Confidence Tricks (4 page)

But he didn’t put it past her.

“So what do you want?” Graff asked, his hands still up. “The necklace? Money?”

“Both of those sound great,” she said. “But first, I think we should all sit down and have a little chat.”

“I wouldn’t tell you anything even if you ripped off both of my brother’s—” Graff began.

“Done,” Asprey intervened. He turned to Graff. “What? It’s easy for you to play fast and loose with my body parts. You’re not the one in desperate need of painkillers right now.”

Natalie looked back and forth between the two of them, a bemused expression on her face. “You guys are for real. This isn’t some crazy joke. You’re this bad at it.”

“You have no idea,” Tiffany muttered. She pulled the headphones up over her ears and turned to the computer. In any other hostage-like situation, this would have been a perfect opportunity to alert the authorities via email or send out a plea for help in Morse code or something. Not Tiffany. She was probably uploading viruses into the FBI website or, as she called it, a regular Tuesday afternoon.

“Did you still want that tea?” Asprey asked, standing and brushing dust from his clothes. Like it or not, they were in this now.

And he liked it. God help him, he liked
her
. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun.

“You don’t have anything stronger?”

Asprey laughed. They could probably all use a drink right about now. “How do you feel about scotch?” He motioned at one of their tables of loot. “I’ve got a sixty-four-year-old Maccallan over there that recently sold at auction for about thirty grand.”

Natalie’s jaw fell open. “That you stole?”

Graff’s voice rumbled, but Asprey ignored him, striding over to the table of goods and grabbing the bottle with a flourish. “It’s single barrel.”

“I was wrong,” she said, her face breaking out in a grin. There she was again, unassuming and almost benign. She grabbed the bottle and inspected it, taking off the top and giving it a tentative sniff. “I guess maybe you guys aren’t as bad at this as I thought.”

Chapter Three

“This tastes like regular scotch.” Poppy frowned into her glass, swirling the amber liquid. “It should be illegal—the way those high-end companies try to pass this stuff off as something it’s not.”

Asprey coughed heavily, not stopping until the youngish-looking woman, Tiffany, poured him some more of the alcohol. They’d pulled a few folding chairs and one hugely ornate yellow throne into a circle in the middle of the airport hangar, making it feel cavernous and informal at the same time. It was like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, except instead of drinking coffee and divulging life stories, they were swilling scotch that cost more than a kidney and sharing a mutual distrust that had her adrenaline pump set on high.

It felt
good
. There were guns and stolen goods and one palpably angry man, and all Poppy could think was how happy she felt to be a part of it all.

“Look—I’d love to sit here and chitchat all day,” the brother, Graff, drawled, looking full of neither love nor chitchat. “But can we get on with this?”

It was clear they were all siblings, now that she could see them in the full light of day and no one hid behind a face mask. Graff was obviously the oldest and meanest of the bunch, but both men had the same dark hair, defined facial features and signature dimple right in the middle of their chins—those dimples that always looked incredible on a man and made women look like John Travolta in drag. Tiffany had been spared the chin, but her long hair was a similar dark hue and she had the same bright, intelligent blue eyes that never seemed to stop dancing.

Graff’s hair was shorn and brusque, his movements much the same way. Asprey, on the other hand, with his long, lean torso and well-tailored clothes, could only be described as languid—of movement, of meaning, of purpose. Except when he smiled, which he did often, revealing deep laugh lines.

She straightened. Smiles were not her objective here.

This was about the job—not the strange way Asprey made it seem as though life were one big joke and she was seconds away from hearing the punch line. Good-looking men who laughed in the face of pain weren’t a good sign.

Her ability to inflict pain was one of the only advantages she had in this world. She wasn’t about to give it up that easily.

“I want you to tell me about Todd,” she said, directing her attention to Asprey. Based on her reception so far, he seemed the most likely to tell her what she wanted to know. “More specifically, why were you after the necklace?”

The brothers shared a glance that spoke volumes and in a language she understood well.
Don’t tell the common folk any more than you have to.
It was something she’d heard far too often in her twenty-five years of existence.

“I’m not stupid,” she pointed out, frowning at her glass, now half empty. She should probably lay off the liquor if she intended to get out of this with the information she needed. Setting the glass on the concrete floor, she added, “That job was planned down to the last detail. You knew we were headed out to Le Petit Âne for dinner and that I’d be wearing the necklace. You had our arrival timed to the minute and knew how many of us would be in the car. You also planned to hold us up miles from help, which gave you plenty of time to get away.”

“Well, we
are
thieves,” Asprey said. “I’ve heard that getting caught tends to result in unpleasant consequences.”

You have no idea
. With his fancy shoes and polished speech, Asprey was the last man on earth who knew what it was like to live in the same room as your toilet. She ignored him and went for the one thing that bothered her more than anything else. “More importantly, even though you took the necklace, you didn’t even glance at Todd’s diamond tie pin.”

“Fake,” Asprey said confidently. Graff growled low in his throat. “What? The tie pin was a fake, Graff. I could tell from where my face was planted in the ground.”

“Sorry about that,” Poppy said, not meaning a word.

Asprey obviously knew it. He inclined his head a little and grinned, giving her a glimpse of the raw scrapes just underneath his stubble. It was sexy stubble, all dark and masculine and the right texture that would graze against her skin but not scratch it.

She forced herself to focus about a foot above his head. She did
not
get involved in the middle of a con—no matter how cute the other players were. That was the first rule.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, happy to note that Asprey’s eyes followed. He obviously didn’t play by the same rules, and that was fine. The control in this situation was all hers. “So you’re not just crappy thieves. You’re crappy thieves with a clear target and the ability to appraise jewelry. What gives?”

