Confidence Tricks (26 page)

“That’s because Natalie relies heavily on manufactured looks. She’s a sucker for supportive undergarments—you have no idea how much a good pair of Spanx transforms a woman.”

“And Poppy? What makes her the way she is?”

“You’ve been to the Pit, seen her police record,” Poppy said quietly. “You tell me.”

Caution warned Asprey against his natural instinct, which was to swoop Poppy into his arms, refusing to let go until she realized that a person was so much more than the sum parts of his or her upbringing. But he had the feeling such obvious tactics would cause immediate—and potentially permanent—damages. “You’ve been to the house I grew up in, seen me at the offices of Charles Appraisals and Insurance,” he finally responded. “Is that all I am?”

She stepped back and took him in, from the top of his head—yes, he was willing to admit, with a little product in his hair—to his feet, which boasted a pair of gray suede dress shoes. His brothers had always called his careful grooming shallow and self-serving, and maybe it was. But if Poppy could be more than teal cowboy boots dreamt of since girlhood, then so could he.

“I guess not.”

“Thank you,” he replied, although he wasn’t exactly sure what he was thanking her for. For agreeing, maybe. For being the first person who didn’t laugh him out of the room when he admitted he wanted to be seen as more than a nice pair of shoes. “Now—are we ready to go lure Cindy VanHuett into our trap?”

“I’m ready if you are.” Poppy straightened and buttoned up the suit jacket, falling once again into her Lucy Higgenbottom role. She scooped up the dog, not the least bit ruffled when he let out a low growl. “I’m going to use my natural charm and this lovely little guy to earn her trust.”

“Yes.”

“So we can find a way into her apartment to steal a painting that isn’t actually worth anything because it’s a forgery.”

“Yes.”

“That your company will then pay out a huge lump sum to cover, because you are responsible for insuring it.”

“Until the end of this month, yes.” He nodded firmly. “And just because you aren’t phrasing these as questions doesn’t mean they don’t count.”

She ignored him, but he was keeping track. Oh yes—he was keeping track. “Didn’t Graff say that painting is worth like ten million dollars or something?”

“Thereabouts.”

“I’m no business expert, but won’t that kind of damage ruin your company? I know you guys are rich and all, but when thrown on top of all the rest of the thefts, that’s an awful lot of money. Wouldn’t it make more sense to steal the painting
after
you don’t insure it anymore?”

“Yes, it would,” he agreed. He was absurdly pleased at how close she was to figuring him out. All the secrets were beginning to chafe. “Yet here we are, getting ready to launch the final stage of our plans.”

He could see the last of the pieces clicking into place, her large, expressive eyes growing even larger, her smile crooked and charming even in the Lucy Higgenbottom disguise. “You guys are ruining your own company on purpose.”

He gave a slight bow. “And that, Ms. Higgenbottom, is all you’re getting out of me today.”

Poppy held both dogs by the scruffs of their necks, her arms flung wide. For such tiny animals, the dogs packed a powerful punch as they wriggled and strained to attack, Gunner’s teeth bared as he fought to defend his new mistress against a larger foe.

The dog was scrappy. Poppy was already well on her way to liking the little guy, but now?
Love.
Gunner had her back.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” the woman, Cindy VanHuett, cried. She clipped forward at the pace perfected by women in tight skirts and high heels, her arms outstretched. “I don’t know what got into Jasmine. She’s normally so sweet.”

Poppy surveyed the yappy puff of fur, which wriggled in its attempt to continue devouring Gunner’s flesh, and forced herself to smile. “I’m sure it’s just her natural instinct. Say what they will about pit bulls and Rottweilers, there is no dog more loyal to her owner than a Bichon.”

Poppy had no idea if that was true or not, but Cindy beamed as if she’d given birth to the creature herself. She gathered up her dog with a coo, soothing it as only a mother could.

Poppy thought about offering the same maternal comforts to Gunner, but his enormous eyes warned her against that kind of emotion. He was full of opinions, that dog. She’d tried putting him in a cute miniature bomber jacket earlier, but he would have none of it. No sooner had she gotten one leg in the tiny, stitched jacket hole than the other three popped out and he let out an almost maniacal bark, daring her to try again.

