“Parker,” Nate repeated.
“Okay, okay.” She bookmarked her page and put the phone away. “This is all Sophie’s fault, you know.”
If Sophie hadn’t urged her to give literature a chance, she would’ve never gotten hooked on Gavin’s book, and needed to know, right this very minute, whether Dmitri was actually a double agent and who had really poisoned the Belgian ambassador…
“You can read the rest later,” Sophie promised. “But we’re on a timetable here.”
“Fine,” Parker said irritably. “I’m on it.”
She unclipped a hacksaw from her belt.
The crash woke Brad from a dream in which all three Kardashians were auditioning for a role in the Assassins movie. Jolted upright, he gasped out loud in the darkened master bedroom, which was at least twice the size of his old apartment in Poughkeepsie. He fumbled for the light by the bed while he tried to figure out what had just happened.
He listened intently to the sleeping house. In theory, he had all thirty-plus rooms to himself, despite his best efforts to convince those strippers to stay for the weekend. A fierce autumn wind howled outside, but the house itself sounded quiet. Had he only imagined the crash?
A second crash, only slightly smaller than the first, shot that comforting notion to hell. He jumped at the sound of glass or china shattering downstairs.
“What the—”
A beer belly hung over his saggy boxer shorts. He got out of bed and threw on a red silk dressing gown before creeping to the security control panel mounted on the wall. According to the lighted LED display, all the doors and windows were secure, but clearly something had caused a ruckus downstairs. So how come the motion sensors hadn’t gone off?
He considered hitting the panic button, but hesitated. He had been having a bit of a private party earlier. Had he put all the booze and blow away before he’d called it a night? Maybe he ought to take a look-see himself before he had a bunch of rent-a-cops traipsing through the place?
Just to avoid any awkward moments.
His parole officer frowned on firearms in the house, so he grabbed the baseball bat he kept under the bed. His heart pounding fast enough to make him wish he had watched his cholesterol, he tiptoed out of the bedroom and snuck down the hall to the top of the grand stairway. He gasped at the sight of the expensive chandelier lying in pieces on the tiled floor of the foyer. Twisted metal and shattered crystal shards littered the marble tiles. A severed chain dangled from the ceiling.
“Jeez!”
His voice echoed in the empty house. The wind rattled the walls. It occurred to him that maybe there was no intruder, that the chandelier had just shook itself loose from its moorings. And that the second crash had simply been some stray piece of crystal shattering a few moments later.
He let out a sigh of relief, followed by a flash of exasperation. He had paid a good chunk of Gavin’s movie money for this place; it shouldn’t be falling apart on him. Talk about shoddy workmanship, he thought indignantly. I could have been killed!
Somebody was getting an angry call tomorrow, if he even waited that long. And that was just for starters; he ought to sue somebody, too.
He paused at the top of the stairs, uncertain what to do next. His inclination was to go back to bed and let the cleaning woman deal with the mess in the morning. That was what he paid her for, after all.
Then he noticed a light was on in the den downstairs. An amber glow seeped out the doorway, which was cracked partway open. Had he turned off the lamp before turning in? He honestly couldn’t remember. Searching his memory, he remembered what else was in the den.
Oh crap, he thought. The safe.
The wall safe hidden in the den held plenty of valuables, including gold, jewels, and a substantial quantity of cash, not to mention his passport, fake IDs, and anything else he might need to make a quick getaway. He was living the good life now, thanks to little brother’s unintended generosity, but Brad hadn’t quite shaken the habit of always having an escape route ready, just in case things went south and he needed to clear out in a hurry.
Plus, he didn’t trust banks. Bunch of crooks, all of them.
“Crap, crap, crap,” he muttered. Greed overcame caution as he hurried down the stairs, barely remembering to turn off the ground-floor motion sensors first. Barefoot, he stepped gingerly through the strewn crystal slivers. Bat in hand, he shoved open the door and advanced cautiously into the den.
“Hello?” A tremor in his voice betrayed his unease. “There had better not be anybody in here.”
The glow from a desk lamp illuminated the den, which appeared to be unoccupied. Brad’s eyes searched the room, seeing only shelves of classy-looking hardcover books, all of which had come with the furnishings. A pin-up calendar, tacked to a bulletin board, was his own addition to the decor, as was a deluxe glass-lined humidor full of pricey cigars. Worrisome shadows cloaked the far corners of the room, beyond the radiance of the lamp. A broken vase lay in pieces upon the hardwood floor.
“Hello? Anybody there?”
His gaze went to the phony encyclopedia set that usually hid the safe. To his dismay, he saw that the cast-iron door of the safe was wide open, exposing the contents. His heart missed a beat.
“No, no… !”
He glanced around one more time, to make sure nobody was lying in ambush, before dashing over to the violated safe. He rifled quickly through the stacks of cash, travelers checks, and other assets. Much to his surprise, everything still seemed to be accounted for. Even his stash of recreational pharmaceuticals had been left alone. On closer inspection, he discovered only one item was missing: the thumb drive that bitch of an agent had given him in Frankfurt. He scratched his balding head in confusion.
