too bad. He had to do something to return her favor. The house door closed after her and Gary shoved the gear shift into reverse.
    How did you treat a woman who'd pretty much just saved your life?
    With respect, he'd said.
    Executing an economical little turn in the Horton drive, Gary got his car pointed down the hill again.
    Unfortunately, respect was not the nature of his thoughts toward that woman. More like craving, inappropriate lust, unsuitable desire. He wondered if she knew just how tempting she'd been, walking up to him along the arcade in the dark, with a provocative hint of uncertainty. Like a woman approaching her lover for the first time.
    And he was an ungrateful wretch, Gary scolded himself as he cruised down the winding road of the hill. That same woman had just stopped him from slipping back into his old habits.
    What instinct had made her do it? Somehow he'd tipped her off, over the phone wires. She'd figured out how dangerous it would have been for him to break into her office. She'd been right, it wouldn't have been the same as trying to find a way into the DWP. Once started, Gary would have rationalized his right to insinuate himself into any number of taboo places. That filing cabinet of hers, the library, the home of anyone who happened to catch his curiosity.
    And it wouldn't have stopped there.
    Gary braked his car at the T-intersection between the Horton private road and the main highway leading back to town. There wasn't another car in sight but he stopped there, resting his wrists over the top of the steering wheel. It was at an AA meeting, something Gary had wandered into out of boredom one long prison afternoon, where the light had first dawned. Stealing was, for him, like alcohol was for the people in the meeting. Just one drop would be poison. Kerrin had stopped him from sipping that first drop.
    With a deliberate, slow movement, Gary pushed the gear stick into first. He accelerated gradually onto the highway. Kerrin wasn't always going to be there to stop him. The next time temptation knocked on his door, he just might have to handle it himself.
    The new fear roiled through his stomach, the one that had been with him to a greater or lesser degree ever since he'd bid Marty farewell in Bishop. He had no idea what was going to happen the next time. All he knew was that he wanted to be free. He didn't want these destructive impulses ruling his actions. He wanted to be like anybody else.
    Gary caught a vision of himself in the reflection off the side glass of the car; the hard, con eyes, the face trained over years in prison to mask all expression from the screws. Just like anybody else. Yeah, right.
    In fact, he could still remember what had been said at his last jail cell interview with Rogers. The FBI agent had explained that Gary had been selected by an exhaustive computer search as the man with the talents, intelligence, and basic psychological profile most similar to some lunatic bomber they were trying to catch.
    Gee, thanks.
    According to Rogers, Gary would attack the problem of getting into the DWP facility in much the same way their Mr.