Everybody Loves Evie (19 page)

Arch opened a window.

Nic stared.

As the smoke cleared, I saw what she saw, only I'd seen it before. Beckett wet and naked except for the towel around his waist. Arch wet and naked, his towel upstairs or on the stairs or in the living room…but not around his waist.

It reminded me of the times Nic, Jayne and I had flipped through
Playgirl
magazine, only this was the real deal with live models—one my lover, one my boss—both hoo-ha-tingling gorgeous.

Okay, this was awkward.

“Where's the fucking alarm?” Beckett bellowed over the deafening screech.

“Up there, mate.”

Both men were in adrenaline-charged savior mode. Probably why neither one had commented on Arch's naked state or the tall, gawking brunette.

I couldn't blame Nic for staring. Arch had an incredible body, not to mention an impressive—
ahem
—appendage. Except,
hello,
her focus was on Beckett, who was balanced on the stool Arch had slid across the room. The towel shifted when he reached up and disconnected the alarm.

Silence reigned just as I squealed and covered my eyes.

“Flashing your package, mate,” Arch said with a smile in his voice.

“Look who's talking,” Beckett said.

“Fuck sake. Where's my bloody towel?”

Snap.
The third in less than a month. This one spurred by adrenaline and absurdity. A chaotic, uncomfortable moment. Nervous laughter bubbled. I smothered the inappropriate response with a pot holder, my eyes tearing—and it wasn't from the smoke.

Nic ripped the pot holder out of my white-knuckle grasp, handed it to Arch. “Here.”

He looked at the pot holder, at her, at the pot holder.

I held my stomach and gasped out, “Too hot to handle,” between stifled giggles.

She glanced over her shoulder at me and mouthed, “Lucky you.”

Beckett nabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and passed that to Arch. “Here.”

Arch tied the frilly thing around his waist and I collapsed into a chair. The harder I tried not to laugh out loud, the more my stomach hurt.

“
Dinnae
think we've met,” he said.

“Nicole Sparks.”

“Evie's friend.”

“She told you about me?”

“Aye.”

“She told me about you, too. Sort of. Didn't tell me about
you,
” she said, glancing at the government agent.

He secured the towel. “Milo Beckett.”

She eyed them both up and down. Lots of glistening skin and toned muscles. “Evie mentioned she was getting more adventurous, but hell.”

“Oh, my God,” I squealed, following her racy train of thought. “No!”

“Just happened to be showering at the same time,” Beckett said.

“Separate bathrooms,” Arch said.

“If you'll excuse us…”

“We'll get dressed.”

They walked out all confident and guylike, Beckett in his towel, Arch in the apron. I swiveled, caught a rear view and, noting he'd tied the sash in a bow, broke into hiccuping laughter.

D
RESSED IN PLEATED
khakis and a green polo shirt, Milo stepped across the hall and knocked on Arch's door.

“Yeah?”

Invitation enough. He walked in and shut the door.

Wearing pin-striped trousers and a crisp white oxford, Arch stood in front of the dresser mirror knotting a Windsor tie. “Hell of a way to start the morning, yeah?”

Milo glanced at the man's rumpled bed. He suspected his morning had started with bigger fireworks but held his tongue. He gestured to Arch's getup. “Think Nicole's going to buy this baron bullshit?”

“Think we should be as honest as possible with
oot
compromising any trade or Agency secrets, yeah?
Dinnae
see that we have a choice. She lives in Atlantic City. She's Evie's closest mate aside from a bird named Jayne. You hired Evie to sing at the club. You can bet her mates will come round. Which means they'll see you—owner of a run-down bar, not keeper of a European noble.”

He'd come to that conclusion on his own. Not to mention, they'd probably run into Arch, if not at the club then at Evie's apartment. If their affair was over, he was the Pope. No need to complicate matters beyond the existing clusterfuck. He blamed himself. He'd hired Evie. He'd complicated what was once a streamlined, tight-knit operation. He took responsibility, but he couldn't say he was sorry. “Keep it simple.”

“Need to know.”

“So what do you know about Nicole Sparks?” Milo asked as Arch nabbed a matching suit jacket from the closet.

“Actress, model. Outgoing and outspoken. Since she showed up thinking Evie was in need, I'd venture profoundly loyal to those she loves.”

“Not easily shocked,” Milo added, remembering how she'd reacted to their state of undress. Unlike Twinkie, she hadn't averted her eyes or blushed. She'd enjoyed the show. “She reminds me of Gina.”

