Everybody Loves Evie (32 page)

“Yes and no.”

The room buzzed with tension, and it wasn't coming wholly from me. I sat back down before my knees gave way. “You're not going to tell me, are you?”

He stroked a thumb over the silver flip-top. “There are some aspects of my life I'm not ready to share, Sunshine.”

“
Some?
You're the most secretive person I know! Take that phone, for instance. I asked straight out if you had a new one and you said no.”

“It's not new. I've had it for some time.”

I grunted. “All right then. Why do you carry
two
phones?”

He pocketed his cell. “This one's for private stuff, yeah?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I get it. You're referring to my journal.”

“Would you be comfortable allowing me to read the contents?”

I thought about my deep musings on Arch. Gushy stuff. Sexy stuff. Angry stuff.
Private stuff.
I'd scribbled my doubts regarding the Fish fiasco. And—
oh, God
—the list comparing Arch and Beckett. The pros and cons. “You've made your point.” Let him speculate. Let him go mad with curiosity. “So. You have your secrets and I have mine. Only you have more.”

“I'm a grifter, Sunshine. Secretive by nature whether I'm working for personal gain or for the greater good, yeah? You asked me to stop manipulating you. I'm asking you to accept me for who I am.”

I wanted to claw my hair out. “But who
are
you?”

“A man who's trying to do the right thing, and I'm going
aboot
it the only way I know how.”

“Cryptic but noble.” I wrapped my arms around my stomach, willing away the hollow ache. I didn't expect a straight answer, but I had to try. “How do you know Michael?”

“Long story short—in the past, he occasionally supplied me with extras when a large cast was needed for a big con and experienced grifters were sparse.
Dinnae
worry. The actors were never in danger. Nor did they know they were involved in anything suspect.”

“But Michael knew.” How could I be so blind to such a critical dishonest streak? Married for fifteen years. Married to a stranger. I felt another snap. The snap of finality. Over and done. The truth had set me free.

I plowed on, wanting,
needing
to establish more essential realities. “Do you feel any remorse whatsoever for killing Simon the Fish?”

“I thought you were going to let that go.”

“I've tried. I can't.
I
feel guilty. Because I screwed up, you have to live with the fact that you shot a man. Accidental or not, that's a heavy load.”

“My conscience is clear, Sunshine.”

“Really? Completely?”

“Aye.”

“I find that troubling.”

“I'm not surprised.”

I blew out an impatient breath. “Please don't tell me I feel too deeply.”

“All right.”

“But that's what you're thinking.”

He dragged a hand over his goatee. “I'm thinking Simon the Fish was an evil bastard who ruined countless innocent lives. I'm wishing you wouldn't agonize over his death. What's done is done and in the end the world's a better place, yeah?”

Hard to argue with that logic. Probably a true Chameleon wouldn't try. I backed off in search of more truths. “Are you really the Baron of Broxley?”

“Aye.”

“Is your real name Archibald Robert Duvall?”

“Unfortunately.”

I cocked my head. “So your mom really was a film fanatic.”

“You've heard the term
rabid fan?
”

The twinkle in his eyes was playful but genuine. A bit of optimism filled the hollowness. “About Kate…”

“The only woman I'm interested in is sitting right in front of me, yeah?”

I wanted to believe him with all my fluttering heart, but his unwillingness to discuss Kate made my wary. “This connection, it's…”

“Exciting? Wondrous? Hot?”

“Baffling.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Baffling but exciting.”

Busted.

I'd never been one for confrontations, and when I did overheat, my temper soon cooled. Especially when the person I blasted failed to blast back. No tinder to fuel my fire. Now that my blood wasn't roaring in my ears, his earlier words sank in. Holding past affairs against him
would
be petty. Plenty of single men bed-hopped, especially men who'd been ingrained with the notion that emotional attachments were dangerous. Still, knowing he'd recently bedded a succession of women, namely Gina, stung.

As for Kate…maybe a leap of faith was in order. Maybe their connection was purely business. Shady but professional. Just because he wasn't willing to share that aspect of his life now didn't mean he wouldn't open up as our bond strengthened. It's not as though we'd been together for years. It had barely been a month. A
month.
That essential reality put our relationship in a new light. I was expecting too much too soon. Spinning too fast on the dance floor.

I felt Arch's warmth and strength as he reached over and clasped my hand. “You're not the only one with reservations, Evie.”

His honesty caught me off guard. A thousand scenarios assaulted my mind. All of them hinging on my shortcomings or physical flaws. And, yeah, boy, my age. “Such as?”

