S on of a bitch.
Dave looked at himself in the mirror over the small dresser in his bedroom. His hair was gold-bright even in the low-wattage light, and the shadow of his eyes looked more haunted in contrast. I’m talking about you, Hunter.
Back at that farmhouse, he’d talked himself out of believing that his response to “Ellen” held no conflict of interest. That he could make love to her right on the floor of her office. Make love, hell. More like wild sex. Great wild sex.
Turned out there was a conflict of interest after all.
He hadn’t expected these knotted results. Knots that blurred the lines between right and wrong and for the first time in his life left him unable to see where one turned into the other. Left him with a big bewildered empty spot where she’d so quickly made herself a part of him.
But then, that was what she was good at, wasn’t it?
It hadn’t taken his L.A. friend long to get him background on Karin Sommers. Her stepfather, Gregg Rumsey, had had early arrests and then seemed to have cleaned up his act. Dave knew he’d only hidden himself behind a little girl. No doubt he’d also finally gotten some good fixes in the local law agencies. Either way, he and his stepdaughter had kept a low profile until just over a year ago.
Until the elderly Vasilkovs. Irene and Earl. Shortly before their deaths, their retirement savings had dwindled significantly. Friends, interviewed after their deaths, were certain they’d been investing in some secret scheme. They’d left a joint suicide note, but nothing that convinced the M.E. to ignore the evidence of homicide. They’d closed in on Rumsey.
But Rumsey, with much beating of breast and teary regret, had provided an alibi and pointed the finger at his missing stepdaughter.
Karin Sommers.
Evidence was forthcoming. A warrant issued.
A warrant Dave would honor, as soon as he was done here.
So what did that make him?
A son of a bitch.
And what did it make her? The woman he’d come to know and admire in these past intense days, so composed that she could make up her absurd Mad Sheep disease while clinging to the side of a mountain? She’d meant to run, sure, but she’d also changed her mind when she’d realized she could help.
Or maybe she simply planned to complete the scam to finance another run for it. Because she was far deeper underground than she’d let on. Not just running from her nasty stepfather, oh no.
Running from a murder conviction.
He snorted at the man in the mirror. The Hunter family’s fair-haired boy, the youngest brother with so much potential who’d never lived up to expectations. No, he was too tied to his own goals, too attached to an honor that was more about helping the helpless and hopeless than hitting the international scene for the high-concept spy gigs. Satisfied to get his criminology degree and his investigator’s license and to poke around in the bones of tragic cases, trying-and often succeeding-to make everything turn out right for that one child, that one family.
He had no excuse for leaving Karin free to run this scam. No excuse for hiding his knowledge from her, except that he wanted to use her before he turned her in. He’d finally become willing to trade his pristine honor intact for results. I want Longsford. And to get the man, Dave was scamming a scammer.
At least he was fully aware of his own price.
And, thinking of Karin’s quietly stricken expression, her tacit acknowledgment of the change between them…of that bittersweet empty spot among the knots in his stomach…
He also knew the cost.
Karin woke to an unfamiliar ceiling, a tingling undercurrent touching her thoughts. Familiar enough, but not something she’d felt for a while. Mixed in was a sadness, and though she’d felt plenty of that since Ellen’s death, this was different. More sorrow and regret than outright grief.
She stared at the ceiling fan until the details trickled in. She was building a scam, that was what. She was in Alexandria, in Dave Hunter’s borrowed safe house, and she was building a scam. The jazz. Oh yeahhh. She’d learned to embrace it-to focus on it, so she wouldn’t focus on the other aspects of her work. Just as she’d learned to embrace the complicated scams, to bury herself in the challenge.
Rumsey was the one who worked the easy marks. The elderly, who were often gullible and just a little confused, and who could be beguiled by the thought of leaving a fortune to their children. There was no jazz in that. There hadn’t been for a long, long time.
But those who were rich and in the prime of their lives, they made their own choices. Like Longsford, their greed was their weak spot. And constructing a deeply layered scam that could hit that weak spot dead on…
That was Karin’s weak spot.
But now there was sadness weighing against the building thrill of this scam.
Dave.
He’d figured her out, it seemed. Seen too much.