“It’s okay, little man.” She set him near a rock instead, which he took a profound interest in circling and smelling. “We’ll do it your way.”

“I’m Lucy,” she said, addressing Cindy and sticking out her hand. “And that down there is Gunner.”

“Cindy,” the other woman said. She was younger looking than Poppy had expected. According to the eerily detailed dossier Asprey had given her, she was thirty-eight, but in the clear light of day, she had the flawless skin of a much younger woman. It probably had something to do with all the tension holding her together, like her limbs were attached to a demanding puppeteer who kept her in a constant state of readiness. “And my precious is called Jasmine.”

“Hello, Jasmine,” Poppy said brightly, giving the dog her hand to sniff. It wasn’t impressed, watery eyes examining her for flaws and finding plenty.

Knowing that winning over the dog was secondary to winning over the woman, she backed away and offered Cindy an apologetic shrug. “Maybe she doesn’t like my scent.” She could see Asprey off in the distance, doing a fairly convincing job at watching a pair of blue jays flirting in the trees, and added, “I use a strawberry shampoo I’ve been told is rather overpowering.”

“That’s…nice,” Cindy said unconvincingly.

Poppy was beginning to see why they brought her on for this job. Cindy VanHuett was a tough nut to crack, and they were looking at a pretty short timeline to build her trust and find a way inside her private residence. If this was
her
mark, she’d have started having these chance meetings weeks ago, made it less obvious that she wanted inside and near that painting, more like a normal relationship between two women with a shared love of tiny canines.

But Cindy wasn’t her mark. She was just a pawn in an attempt to bring a century-old, multimillion dollar company to its knees.

What the hell had she gotten herself into?

For the first time, her attraction to Asprey wasn’t the biggest problem here. This whole thing screamed of run-away-and-don’t-ever-look-back, made her feel like the heroine in a horror movie everyone knows at the outset is going to get killed by the end of the first act.

And if it wasn’t for being so close to finishing Todd, she might just do that—run away, offer up a bloodcurdling scream and make her grand exit.

No you wouldn’t. You love this.

Cindy frowned as Poppy continued warring with her conscience, so she jumped back into action, peering close to the dog’s face and asking, “Oh dear. Is Jasmine supposed to be eating that?”

“What? What is it?” Distracted, Cindy turned the dog to face her, whisking a finger inside the animal’s mouth like one of those saving-a-baby-from-choking videos. “Did she swallow it?”

“Here. Let me.” Poppy stabilized herself with a hand on Cindy’s arm and pretended to examine between the Bichon’s teeth, which looked to be in much better repair than most human’s.

“Oh, good. It’s just a twig.” She pretended to flick something to the ground.

The deception worked. Cindy hugged the dog closer and flashed Poppy a grateful smile. The woman wasn’t exactly
thawing
to her, exactly, but at least her face wasn’t pulled in that unhealthy-looking pinch anymore.

“I’m sure I seem really silly…” Cindy began.

Poppy waved her hand. “Not at all. Gunner once had a gum infection and I had to chew up all his food for him. It’s what we parents do.”

Too much?
Cindy didn’t seem to have a reply to that admittedly bizarre statement, and she checked her watch nervously.

“I’m so sorry,” Poppy said quickly. She’d done all she could for the time being, and it was better not to overplay her hand at the start. “I’m probably keeping you. Gunner and I just moved in to an apartment across the way, so I foresee quite a bit of this park in our future. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

“I’d like that,” Cindy said slowly. “Have a good day, um, Lucy, right?”

“That’s me!” Poppy called brightly. She waved her fingers in a gesture of farewell. “Toodles.”

She watched the woman rush away, her head bent over the dog and a hesitant hitch in her step. That woman had enough money to hang a ten-million-dollar painting—albeit one that happened to be a fake—in her apartment, yet she looked a lot less happy in her own skin than anyone Poppy knew.

