Seduced by Sin (Unlikely Hero)

by Kris Rafferty

  They shook, and the woman projected a cheerful, perky vibe. Slight of figure, no makeup, and a black bob haircut that covered most of her face, she gave the impression she really, really, really wanted Francesca to like her. So Francesca obliged, trying to see past the woman’s clunky glasses and pastel polo shirt. Her eyes were gorgeous, irises so black it was impossible to see where her pupils began.

  “Hello, Francesca. I’m Marnie,” she said.

  Chapter Eleven

  Detectives Dane MacLain and Lucas Sullivan, two of Manchester Police Department’s finest, stood in the middle of the parlor, wearing pastel polo shirts, khaki pants, and loafers. Loafers, for shit’s sake. To add insult to injury, they wore mousy brown wigs and tortoiseshell glasses. Muscular candy-covered almond treats. If Caleb weren’t so pissed that Marnie, his pregnant best friend—MacLain’s wife—was also in the parlor, he would have laughed his ass off at their expense. Where was her sense of self-preservation? Disguises or not, they were in the belly of the beast that tried to kill her and her husband no more than a month ago. Hamilton had to have a dossier on them both. Hell, for all Caleb knew, Francesca had seen it when she was in Levine’s office.

  Caleb ordered wedding planners, and the Feds sent him…his friends.

  “Thank you so much for agreeing to help us plan our wedding.” Francesca blindly reached for him, clawing the air behind her, searching for his hand. “We’re hoping for something small.” Her voice warbled. Caleb took her flailing hand.

  “Small?” He forced a chuckle through gritting teeth. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, sweetheart. Let’s break the bank.” He was curious as to the complexity of his candy-colored friends’ cover. It would tell him how much time went into setting up this meeting, and how long they’d known he was here…and that he was an undercover Special Agent with the FBI. The Feds recruiting them was a shock, and he didn’t like it. He assumed they carried a message he’d only believe coming from someone he trusted. And he trusted Marnie, and by extension her family, MacLain and now Sullivan.

  Francesca’s eyes widened with alarm. “But—” Her smile tensed, as if she wanted to shut him up. Apparently his suggestion of a big wedding was unwelcome, yet Caleb distinctly remember hearing her refer to hundreds of guests when they spoke in the restaurant, so…he gave up. None of this mattered. How could she not see this? This wedding wasn’t happening, so they could invite a thousand people and it wouldn’t matter. He put his arm around her, hoping to soothe her.

  “Let’s see what they’ve got for us,” he said.

  “Yes! And we have lots to do.” Marnie grabbed a binder off the coffee table and clutched it to her chest as if it were the most valuable item she possessed. “Lots of decisions to make! Forgive my enthusiasm.” She scrunched up her face and gave Francesca a giggly shake of the head. “But I want your wedding to be the biggest, the best.” She raised a hand in the air, staring off in the distance, as if imagining this nonexistent wedding she was about to detail down to minutiae.

  “Please continue,” Caleb said. Marnie hesitated when Caleb held her gaze long enough to let her know he was in the mood to fuck with her.

  “I’m seeing flouncy ribbons,” she said, “chiffon bows, thousands of gardenias, white, white, and then more white. Doves released as you first kiss as man and wife.” Marnie sold it. Since Caleb knew she’d recently gone through this process, but on the bride’s side, he wondered if she were emulating her wedding planner, because Dane MacLain, her husband, was suppressing a smile. “Your first moment of nuptial bliss, symbolically shared with all the guests in attendance. It will be fantastical.”

  “It would be that,” Caleb said.

  “I think she means fantastic,” Francesca whispered. “And I don’t know about doves.” Tilting her head, her face contorted with dismay, Francesca pressed her fingertips to her chest. “And when you say flouncy? What exactly do you mean?”

  Marnie, the image of welcoming accommodation, waved off her concerns. “Why don’t we sit over here and discuss it? It’s my favorite thing to do. Yes, it is.” She made an attempt to separate Francesca from Caleb’s arms, but Francesca’s smile tightened and she held on. Marnie hid her frustration but threw a telling glance at her husband. Plan B, Caleb supposed, curious to see what his best friend had up her sleeve.

