The Love Scam

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  She rolled over on her side and saw Rake was awake and looking at her. “There you are,” he said, smiling.

  “Here I am,” she agreed. She stretched, not caring that the sheet was around her knees—she never understood when women got modest about their bodies after sex. A classic case of locking the barn door after the horse ran off. And then had the best sex of its life.

  Besides, he liked her body and she enjoyed how his gaze dropped to her breasts when she stretched. That was all right; she pretty much thought he had the best body she’d ever seen, too. All long gorgeous lines, broad shoulders, long muscular legs, flat stomach, defined biceps, big hands, big—oofta.

  “Hungry? You must be.”

  “Yes, but it’s time to finish our talk. Tomorrow’s going to be here way too soon.”

  Her stomach didn’t sink; it plunged. He was talking in that awful new voice again, only now the calm, sorrowful tone was laced with regret. For what they had done? For what was coming?

  “Okay,” she said, and pulled the sheets up to her neck. Suddenly it was no good being exposed; she hadn’t felt a bit vulnerable when his glorious thick cock was filling her up, and before that his fingers and tongue, Christ, good-looking men were almost always shitty in bed, but Rake was the exception—but she sure did now. She didn’t want a bedsheet, she wanted a parka.

  And all he was doing was holding her hand.

  “You know I’m fluent, and not just in Italian.”

  “Sure.” Of course she knew. It was cool, but annoying. Rake was hot enough without being able to whisper sweet nothings in French or order blood sausage in German or curse at Peeps in Italian.

  (She had no idea what “Fanculo, Peeps, e leccare le mie palle!” meant, but Sofia’s and Teresa’s eyes went big when Rake let loose, and the two of them had heard everything. His shame-faced apology right afterward just made everything funnier.)

  “The thing about languages,” he went on, “they’re codes. That’s all. You just have to figure out what the letters stand for, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “And for some people, that’s easy. Me, I’m great at figuring out languages, but I suck at poker and chess.”

  “Okay.” Wary now. Which felt like the appropriate response.

  “But the wiring that makes me good at languages but terrible at chess makes me good at crossword puzzles, Sudoku—stuff where the object is filling in the blank.”

  “Okay…”

  “And passwords. I’m really good at those. Because those are codes and puzzles.”

  She froze. As far as clichés went, it was pretty accurate: She actually felt everything in her lock up, like she’d been plunked down in the middle of a blizzard.

  “You didn’t—” No. Impossible. It was long and dumb and had no significance except to her, and the odds that he guessed were billions to—

  “I knew your laptop password had twenty-two letters. And now and again I saw which letters you were hitting, though you were careful never to let me see you put the whole thing in. We were

  (past tense? yes, of course)

  sharing a room, after all. And I didn’t have a laptop of my own, or a phone until recently, to distract me, so there wasn’t much to do in here except worry about Lillith and listen to you type and think about your password.”

  Definitely should have tried to seduce him, then. To think I didn’t dare!

  “I didn’t think you’d put in twenty-two numbers—you’d need a password to mean something. So what could be important to you? What does Claire Delaney care about? Not money—you don’t give a shit about it … unless someone goes back on their word. Baby-sitting random millionaires? I’m pretty sure I’m the only one. The other girls sure seemed to think so— No,” he said, seeing her expression. “They didn’t rat you out. I’m fun, I’m laid-back, and when I ask questions, it’s not at all threatening. And they keep forgetting I’m fluent. Which is just fine.”

  She sat there, brain empty. Absolutely no idea what to say, or even think.

  “So!” he continued briskly. “Twenty-two letters, and some of them were C and H and M and E and I and A and B.”

  “You still couldn’t have—” It was actually hard to talk; her lips had gone numb.

  “C-H-A-R-I-T-Y-B-E-G-I-N-S-A-T-H-O-M-E-I-C-U.” When all she did was gape like a trout, he elaborated: “Charity begins at home. I see you.” He shook his head, amused. “You really hate when they renege.”