“In demeanor
and
appearance, yeah? Tall, dark, built. Only her eyes are green and her skin tone…” He paused, looking for the right word.

“Café mocha.”

“Exotic combination.” He slipped a pack of cigarettes into his inner jacket pocket. “She's thirty-eight and single, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't.” He was considering how best to handle the woman, what to reveal and what to withhold. He walked to the door, digesting that last bit of info. “You're telling me a dish like that isn't hooked up.”

Arch shrugged. “According to Evie.”

He stepped into the hall, thinking she must be a ball-buster. Why else hadn't a guy snatched her up?

“Interested?” Arch asked as they descended the stairs.

“No.”

“Because I thought I sensed interest—”

“No.”

“—from her.”

A
FTER RECOVERING
from my giggling fit, I'd had to contend with Nic's odd silence as she took over the preparation of breakfast. At first I was relieved. If she didn't ask details about Arch and Beckett, I wouldn't have to lie. As it was, I was busted. What about when we returned home and I sang at the Chameleon Club? What if I lucked out and Arch shucked his personal code and committed to a serious relationship? He couldn't pretend to be nobility forever, and surely Nic and Jayne would visit the club and see Beckett.

Busted.

After setting the table for four, I returned to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. Nic spooned scrambled eggs and green peppers onto a serving platter. She didn't speak. Didn't even look my way. I couldn't take it anymore. “Aren't you going to ask me about Arch and Beckett?”

“No. I'm going to ask them. Maybe they'll be considerate enough to tell me the truth.”

Ouch.

Guilt-ridden, I followed her into the dining room carrying a basket of hot biscuits and a tub of low-fat margarine.

The men entered, looking relaxed and handsome and impressed with the food. “Peppers and eggs,” Beckett said. “Great.”

“Bagels would have been better than biscuits,” Nic said.

“Tabasco said the only bagels he could find at the local supermarket were in the frozen-food section.”

“Sacrilege,” Nic said, then raised an expertly tweezed brow. “Who's Tabasco?”

“I'll get the coffee,” I said.

“I'll help you,” Arch said.

Once in the kitchen, I whirled, wide-eyed, hands spread.

“
Dinnae
worry,” he said in a hushed voice. “We're going to tell her the truth.”

“Everything?”

“Need-to-know basis.”

“I've been on the end of that stick.”

Arch winked. “Love it when you talk dirty, love.”

Men.
“What I mean is, when you only told me what you thought I needed to know about the last case, it only heightened my curiosity. I'm a pussycat compared to Nic. She won't take your guff like I did.”

“Guff?”

“Nonsense.”

“I know what it means. Just never known someone to use it, yeah? Kind of like
toodles
and
kaput.
”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Smiling, he backed me around the corner toward the pantry.

“Oh, no, you don't,” I whispered, scowling but happy dancing on the inside. I dodged his embrace and nabbed the pot of coffee. “You bring the creamer and sugar.”

When we reentered the dining room, Nic was inspecting a business card. “Fraud investigators, huh?”

“We investigate hard-to-solve scams and turn the tables on the scammers.”

“Beat them at their own game, so to speak.”

“So to speak.”

Nic pursed her killer red lips. “Sounds smarmy.”

“Smarmy?”

“Yeah. Sleazy. Tricky. Crafty. Suspici—”

“I get the point.” Beckett shook his head. “You're a skeptical one.”

“Learned the hard way,” she said.

“Not easily fooled,” Arch said as we both settled in our chairs. “Brilliant.”

Except that it had made her cynical and distrustful of men and long-term relationships. I wondered suddenly about Beckett's broken marriage. Had he stomped on his wife's heart the way my husband had stomped on mine? My gut said no. Then again, as proven with Michael, my gut was not infallible. Still, for a man in the deception game, Beckett was surprisingly square with Nic. He said nothing of the AIA, nor did he admit to being a government agent, but he did mention that he was an ex-cop with years of experience dealing with grifters. He admitted to running the club and explained it doubled as a cover. He mentioned Arch's previous occupation—
Who better to partner with?
—and the fact that Chameleon operated at a low-profile status.

