by Wasp, A. E.
Pros & Cons of Vengeance
A.E. Wasp
Copyright © 2019 by A.E. Wasp All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Acknowledgments
Cast of Characters
Prologue
1. Steele
2. Breck
3. Steele
4. Breck
5. Steele
6. Breck
7. Steele
8. Breck
9. Steele
10. Breck
11. Steele
12. Breck
13. Steele
14. Breck
15. Steele
16. Breck
17. Steele
Epilogue
Excerpt from Pros and Cons of Deception
Also By A.E. Wasp
About the Author
As always to my kids for listening to me talk endlessly about plots and characters, and helping me through the rough parts, and for bringing me food and coffee.
To May Archer, for keeping my sorry self on some sort of schedule and making this idea happen. Without her at the wheel, this never would have gotten off the ground.
~A.E. Wasp
Acknowledgments
First and foremost, thanks to Leslie Copeland, our beta-reading champion, for loving this book from the beginning. It would not have been nearly as fun without you!
Thanks to the super-talented AngstyG who designed the kick-ass cover for us!
Thank you to all of the amazing and incredibly patient ARC readers who took the time to read and review the book, especially Megan and Angela who caught some errors we otherwise would have missed.
Thank you to Jill Wexler for the last-minute proof. You are thirty-two flavors of awesome.
And thank you to Hailey Turner, who not only writes amazing books, but also does good deeds, and did such a great final read-through for us!
Cast of Characters
Charlie Bingham (45) - Deceased. Con artist, thief, blackmailer and probably a few more things.
Leo Shook (45) - FBI Special Agent. Currently on administrative leave for unspecified reasons. Bureau expert on Charlie Bingham.
Castille (Steele) Alvarez (30) - Close protection specialist. Ex-Army Ranger. Former swamp rat from Georgia.
Carson Grieves (age unknown) - Champion grifter and con artist. Date and place of birth unknown.
Ridge Pfeiffer (21) - Thief. Not much of talker. Expert in old-fashioned safecracking, lock picking, and cat-burglaring.
Wesley Bond (27) - Hacker and social engineer. Social justice warrior. Literal red-headed stepchild.
Miranda Bosley (35) - Lawyer. Executor of Charlie’s estate. Possibly Charlie’s best friend.
Josie DuPont - (age unknown because she won’t tell. Somewhere between 30-40 probably) Associate of Charlie’s. International Woman of Mystery. Surrogate mother to the boys. Even Leo.
Breck Pfeiffer (21) - Ridge’s twin brother. Ex-college student, ex-hooker. Steele’s boyfriend. (see Pros & Cons of Vengeance)
Danny Munroe (19. Almost 20) - ex-hooker, friend of Breck’s. Got dragged into the group in Pros & Cons of Vengeance, then adopted by Josie and Miranda and pretty much everyone.
The Interested Party (?) - a disembodied voice on the phone. Seems to know everything that is going on. Only speak to Leo. Says to call him Al.
Prologue
An Interested Party
“All in all, Charlie picked a decent place to die.”
Palm trees swayed beneath a cloudless sky, and as I sucked in a salt-tinged breath of air, I felt the telltale tingle of an imminent sunburn on the few millimeters of my skin not covered by prosthetics, fake hair, or long polyester robes.
You had to love Florida. It was gorgeous when it wasn’t trying to kill you. Even the rows of headstones in the cemetery seemed somehow cheery.
The woman beside me turned from her steady contemplation of the mourners ringing the newest gravesite and darted a quick look around, making sure no one had overheard.
Pfft. Like I would have let that happen.
“Are you being serious right now?” she hissed. “Keep your voice down, Father, before you blow your cover.”
I stroked my long gray beard, partly to make sure it was still securely attached to my face, and forgave her for questioning me. It was the priestly thing to do, and I was all about method acting.
“I’m just say-ing,” I sing-songed back. “Sun shining, birds singing a high, mournful song for that extra touch of drama. Florida has an A-plus funeral atmosphere. Ten out of ten. Charlie would have approved.”
A man in the gathering narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously, and I returned his look with a benevolent smile, raising my hand in a blessing. The man promptly looked away.
“You’re an idiot, and I swear to God if anyone recognizes you and pulls a gun, I’m leaving you to fend for yourself. Understand?”
Ah, Miranda. She never tolerated my bullshit for long, which was one of the reasons I loved her. “Perfectly.”
She nodded once, then resumed studying the black-clad men and women who stood chatting in small groups. “And it’s hot as balls out here. Far from my idea of perfect.”
“It’s Sarasota in August, Ms. Bosley. Hot as balls is the only flavor weather comes in this time of year, unless you know someone who works miracles.” I snorted. “Doubt they’re big on miracles where poor Charlie ended up.” I tilted my head down and widened my eyes meaningfully.
“Hey! That’s my friend you’re talking about, asshole. You don’t give a shit that Charlie’s gone, but I’m… gonna miss him,” she admitted. Her eyes looked suspiciously shiny.
