Call My Bluff

by Elizabeth Knox

  They both have a folder in their hands. It’s as thick as a Bible and Jojo hands me one as she sits down. “We have a lot of information. So sorry we’re late. The printer ran out of ink and I wanted to make sure you had the exact same copy of the file as we did,” Jojo states in a thick English accent.

  Immediately my anger has drifted away and I open the manila colored folder, and my eyes fall on a photograph of her that must’ve been taken when she was a teenager. Her obsidian hair comes just below her ribcage, but her eyes won’t even look at the camera. This is the same person, but she’s in no way the woman I knew. This young girl has no confidence whatsoever and if it weren’t for the fact I paid good money for them to look into her past, I’d assume someone was playing a trick on me.

  Heidi clears her throat, “As you can see Lola had her entire world come crashing down on her when she was fifteen. She was put in the foster system, losing everything she ever had in life. Every bit of normalcy was suddenly gone.”

  Scanning my eyes further down the paper it’s blacked out in specific areas. “Why is it blacked out?” I ask.

  “Do you know how hard it is to get records on a minor? I had to bribe a few people to get most of this. I’d say it’s blacked out because she was a minor at the time, or it had something to do with her father’s death.”

  Her father died? I had no idea. “How’d he die?”

  “Depends who you ask. His death record said it was an automobile accident, but a close friend of his told me he was working for the CIA and they covered it up.”

  At this point I’m chuckling, “Okay, did you two think you could get away with this?”

  Jojo narrows her eyes in confusion. “What?”

  “Did the two of you think you could fool me like this? Her dad’s friend said he was in the CIA. This is bullshit.”

  Heidi stares me straight in the eyes, “No, it isn’t. His friend was able to obtain images of him at high social functions in foreign countries a man of his . . . reported stature wouldn’t have ever been invited to. I did a little digging and I do believe her father was in fact part of the CIA. Now, are you going to let me continue or shall I take all of the paperwork and leave?”

  “Go on,” I’ll entertain the idea, for now.

  “Her mother lasted a year before she resorted to drugs. She was using it as a coping mechanism after she had her mental breakdown. Her husband’s death was something she couldn’t ever live with. She didn’t know how to survive in this world after he was gone. She only knew how to be a mother to their daughter while he was away on work trips. For the past seventeen years she’s been in assisted living homes. The first two years she was in a state program, but then all of a sudden there’s a transfer for her to go to the creme de la creme.”

  “That’s when you believe Charli started doing this?” I question, catching on.

  Jojo nods, “Lola, and yes. That’s what we believe. Of course, it’s incredibly hard to gather information on con artists.”

  “Alright, so she came from an incredibly troubling background. What else can you tell me about her?”

  “Well, we’re still working on her. But, we have information on Wallace Wynn.” Heidi starts off, confusing me even further.

  “Wallace?”

  “Her father,” Jojo fills me in.

  “Ah, alright. Go on.”

  “We had our tech savvy girl at the office, Janet, do a scan to search for images of Lola, Wallace and her mother, Patricia.” Heidi states, going quiet all of a sudden.

  “What did she find?” I ask, needing to know whatever it is that’s causing her to be so tight lipped.

  “We found photos of Wallace.”

  “Okay, so?” I’m sure there are plenty of photos of him. They just stated he was in images with foreign officials. It doesn’t pertain to what we’re looking into right now.

  “They were from earlier this year, in London.” Heidi says.

  Closing my eyes for a split second I try to cool my temper. “Alright, I think we’re done here. I’m done with your games.” I stand up from the table and turn to grab my suit jacket, but feel a tap on the back of my shoulder.

  “Look at this photograph,” Jojo urges.

  I don’t know why, but I face her and glance down at it. He’s aged but I do see the resemblance. “So, what does this prove, her father’s alive?”

  “It proves exactly that. Wallace Wynn faked his own death, not even telling his immediate family. He let his wife lose her mind, and an immediate result of that was his only child going into the foster care system. Tell me, why would a man do that?”

  “I don’t have the answer.” I state, looking at the both of them. These two better have the answer, though.

  “We’re still working on this, Declan, because it will take time. But, there have been rumors about a man named Wallace being the kingpin of a con-artist organization.” Heidi fills me in.

  This is all so much to process, but there’s one organization the FBI mentioned to me when they started the investigation on my ex-fiancé. “It’s The Fold,” I say, sliding my hands into my pockets.

  The expression on their faces tell me my assumption is correct. “We have so much more work to do, but please take this with you and we’ll call you in a few days. Janet is looking for anything she can find . . . but Declan, I need to know if you’re going to contact the agent who worked on your case all those years ago?” Heidi asks.

  “I might. Haven’t made up my mind yet. I’ll chat with you in a few days.” I say, walking out of the coffee shop with my suit jacket in hand

  Well, I wasn’t expecting any of this today.

  Chapter Eight

  “I have found so much beauty in the dark as I have found a lot of horrors in the light.”

