by Sydney Logan
“Beverages weren’t included with the room.” I shrug, totally unashamed by my ingenuity. “I have to be resourceful. Besides, harmless flirting never hurt anybody. We should know.”
“I guess we should.”
We lapse into a comfortable silence while watching a group of kids build a sandcastle. Just as they’re satisfied with their creation, a wave rolls in, washing it away. The kids laugh and move to a different section of the sand to begin a new masterpiece.
“Kids find joy in the simplest things,” Ethan says.
“We find joy in simple things. Remember the real estate scam you pulled in Jersey?”
Ethan groans. “That wasn’t simple.”
“Oh, big deal. So you let some little old lady grope your ass. That scam was quite profitable, if I remember correctly, and you were in and out within a week.”
“I see you’re still bitter.”
Yes, I’m bitter. I’d seriously considered buying Abby a muzzle after that unfortunate confession. Pillow talk with Coop has caused us to miss out on more than one potentially profitable con over the years.
“I still say Coop completely took advantage of the situation.”
“Coop is crazy about her. Don’t doubt it for a second. Besides, he felt so guilty we practically gift-wrapped that jewelry store in San Diego for the two of you. You’re welcome, by the way.”
I shrug.
“Can you imagine if we joined forces, Jenna? Me with my undeniable charm and you with your incredible . . . flexibility. We’d be unstoppable.”
I laugh, which is something I rarely do in Ethan’s presence. It just encourages him and gives him the impression that I’m yet another silly girl who finds him cute and charming.
Why does he have to be so cute and charming?
“So where are you headed next?” Ethan asks.
“Depends on where Sweet Gabe wants to take me.”
He chuckles and finishes his drink.
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m afraid your free ride is over. Sweet Gabe is flying me to California.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, he liked you, too.”
“Aww, what’d he say?”
I can’t hide my smile. Gabe had been such a doll. He’d even bought my Waffle House breakfast when we’d stopped to refuel in Santa Fe. Even though he’s probably old enough to be my dad, we found a lot to talk about—mostly about Ethan and his notorious good luck. I could tell that Gabe is fiercely protective of Ethan, which is nice to see. Con artists don’t have a lot of friends in the world. I’m glad Ethan has his trusty pilot to take care of him.
“He said you are a beautiful, intelligent woman, and that you should definitely marry me. Or at least sleep with me.”
“He didn’t say that. And if he did, you paid him to.”
“Maybe. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”
Our eyes lock, and just for a second, I lose myself in his baby blues.
Get a grip, Jenna.
Ethan is the one to look away and break the spell. He fixes his gaze on the ocean. “Where are you headed?”
“Atlanta. There’s a Monet exhibit at one of the downtown galleries. An associate of mine is interested. We’re going to scope out the security before we begin to negotiate.”
He nods. “We’re headed to a museum in Los Angeles.”
I can’t deny I’m impressed. Los Angeles is always full of potentially profitable heists, but the possibility of getting busted far outweighs the benefits in my mind.
“Well, good luck with that.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Ethan rises to his feet. I try to ignore how the sun glistens on his toned arms and legs.
I fail.
“Like what you see?”
And he catches me. Again.
“Shut up.”
Ethan laughs. “So, unless you’d like to go skinny dipping, I suppose I should find Coop and get to the airport.”
“I think they frown upon nudity here.”
“I bet they’d make an exception for you.”
“Stop, you’re making me blush.”
Ethan leans down and gently strokes my cheek.
“I love to make you blush.”
I can’t help but smile. God, I’m weak.
“Have a good time in Georgia,” he says as he begins to walk away.
“Tell Gabe I said hi!”
We smile at each other, and with one last cocky grin, he turns and starts jogging toward the hotel.
I drain my glass and wait impatiently for Pablo to return. Imagine my epic disappointment when a bikini-clad brunette waitress suddenly appears. She hands me a bottle of water and a handwritten note, and I laugh when I read the chicken-scratch that Ethan calls handwriting.
All drinks will be charged to my credit card if you promise to stop flirting with the waiter. To ensure you keep your word, Selena will now be at your beck and call. If you do flirt with her, please take a picture and send it to me.
xxoo
ES
“Miss York says hello,” I mutter to my beaming pilot as I board the plane. Coop’s already there, buckled into his seat with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
“I hate you.”
He laughs while I buckle up. Grabbing my cell, I quickly scroll through my email. I have a few messages from some Italian connections, but nothing really solid to pursue.
“Hate me all you want. It’s not my fault you can’t seal the deal with Jenna.”
I flip him the bird. He smirks and turns his attention back to his book—a biography on General Stonewall Jackson.
“You know, you could read something a bit more beneficial to our career.”
“Stonewall Jackson was the ultimate gambler. Listen to this. He sat like a stone wall atop his horse while bullets buzzed around his head. His faith in God was so strong that he believed if it was his time to die, then it was his time. See? Stonewall was badass.”
“He wasn’t a gambler. He was suicidal.”
Coop shakes his head. “He was brilliant.”
Despite my annoyance, I can’t deny I’m intrigued.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Did he get killed?”