I sighed, rocking slightly on the balls of my feet. “It’s not that I won’t miss him, Randa.” For one thing, I’d miss his gorgeous house with the enormous swimming pool that overlooked the beach. Sunsets from that pool were perfection. And for another, Charlie was a world-renowned thief and information broker whose name was always spoken with respect. The world would be a heck of a lot colder and lonelier for me without Charlie and his reputation opening doors. But I wasn’t exactly the sentimental type, and I doubted I’d spend a lot of time grieving the loss. I’d see this one final job done for old time’s sake, and then I’d ghost.
I figured Miranda wouldn’t appreciate me mentioning any of that, though. Not while she was being all melancholy.
“It’s just that… I think the best things about Charlie Bingham are things that will live on, you know?” I offered lamely.
She darted me a look, checking for sincerity, and I blinked guilelessly back at her. She sniffed.
“Also? It’s worth noting that you’re a giant, squishy marshmallow full of feelings.”
She gasped. “Take that back!”
I folded my hands piously. “I’m pretty sure it’s a sin to lie while impersonating a priest.”
“You are insufferable,” she said, shaking her head, but I talked over her.
“And the truth is, Miranda Bosley, beneath that sharky, lawyer-ish facade...”
“I think the word you’re looking for is professional.”
“You care about your clients.”
“Charlie was an exception,” Miranda said in a low voice. She narrowed her eyes at me. “The one and only exception.”
“Oh, come on,” I protested, nodding at a cute redhead who’d taken a seat in the third row back from Charlie’s casket. I tried to give her the serious look of a man concerned with the stat
e of her soul, but I’m not gonna lie, all I could see was her purse sitting unattended beneath her seat. It’s like people begged to be robbed sometimes. “You were Charlie’s attorney for, what? Five years? Six? You’ve known me for a whole decade! And you love me!”
“So you say.” She looked me up and down, taking in every detail of my outfit before exhaling a subtle huff of disgust. “But you insisted on proceeding with this ridiculous scheme…”
“Ridiculous?” I scoffed under my breath. “Listen, Randa, Charlie’s time was up, and everyone knew it. Lots of people wanna get right with their conscience before they check out. Balance the scales and right the wrong they’ve done in their lives. I don’t think that’s ridiculous, I think it’s admirable! I’m glad to be a part of it.” Laying it on a bit thick there, perhaps. I stroked my beard once more, briefly contemplating growing one for real. It was an oddly soothing gesture. “I can’t help it if I’m enjoying myself along the way, babe. You know me.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know you, alright. And I knew Charlie.” She turned toward me, putting her back to the crowd, and her hazel eyes drilled into mine. “Charlie should have planned to fade into obscurity, like all the really good thieves do. Instead, we’re here having this spectacle of a funeral and blackmailing people into doing his work for him.”
“Dude. Harsh,” I chided. “Have some respect for the deceased.”
“Not harsh, accurate,” she corrected, spinning back around and blanking her face. “I can’t believe either of us are involved in this. You do get that it’s insanely dangerous, right?”
“Miranda,” I said in my most placating voice. “Honestly, it’s gonna be fine…”
“Jesus, just look at the men in this crowd, the men we practically forced to come here! That’s Ridge Pfeiffer.” She nodded at the cherubic blond in the front row who sat with the preternatural stillness I’d only ever witnessed in truly exceptional thieves. “He’d steal your soul and be two states away before you knew it was missing, friend. And then there are Castille Alvarez and Wesley Bond over there.”
I followed her glance to a lone tree a few paces away, where a disgustingly handsome, black-haired, broad-shouldered, Paul Bunyan of a man stood protectively over a short, twitchy dude with dark red hair. I always thought Alvarez should have been a model, it would have been the perfect cover. Model slash assassin for hire. I guess there were worse faces to see with your last breath.
“You know Steele could kill you ten different ways before you could scream for help, and Bond could make a laser beam that would fry your corpse out of chewing gum and a magnifying glass.”
I snorted.
“And don’t forget Carson Grieves.”
I frowned as I eyed the crowd more closely. “I don’t see him yet.”
“Brown and brown, third row, pretending to salivate over the blonde in the low-cut blouse.”
“Ohhh. Damn,” I muttered, reluctantly impressed. “He’s good.”
“You sound surprised,” she chided. “You shouldn’t be. Best grifter in the business. Fucker could shoot you in broad daylight and convince everyone here they’d never seen him before in their lives.”
I snorted. “Miranda, darling, why am I dying in each of these scenarios?”
“Because it’s fucking dangerous!” she hissed, even as she smiled and nodded at some signal from the funeral director on the other side of the gathering. “These men are not here to pay their respects to Charlie Bingham. They’re not here out of some prurient curiosity. They’re here because Charlie had dirt on them, because you invited them, and because I threatened to expose them if they didn’t show up and play nice.”
She turned to face me again. “And here you are, standing at Charlie’s grave dressed up like… like... fucking Rasputin-meets-Santa Claus.” She touched her hand to the heavy silver cross that hung from my neck. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to get caught. To follow Charlie into that grave.”