  ~ Unknown

  Lola

  “Lola, you free for a sec?” Fleur asks me from the doorway of my bedroom. I’m matching a pair of gold hoops with a crimson red bodycon dress for my date with Alec. He prefers the color, so I’m hoping this will work in my favor.

  “Only a second,” I joke, encouraging her to come in.

  “Alright so Declan has one hell of a firewall and security system. Luckily for you, my hands are like little soldiers,” She giggles, blowing on her acrylic nails. “Anyways, you were right for feeling the way you did. Declan hired that bitch Heidi and her team of wannabes to look into you. He’s had her on his payroll for years, girl, but she just found you. I found the email, here.” Fleur walks up to me and hands me her laptop. I look over the email and see the photograph that was attached to it.

  “Shit. Does Nadia know about this yet?” I ask, and Fleur shakes her head indicating she doesn’t know.

  “Alright. We need to think of something and fast. I can’t have Declan screwing this up.”

  “I agree. We need to nip this in the bud as soon as possible. When people go poking around it’s always bad for business.”

  “I need to see him,” I say, genuinely believing this is the only way to stop this.

  “Uh, what? That’s a horrible idea. You don’t need to do anything remotely close to that. In fact, I think it’s common sense we all need to be avoiding him. Most of all though, you need to do what you did the other night and run if you see him again. He can’t interfere with this, Lola. The stakes are far too high.”

  I know Fleur is trying to help me, but if I don’t meet him face-to-face this is going to end up getting worse. I know him. Hell, I spent years with Declan and I doubt he’s changed much over the time we’ve been apart. He has a good heart, and while he also has a stern spine . . . I feel like if I communicate with him he’ll drop it. Maybe he just needs closure or something.

  “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I mutter, handing the laptop back to Fleur. I hope she believes me.

  “Mhm, I’m typically never wrong. Just be glad you said that to me and not Nadia. She would’ve called Father immediately and hogtied you.”

  “I don’t know if she
would’ve. She went against protocol the other day. What’s to say she won’t do it again?”

  Fleur nods. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Who knows, she might not have that stick up her ass anymore. She did have one hell of a reputation, though.”

  “Guess we’ll find out on this assignment,” I laugh, securing the hoop earring in my ear. I grab a gold necklace that drapes between my breasts and walk over to my shoes. They have a gold buckle on the side which will naturally pull my entire ensemble together.

  Fleur exits my room and I rush out the door, walking down the street to the five-star restaurant where I’m supposed to be meeting Alec for our date. It’s conveniently located underneath his studio and I now realize why Father snagged this apartment for us. He wanted us to be intimately close with Alec.

  I turn the block and walk about thirty feet and approach the matte black doorway with gold handles. Earlier in the day I strolled down here to see the accents, wanting to look visually appealing, almost like if I were an accent to the restaurant. Alec is a very visual man, therefore I need to be even more particular about my appearance than I typically am.

  I walk up to the hostess station and a gorgeous red-headed woman smiles brightly, “You must be Tamara. Mr. Rosseau is waiting for you. Please follow me,” she instructs and I do as she says, walking behind her until we pass through a pair of black curtains and enter a private room. There’s a small two-person table in the center of the room with a burning candle as the centerpiece.

  “Tamara, you look . . .,”

  “Breathtaking?” I say with a laugh, as the two of us kiss each other on the cheek. Alec pulls a chair out for me and I take a seat.

  “Yes. That would be an accurate statement.” He smirks, taking the seat across from me. Once he does I see the paintings on the wall and now I’m the one who loses my breath.

  “How? How did you get these here? One was in France at . . . wasn’t it in a museum?!” I smile dazzlingly at the drafted sketch of La Dormeuse because it takes my breath straight from my lungs. No one would know how much I genuinely love art, so being on this assignment doesn’t particularly irritate me.

  “It was, but I know the curator and was able to purchase it.”

  “He robbed you no doubt,” I state, unable to keep my eyes off it.

  “No, he was paid handsomely for a one of a kind piece.”

  Glancing down to Alec, I ask the question he’s no doubt wanting from me. “Did you do this for me?”

  “I might have. After we met the other night, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your name stuck with me, so, I made sure you’d understand just how much you’ve been on my mind.” There’s no part of me that makes me believe he’s interested in anything except sex. He probably uses this line on tons of girls.

  “That is so sweet. Thank you,” I say, making sure to look at the floor like I’m bashful.

  A waitress approaches us with two glasses of white wine. Ew. But I don’t get to choose my typical red here. All I have to do is make it through the night, try to slip out and then I can do what I need to.

  Even if some might not agree with me.

  What Nadia and Fleur don’t know won’t kill them. I need to make sure Declan won’t be a problem, so after Alec is satisfied with our date and I’ve started to hook him I’ll be taking a little trip to a place I’ve been to thousands of times before.

  Chapter Nine

  “All my life, my heart has sought a thing I cannot name.”

  Declan

  “You need anything else before I head out?” Samira, my estate manager asks. She’s standing in the foyer while I’m sitting on my plush armchair reading The Art of War for what feels like the millionth time.

  Closing the book, I set it down on the small table beside me. “No, I don’t think so. We’ve barely seen one another today. So, how was it?”

