All About Evie (12 page)

He shifted, met my gaze and I swear, he looked straight into my soul. “What, then?”

I realized suddenly that I was doing something with Arch that I rarely did with Michael. Discussing my feelings. He stroked his thumb over the back of my hand, and again I felt a spark, a connection that I couldn't name. My heart thudded as I felt the world shift. Or maybe it was the ship. Yes, we were definitely rocking. Subtly, but still…Since he'd asked, and since I was feeling uncharacteristically chatty, I started with my most recent and nagging source of anxiety. “Did you ever see
Titanic?
”

A
SOFT KNOCK WOKE
Milo out of a sound sleep.

“Room service,” a muffled voice called.

They'd had room service hours ago. He squinted at his travel alarm. Two-fifteen in the morning.

Arch.

Gina had established contact earlier this evening. Their renegade teammate had agreed to a meeting, though he hadn't specified a time. Just like the irritating bastard to show up in the middle of the night.

Milo sat up and switched on a bedside lamp. Gina was already in motion. She slept in boxer shorts and a tank top. Palming his aching head, he took in her toned legs and arms, her sexy, rumpled hair. He glanced down at his limp dick.
What the hell's wrong with you?

She shoved her arms into a bathrobe, opened the door. Enter a mustached steward of seemingly Mediterranean descent, carrying a tray boasting two long-stemmed crystal flutes and a bottle of Perrier-Jouet.

He didn't ask where or how Arch had gotten the uniform or the champagne. He didn't care. “If the Agency finds out about this trip, my ass is grass.”

“Your arse shouldn't be here. I flew out of Philly incognito to avoid this. Figured The Kid would track me, but not until after we'd sailed.”

“You underestimated Woody.”

“Either that or I'm slipping.”

You said it,
Milo thought,
not me.

Arch placed the tray on the nightstand, turned and surveyed the room. “Flamingo. Fuchsia. What the bloody hell would you call this?”

“Fuck you.”

“Uh-uh.” Arch snapped his fingers. “Pink.” He grinned. “Sweet.”

Gina grabbed the bottle and popped the cork.

Milo waved off the glass she offered. He'd taken a painkiller just before midnight. “Dammit, Arch, Chameleon passed on this case.”

“No,
you
passed.” The career confidence man sat in the room's only chair, stretched out his legs and thumbed open the top two buttons of his white jacket.

“One complaint doesn't carry much weight, especially one lodged on hearsay. I did a preliminary check and Celia Benson's story—or rather her grandfather's deathbed ramblings—didn't wash.”

“I paid a call on Ms. Benson.”

“Son of a—”

“Relax. I
didnae
go as myself.”

“Of course not.”

“Or on behalf of Chameleon. I introduced myself as a private investigator. Said I'd been tipped off by an anonymous do-gooder from her local bunco squad. Since it was the first stop in her grandfather's chain of complaints regarding the fraud, she bought my story.”

“Why the hell did you make contact at all?” Milo tempered his aggravation by reminding himself of all the times
he'd
sidestepped policy. “Even if Ms. Benson's complaint is valid, we can't touch this team of grifters. Not legally. Be it one or fifty victims.”

“They're fleecing the elderly.”

“Lots of con artists target the elderly. We've got no evidence. And one—” he held up a finger “—
one
official beef.”

Arch laughed. “For fuck's sake, Jazzman. You know as well as I do that most marks never report falling prey to a scam. Especially the old folk. They know they were fools, but if they press charges friends and neighbors will know, too. Who wants to risk a family member charging them incompetent and committing them to a nursing home? It's a valid fear, yeah?”

“Let's not forget the psychological manipulation,” Milo gritted out. “Once you're done with a mark, you've not only robbed him of his money, but also his dignity. Goodbye, self-esteem. Hello, guilt and shame.”

Arch deflected Milo's sarcasm with an arrogant grin. “We're not talking
aboot
me, but since you're pointing the finger, I've never stolen a bloody penny. I
dinnae
have to.”

“You fleece them with your charm. Got it. Spare me the lecture in Scams 101.” He knew the drill. He'd committed himself to learning the confidence game inside and out. Rule number one: Professional swindlers don't employ violence. The mark willingly hands over his or her money, making con artists, if they are indeed caught, difficult to convict. Where's the crime? Local law enforcement's inefficiency in investigating and prosecuting fraud is what prompted Milo's midthirties career crisis. The result: Men in Black over Men in Blue.

Arch leaned forward, braced his forearms on his thighs. “You're pissed because I blew you off. Sorry, mate, but you wouldn't budge and I couldn't leave go. These bastards broke the code.”

“What
code?
”

Arch dragged his hands down his face, looking as though he regretted his words.

Gina piped in. “I assume he's referring to the violent aspect of the case. Professional grifters don't employ thugs to work over marks.”

Milo popped another painkiller, hoping to ease a headache that had worsened with Arch's arrival. “There's no forensic evidence to support Ms. Benson's claim that
thugs
are responsible for her grandfather's death. According to the autopsy report, Stokes died of natural causes. A heart attack. Period. Not inconceivable considering his advanced age and depressed state of mind. His wife died not two weeks before.”

“Had you dug deeper—”

“Ms. Benson's report indicated that, according to her grandfather, the come-on and sting took place in La Romana. The Dominican Republic, Arch. That falls under territorial law. Out of our jurisdiction.” Milo glanced at Gina, who knew the law as well as he did. She sat cross-legged on her bed, glass in one hand, the bottle in the other. Apparently, she wasn't inclined to share with their guest. The fact that they hadn't exchanged pleasantries also piqued Milo's curiosity.

