The Love Scam

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  “No one’s making you do anything,” Delaney said.

  “So you’re definitely not cops,” Rake said, nodding. “Or from the consulate. I’m pretty sure.”

  Delaney smothered a giggle. “What tipped you off first? I told you when they rolled up, you shouldn’t have assumed you knew what it was about. They don’t care about your al fresco park sex almost a decade ago.”

  “Why not?” Rake threw up his hands. “Everyone else does! If you knew it wasn’t a legit arrest, why are you here?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be here? What, I’m gonna let you and Lillith ride off—well, walk off—into the literal sunset? Besides, you’re looking at this all wrong. It’s good they’re not cops. Better than if they were cops, actually.”

  “What? Why?”

  “They have no lawful authority, for starters.”

  “Excuse me.” From Kovac, in the tone of a man forced to watch a tennis match he didn’t care about. “This is my meeting.”

  “We don’t have it,” Delaney told him. “We’ve never had it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Donna’s been dead for months. It would have turned up by now,” she pointed out. Then, colder: “I would have paid you a visit by now.”

  “And again I say bullshit. That dim quim wouldn’t have dropped off the grid without giving you what she had.”

  “Dim…”

  “Oh boy,” Rake muttered.

  “… quim?” Delaney wanted to pace—well, she wanted to break Kovac’s nose, blacken his eyes, and then really go to work on him—but time and place, time and place. Unfortunately, there wasn’t room to pace; the windowless office was only about six feet by five, and other than the wooden desk and two chairs filched from the kitchen, the only furniture in the room were multiple heavy bookshelves crammed with any number of heavy old tomes. “D’you want to get down to business, or do you have more insults to run through first?”

  “I can do both. And I’m not sure you’re getting it, sunshine. I have to know what Donna Alvah had and where it was, because I fucking hate prison, and while I don’t mind having my guys smack you around a bit, I don’t want to kill you.”

  “Also because you hate prison,” Rake guessed.

  “You got it,” Kovac replied, smiling like Rake was the prize pupil who correctly guessed the capital of Serbia.*

  Delaney leaned back against the bookshelves and shook her head. “You’re not hearing me. I don’t know what she did with the flash drive. Hell, I didn’t know what she’d done with her daughter for way too long. If it hasn’t surfaced yet, you’re probably in the clear.”

  “‘Probably’ isn’t gonna do it for me. ‘Probably’ means there’s still a chance I’ll get pinched again. And at my age, I’ve got no interest in making new friends on my knees.”

  “Uh, I don’t think that’s an age thing,” Rake began.

  Delaney shrugged, cutting him off. “I don’t know what to tell you, Kovac. She left me a letter. And that’s it. That was always it: two pages, single-spaced.”

  “A letter.”

  “Yep.”

  “In code?”

  “No, in English. But it’s not the smoking gun, Kovac. And if it was—well. Like I said. You wouldn’t have had to spend the last week having your people skulk around. The cops would have knocked on your door, or I would have. Oh—and what happened to the A and B teams?” she added, jerking her thumb toward Tall and Small. “Why are you using subs?”

  “I like how you’re asking me that, as if you don’t know the answer. They were on your boy toy until Lake Como.”

  “Hey! I’m a man toy.”

  “Then somebody kicked the shit out of them, and they lost him.”

  “Aw.”

  “The B team picked him up again outside the hotel that first morning, and then someone stole their wallets, led ’em on a merry chase, and called the cops and reported a pickpocket. Who brings their righteous ID along when they know they’re gonna be up to some shady shit?” Kovac lamented.

  “Right?” Delaney said. “Amateur hour. What I’ve been saying.”

  “And whoever this was also planted a dozen other wallets on them. Dumbasses are still in jail. I’m sure as shit not bailing them out.”

  Yes, loading the bad guys with stolen property was slick. Teresa’s latest stray, the nimble-fingered teen Lillith and Rake would have recognized as the Roma Gypsy who lent them his phone that first day, was quite the talent. And when the cops get a call from one of the more affluent areas in the tourist quarter, they show up in a hurry. The whole thing had taken less than twenty minutes.