So she stared at the ceiling fan, and she realized the most important thing: he hadn’t changed his mind. He might not like what he saw anymore, but he would still work with her. They’d still go after Longsford. Ellen’s revenge.
Yes.
And the second important thing: she could deal with his change of heart. She’d expected it. She knew better than most not to take anything for granted. And what they’d experienced together…
She’d miss it, be sad for it…but never regret it.
Do what you have to do. Take what you can get.
It had worked before. She’d make it work now.
She breezed down into the kitchen to nab leftover pizza for breakfast. A glass of orange juice washed the pepperoni down with a nice zing. Dave appeared not long afterward, fresh from the shower in the worn black jeans and a charcoal tee and looking wary. Wary of her, wary of himself…even in her regret, she felt a little sorry for him. Of the two of them, she’d known what she was doing when she reached for him in the tiny dormer office of Ellen’s house. He hadn’t a clue.
Still wouldn’t have a clue, if she hadn’t done a true confessions on him.
She pulled the sadness inside and covered it up with the jazz. “Ready to get started?” she asked him, leaning back against the counter to watch him take out three eggs and a bowl, cracking the eggs with practiced efficiency.
His glance turned into something longer, a hesitation as he searched her face-long enough so she wondered just what he was looking for. He nodded abruptly and took a fork to the eggs, whipping them with vigor. “What’s on the schedule?”
“Depends how much we get done, how fast.” She squelched the urge to wipe away the tiny dab of shaving cream by his ear and held out a closed hand, unfolding her index finger as she spoke. “One, we get me into a hotel. Something truly nice but still practical.”
“I know a place on King Street near the river,” Dave interrupted, then softened-or tried to-the words by adding, “I’ve gotten to know this place pretty well in the past couple of years.”
“Good.” Dammit. Maybe this wouldn’t be quite as easy as she thought, the pretending it didn’t matter. “Then you know where to look for good printers. Expensive printers who think much of themselves and their clientele. And also the pawnshops. Skanky ones.”
He poured a dollop of milk in with the eggs and briefly whipped them together, then went hunting for a frying pan. “Interesting combination.”
“We’ll be changing roles on the fly. You’re my driver and my boy toy. You’ll handle my suitcase and open my door, and when I’m dealing with business transactions, you’ll stand decorously in the background. If you cast an admiring look at my ass now and then, that would be good, too.”
He fumbled the frying pan on the way to the stove, caught it, and turned to give her a skeptical look.
“We’re playing my game,” she said. “Trust me to do it right. I retired free and clear, after all.”
“Did you?” he murmured, as if that was supposed to mean something.
Impatience flashed through her. “Are we doing this, or not?” she asked. “Because I’m good to stay here until Longsford forgets about Ellen. But I won’t run this con if you’re going in half-assed. It’s all or nothing.”
He stood in front of the stove for a long moment, his back turned to her. His long, deep breath showed clearly in the rise and fall of his shoulders. Abruptly, he flicked the gas burner on. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re doing this.”
She didn’t respond right away. She let him dump a pat of butter into the pan and push it around the bottom, and meanwhile she weighed the risks. The long con…all in the details. And like it or not, he was an important detail. His demeanor could make or break this game. “You’d better mean it,” she said. “If we’re blown, I’m the one who’s going to pay.” She’d be revealed to the authorities. She’d end up back in California, vulnerable to her stepfather’s legal contacts, charged with whatever bogus crimes he’d had pinned on her.
“That’d be a change, wouldn’t it?” He looked at her then, a meaningful side glance as he reached for the eggs.
Flash point. “You let me know when you’re done being a bastard,” she told him, cold anger spilling into temper. “And while you’re at it, you might think about who you would be if you’d had my stepfather controlling your life. If you’d gone to your first-grade teacher for help and been scolded for lying. If your teacher had gone to your stepfather about it. What do you think happened then, Mr. Perfect-Family Hunter? Do you think you might possibly have discovered the best way to survive was to play the game? Do you think you might have decided the best way to avoid collecting more scars was to be good at it?”
The eggs sizzled quietly in an otherwise quiet kitchen. Eventually, he said, “I don’t know.”