“If that's not enough to deter you, and it should be,” Milo continued, “the alleged mark and alleged roper were of two different nationalities, the ship from a third country. The alleged crime, for Christ's sake, took place in a
fourth
country.”

Arch studied him with an enigmatic expression. “The difference between you and me is that you play by the rules.”

“Not always.” If he played by the rules, Arch would be serving time. “You're determined to make my life hell, aren't you?”

Arch smiled. “Just returning the favor.”

Again, Milo was aware of Gina's silence. She sat drinking, taking it all in, her keen brown eyes ping-ponging between the two men. “Bad enough you acted without the team,” he said to Arch. “You had to pull in an unsanctioned player?”

“Evie wasn't my first choice. A last-minute glitch. Lemonade out of lemons, yeah?”

“You could've used me.” Gina's first words since Arch had entered the room. She smirked. “Oh, wait. You did.” She drained her champagne, poured more.

Milo assessed the situation.
Son of a bitch
. His partner had bedded and dumped Gina. He glared at the bastard who had the balls to shrug. Tension between team members. Great. Just great. “Do you even know this Evie?”

“I knew
of
her.”

“Can she be trusted?” What was he saying? Only a fool trusts a grifter. He listened as Arch explained the personalities and background of Charles and Sugar Dupont. Sugar was a party girl, a free spender who had her wealthy husband wrapped around her finger. Charles, it would seem to anyone who observed, would do anything to keep his young wife happy, including investing in a good-time time share.

“So the brainless-bimbo thing is an act,” Gina said. “She's pretending to be the kind of twit that will fall for anything. That's always attractive to a roper.” She smirked. “Good call, Ace. The outside man won't be able to resist her.”

Actually, it was. Milo shot her a look, while asking his partner, “What do you know about this woman?”

“She's a professional actress. She's good.”

“An actress? Not a player? You're joking, right?”

“She can handle it.”

“How much did you tell her?”

“Not much.” He smiled, shook his head. “Christ, she's easy.”

Gina leveled Arch with a deadly glare. “I almost feel sorry for her.”

Milo frowned. “I'm inclined to agree.”

Arch unleashed a rare show of temper. “Listen, you weren't supposed to know
aboot
this. Not until I'd lured these bastards back onto American soil. I mean, that was your bloody problem, right? That you can't touch them
legally?
As long as they're within your jurisdiction, as long as there's proof or a confession, then you can arrest the buggers, take them out of commission, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, then. Now that you're here, you're in.” He leaned forward, rested his forearms on his knees and lowered his voice. “We'll divide and conquer. We know the roper's a crew member.”

Milo held up a hand. “Hold on. How do we know they're still working
this
ship?”

“I know,” Arch said without further explanation. “What I don't know is the roper's identity. And unfortunately, Mr. Stokes
didnae
provide his granddaughter with the name or description.”

“Just an overview of the sequence of events,” Gina said, “that led to the poor sucker forking over seventy thousand dollars for a ‘once-in-a-lifetime' investment.”

“The roper directed Mr. Stokes to a Mr. Simon Lamont of Dragonfly Cruises,” Milo said, recalling the granddaughter's written statement.

“The inside man,” Gina said.

The big guy. The boss. The smooth-talking hustler who pitched the irresistible deal—the come-on. Milo wrung his hands together as frustration with Arch gave way to anticipation of the hunt. “We dock in La Romana on Thursday. That gives us three days.”

Gina whistled low. “Do you know how many employees are on this ship?”

“Stokes said he considered the man who introduced him to Lamont a
good egg
. We're talking someone he and his wife had a lot of contact with. Someone in a highly visible position. Hospitality or entertainment.” Arch rubbed the back of his neck. “The key is to be as visible as possible. Between the four of us we can spread a lot of
bullshite,
yeah? We have the advantage. We're savvy to the psychological aspects. I've already targeted three likely suspects. The assistant cruise director, the shore excursion director and Beau, the poolside bartender.”

“I'll feel them out,” Milo said.

“I ran into a dance instructor who also conducts various activities and games,” Gina said. “Fred. A real silver-tongued Romeo.”

“Fred?” Milo asked.

“You know. Like Astaire.” She rolled her eyes. “Get with it, Jazzman. Like that's his real name. He's a hot-blooded Spaniard with more lines than Disney World. Trust me, he's suspect. Although if he got to Stokes, it was probably through
Mrs
. Stokes. This one works the ladies.”

“So we keep an eye on these few while scoping other possibilities,” Arch said. “Once we determine our mark—”

“—we con the hustler into believing we're
his
perfect marks,” Gina finished.

“Between the two couples, one of us will win an introduction to Lamont and that team will hook and lure him back to the States.”

A bastardized version of a Turnaround Confidence. At times like this Milo wondered who was in charge of Chameleon, him or Arch? He usually soothed his ego with the A.I.A's mantra:
Results are all that matter
. But something felt off-kilter with this one. Mainly the unsanctioned player. “What's the bait?”

Arch checked his watch, stood. “I'll explain when we meet up again. Tomorrow morning in the Fiesta Theater. Ten-thirty.”

Milo raised a guarded brow. “What's wrong with now?”

He secured his buttons, smoothed the uniform and picked up the empty tray. “I need to get back. I
dinnae
want Evie to wake up alone.”

Gina poured more bubbly. “God forbid.”

The door closed behind Arch and Milo dropped his throbbing head into his hands. In the space of ten minutes, he'd seen a flash of his partner's temper and a peek at his tender side. Genuine emotions. Arch was definitely off his game.

Gina abandoned her glass and robe, wiggled under the sheets. “Notice he didn't explain why he contacted Ms. Benson in the first place?”

Fending off a feeling of doom, Milo switched off the lamp. “I noticed.”