  “Wait, that’s why you ducked out on Lillith and me? You spotted a tail?” Rake was, to her surprise, getting into fret mode. “Jeez, Delaney, I wish you’d said something.”

  She spread her hands. “Where would I have even begun?”

  “You could’ve been hurt.”

  “Oh, please.”

  “Hello? My meeting, remember? So then I remembered this isn’t a goddamned spy-caper movie, so I put guys here at San Basso—I figured you’d have your eye on the place. In a way, the story started here. And on a practical note, your hotel’s a quick walk from here.” He shrugged. “So.”

  “So you spotted us again.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which is when you got a little desperate. And a lot stupid.”

  “Whoa.” Kovac put his hands up as if (false hope) he was being arrested. “My guy was just supposed to ask the little girl about the flash drive.”

  “You were gonna take my kid?” Rake demanded. He’d gone from listening to the exchange with a slightly disbelieving look on his face to taking two steps, slamming his hands palms down on the desk, and glaring straight into Kovac’s eyes. “Your grubby brigade of fucksticks was gonna snatch my daughter?”

  “I told you, he was only supposed to talk to her.” This in the tone of a man mildly inconvenienced by a waiter bringing the wrong order, instead of facing off with six feet three inches and 195 pounds of irked Tarbell. “But you put an end to that quick enough.”

  “If you ever come near my—”

  “Yeah, yeah, vengeance will be yours. Hell, vengeance was yours. The guy you upchucked all over has been sick as fuck ever since.”

  “Good. When it comes to gastroenteritis, I like to share the wealth.” Rake straightened and stepped back from the desk. “And there’s plenty more where that came from if you guys get any other moronic ideas.”

  “It’s his superpower!” Delaney said brightly.

  “Consider me horrified.” Then, to Delaney: “So, sunshine. About this letter—”

  “She only talked about the flash drive. There weren’t any instructions on how to find it or what to do with it.”

  “So what’s the point? Why bother writing anything?” Kovac asked, scowling.

  “You are a sociopath, aren’t you?”

  “That’s what my therapist says,” he admitted.

  “I’d try to explain why a letter that doesn’t lead to figurative buried treasure is worth writing, but you wouldn’t get it.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  Forty-eight

  Delaney—

  So running away didn’t work. Which you told me would happen, but since you’re insufferable when you’re right, that’s all I’m gonna say about it.

  I wasn’t even looking, that’s the stupid part. I hadn’t for years, ever since I renounced our family “tradition” after my come-to-Jesus moment with Rake Tarbell in fucking Venice, of all places.

  And it wasn’t too bad, me and Lillith pretending to be citizens. After a while, it didn’t feel like we were pretending. But then I smelled a fat rat and it was like when we were kids and we just had to snoop.

  I volunteered. That’s it. That’s why I’m in this mess—except I was always going to be in this mess, it just took me the better part of a decade to fall. There was a major fire at the church and they were running fund-raisers to fix the nave and the meeting house and I was
helping out the office gals, all that filing and refiling and asking for new financial statements to replace what they lost, pretty boring shit, and then I thought some of the statements looked … off. So I poked. And then I asked. And the church ladies were all “Oh, no worries, Mr. Kovac takes care of that and he’s a brilliant investor who’s always moving money around and we don’t really understand it but he gets results,” and I don’t have to tell you how many alarm bells that set off in my brain.

  Old habits die never, which is why I didn’t call a cop. And tell you what, kiddo, you coulda cracked this guy’s files with your eyes closed and your thumbs broken. That’s how easy it was. He is into a ton of shit and I think he got overconfident. Scratch that—I know he did. This isn’t even the first church he scammed—he got his start in Europe. In fact, he’s going back to Italy in the next few months.

  I didn’t squeeze him.

  I thought about it, and if I was still living for myself, I probably would have, just for the pure joy of fucking with a scammer, but I’m out of practice and there was Lillith to think of. I put the bomb back in the box and got the hell out of there—how’s that for a what do you call it, a metaphor? Except I’m worried snooping sped up the countdown. And that it’ll blow before I can get us clear.