“What the hell?”
“Looking for something?” a female voice asked from above and behind.
His heart nearly jumped out of his chest. He spun around in time to see a skinny blonde drop nimbly from the ceiling, where she must have been hiding all this time. Her slender form was squeezed into a matte-black jumpsuit. She was cute enough, if you didn’t mind getting scared shitless.
“Jesus, lady!” he blustered. “Who the heck are you?”
“Took you long enough,” she said. “I was afraid I was going to have to smash every breakable in the house.”
He noticed belatedly that she was holding a ceramic ashtray in her hand. She tossed it to the floor, where it shattered loudly.
“Stop that!” His nerves couldn’t take much more of this. He waved the baseball bat in the blonde’s direction. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
He yanked open a desk drawer with his free hand and groped for the Colt .45 he kept hidden there, parole officer or no parole officer. Trembling fingers searched fruitlessly for the pistol.
The blonde brought a hand out from behind her back. Gloved fingers gripped the missing gun.
“Why don’t you drop the bat,” she suggested.
He did as he was told. The wooden bat clattered to the floor.
“That’s better.” She removed the stolen thumb drive from her pocket and lobbed it over to him. “Now we can talk.”
“I don’t understand.” He tried to remember if he still owed any loan sharks or bookies anything. He thought he’d paid off all his debts with the early proceeds from Gavin’s book, but it was possible he had forgotten somebody. There had been a lot of markers to pay off. “What’s this all about?”
“A demonstration,” she explained, “of just how easily we can get past your security… or anybody else’s.”
“We?”
He glanced around in confusion.
“Maybe it would be better if I let my partner explain.”
As a rule, Parker preferred simple breaking and entering to grifting. With Sophie’s help, she’d gotten better at playing a role—why, she hadn’t broken character and stabbed a mark in months!—but she was glad that she didn’t have to work Brad all by herself. Let somebody else deliver the sales
pitch.
“Partner?” he echoed.
“Check your computer.”
He belatedly noticed the laptop sitting open on his desk. It hummed in hibernation mode. He poked a key experimentally.
“Ah, Mr. Lee,” Hardison Skyped. “Good of you to join us, mate.”
Brad collapsed into a chair in front of the computer. He glowered at the screen. “And you are?”
“Jones,” Hardison introduced himself. “Cyrano Jones.” Parker thought she recognized the name from one of the old sci-fi shows Hardison had made her watch. He affected a Cockney accent for the occasion. He was proud of the accent and used it every chance he got. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, as it were.”
“Enough with the damn games!” Brad said, his temper flaring. “What do you want?”
“To make you aware of our services,” Hardison said, “and perhaps assist you in resolving your present difficulties.”
“What difficulties? What are you talking about?”
“Let’s not be coy, Mr. Lee. We know all about the sequel… and who currently has it in their possession.” He flashed a winning smile. “My partner and I are prepared to remedy that situation—for a substantial fee.”
Brad didn’t waste time with denials.
“Yeah, right. What do I need you for?”
“Well, we got to your valuables easily enough, didn’t we? We can get you the sequel just as readily, if you’ll let us.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that,” Hardison promised. “And, as a bonus, we can straighten out your problems with Ms. Gallo once and for all.”
Despite Brad’s belligerent attitude, Parker caught a flicker of interest in his piggy, bloodshot eyes. Brad toyed with the thumb drive, rolling it between his pudgy fingers. She could tell he was hooked.
Nice, she thought.
For once, the mark was going to think the crew was working for him!
| | | | | | SIX | | | | | |
MANHATTAN
“So there was this douche-bag lieutenant that was getting on everybody’s last nerve. Somehow a dose of CS powder ended up in the heater of his rag-top Jeep, so when he fired it up, he got some serious tear-gas air-conditioning!”
“Oh my God.” Denise cracked up at the story. She wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Wow. I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. Or cried for any reason except… you know.”
She and Eliot were trading stories over dinner at Gavin’s favorite Italian restaurant in the Village. Candlelight cast a warm glow over the table. Chamber music played softly in the background. An open bottle of wine rested on the table between them. The dinner was something of a private memorial for Gavin, since Eliot had been unable to attend the actual service. Henri’s seemed like the perfect location.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
A somber mood fell over the table, threatening to dispel the good spirits and humor of the moment before. A melancholy distance entered Denise’s eyes as she toyed with the compass around her neck. He had never seen her without the keepsake.
Eliot raised a glass of red wine. “To Gavin.”
“To Gavin.” She clinked her glass against Eliot’s. “And good friends.”
Less than a day had passed since Parker’s nocturnal invasion of Brad’s mansion. The crew had set up shop in a suite at a midtown hotel, but Eliot had taken the night off to spend this time with Denise. His earbud rested, inactive, in his pocket. It was off duty, too.
“So how is the operation going?” she asked.
“It’s going,” he said, not volunteering any details. He knew she had to be curious, but in general, it wasn’t a good idea to let clients get too close to the con while it was under way. They were too emotionally involved, and not accustomed to working outside the law. It was better, and less messy, to keep them at a distance until the job was done.
