Oh, right. He's not supposed to care about what she does when she's on her side of the door. He told her as much. He told her with the full understanding that she is an outlaw.

Tommy has two main references when processing the idea of someone robbing a bank: grainy security camera footage shown on the evening news; and scenes from old Western movies. Either one is still far enough removed from his own dealings that it's a little difficult to grasp when the woman he's been sleeping with tells you that she pretty much organized a stick-up while she was away.

His reaction might be hard to read. A deep line forms between his brows, his lips part. His gaze falls to her mouth when she speaks. His hold on her doesn't shift, although his heart thumps a mite harder against her chest.

"Huh."

There's a sort of Robin Hood aspect to the caper anyway. It can't be so bad.

But it's not the crime that concerns him. It's what happens afterward. She's wanted, and she's always in danger of getting caught, of getting shot -- and never making it through the door again. She can tell him that she can take care of herself all she wants, and he'll believe her, but part of missing her was rooted in worry that her luck had run out.

"How much money did you get?"