  “Yes,” she managed. Cracked it. Cracked it in two days and never said a word. Cracked it for fun, to pass the time, and never said a word. “Blake’s a fool to underestimate you.” She managed to look at him and said it, one of the biggest truths of her life: “I was, too.”

  “Thanks.” He seemed pleased, which was a sizable improvement over pissed.

  “I can’t really tell you every—”

  “Hacks and hits. That’s what you do. All around the world.”

  “Yes.” His eyes. Oh his blue, blue eyes that held reproach, but not as much as she deserved. “Since before I could vote.”

  “Which one was I?”

  “What?”

  “A hack or a hit?”

  “No. Oh, no! You’re a side project.” She bit her lip, hard. “I’m sorry, let me rephrase—sometimes I take on work outside the charities.”

  “To get money to fund your hacks and hits.”

  “Yes! And the Big Pipe Dream.” Of course she didn’t have to explain. He’d already figured it all out. That should have been a relief. (It wasn’t.) “That’s, um, this thing that we’ve all been working toward since we weren’t much older than Lillith.”

  “The off-the-books shelter network.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I was a paycheck.”

  She winced, but he deserved the truth. And this she could answer without breaking her word. “Yes. One I couldn’t turn down, one that would pay me in a week what I’d make in years. So we wouldn’t have to wait anymore. We can’t wait anymore. So it was a bit of a now or never situation. Or, at least, now or not for a long, long time.”

  “Because fair is fair, so the ends justify the means.”

  “Well, no, but—” She tried to think how that was a case of ‘Well, no,’ but after a few seconds she had to admit, “Anything sounds bad when you put it like that.”

  He didn’t smile when she used his own words. “It’s worth getting caught?” Why, why did he look so sad? Just about anything else would be preferable; disappointment would be preferable. Anger. Disdain. Contempt. “Prison?”

  “It’s worth everything,” she said simply. Because in the end, that was nothing but solid fact. “Even if it means tricking a wonderful guy for reasons that sounded great at first, then turned to shit. Even if you’re in it just a few days and you realize you’re the villain this time.”

  “Well, you and your boss. Client? Whoever’s paying you to fuck with me, anyway.”

  “It’s on me, too,” she replied firmly. “That ‘I was just doing my job’ thing has always been bullshit. Nobody made me do any of it. I made me do it.” And she had, stuck fast by her own word, and not for the first time, but definitely the worst time. “And there’s Lillith to think about.”

  “Yes. But how does she fit into this?”

  “Who do you think the Big Pipe Dream is for? Donna would never forgive me if I let her child fall into the foster system. Lillith would be among the first of our charges. Not just a roof over her—their—head. Private teachers and counseling and scholarships for the older kids, instead of jettisoning them out of the system the second they turn eighteen. That’s what happened to Elena. She was barely into her senior year at high school when she turned eighteen. Literally overnight you’re expected to find a place to live and feed and clothe yourself, even if you’re still in high school. But with the Big— We’re getting off track,” she realized. “So getting back to Lillith, there was a chance you were her dad, but not a guarantee, and she can’t stay in limbo. Her life has been up
ended quite enough—she deserves stability and a future where she’s not afraid to go to sleep. And if you were her dad—are her dad—then we’d still be able to—”

  “Your off-the-books shelter would be an excellent plan B if I wasn’t up to facing my responsibilities. Because that’s also what this has been about, right? Seeing how I interact with a kid who might be mine? You needed to see me up close, you needed me to need you, because you wanted to see how I behaved during low points.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did I pass?”

  “Yes.”

  He let out a breath, and she was shocked to see his relief. “Okay. Well. That’s one problem solved. And while we’re talking about Lillith—”

  Here we go.

  “—when were you going to tell me I was on the short list? The very short list.”

  “Ah. Um. The thing about that—”

  “The short list of two: me, and Blake.”

  OhGodohGodohGodohGodoh—wait. “That … wasn’t in my computer.”

  “Nope.”

  “You cracked the safe, too.”

  “Sure.” At her astonished gape: “Four-two-eight-three. Which on a phone pad corresponds to I-C-U-D. D for Delaney, I assume.” He shrugged. “Seems to be the way your mind works.”