“You just think about it,” she told him, anger still hard in her chest. “I’ll be upstairs. I picked up a good paperback yesterday and it’s fine with me if I spend the day in bed reading.”
She left him there and went upstairs, the jazz gone and the sadness twisted into hurt. I don’t know.
She thought it was probably as good as she’d get.
She didn’t head for the bed. Or at least, not for long. She picked up the book, she sat down…and she stood right back up again. Then she sat one more time, forcing herself to think through the impulse that gripped her.
I can do this alone. I should do this alone.
She’d be better off doing it alone than doing it with someone who wouldn’t trust her. Someone who questioned her. Not about whether she could do it, but about whether he wanted to be part of it. Not a courage issue…an honor issue. He had courage to spare, she’d no doubt of that. Problem was, he had honor to spare, too.
That kind of hesitation could break a long con. Especially a rushed job like this, when the mark had to have no doubt at all. And she could all too easily imagine Dave balking at a crucial moment.
She could do it alone. And it still had to be done. For Ellen, for Terry Williams, for Rashawn…
It had to be done.
And that left the details, all of which needed quick revisions. It’d be more money, of which she had not nearly enough. And she’d be on her own…no backup. She could hire someone, but that would be hit or miss in this area in which she had no connections. Nor did she have a fix in with any of the local cops.
Yeah, she’d have to be careful.
But she could do it.
This time when she stood up, she went into action. She dug into her courier bag and pulled out the leather wallet that held Brooke Ellington’s ID. Brooke would have been best for this, but Dave already knew about her. So she’d use Maia Brenner. Maia had been created to live in Nebraska but traveled often for her bank job. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.
And then there was the money. She could pull easy con games along the way-Rock in a Box, the Ketchup Squirt, phoney C.O.D. scams-but she didn’t want to increase her chances of getting caught. Not when Dave would already be on her tail the whole time. Picking pockets or trading briefcases was as far as she wanted to go.
Do what you have to do.
Except this past year, do what you have to do had turned into getting up early for chores, harvesting food she’d grown herself, trading the excess for the venison that filled the freezer she’d left behind, and shearing her own damned sheep. It had meant a different kind of jazz…a quiet jazz. Sitting up in the dormer office writing to Ellen, letting her know how things were going.
Stop it. She’d sabotage herself if she wasn’t careful. If she was going to do this, she’d have to focus on her needs and her solutions. Need: money. Solution?
She stood in the doorway to her bedroom and cocked an ear at the stairs. The splash of water came to her ear; the clatter of the fry pan in the sink. As good as it gets.
She moved swiftly to Dave’s room, bypassing the closed laptop to reach for his overnight bag. She knew much of the contents were in the bathroom, but she was willing to bet-
Ah, yes. Her hand closed around cold metal. His Ruger DAO. Very nice. It wasn’t what she’d come for, but she didn’t hesitate to take it or his extra magazines. She rifled his laptop case and headed for the small dresser.
Oh yeah.
His wallet looked back up at her from the top drawer, ripe for the taking. And she might have done it, had she not wanted to keep him off balance. She wanted him wondering what she was up to and wondering what he should do about it, not raging after her in a fury. So she grabbed a few twenties to help cover immediate cash expenses and then hesitated over his credit cards. Yes. It’s what you came for. No time to get flinchy about it. She pulled them out of their little card slots, assessing them, knowing which company was more likely to call immediately about what they felt were unusual purchases and which wasn’t. Karin tapped a finger on the one he’d used to buy their clothes the previous day and almost plucked it from the batch.
And then she saw the card behind it. Oh ho! This time, she didn’t hesitate. The card bore not only Dave’s name, but the imprint of the Hunter Agency. The family business credit card. She’d bet anything he hardly ever used it; he might not miss it at all. And an agency like Hunter had expenses pouring in all the time. A few more would hardly be noticed-at least, not until it was too late.
She pulled the card, tucked it away in her jeans pocket and replaced it with another of his second-layer cards. He might not notice if a different card sat behind his preferred AmEx, but he’d sure notice if there wasn’t anything there at all.
That done, she gave the room a quick look to make sure she hadn’t left anything out of place, and returned to her bedroom with silent steps.