“Not that day, but later. He was accidentally shot by one of his men after the Battle of Chancellorsville. Arm had to be amputated. Infection set in. He died a few days later.”
“I bet he was disappointed not to go out in a blaze of glory.”
Coop returns to his book as the plane begins to taxi down the runaway. With a tired yawn, I lean back in my seat and close my eyes. I know sleep won’t come easily. I’m too restless. Hopefully, this trip to California will provide just enough distraction to make me forget all about the big brown eyes of Jenna York. The woman is infuriating. And gorgeous.
Infuriatingly gorgeous.
She’s also the most brilliant con artist of our generation.
I’d never admit it to her, of course. I have a reputation to protect within the deep recesses of my ego, but yes, Jenna York is a criminal mastermind. I’d bow at her feet if I could be certain she wouldn’t kick me in the face with her pointy-toed stilettos.
My face is my meal ticket, after all.
Not that I’m a subpar con artist by any stretch of the imagination. Coop and I are wealthy and respected, and while we’ve had to share our riches with the team of York and Moore from time to time, neither side has really suffered. At this point, our competitiveness is more about pride than anything else. For a long time, we had a great thing going. A mutually beneficial rivalry that kept us sharp and in the game.
Then Coop fell in love with Jenna’s partner-in-crime.
I’m still not sure how it happened.
One minute, the four of us—completely by accident—had been breaking into the same bank vault. The next thing I knew, Coop and Abby were sticking their tongues down each other’s throats while Jenna and I divvied up the cash.
Fraternizing with the enemy is never
a good idea. Emotions always tend to get in the way. But somehow, the two of them have been able to make it work for nearly a year. They rarely see each other, but when they do, it must be a fairly epic reunion because I can’t stand to be around him for hours afterward.
“You know, Penelope’s living in Los Angeles now. Maybe a visit’s in order.”
I groan. Penelope Evans is an ex-girlfriend who’s fun but completely incapable of having an intelligent conversation.
“Too easy, Coop. I need a challenge.”
“Well, Jenna is definitely a challenge. I think she’s ruined you for other women.”
“Whatever, man. We just flirt. It’s all innocent.”
“It’s the innocent part that’s really frustrating you, isn’t it?”
“Not at all.” There’s no reason to admit how crazy the girl makes me. “It’ll happen. She won’t be able to resist me forever.”
“If it’s any consolation, Abby says the same thing.”
“Abby is absolutely right.”
He finally changes the subject, and we spend the next hour or so discussing our plans for Los Angeles. An overseas art dealer is eager to get his hands on the original Botticelli which is currently on display in one of the more sophisticated galleries in the city. Our flight’s scheduled to arrive late tonight, and from there, we’ll meet with our museum contact before deciding on our next plan of action.
“It’s going to be a long night,” Coop says, closing his book and making himself comfortable against the window. “We’d better try to sleep.”
I mutter my agreement just as my cell phone vibrates. The number isn’t one I recognize, but that’s not too surprising. What is surprising is the text that suddenly appears on my screen.
You told me to send you a picture if I flirted with the waitress, so here you go. Thanks for the vacay! – JY
I click on the picture. It’s Jenna and Selena—kissing squarely on the lips.
“Holy crap.”
Leaning across the seat, Coop glances at my phone and chuckles.
“That girl is gonna be the death of you.”
I take another long, jealous look at the picture, and I smile.
“But what a way to go.”
“That was close,” Coop mutters breathlessly as we speed through downtown Los Angeles. The city is always a monumental risk, but if you can pull it off, the benefits are worth it.
If you can pull it off . . . which we almost didn’t.
After arriving at the tiny airport outside of the city, we’d met Hector, one of the curators of the museum, to discuss last minute details of the heist. He’d been contacted by an Italian businessman who’d been looking for a very specific Botticelli painting to give to his daughter as a wedding gift. Naturally, money was no object, but the piece wasn’t licensed to sell. The curator, eager to please the Italian millionaire but unwilling to dirty his own hands, had called us, giving us the impression this would be an easy inside job.
It wasn’t.
Hector had neglected to tell his security team their services wouldn’t be needed tonight, and this epic oversight had nearly brought the entire operation to its knees.
“Of course we have it!” Coop screams into the phone as I take the exit that leads back to the airport. “We’re professionals. We aren’t complete morons like you are! There is an art to this, man, and you could have completely screwed us tonight.”
Coop is meticulous with details and has no patience for incompetence.
With his rage somewhat out of his system, Coop finalizes the details of the delivery before telling the curator to never call us again. It’s a good business decision. We don’t need the aggravation.
“I’m too old for this shit.”
“Coop, you’re twenty-five.”
“And I’ve been a thief since I was fifteen. I have somehow avoided prison—not to mention getting shot—and I am not about to risk either because of West Coast dumbasses. No more LA.”
I nod in agreement. “No more LA.”
The bright lights of the little airport come into view, and I steer the SUV toward the hangar. Two planes await us, with Gabe standing close to mine. The other belongs to our Italian millionaire. It’s only when the Botticelli is safely on the plane and in the air that Coop and I finally breathe a sigh of relief.