  MacLain stepped forward, awkward in his role as solicitous salesman/planner. His usually scruffy face was shaved clean, and with the wig and glasses, Caleb barely recognized him. He did, however, recognize the bulge of an ankle-holstered gun. Caleb had to assume after making the asinine decision to jump into his operation with targets prominently on their backs, they at least had the sense to come armed.

  “Why don’t you girls decide the theme of the wedding?” MacLain said. “While the boys discuss tuxedos.” He indicated a large book on a side table across the room. “Mr. Smith? After you.”

  Caleb dropped a kiss on Francesca’s brow and whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. Choose a theme so we can get them out of here.” He felt her grip loosen, and after a quick, bolstering inhale, Francesca stepped from his side.

  “Marnie, like I said, I would like something simple,” she said.

  Marnie nodded and touched Francesca’s shoulder, guiding her away from Caleb, as Sullivan and MacLain led him to the corner of the room with the binders. When Caleb saw Francesca on the couch flipping through her own set of binders, he turned to the detectives.

  “Be sure to pin him down, Dane. You know,” Marnie said, throwing a stealthy glare at Caleb, “on what we discussed.” Her bright, cheerful tone was at odds with the retribution her glare promised, and Caleb knew he deserved it. She was his oldest and best friend, and he’d never told her he was recruited by the FBI. She would see his silence as a betrayal, and it would take time for her to forgive him.

  MacLain opened the big binder with a bang. “Sure thing, pumpkin.” He unveiled a variety of tuxedos designed in the disco era. So a random prop, and not a lot of time put into this grift, which meant it was rushed. Whatever message they had, he hoped it warranted the risk. MacLain grimaced, keeping his face averted from the women. “You have every right to be pissed. Believe me. I am, too. Marnie…she fucked up and now we’re here—”

  “The Feds heard about your engagement,” Sullivan said. “They decided to step in.”

  “I’m following their plan.”

  “They didn’t say to marry the woman,” Sullivan said. “We’re here with warrants to plant wires in as many rooms as we can gain access to and hack into Hamilton’s servers. Now your techie guys are no longer black ops, they have the full force of the United States government behind them.”

  “But why recruit you three?” Caleb said. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “It’s a long story,” MacLain said.

  And none of them had time for a long story. “Well, just…fuck.” He narrowed his eyes and debriefed. “Brent Levine was shot by Harris Tate the night of the party. I had to cut loose or adapt. I adapted.”

  “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?” Sullivan smirked.

  “Shut up, Sullivan,” Caleb said.

  “Levine?” MacLain said.

  “Dead,” Caleb said.

  MacLain exchanged glances with Sullivan. “The warrants are based on RICO laws so our judge gave us a week. We find something in that time frame or the operation is over. Marnie wrote a code for your techs to feed into Hamilton’s servers. It will flag trigger words. If there is a digital footprint on the ledger, this algorithm will find it.” He handed him a flash drive, and Caleb pocked it. “Her penance.”

  “Huh?” Caleb didn’t like the sound of that.

  “We’ll talk later. Like I said, long story. Buy us time to hide the listening devices. Have your people erase any security video showing we did it. It won’t take us long, then we’re out of here.” MacLain pushed his glasses up his nose, and then glanced at his wife. His guilty as sin wife, apparently, that was currently doing penance? Caleb shudder
ed to think what kind of trouble Marnie had gotten into.

  Caleb banked his anxiety. “We’re dealing with an analog guy in a digital world. Hamilton doesn’t trust his data on a medium that can be hacked from anywhere in the world. What happened at Whitman Enterprises made him even more paranoid.” Whitman Enterprises was a Hamilton shell company, and now out of business, thanks to the MacLains and Marnie’s talent as a hacker. “I’ll have my people plant the code, but don’t get your hopes up. And the bugging is a bad idea. Odds are if they’re found, Hamilton will blame the new guy. Me. Just leave. Have the Feds send real wedding planners.” He frowned at Marnie. “Keep her away from this. It’s about to get ugly.” Francesca caught his eye, so he forced a smile. “Sweetheart, what do you think about Kelly green for my tuxedo?” He waited, brows lifted, encouraging a response.