“My gut says you're dangerous.”

Another unexpected revelation. Color me confused. Then I remembered he'd mentioned something to that effect on the cruise.
I've never met a more dangerous woman.
Except he'd also declared me cheeky, accident-prone, soft and—the mother of all monikers—a good girl. I smirked. “I thought I was nice.”

“From my perspective, that's a potentially hazardous quality.” He pulled me over onto his lap, wrapped me in his arms. “But it's a quality, in you specifically, that I'm attracted to.”

“Nice is boring,” I said, feeling unreasonably insulted.

“Nice is sweet. Admirable. Sexy.”

Okay, that rocked me down to my frog socks.

“Guys like me
dinnae
typically get girls like you. Not for the long run.”

I pushed off his chest so I could look up into his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“What first attracted you to me?”

“Your charisma. Your sex appeal. No, wait. Your accent. We spoke on the phone first and I had visions of…” I blushed. “Never mind. And, okay, I'll admit it, your hot body.”

He grinned at that. “Anything else?”

“Please don't make me say it.”

Silence.

“You're going to make me say it.”

Silence.

“All right, I'll say it.”
Jeez.
“You're a rebel. The quintessential bad boy. Girls like me don't typically get boys like you.” I fluttered a hand. “You know, except in our fantasies.”

He nabbed my hand, kissed my knuckles. “Bang-on.”

Now it was my turn to stare in silence.

“Bad boys are the fantasy. The joyride. Not the kind you take home to Mother. Not the kind you ride off with into the sunset. That honor is typically awarded to the nice guy.”

I would have been insulted if I weren't hurting for him. “You think I'm taking you for a joyride?”

“Not consciously, no. I think your feelings for me are genuine. But I also think you're enamored with my mysterious side. Learning all my secrets could be a double-edged sword, yeah? The more you know me, the less you may like me. The more you'll be drawn to the safe guy, the nice guy, the guy you trust.”

Beckett.

Heart full, I cradled his gorgeous face. “You're scared.”

“Cautious.”

“So we take it slow.”

“Feel our way.”

I looked into his eyes, listened to my heart. “We don't make sense, but we connect. We just have to find our rhythm.”

His lip twitched. “You're killing me, Sunshine.”

“Is that a good thing?”

He pressed his lips to mine—sweet, hot. “It means it's all about you.”

G
IVEN THE EMOTIONAL
ups and downs of today and my current cynicism regarding the entertainment industry, I really didn't expect to have a blast that night when I stepped on stage at the Corner Tavern. Color me surprised.

I didn't dwell on not knowing how Gish's bust went down. I celebrated that Gish was busted. I didn't dwell on Arch's past. I embraced the present.

Take it slow. Feel our way.

I celebrated my parents' love and their love for me.

I'm not sure if it was the live band, the appreciative audience or the vodka and cranberry—I'm thinking a combination—but I was flying high. Of course, I got an additional rush every time my parents applauded like crazed fans and Arch flashed a proud smile. For tonight, at least, I had the eye of the tiger.

I'd intended to sing two songs and ended up performing throughout the night. I jumped on and off stage, singing lead on assorted tunes but mostly singing backup. I have a good ear for harmonies. Love listening for the missing part and filling in the gap. Working with the other vocalists to create a rich, euphonic sound.
Teamwork.
When we did it right, I got the chills. Kind of like Chameleon. Everyone had their specialty, and I was learning to blend.

Magic.

Once in a while I eyeballed Jazzman to make sure he hadn't slit his wrists. This band was all country all the time. I took it as an encouraging sign that he actually seemed to enjoy the music. Maybe that meant he'd allow me to stretch out into genres other than jazz when I started singing at the Chameleon Club. At least I assumed that would be my main job once we wrapped the case with the senator—not that I'd heard much on the status of that sting other than Gina had won an invitation to that private high-stakes game. The thought of facing her, knowing that she'd slept with Arch, twisted my insides. I knew I'd come around—everybody has a past, right?—and I believed him when he said it was over, but it still hurt. Mostly because of the way I'd found out.

I pushed Michael from my mind, wondering what I'd ever seen in him. Currently I moved onto the dance floor with Nic. Her mood seemed lighter so long as she kept her distance from Beckett. I still didn't know what had happened between them, but I'm pretty sure she'd gotten busy with Tractor Boy. I'm pretty sure Beckett suspected the same. Not that she'd been subtle. She'd spent most of the night drinking and dancing with the local man, and he'd been darn attentive. To my parents and the rest of Greenville, it looked exactly as Arch had said: an affair gone bad. And now Nic was kissing up to another guy in order to make “Northbrook” jealous or angry. No one knew, including me, but plenty of people speculated, including me. It felt weird and uncomfortable, like an unscripted soap opera.