“Where to now, boss?” Gabe asks.
I steal a glance at my best friend, who’s leaning against the plane, anxiously smoking a cigarette. Coop rarely smokes, so I know he’s stressed out. We’ve worked a lot during the past few months, and while the jobs have been beneficial to our bank accounts, maybe it’s time for a break.
“Give me a minute,” I tell him.
Gabe nods, and I make my way over to Coop. When he sees me coming, he stubs out his cigarette and watches me with weary eyes.
“Coop, I’ve been thinking—”
“God help us.”
“Maybe it’s time for a vacation.”
His eyes light up. “For real?”
“We’ve pulled a lot of cons in the last few months. We’re exhausted, and I know you miss your girl.”
The two of us sit down on the asphalt.
“I do miss her,” he says. “You know that whole absence makes the heart grow fonder bullshit?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s bullshit.”
I nod in understanding, even though I really don’t. I’ve never been in love, and I’ve definitely never been attached to one woman like Coop’s attached to Abby.
“Are you thinking about getting out?”
His guilty eyes meet mine, and in that moment, I have my answer.
“I’d never desert you, Ethan. But ten years is a long time to run for your life.”
“You love the game.”
“I do, but I think I love her more.”
With a tired sigh, I stare out across the dark field and let his words sink in. For the first time in his life, there’s something Coop loves more than the job. He and Abby haven’t spent more than a week together at any given time, and yet the two of them have formed a connection that’s undeniable. Coop’s her missing half, and she is his. I’ve never been one to believe in something like true love or soul mates, but they’ve made believers out of me.
And I’m jealous.
“Where will you go? For vacation?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I suppose I should make the yearly visit to my parents.”
“I bet your mom bakes something,” Coop says with a sigh. “Jillian’s oatmeal raisin cookies are still the best I’ve ever tasted.”
I grin. “I’ll bring you some. So, I guess you’re headed to Atlanta? That’s where the girls are. We can drop you off and then I’ll head on up to Nashville.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’ll just catch a flight out of LAX.”
“It’s no problem.” Honestly, I’m in no hurry to see my folks. The longer I can delay my visit, the happier I’ll be. “Go call your girl.”
“Maybe you should call yours.”
“I don’t have one.”
He smirks. “Whatever you say.”
The two of us stand up and walk toward the plane. While Coop makes his call, I tell Gabe about our vacation plans.
“We’re going to Georgia? Miss York is in Georgia.”
My pilot all but skips onboard. This little crush of his is getting on my nerves.
“By the way, I’m docking your pay for her little Mexican vacation,” I tell him as I buckle my seatbelt.
Gabe laughs, clearly not worried in the least. His bank account isn’t nearly as hefty as mine, but it’s probably close.
“You told me to take her anywhere she wished to go.”
“And she wished for Mexico?”
“Acapulco. She was very specific.”
“I’m sure she was.”
I grab the nearest magazine and flip through the pages. Gabe continues babbling about Jenna, and I pretend to ignore him while I desperately hang on to every word.<
br />
“We talked about you a lot. I think she likes you.”
I’m physically unable to keep my ears from perking up like a dog’s.
“Well, you think wrong. That girl hates me.”
“There’s a thin line between love and hate. Very, very thin.”
He finally shuts up long enough to file the flight plan. A few minutes later, Coop climbs onboard, whistling happily as he takes his seat.
“You look better.”
“I feel better. Get this. The girls are in a little town called Cooperville, Georgia.”
I laugh. “Must be a sign.”
“That’s what Abby said.”
“How was their Monet operation?”
“Successful.”
Of course it was.
Coop beams, a sure sign he’s much happier now that he knows he’s going to get to spend some quality time with his woman. “Apparently, there isn’t much to do there. We’re supposed to meet them at this bar out near the county line. She’s texting me the address.”
“What’s this we? I’m headed to Tennessee, remember?”
“Oh, I remember. But you’ll never convince me you don’t want to see Jenna, so don’t even embarrass yourself by trying.”
I hear Gabe laugh from the pilot’s seat.
“Why don’t you just fly the damn plane!”
The two of them laugh as we taxi down the runway and fly off into the California night.
The bar’s a rundown, wooden cabin deep in the Georgia pines. Loud country music blares and neon lights flash in the windows. The parking lot is full of pickup trucks and Jeeps.
To be honest, I’m a little scared. Our pretty asses might get kicked in a place like this.
“Aren’t you a little uncomfortable that your girl is somewhere in this redneck shack?” I ask Coop as I follow him through the swinging doors. Yes, they’re actually swinging, just like in an old Western saloon. Reflexively, I reach for an imaginary gun I wish I had on my hip, because I’m pretty sure every good ol’ boy in this place is packing heat.
“Look,” Coop says when we step inside. The first thing we see is a pool table, where two very large men are having a heated discussion about the eight ball. Suddenly, the bigger man’s fist connects with the smaller guy’s face, and just like that, we have a barroom brawl on our hands.