  So I didn’t squeeze him, but I did make copies—like Ellen says, a little CYA goes a long way. Something like that, I dunno, ’cause when Ellen starts with the acronyms, I tune out.

  Anyway. We’re going. No idea if this guy’s got software on his system that’ll tell him if someone’s been peeking, and I won’t take a chance. Not with Lillith to think of. I’m setting up a fail-safe if, God forbid, something happens to me, I’ve got the drive in a safe space, I’ve pulled my savings, which are also in a safe space, and I’m sending you all the info I pulled on the Tarbell family back in the day when the plan was to scam and leave town, not get knocked up with a baby and leave town. My advice, start with the grandmother. She’ll be all in once she knows there’s a new Tarbell in the mix.

  Lillith doesn’t know who her dad is, but she knows who you are. I’ve told her that if you ever show up, she’s to drop everything and go with you straightaway and no questions asked and that you’ll explain everything.

  She’s amazing, Delaney. Brilliant and beautiful and about a thousand times nicer on her worst day than I am on my best. If I mysteriously vanish like in a bad police procedural, I want you to grab her, find out which Tarbell is her dad, and keep them both safe until the shitstorm’s passed. After that—well, fuck if I know. Live happily ever after? Y’know what—I’ll be happy if you guys just live.

  It’s a lot to ask, I know. And I hate asking, which you know. I’m sorry we couldn’t stay close. I should have kept in touch and I’m paying for that now. Don’t make Lillith take the weight of my bad decision(s).

  Love my girl. And give my best to the rest.

  Better luck next life,

  Nedra

  Forty-nine

  Kovac leaned back in his desk chair, the middle buttons on his shirt straining as he took a deep breath, then let it out while shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “Toldja.”

  “You did. And regardless of the alleged contents of this so-called letter—”

  “Did you go to law school while Delaney was telling her story?”

  “—you know I can’t take you at your word, right?”

  “Yep.” Delaney smiled. “And you know you’d better have a D team on standby. Right?”

  “Oh, come on!” From Rake, sounding equal parts exasperated and pissed. “Really? You two are gonna stand around talking about missing flash drives and allude to beatings? We don’t have it. So let us go or beat us to death.”

  “Whoa!” Delaney straightened up from where she was slouched against the bookshelves. “You know there’s middle ground between those options, right?”

  Kovac opened his mouth, but before he could answer, or order their deaths, or otherwise incite violence, they all flinched at the horribly familiar shriek from the other side of the door.

  “Papa, ich werde mich übergeben!”

  “The hell was that?” Kovac shook his head. “Jesus, that kid’s got some lungs on her.”

  “Beeil dich, ich bin krank!”

  “She says she’s going to throw up—she’s really sick.” Rake at once looked like all his systems were screaming threat level red, when the most he mustered for his own peril was threat level puce. “She wants me!”

  “So go help her,” Delaney said, giving him a helpful shove. To Kovac: “That gastroenteritis is really getting around.”

  “Oh, Christ.” Delaney could almost see Kovac working this out. Clandestine snatch = good. Private interrogation = good. Screaming kid + vomit in hallway where anyone might come in = not good. “Don, walk them down to the bathroom. Just the bathroom. And stand outside ’til she’s done. If the guy tries anything, open up his skull with the hammer.”

  “Not the face,” Rake said, yanking open the door.

  “Fine, plant the thing in the base of his skull, what do I care?” Then, as the door closed: “Now. What to do about you, sunshine?”

  Fifty

  “Okay, hon, I’ll stay here ’til you’re done.” Rake set Lillith down as the bathroom door wheezed shut behind them. “And listen, don’t be scared. Delaney’s got this under control.” I’m pretty sure.

  “Uh-huh.” Lillith was—wait. Why was she yanking up her T-shirt? And exposing her little belly? And why was she tearing her belly away and handing it to him? And unzipping it? “Here’s Mama’s phone. Don’t worry, it’s charged. Call one one two.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s our best bet. Dialing one one three brings the carabinieri, which is overkill—we need help, but not military help. And one one eight is for medical emergencies, which we don’t have. Yet. Here.”