Beckett, who sat at a nearby table sipping beer, looked our way now and then. Mostly he ignored Nic—for show or for real, again I didn't know. On the surface he appeared the ultimate professional, concentrating on his job as watchdog for
the baron.
That article had kicked up quite a bit of interest. Just now, Arch was at the bar speaking with my parents. I tried not to obsess on what they were talking about.

“I'm leaving tomorrow.”

I blinked at Nic, danced closer. “What?”

“I said I'm leaving tomorrow,” she shouted in my ear as the band wailed on a kick-butt song. “Now that Gish is gone and things are square with your mom and dad…” She shrugged. “I flew out here because I thought you needed me. You don't. You're doing fine, Evie. In fact, I haven't seen you this happy, this optimistic, in a long time. I'm happy for you. Just promise you'll be careful.”

“Chameleon's not dangerous.”

“Maybe not. But juggling two men is.”

“I'm not—”

Tractor Boy cut in and stole Nic away. I stood there feeling dazed. The band segued into a slow song and someone pulled me into his arms. Beckett.

Crap.

He smelled good, not that I noticed. Okay, that's a lie. I just tried not to enjoy the light, spicy scent. Ditto on being pressed against his hard body. “You okay, Twinkie? Look like you've been hit by a truck.”

“Nic's leaving tomorrow.”

“It's for the best.”

I narrowed my eyes, tried to read his mind and his body language—and failed. “How so?”

“She's not one of us.”

Us?
The word, the hope that he now thought of me as one of
them,
a Chameleon, stuck in my throat.

He swayed in perfect time with the music. The man was a natural on the dance floor. “I haven't had a chance to tell you, but you did a nice job earlier today,” he said. “And yesterday, that bit with the memory card. I'm impressed.”

“Thanks.” I flushed, unsure as to whether I was uncomfortable with the compliment or the way his hands settled on my bare back. Of all nights to wear a halter top. His palms felt warm and strong. I remembered how I'd cried in his arms, the comfort he'd easily given. The safe guy, the nice guy, the guy I'd brought home to Mother.

My neck prickled with a nervous rash. “I haven't had two seconds with you since you returned from Indy. I'm dying to know—how did it go with your…cargo?”

His breath tickled my neck, intensified the rash. “Best have this discussion in private.”

My heart pounded in double-time. Details? Yeah, baby, yeah! But I didn't want to disappear without a word. “I'll meet you in the alley in two minutes.”

I breathed easier when he released me. Cripes, his touch was unnerving. Arch being sensitive to my
awareness
of Beckett only made it worse. He pushed through the crowd, making his way to the rear exit. I serpentined bodies and tables, heading for the bar. Several people stopped me, complimenting my singing and congratulating me on my regal hookup. The positive attention was a definite rush. It was tempting to bask in the celeb spotlight, but the promise of learning details regarding Gish won hands down.

I finally made it to the bar, but I didn't see Arch.

Mom breezed by carrying a tray of fries and wings. “They were swamped in the kitchen,” she said. “Thought I'd lend a hand. Be right back. Oh—Dwight Miller wants to know if you know ‘Freebird.'”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. I wondered if Mom even knew who Lynyrd Skynyrd was or that some wiseacre
always
requests that song. I remembered Dwight Miller from school. Definite wiseacre.

I shimmied between two patrons and flagged down Dad. My smile broadened. I was used to seeing him juggle papers and cash, not bottles of liquor. He leaned over the bar and shouted over the cacophony. “Can you believe this crowd?”

“After tonight, I bet you can expect more of the same. The renovations and the band are a hit, Dad.”

“You're a hit! You rocked the house, Evelyn.”

I laughed. “Where'd you hear talk like that?”

“The musicians.”

Now a lump clogged my throat. All my life I'd felt like the black sheep. Now suddenly, at forty-one, I felt like an accepted member of the Parish flock. Even Christopher had shown up for support.

In the past few weeks the dynamics of the relationships in my life had altered drastically. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed and discombobulated. “Where's Arch?”

“He had a phone call. Too loud in here. I told him to take it in my office.”