“Well, Gunner, that wasn’t so bad.” Poppy let the dog finish investigating his rock before tugging his leash in the opposite direction. “But that woman is going to be harder to soften than Asprey thinks.”

She felt for her pocket and smiled. Good thing she always had a back-up plan.

“What was that all about?” Asprey asked later, meeting her at their rendezvous spot. Instead of a sock-puppet vendor, they’d opted for a hot-dog stand on a rotating schedule this time. It was the kind of place no one ever knew how to find in advance, but all it took was a few questions and you could make your way there. The hot dogs were supposedly that good.

Poppy wouldn’t know—Gunner had eaten every last bite of hers.

“I thought the plan was to make contact with Cindy,” he added. “Not to sic your dog on her.”

“Maybe you should have chosen a more personable pet, then,” Poppy replied. She tugged on the leash as they rose and began walking a few blocks to the parking lot where they’d left the car. No motorcycle this time—just Graff’s sensibly overpriced Lexus. “And relax. I grabbed Cindy’s wallet out of her purse. I’ll stop by her apartment to return it when you guys are ready to launch the next phase. We’ll be BFFs in no time.”

Asprey stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, studying her. “That’s so simple it’s almost genius.”

She kept walking. “It’s not genius, Asprey. It’s one of the oldest cons in the book. A returned wallet—with all the money intact—builds instant trust. It’s way more effective than a series of lunch dates and chance meetings walking the dog in the park like you guys had planned, believe me.”

He let out a low whistle and shook his head. “I think maybe bringing you onto our team was the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

Poppy laughed, absurdly pleased by the misdirected compliment. “You won’t get an argument from me on that one. But let’s not forget—I’m not on your team if I don’t know all the facts. Including
why
.” Why did their company insure forgeries? And why, unless it was part of their perverse sibling rivalry against Winston, would they try to ruin their own company?

He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and cast her a sidelong look. “It’s my turn to ask questions. Remember?”

“Thin-crust pizza with pineapples and green peppers,” she announced, resigned. “Chocolate-covered strawberries. Virgo. Yesterday I was a cat person, but Gunner might have changed my mind for good on that one. I can’t swim, but I love the ocean. You’ve seen me around an opossum. What am I missing?”

“I think you know.”

She halted.
Damn him.
“The jail situation was complicated, Asprey, and it’s not just my story to tell. If it were only me…”

“Then don’t tell me.” He shrugged and kept walking. “We can go to the ocean instead. And not swim.”

But the second she started walking again, she knew it was already too late. Every day spent in this man’s company pushed her guard down a few more inches, made her feel a little bit more like an abandoned airport was close to home. She was breaking all the rules.
Worse
—even knowing that trust was the one thing she couldn’t afford, she continued to slip further and further under his warm, magnetic, impossibly delicious spell.

Never get involved on the job.

One of these days, she’d be smart enough to take her own advice.

Chapter Eighteen

“Holy shit, Poppy—are you dating an actor?”

“What? No.” Poppy watched Asprey, who crouched on the ground jiggling a stuffed bunny to make it look alive, and frowned. Jenny was eating it up, her giggles muffling the conversation she and Bea shared across the room. “Why would you think that?”

“That’s the guy, the one you were looking at online a few weeks ago.”

Damn.
She’d forgotten about that. “Yeah, um, I might have been lying about that.”

“Poppy…”

“I know, I know.” She raised her hands and shot her friend a beseeching look. “I promised you I wouldn’t lie and that we would take some time, just the two of us. But I wasn’t ready to talk about him yet. I wasn’t ready to talk about jail yet.”

One of Bea’s brows rose. “And now all of a sudden you are? Because of him?”

Poppy took a deep breath and examined the man in question. He glanced through a fallen piece of hair and smiled at her, and her breath caught before she could finish. Squatting on the dinged apartment floor in part one of a three-piece suit, the glinting watch on his wrist worth more than Poppy’s car and all of Bea’s worldly possessions combined. On any other man, she’d have called it overdone and ridiculous—but on Asprey? It was just who he was. Money and ease and charm and high-class heists that revolved around painters whose names she could barely pronounce.
Why him? Why now?