“We’re not telling you anything,” Graff bit off. The man had a serious chip on his shoulder. “You’re lucky we don’t load that shotgun and blow your pretty little head off.”

“And you’re lucky I haven’t turned you over to the police,” she returned. “This isn’t my first time invading enemy territory. I left this address and a written statement about the theft with my friend. She won’t hesitate to turn them over if I miss our pedicure this afternoon.”

It wasn’t true, of course. Bea would be devastated if she had any idea what kind of situation Poppy was placing herself in right now.

“Oh, I like this woman,” Tiffany murmured.

“This can’t be happening,” Graff grumbled. A look of defeat crossed his brow. It was irritated and ominous and filled Poppy with a sense of pure elation.

“What exactly is your problem?” she persisted. “If you ask me, I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I gave you the necklace when it was clear I could have walked away with both it and your brother’s head under my arm.”

“Hey now!” Asprey called, though it was said with a good-natured undertone. Was the man never ruffled? “I was being a gentleman. I
let
you win.”

Poppy ignored him and held up her fingers, ticking off the rest. “I told the police some stupid story about being scared and not remembering anything about the robbery when I could have just as easily turned you over. I came all this way—on foot—to return the wallet. And instead of blasting this place open and stealing everything you have on clear display, which, by the way, is a really stupid place to keep it, I’m sitting here, willing to negotiate. This old chair is really uncomfortable. Did you steal it too?”

Graff’s eyes brightened dangerously, and he pressed his hands on either leg as though preventing himself from strangling her right then and there. Poppy made note and moved closer to the edge of the chair. She might have the situation well in hand right now, but there was no telling how quickly things could change.

Never let your guard down. That was rule number two.

“Don’t mind Graff,” Asprey said, laughing. “He hates everyone. Especially women who are smarter and stronger than he is.”

Poppy arched a brow. “Flattery?”

“Truth,” he said firmly. “Now. Since you, as you so delicately put it, have been the soul of conciliation, what can we do for you?”

“Why Todd?”

Asprey opened his mouth, but Graff interrupted. “He’s rich.”

“So?” Poppy shifted so she faced the other brother. Now that Asprey had pointed out his brother’s hatred of women, she could see it. It was in the predatory way he moved, the way his smile twisted off at one end as if it were almost painful. A man with that kind of look was dangerous.

It wasn’t very feminist of her, but Poppy would be the first to admit that a large portion of her success in any con situation was thanks to the innate reserve most men carried against harming a woman. It was a reserve composed of equal parts deference and disbelief. Deference to her vagina; disbelief that said vagina was anything but a handicap in life.

If Graff saw her as a real threat, that definitely changed the balance of things.

Poppy sat up a little straighter. “There are lots of rich men in Seattle. Many of them richer than him. Why Todd?”

“He’s rich
and
he wastes his money on low-class pieces of ass like you. That good enough?”

“Graff,” Asprey warned.

“Oh, he can be a dick all he wants,” Poppy offered. She stared at Graff, her whole body tense. “As long as he gives me back that necklace. It was a gift, and I’m feeling very sentimental about it. You know how women can get over gifts, all emotional and unstable.”

“I won’t do it.”

She rose to her feet, careful to make slow movements across the cracked cement floor, both threatening and nonthreatening as the heels of her favorite boots made echoing clicks. “Oh, I think you will. Look—I respect the gig you’ve got going here. You obviously put a lot of time into your fledgling criminal career, and I’m all for reaping the rewards of the work you do. I’m no narc, and I promise not to ask any questions about this giant pile of stolen goods—provided you comply. I’ve put more legwork into Todd Kennick than you have, and I want that necklace back.”

Graff snorted. “Legwork? Is that what you call it?”

“Jesus, Graff.” Tiffany shook her head, an apology in each movement. “At least she’s being polite about it.”

“Thank you,” Poppy said, though his words didn’t rattle her. Poppy had long subscribed to the sticks-and-stones motto. Words couldn’t hurt her…but Todd
had
. “I need that necklace. All I want is a single string of pearls, and I’m out of your life forever. It’s that simple.”

The three siblings shared a look then, and it was the first time Poppy felt that maybe she was out of her element coming here like this. There was no malice in their look—no antagonism or furtive moves toward the artillery near the door. It was almost regret, like the situation was out of their hands and luck was out of hers.

“What?” She looked back and forth between them. “What are you not telling me?”

Asprey winced. “The thing is…”

Even Graff softened a little, if that term could be applied to a creature made of stone. “We
could
give it to you, but it’s not going to do you any good.”

“What do you mean?” Even though she couldn’t fence it for full value, her ex could get her at least ten thousand. She’d probably even be able to sell the diamonds and pearls piece by piece, if it came to that. “I’m discreet. I have contacts. It’s not like I’m going to saunter into the nearest pawn shop and see what I can get for it.”

Asprey stood and moved to the nearest table, plucking the necklace from an ivory jewelry box that looked worth a fortune by itself. “I wasn’t lying when I said I can appraise jewelry. This necklace? It’s a fake. Unless the grand plan is to wear it to a costume party, you’re headed for disappointment.”

She took the proffered item, her fingertips just grazing Asprey’s. The contact made him flinch—and it made her shiver.

Stop it.
This was neither the time nor the place to start losing her head.

“How do I know you’re not lying?” she asked, looking closely at the pearls. “You could be trying to trick me.”

And they’d have good success—she had no idea what to look for. She could pass most forgeries off in a con, pull in a few thousand dollars and leave her mark with a bad case of buyer beware, but appraisals and evaluations had never been her area of expertise.