It could have been nice, the two of them working this job together. She already knew they partnered well; she’d been looking forward to riding the jazz with him beside her. And all for a good cause-the best of causes. No beating that.
But looking back meant she wasn’t looking ahead. Karin dumped her thoughts at the threshold to her room and quickly packed what little she’d pulled from her snazzy von Furstenberg carry-on. She wasn’t quite through when she heard bumping-around noises that could only mean Dave was on his way up. She stashed the case and sat on the bed, pulling out her journal as she followed his progress.
By the time he made it upstairs, she was writing to her sister. Dear Ellen, you’re gonna love this…
I’m sorry. Dave said the words in his head one more time. He hoped they sounded better out loud. The truth was, learning about Karin’s life…about her stepfather…about her warrant…
It had done a number on his head.
He told himself-again-that a warrant wasn’t the same as a conviction. He told himself she’d come here to help. That she’d started a new life in her sister’s name, working that little homestead with dedication. He reminded himself how he had been the one to shove her back into the middle of things, and of how he’d admired her grit the night she’d gone over the cliff. He recalled the shivery feeling of locking gazes with her, from his nape all the way down his spine to tingle through his-
Halfway up the stairs he stopped short, closed his eyes to tell himself what an idiot he was and moved forward with a determination to forget that part.
No, not to forget it. Some things…you couldn’t. But to put it aside long enough to get through the next moments, the next days.
To catch Longsford.
He found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, writing in her leather-bound journal. Small, precise writing. “Still more than just a diary,” he commented, leaning in the doorway.
“Letters to my sister.” She spoke without looking up, her tone so matter-of-fact that Dave was taken aback. She’d been so private about it before…
Of course, at that point she’d been calling herself Ellen.
Karin straightened her shoulders, still looking down at the book. “Dear Ellen,” she read. “You won’t believe where I am. Or what I’m about to do.” She looked up at him for the first time since his arrival in her space and he blinked at what he saw in her eyes. He couldn’t quite name it, but it struck him deeply. Those smoky gray eyes had a confident intensity that momentarily left him without words.
“What would she say?” he asked her.
“She’d worry. She’d say to tell her about it when it was over. But she’d be glad I was doing it,” Karin answered easily, and then laughed a little at his surprise. “I’ve been having daily conversations with her for over a year. You think I don’t give her a chance to talk back?”
Not much to say about that. But plenty left to say. “About what happened downstairs-”
She looked straight at him. “You mean, when you were snide and rude to me?”
Ouch. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Things have gotten…complicated.”
“You don’t say.” She didn’t seem in the mood to be forgiving. He supposed things had gotten complicated for her since he’d arrived in her driveway. But there was no anger in her voice, seemed to be none on her face. Just determination.
“We okay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Sure.”
He didn’t quite believe it. But he figured he’d pushed her as far as she’d go for one day. “I’ll go change. You wanted the suit?”
“What I’d really like are the codes you use to get outside.”
That took him by surprise. “The point is that you don’t go outside. It’s a safe house.”
“Right,” she said. “But if someone’s out there watching us, we’re blown either way, don’t you think? And I’d rather not feel like a prisoner. Unless maybe I am?”
“If you wanted to get out,” he told her drily, “I’m sure you’d find a way.”
“Ah. Another dig?”
“I just meant you don’t give up easily. And I’m doubly sorry about this morning if it means you’ll hear everything I say to you through a snide filter.”
She was quiet on the bed. Quiet in body, quiet in voice. “It’s easier to put that particular filter on than it is to take it off. And I’d really rather just use the alarm code.”
So he gave it to her, and she closed the book and set it aside. “I’ll get dressed,” she said. “Go do something with your hair.” And as his hand went up to check his hair, she grinned. A small grin, but better than no grin at all, and much better than a snide filter. “It’s fine,” she told him. “It just needs to be a little more conservative for the morning’s work.”
“Can do,” he said, and went off to see to it. Her door was shut as he passed by on the way back, and he went on to his own room to dress the part of the boy-toy chauffeur. When he came back out the door was still shut and he knocked; no answer.
The knob turned under his hand, and the door opened wide to an empty room.