I ignored a flicker of jealousy, told myself he was talking to Woody or Tabasco, not the mysterious
Kate.
Not wanting to dwell, I pushed off the bar. “Gotta talk to someone, Dad. If Arch asks, I'll be in the alley.” I sort of hoped he didn't ask, because I didn't want him to deter Beckett from giving me a play-by-play. At the same time, I didn't want him wondering where Beckett and I were and thinking the worst.

The tavern was loud, crowded and hot. I was flustered and sweaty by the time I stepped outside. I found Beckett leaning against the banana-yellow exterior, just out of the wash of a security lamp, looking cool and collected.

My ears welcomed the relative quiet. My body welcomed the cool evening air. A breeze ruffled my hair, lifting damp strands from my neck. I sighed. “Feels great out here. I don't know about you, but I'm hot.”

“Definitely hot.”

Something in his tone caused my cheeks to burn. Self-conscious, I smoothed my damp palms over the seat of my jeans. Surely he didn't mean…I'd traded my sneakers for wedge sandals, and instead of a T-shirt I'd worn a paisley red-and-yellow halter top, but I was still relatively dressed down. And sweaty. “About Gish—” I said, wanting to home in on business.

“He's in the hands of the proper authorities. By tomorrow morning he'll be in Washington state. With any luck, there'll be a speedy trial and his crooked ass will soon be in prison.”

“That's good. That's great, but I was wondering…hoping you'd fill me in on the particulars. How did you get Gish to cooperate?”

“Manipulation. Intimidation. Didn't take much to convince him to pack a bag.”

“Guess you and Arch can be pretty scary when you want to be.”

“Let's just say we're good at what we do.”

My pulse accelerated as I imagined Chameleon's brightest tangling with shady criminals. I'd seen Arch in action during the Fish fiasco. “Sorry I missed the excitement.” The admission boomeranged and winged my sensibilities. What if Nic was right? Was I a thrill-seeking junkie?

“So are you.”

I focused back on Beckett. “Sorry?”

“You're good, Evie. I know you wanted to play a bigger part in the takedown, but you played your part perfectly. You didn't let ambition get in the way.”

I smiled a little, basking in his compliments. “I didn't crack out of turn.”

“No, you didn't.” He stepped away from the wall, into my personal space. “Heard from Gina a few minutes ago,” he said in a low voice. “She's positive Turner's cheating but isn't sure how. We've got our work cut out for us. Means hanging around this area awhile longer, perpetuating the baron ruse. Right now you're part of that, and your role could get more intense. If you're uncomfortable in any way, we could alter—”

“I'm not uncomfortable.” Okay, that's a lie. Personally and professionally, I felt like I was on the edge of something scary. But I didn't blush. I didn't scratch. “I'm up to this, Beckett.”

He studied me hard. “I think you are.”

“I just want you to know straight out, Arch and I…”

“I know. Complicates matters.”

“You don't like complications.”

“I'm a man of my word. You passed the audition, so to speak.”

My heart danced in my chest. “I'm in?”

“Don't get too excited. I'm not sure about the future of Chameleon.”

“But for now?”

“For now.”

I squealed and hugged him tight. “Thank you.” Overjoyed, I kissed him on the mouth. It was quick, innocent, but when I stepped away, he pulled me into his arms and…holy cow. There was nothing innocent about the way his mouth conquered mine.

I was stunned.

I was curious.

I needed to know that Arch was wrong. That Beckett wasn't a threat. I didn't encourage the kiss exactly, but I didn't refuse when his tongue teased open my lips. I waited for it. The white-hot
zing-zap.
No
zap
but definite
zing.

Crap.

Panicked, I pushed out of his arms…and saw Arch.

Double crap.

Arms crossed over his chest, he raised one brow. “Feeling your way, yeah?”

“It's not what you think,” I blurted.

He glanced at Beckett. “I'm thinking the better man made his play.”

“He didn't…we didn't…I was excited.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

“I didn't mean it like that!” Flustered, my thoughts tripped over one another. I turned pleading eyes on Beckett. “Would you please explain? Tell him he's wrong. Tell him you didn't—”

“I can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because I did.”

I blinked, speechless.

“I knew this would happen sooner or later,” Arch said in an eerily calm voice. “I was just hoping on later.” He uncrossed his arms, clenched his fists.

“Go ahead,” Beckett said. “Take your best shot. I would.”

Instead Arch raised his hands in surrender. “Fuck it. It's as it should be, yeah?”

“Just like that you're giving up on me? On us?” My words came out in a croaked whisper. Stunned and crushed, I went toe to toe with the man. “I can't believe you just passed me off to your best friend.”