  “I’m just gonna sit here and stare and be astonished for a minute, okay?”

  “No, you’re going to explain to me why the only names on your ‘Who Is Lillith’s Daddy’ list are mine and my twin’s.”

  “You figured out my combinations but not that?” As he waited (calmly, to his credit), she added, “Donna seduced both of you that month. And before you ask, I don’t know why—she’d been distancing herself from us for a while. I swear I had no idea, Rake. I didn’t know about any of it until she met us at Subway, announced her pregnancy, ordered a foot-long club, and disappeared from our lives.”

  “You remember the lunch order?”

  “I don’t know if the plan was to get pregnant so she’d have a rich baby daddy or if she was just getting close in order to scam you in a non-baby-related way.”

  “Huh.”

  “It’s, um, none of my business, but—”

  “Of course I wore a condom! We’d just met.”

  “Right, right. Sorry.”

  “One she handed me.”

  “Ah.”

  Rake was rubbing his eyes. “Jesus Christ. So I’m either Lillith’s dad or uncle.”

  “Yes. And since it’s long past time we settled the issue, let’s—”

  “Nope.”

  “What?”

  He’d plucked a sealed white envelope she instantly recognized from his pocket and waved it at her. “See this?”

  “Yes, you’re holding it ten inches away from my face.”

  “Good. Watch.” And he tore it in two. “Lillith’s my daughter.”

  “Rake—”

  “She’s a member of our family and it doesn’t matter if it’s Blake or me, because she’s my daughter and I’ll take care of her now and that’s how it’s gonna be. I don’t give a shit about the test.”

  “Well, that was all very dramatic and impressive, except I also got an email from the lab. And a pdf file. And they’ll mail me another hard copy if I ask. So it doesn’t actually change—”

  “I’m. Lillith’s. Dad.”

  “Got it.” Not that destroying a paper copy of the test results actually changed anything. But Rake had a point—one way or the other, Lillith was a Tarbell. And as incredible as it sounded, they actually had bigger problems than playing “who’s got the Lillith.”

  “Glad we got that straightened out. And getting back to your weird hobbies—Delaney, they’ll catch you.” He had leaned forward and taken her hand in his. Gripped it. “Maybe not this week, but it’s going to happen. You won’t survive prison.”

  “Whoa! Who said anything about going to prison? I’ll be—”

  “Do not say ‘fine’ to me, don’t pretend it’s okay. You’ll fucking hang yourself if they lock you in a room and never let you out.” His words were fierce and blunt, but he looked … afraid?

  “Rake,” she began, amazed.

  “You’ll die in there. Please stop what you’re doing. All this. Please.”

  “I’m a grown woman,” she said, squeezing back until her knuckles whitened; he didn’t seem to notice. “And these are my choices. You’re wonderful to worry … it’s more than I deserve. But tomorrow you’re going to do what you need to do—and I will, too. And either way, Lillith will be safe. And no matter what, I’ll never be sorry we met. Just sorry about the manner of it.”

  “Please stop the hits.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead on her shoulder, and she was amazed to feel him shaking.

  “I can’t.” No. That was a lie. “I won’t,” she clarified. “But I don’t think you’re giving me enough credit. I’ve never even come close to getting caught. They can’t say anything, you know. They’re trapped.” Like I was.

  “You don’t do it very often.”

  “No, I’m not greedy. Two, three times a year, max. Only once last year.” Usually they were smart. Usually they gave in. Usually that was enough … until the next time.

  He nodded. “Okay. I mean—that’s not great, but it’s something. And maybe you’ll change your mind. Maybe you’ll retire.”

  “Maybe,” she said, and thought, Doubt it. But hell, if it’ll make you feel better. Then a thought struck her. “Okay, so you found my spreadsheets and even looked through a couple. You didn’t also by any chance—”

  “Yeah, I looked at your porn.” Finally, a smile. “Assablanca? Really?”

  “You shut up!” she cried, then burst into giggles. Rake cracked up, too, and she was so relieved she’d made him laugh, she decided just to be mortified, not mortified and furious. “It was a gift from a friend. I swear!”