Most of the time, at least.
Eliot suspected that Nate didn’t approve of his socializing with Denise like this. And he probably had a point; Eliot recalled his own thoughts on the importance of keeping one’s personal life personal and divorced from the job. He was breaking his own rule here.
“And?” she prompted.
“Everything’s going according to plan.” He nodded at her plate, hoping to change the subject. “How’s your rigatoni?”
She frowned at his reticence, but did not press the issue. He guessed she didn’t want to spoil their dinner.
“Delicious,” she raved. “The pasta came out perfectly al dente, and the broccoli and cauliflower are cooked just right. Crisp, but tender.” She waved her fork at his plate. “How’s yours?”
“Not bad.” He’d gone with the pork cutlets with pine nuts and prosciutto. “I would have gone a little easier on the capers, and maybe sliced the prosciutto even thinner before wrapping it around the cutlets, but I can’t complain. It’s still damn good cooking. I can see why you like this place. They know what they’re doing.”
“Whoa,” she said. “Who knew you were such a foodie? I’m impressed.”
“Hey, I make a pretty mean rigatoni myself. And you should taste my tagliolini con asparagi.” He prided himself on his culinary skills, which were considerable. “There’s more to me than just hitting people.”
“Yes, I’m getting that impression.”
She gazed warmly at him across the table, and he experienced the same mixed feelings he had tangled with back in that hotel room in Boston. The candlelight flattered her emerald eyes and red hair. Her fair complexion seemed to glow with its own special radiance. He found himself wishing that they had met under different circumstances. She was a woman worth knowing better.
“Well, I’m no Gavin,” he said.
She gave him a cryptic look. “You don’t have to be.”
Eliot wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
The waiter cleared their plates away, then returned with the check. Eliot snatched it the minute it hit the table. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned her before she could reach for her purse. “This is on me.”
Denise didn’t argue the point. “Far be it from me to wrestle a professional butt kicker for the check. Thanks.”
Putting on their coats, they stepped out into the cold night air. Cars and pedestrians filled the bustling streets and sidewalks. Horns honked at every intersection. Neon signs cast colored shadows onto the pavement. It was a crisp, clear night. A crescent moon could be glimpsed through the looming skyscrapers. An autumn breeze rustled Denise’s hair.
“Brrr.” She hugged herself to keep warm. “Feels like winter’s coming.”
He resisted the temptation to put his arm around her. “Yeah, it’s a bit nippy.”
Her apartment was only a few blocks away, he knew. He had never been there, but after all that had happened, the address was burned into his brain. Once again, he wished that he had found time to visit while Gavin was still around.
“Walk me home?” she asked.
“Try and stop me.”
They headed downtown, walking side by side. Eliot counted down the blocks, feeling a certain tension grow the nearer they got to her place. He wondered what might happen when they reached the home she had once shared with Gavin. He wondered what he wanted to happen. None of this was part of the plan.
“You sure you can’t tell me more about what you and your friends are up to?” she pried. “Just so I’m not completely in the dark?”
“Trust me. The less you know the better.”
She let out a rueful chuckle. “Now you do sound like Gavin.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” She took his arm. “I know you’re just looking out for me, like he did.”
He didn’t want to think about Gavin right now, and he felt bad for feeling that way. He owed Gavin his life. But what do I owe Denise—and the job?
They crossed Greenwich Avenue. Coffee shops, art galleries, and vintage clothing shops were shutting down for the evening. T
hey jaywalked against the light like true New Yorkers. Eliot thought he knew the way, so he was surprised when, as they came to a corner, she abruptly tugged him to the right.
“No,” she said forcefully. “Not that way.”
He mentally kicked himself. They were nearing the intersection where Gavin had been run down. No wonder she wanted to take a detour.
“All right,” he said.
A somewhat roundabout route brought them to a converted brownstone on a quiet side street. A concrete stoop led up to the front entrance. The lights on the third floor were dark. An old woman walking a dog strolled past the corner, but otherwise they had the sidewalk to themselves. Eliot wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.
“Well, here we are,” she said.
“Looks like it.”
Despite the October chill, they lingered at the foot of the stoop. An unspoken possibility lingered as well. His gaze darted to the darkened apartment above, then back to Denise. Were they ready to go there?
Should they?
She let go of his arm and turned to face him. Her warm breath frosted before her lips. A wool scarf was wrapped around her neck.
“Tonight was nice,” she said. “I needed that.”
“Yeah. I had a good time, too.”
He wasn’t usually tongue-tied around women, but this was different. Denise was a client… and Gavin’s all but widow. It had only been six months since Gavin’s death. His memory hung in the shrinking space between them.
“Do you…” She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Do you want to come inside?”
You know I do, he thought, but held back. Denise was still grieving and vulnerable. He didn’t want to take advantage of that, even if she wanted him to. “Not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Her face fell. “I see.”
“It’s not that—” He searched for the right words. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings. “It’s just that… you know.”