  Dumbfounded, Rake looked down at the pile of bills she’d just slapped into his other hand. “What is this?”

  “It’s eight thousand, three hundred and twenty-six euros.”

  He blinked at her. “What?”

  “Oh, scuzi. I meant nine thousand, six hundred and forty-three American dollars.”

  Like a cornered cat, he was torn between fight or flight. Within thirty seconds of taking Lillith to the bathroom (he’d scooped her up and sprinted, sure she was going to be sick all over him), he had a phone and ten grand.

  “I’d better hang on to this for a while longer, though,” she added, showing him a tiny pineapple. Correctly reading his blank stare and rapid blinking, she plucked off the top of the pineapple, exposing a flash drive.

  Of all the weird things to happen during this day in this weird week, this is definitely the weirdest.

  “Hurry up,” she hissed. “We still have to text Sophie and Teresa our location. They won’t give us privacy forever.”

  Right. Of course. It was gratifying to be able to rely on such a cool-headed leader in times of crisis. He hit 1-1-2 and in a low voice reported a kidnapping (it wasn’t, technically, but it would get the cops moving), unlawful detainment, and threats of felony assault. As he started to elaborate, Lillith chimed in, “Imi stanno spaventando, penso che abbiano delle pistole! E non riesco a trovare mia madre!”*

  “Nice touch,” he said admiringly.

  “And almost the truth.” She took the phone back and began texting. “They’re bad, but I don’t think they have guns. There are really, really unpleasant consequences if you’re carrying here, and I doubt any of them has a permit. Which lands them in a ton of trouble. They don’t have a Second Amendment here.” She chewed her lip. “At least not about that.”

  Rake at last shook off his stunned apathy. “This is fucking incredible!” he whisper-shouted. “You’ve had the—and also the—you’ve literally had everything the whole time? All week?” He reached out and tugged the hem of her shirt back down; it was what she’d worn the day they’d met: I’M MY OWN SAFE SPACE!

  “Jesus Christ
!” he praised/hissed. “The whole time? No wonder you were always offering to buy me gelato!”

  “See why turning me down was dumb?”

  “I didn’t know you had ten grand on you! Wait, why did you have ten grand on you?”

  Before she could answer, there was a brisk rap on the door. “How’s she doing?”

  “Oh my God, the diarrhea and vomit are everywhere! Get a mop! Two mops! And the smell! Maybe you should get in here and help!”

  “Pass.”

  “See?” she said smugly. “We make a good team.”

  “Yes, but that’s not news.”

  “Yes, but I get the feeling you’re the type who needs to actually see something up close before you’ll believe it. It’s why I was glad when you got sick.”

  “Um. What?”

  “So I could take care of you. I know finding out about me was a nasty shock.” Before he could protest, she cut him off. “But I thought if I was quiet … and helpful…” All at once, the preternaturally self-possessed child had trouble looking him in the eye. “If I did that, then maybe you wouldn’t think it’d be hard to take care of me. You know. If I tried to take care of you.”

  His eyes stung. Fucking allergies. Which had only now developed. “That’s—that’s not your responsibility, hon.”

  “It’s not about responsibility.” Then, abruptly: “Did you mean it?”

  “Mean what?”

  “When you got mad at that man who tried to kidnap me? When you said I was your daughter?”

  “You heard that?”

  “Well. Thin doors. And you were kinda screaming. Especially when you called them a ‘grubby brigade of fucksticks.’”

  “Probably shouldn’t quote me when I’m throwing around words like fucksticks, and yeah, Lillith, I did mean it. Of course I did.” He knelt and put his hands on her slender shoulders. “I know I’m a poor substitute for your mom and that you must think I’m a flighty, selfish jackass.…”

  “I don’t think you’re flighty.”

  “But you’re mine. Like I’m yours.” He hesitated, wondering if now was the time to mention that Blake might actually be her father. He ultimately held off because (1) time and place—they were still in the clutches of the bad guys, after all, and speaking of, he really should get back to Delaney, and (2) it didn’t fucking matter if Blake’s sperm got there first. Lillith was his child. End of discussion. “And that’s always going to—”