  “Sure it was,” he managed, then laughed harder.

  “I refuse to apologize for being interested in terrible porn!”

  “Which is yet another reason I adore you.”

  Well. He was sweet to say it, even if it had to be a lie. Then he started tickling her, and then she showed him a thing or two about pressure points and leverage, and before long their giggles had faded and they were hot and panting and needing each other, and soon enough

  (too long took too long)

  he was inside her again, filling her up with that glorious cock, and she was clutching him to her while her heels dug into his back and he murmured, “You’re glorious, God, you’re so wonderful,” and she very determinedly did not think about tomorrow.

  Forty-three

  She woke up once, reached for him, started to panic.

  “Shhh. I’m right here. I had to make a couple of phone calls.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s okay. Not going anywhere now ’til morning.”

  Morning, she thought with despair, and snuggled back up to him.

  * * *

  There was a firm knock at the door, and Delaney extricated her limbs from Rake’s—three bouts of sex had done the man in; he was snoring like a lumberjack with a head cold—grabbed the hotel robe out of the closet, and called, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me.”

  Oh. Fuck. “Rake!” she whispered. “Wake up.”

  Nope. Too busy snoring.

  “Rake!” She kicked the bed. “Rake, you gotta wake up now.” No time to get dressed. No time to think up a plausible—

  You know what? Fuck it.

  “Hnnn? ’Laney? S’wrong?”

  “Everything,” she said, and opened the door.

  The older woman was impeccably dressed in a yellow tweed suit with a cream-colored blouse, sensible flesh-colored panty hose, and sturdy brown shoes. Her hair was blond and silver and pulled back. Her eyes were Rake’s.

  They measured each other. “Nice to meet you in person, dear.”

  “Yeah,” she said, but really, it wasn’t. Nice was the wrong word. She stepped back from the door an
d turned toward the bed. Rake was on his feet, focused on wrapping the sheet around his waist. The early-morning sunlight gleamed in his chest hair.

  Gleamed in his chest hair? Get ahold of yourself, woman.

  “Rake, I know this is going to seem impossible, but this is my client. She’s—”

  “Hi, Nonna Tarbell.” Rake, now wrapped like a burrito, crossed the room and pulled the nuclear option into a hug. “What took you so long?”

  Thank goodness for the robe, because all the strength went out of Delaney’s arms. She’d have dropped a sheet. Or her pants. Rake, however, was in no danger of flashing either of them, more’s the pity. “No,” she said. “You couldn’t have.” The password was one thing, but this?

  “You did,” Nonna Tarbell said, beaming. “So smart. Both of my boys. Thank heavens you took after your mother in that department. And—ahem.” She cast a pointed look toward their dishabille, and the rumpled bed. “No more hide-a-bed, hmm?”

  “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

  “I can see why you’d think that,” the older woman said with an approving nod.

  “She’s right, Nonna. It’s none of your business. Just like what we do with our dad’s money is none of your business, and the fact that we aren’t married is none of your business, and—”

  “I may have overstepped,” she began, but Rake cut her off.

  “I love you, but I could strangle you. You know Blake’s in a mess, too, right? Of course you do. You put him there.”

  “It was only—”

  “Only bullshit.” He just looked at her, the old woman with his eyes, the one who had hired Delaney to keep an eye on him, take care of him when he realized he was out of money, steer him toward charitable work, help him become a better man.

  You picked the wrong bitch for that job, Delaney thought.

  “You were always waiting for us to fail,” Rake said simply, and his grandmother went pale. Her eyes filled, but the tears didn’t fall. “You keep waiting for our father to come out. But he’s dead, Nonna. We’re our own men, like it or not. We never even met him, and never will. You’re the one haunting us. Not him.”

  “How’d you even guess?” Delaney asked. She felt sorry for the nuclear option, and decided to pull Rake’s focus back on her. The woman was a meddler, but she’d acted out of love and concern, which was more than Claire could say about her own motivation. “The password thing I get—he guessed my password!” she added, unable to keep the admiration out of her tone. “But out of all the people on the planet who could have hired me, how’d you guess it was your grandma?”