  Samira’s golden bronze colored skin flushes with bright pink. “It was . . . interesting.”

  Samira went out on a date for the first time since getting out from under her family’s strict religious practices. Her father went off on her a few weeks ago, stating she isn’t the type of daughter he ever wanted. How she should’ve been married off in her early-twenties, how she should have children. It’s as if he’s living a hundred years in the past.

  I helped her set up an online dating profile last week and she started talking to this guy named Matthew. He’s an oncologist at one of the biggest hospitals in the city and from what she’s told me about him, they really get along via texts.

  “Oh, come on. You can’t leave me hanging there! Give me all the details. I helped make this possible for you. If I were to get a little dickish about the entire thing, I’d say you owe it to me.”

  Samira laughs, ultimately rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder why we’re even friends with the things that come out of your mouth.”

  “I’m the only friend your family couldn’t push out of your life,” I remind her. It helps when the salary I pay her is enough to ensure her parents have a comfortable lifestyle. It isn’t Samira’s responsibility to pay their bills or buy groceries for them, yet she does it anyway. That’s just a difference in culture though.

  “Smartass. Anyway, you want to know about my date, right?” She teases.

  “Yes, continue.”

  “He’s so nice, smart, kind, and he’s funny. He had me laughing the entire time . . .,”

  “But?” I interject, knowing something must be wrong.

  “He smelled like roses, like he had put on perfume. It was oozing off him and I remember he kept telling me how nice I smelled, asking what type of perfume I was wearing.”

  I break out into a good laugh. “Alright, there are two options here. He either has some sort of perfume fetish, or he’s sleeping with another woman who’s trying to subtly mark her territory.”

  “Seriously?” Samira’s mouth goes agape.

  “Yes,” I nod.

  “Wow. I never would’ve thought of that.” Samira shakes her head, “It makes me want to reevaluate the whole dating thing.”

  “Why don’t you ask him about it? Be straightforward and all that. At least then you’ll get your answer.” I suggest.

  “You know, I may do that this evening. But I need to get going. I told Mom I’d make her a late dinner. Dad is out with his friends and won’t be back from his trip until tomorrow.” I hate she has to get quality time with her mother when her father goes out of town on one of his ‘trips’. Honestly, I’m convinced he has a mistress or some dirty secret he’s keeping. I wouldn’t ever say that to Samira or her mother, though. They are far too good for him.

  Samira makes her way out of my house and I stand in the doorway to ensure she safely gets in her car. I live in a gated community, but you can never be too careful these days. I think about going back over to my reading but opt to grab a glass of merlot from the fridge. Every time I drink it I think of Charli— Lola, I mean Lola. Fuck, I’m still not used to her name.

  We’d sit over a plate of dried meats and cheese, laying out on the back deck and look up at the stars. Or we’d watch scary movies and attempt not to spill it on the couch. I was able to get most of the stains out but I still have the one from watching Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I’ve put an oversized pillow over it to cover it up. Samira suggested I get rid of it not too long ago, however I simply can’t part with it.

  . . . Lola and I went through so much. She was pregnant with my child and miscarried at four months. It may sound awful but I remember it like it was yesterday. The appointment, the way we hoped to hear the quick heartbeat of our child. Instead we heard nothing and Lola changed. She fell into a deep depression, drinking every single night, hardly leaving the house.

  That happened six months before she left with everything I had. After the meeting I had with Heidi and Jojo today I can’t help but let my mind wonder. Would have things ended up differently if she didn’t miscarry? Would she have still taken the money? Or, would she have confessed everything and ask
ed for my help.

  As much as I want the answers, I don’t think I’ll ever get them.

  I loved her though, more than I loved anyone before her. I loved her so much I thought I’d die for her. Fuck, I thought I was going to die when she disappeared. The money, the materialistic shit . . . none of it mattered to me. Losing her was so much worse. She was the reason I stood up to my father and told him off. She encouraged me to stick up for myself and my vision. Told me he’d be pissed but after a while he’d understand and he’d respect me.

  If only she knew what would happen between us. She was right about one thing though. He did end up admitting he respected me. However, it was in the heat of the moment. We were going at each other’s throats and our relationship is much more strained than it has ever been before.

  My doorbell rings through my house and I set my glass of wine down, never even taking a sip as I head toward the front door. I’m betting Samira forgot something. She’s insistent on ringing the doorbell even though she has a key. For goodness sake, she manages the household and the team I have working here.

  Without even taking a look through the peephole I swing the door wide open. My entire body goes cold at the sight of the woman I least expected. I figured I’d be the one chasing her around. Never did I think she’d come straight to my door.

  Lola Wynn, in the flesh.

  Chapter Ten

  I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul

  ~ Neruda

  Lola

  He’s looking at me, yet it feels as if he’s looking through me. I knew once we received the confirmation he was onto me that I needed to come here. Fleur really doesn’t understand that I didn’t have a choice. He’d keep following me until he blew our operation to shit. That can’t happen. The moment it does I’d be the one paying for it, alongside Nadia and Fleur.