I poured coffee for everyone, soaking in the conversation, separating whole truth from need-to-know and committing it to memory so I wouldn't screw up later on. Mostly I was grateful for a day of revelations. The fewer secrets, the better. Now Arch knew how I felt about him—sort of. Nic knew about Chameleon—mostly. I knew something sparked between Beckett and me, more on his side than mine—I think. I decided to ignore it, trusting that the pesky awareness would fade as my relationship with Arch strengthened. All part and parcel of adjusting to a new job and the dynamics of several new relationships. I told myself I was up to the challenge. The new and improved Evie. Now, if I could just get my mom to clear up the mystery of the bonds.

“So…” Nic said, passing the platter of eggs, “the cruise ship. The acting gig. These guys hired you to work a sting, didn't they?”

“Yes.” The admission lightened my heart considerably. “Although I didn't know that going in.” Lest she think I'd been lying to her from the get-go.

She turned on the men. “What's wrong with you? Suckering an untrained woman into a dangerous situation.”

Beckett bristled. “We didn't—”

“She came home with a fricking bandage on her head.”

“That wasn't their fault,” I said. “I cracked out of turn.”

“What does that mean?”

“Missed my cue. Made a mistake. The roper directed us to the insideman. We were in the big store, but before he could put us on the send, I cracked out of turn. The reverse con curdled, I faked a swoon and bonked my head.”

Nic gawked. “Everything before
faked a swoon and bonked my head
was Greek to me, Evie.”

Arch sipped coffee, smiled. “You've been reading up on the lingo, yeah?”

“Had her nose stuck in Maurer's
The Big Con
on the flight from Philly to Cleveland,” Beckett said. “Informative but outdated. If you want to learn—”

“She doesn't,” Nic said.

“Yes, I do. This is my chance to do something important.”

“When you perform, you make people happy, Evie. That's important.”

“Except the casinos aren't hiring me anymore.”

“You know how it works in town. Cycles. This is a phase.”

“But not one I can weather. It's not about what's hot musically, it's about what's hot physically. It's about age.” I laid my hand on hers, squeezed. “And you know it.” They weren't hiring her all that much, either. She kept afloat by filming commercials and modeling at trade shows. Two markets I'd never broken into, and at this late date, forget it. “Performers and con artists have a lot in common, Nic.”

“I'll try not to take that as an insult.”

I smiled. “I'll explain later. Eat your eggs. They're getting cold.” The men had already cleaned their plates.

“Not so fast,” she said. “Are you singing in that club for real?”

“Yes,” Beckett answered for me. “I'm not putting her in the field.”

“Yet,” I said. “I have to pay my dues.”

“I can only hope they're high,” she said drily. “Second, did you break up with Too Hot To Handle over there or not?”

Arch's eyes danced with humor, but his expression and tone were stone sober. “She did.”

I seconded that. I didn't blush. I didn't scratch. It wasn't a lie. I'd broken off with him in London.

“That's something, I guess. Trusting your heart to a con artist wouldn't be smart.” She eyed Arch. “No offense.”

He smiled at her over the rim of his coffee up. “
Cannae
argue with logic, yeah?”

His lame comeback revived previous reservations. Damn him. “He no longer grifts for personal gain,” I felt compelled to say.

Nic smirked. “Let me put it another way. Trusting a man who's in the business of deceiving seems iffy at best.”

Arch chuckled and winked at me. “No guff.”

“Guff makes me gag,” Nic said. “Tell it to me straight or tell it to the King.”

Beckett's lip twitched. “Elvis or Larry?”

“Larry, of course. Who talks to dead people?”

“Jayne's psychic,” I said. “Madame Helene.”

“You know what I think of her.” She focused back on Arch. “So why are you here? Why are
you
here?” she asked Beckett.

“What did you say to Mrs. Parish when she mentioned Arch and the baron angle?” he asked by way of an answer.

“What could I say? Since I didn't want to look like a fool, I played dumb. Said I misunderstood and thought they were staying with her.”

“Brilliant,” Arch said.

“Fortunate,” Milo said, then added, “I don't suppose there's a chance you'll fly back home tonight, Ms. Sparks.”

“Get real, Slick. I'm not leaving until Evie does or until one of you explains why you're all here.”

He looked to me. “Want to tell her about your mom?”

Boy, did I ever. “I think she's being swindled.”

Nic blinked. “I'm all ears.”

I relaxed a little as she picked at her breakfast, grateful for a chance to come clean, at least in part, with my friend. I was also happy for the chance to impress Arch and Beckett with my newly acquired knowledge of the Sweetheart scam.

When I finished, the only one who looked dazzled—or maybe I should say dazed—was Nic.

“I'll drive you to the airport,” Beckett said, to which she replied, “Like hell.”