I blinked, stung. The woman was too fucking insightful, catching on to shit I’d barely ever acknowledged to myself.
I grabbed her hand and held it lightly, a priest giving comfort to a grieving friend.
“First of all, I’m not getting caught,” I told her absolutely. “That is not on the agenda, okay? I have never been caught, and I don’t plan to start now. I’m a ghost, an afterthought. Charlie’s invisible little elf. I’m not on anybody’s radar.” I looked around at the guys she’d mentioned, the men we’d invited here. They were men like me. Men like Charlie. Dangerous, but decent. Criminals, but ones who stuck firmly to their own moral codes. That’s why Charlie had chosen them. “It’s safer for everyone if they never find out who I am or how I’m connected to Charlie, and I won’t jeopardize that. I’m not getting involved with Charlie’s missions except from afar.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.
“And second, I might be channeling Rasputin,” I allowed, touching a finger to the hair above my temple. “But only in a Tyra Banks, Rasputin-but-make-it-fashion kind of way.”
A helpless laugh escaped her, quickly turning to a sob. She rubbed her forehead. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” she demanded.
I sighed. “You know I do, Randa-Panda,” I told her. “I take every part of this seriously. I took Charlie seriously. I take Alvarez, Pfeiffer, Grieves, Bond, and Agent Shook seriously. But I take the jobs they need to do, Charlie’s unfinished business, even more seriously. And I’m thinking of this as Charlie’s last hurrah, babe. One last con. We’re gonna send him out in style. Yeah?”
She sucked in a deep breath and tugged at the hem of her black suit jacket like she was steadying herself.
“Once more,” she said, without a trace of her earlier emotion. “Let me note that it’s hot as balls out here.”
I pressed my lips together to hide a smile as Miranda slipped back into lawyer mode. God, why was it that I always viewed serious, worrying, rule-following people as such a challenge?
“Quit your whining,” I told her, stroking my beard again. “I’m sweating my ass off under this cassock.”
“You could take it off. Even priests have to make accommodations for the heat.”
“No can do,” I said sorrowfully. “I’ve got nothing on underneath.”
It took her a second, but when she finally processed my statement, her eyes widened and her jaw hung open for half a moment.
“You… you’re not.” She shook her head minutely. “You’re not naked under there.”
I wasn’t, not entirely, but the look on her face made the lie worthwhile. “Wanna check?”
She looked so horrified, I nearly burst into laughter. Her eyes narrowed. “Your continued existence makes me question that whole survival of the fittest thing.”
“Nine lives like a cat,” I told her with a small smile.
“Only eight left if you manage to pull this off, Father.”
The undertaker signaled again, gesturing me toward the unassuming podium set up at the front of the gathering. Showtime.
I turned to Miranda. “You do your part, and I’ll do mine. For Charlie.”
“For Charlie,” she echoed, but as she turned to walk away, a man approached us.
Tall, with dark hair tinged silver at the temples, he had one of those lean, rugged, model-perfect faces where the jut of his jaw and cheekbones could cut diamonds. My heart recognized him first, pounding in my chest before my mind had fully identified him.
Miranda’s eyes widened at the same moment mine did, but likely for different reasons.
“Ms. Bosley,” the man said politely. His eyes barely flicked to mine. “Father.”
His voice was a deep, rumbling bass I’d heard in my dreams a million times. Though of course, the things he said when he invaded my sleep were far dirtier, and he sure as hell never called me Father… though I may have called him Daddy. Every morning after one of those dreams, when I woke up sweaty and aroused and alone, I’d tell myself that his voice couldn’t possibly be as de
ep as I’d remembered, that my mind had been playing tricks on me.
But I was wrong. If anything, it was even more gravelly-sexy than I’d recalled.
“Father?” Miranda said sharply, widening her eyes.
Damn. While I’d been remembering my wet dreams, the man - Special Agent Leonard Shook - had been waiting for my reply.
“Pardon,” I said, making my voice a little higher than it naturally was, and adding the slight Russian accent that was a perfect mimic of my grandmother’s. “The heat. It… makes me light-headed.”
Leo’s brow furrowed, and he reached out one large hand to grasp my elbow, as though I might faint. “Are you alright? Would you like to take a seat?”
“No, no,” I said, shaking my head, while the little demon in the back of my brain insisted, Yes, please. Preferably on your lap. “I’ll be fine.”
“Perhaps remove the robe?” Leo offered, and Miranda made a strangled noise.
“No, but thank you. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Heat stroke trumps formality,” Leo replied matter-of-factly. He reached for the hem of my cassock.
“No! No, my child,” I backed up a pace. Did Russian Orthodox priests say my child? I couldn’t recall. Suddenly I felt unprepared, caught out, exposed.
Maybe Miranda was right. Maybe I hadn’t taken today seriously enough. I’d told myself it was important to come here, to see without being seen, so I could assess the situation and help Miranda behind the scenes later. I’d figured these robes would make me practically invisible – no one in this crowd of fences and crooks was likely to look too closely at a man of the cloth.