  Francesca’s uneasy stare shifted to panic. “Please, Caleb. Don’t do that to me.” Marnie pointed to a page, expertly deflecting her attention.

  “How close are you to finding the ledger?” Sullivan said.

  “Levine had it, but whoops. He’s dead. And it’s not in his office or his apartment. I’ve been meeting with Hamilton for over a week now, and he’s your average bureaucrat,” he said. “On paper, I’m shadier. If I didn’t know better, I’d say we’ve got the wrong guy.”

  “The Feds say he’s our guy. We just need the proof,” MacLain said. “His dossier says he tests loyalties. Be careful.”

  “Levine is dead.” Caleb’s recall of the event would live with him forever. “And I’m engaged.” He glanced at Francesca, wondering what it would feel like to really be engaged to her, looking forward to a lifetime together. He couldn’t imagine. People like Caleb didn’t get to be that guy. “He’s tested me plenty.”

  MacLain pointed to a picture in the big book of bad tuxedos, raising his voice. “I think this yellow would bring out the green of your eyes.”

  Francesca squeaked from across the room. “We will not have yellow tuxedos at my wedding!”

  “Of course not,” Marnie said. “Ignore them. Nothing happens without your approval.” MacLain turned his back on the women.

  “Hamilton is dying,” Caleb said.

  Sullivan shook his head. “No. We were briefed. He’s healthy as a horse. Just had a physical.”

  Caleb caught Francesca watching him. He threw her an encouraging smile. When she smiled back, and turned her attention back to the binder on her lap, he studied her expression for signs of deceit. If Hamilton wasn’t dying, she’d have to be in on the con. He just didn’t see it. “Falsified, maybe. Probably. Levine leaked the news and died for the miscalculation. So, yeah, he’s really dying.” Caleb saw nothing more than nervous anticipation in Francesca. And…she seemed to be enjoying herself with Marnie.

  “Did he give specifics?” MacLain raised his brows, unconvinced.

  “No. He didn’t.” Caleb took a breath to calm down. “Why the production of acquiring a successor, a fiancé…me, if he’s lying? That makes no sense. And he looks like he’s dying. He’s frail, irritable.”

  “You just described my Aunt Joanie,” Sullivan said. “She’s healthy as a horse. But I agree. It does seem unlikely he’d tell his daughter he was about to die if he wasn’t, and more to the point, none of this is relevant to finding the ledger,” Sullivan said. “This marriage bullshit is not why you’re here.” Caleb didn’t agree. The relevancies of this fake engagement were enough to curdle his stomach. Without it, he’d be out on the curb, the operation a bust, and Francesca left to the mercies of Levine and her father.

  “The only reason you have access to Hamilton’s servers and can wire his mansion is because I’m engaged to his daughter.”

  MacLain shrugged. “Orders are wire the place up and you plant Marnie’s coding, and that’s what we’ll do. To the letter. But you should think about bailing as soon as you can. Believe me, I want this guy more than you do.” Caleb believed him. Hamilton was one of the men responsible for his first wife’s murder. “But Marnie cares for you…” MacLain pursed his lips. “So don’t get yourself killed.”

  “Smile, MacLain.” Caleb smiled, also. “Francesca becomes worried when her wedding planners frown.”

  MacLain glanced toward the women, smiling, then turned his back again. “She’s either the best actress I’ve ever met or the biggest chump.”

  They were wasting time. “Let’s get this done,” Caleb said.

  “We need ten minutes to set the devices,” Sullivan said.

  Caleb nodded, and then he joined Francesca and Marnie, sitting on the couch to Francesca’s right. “We decided on white tuxedos.” Caleb kissed her hand. “What do you think? Black tie, black pants?”

  “Yes.” Francesca sighed, smiling. “That would be lovely.”

  She was stunning, and she mesmerized him. Red flag. He was falling for his mark; his judgment was compromised. So he did what any successful grifter would do in this situation. He reassessed his environment to increase his odds of survival, and sought out scenarios where she could betray him. He cast her as seductress whose purpose was to distract him while her father played out some complicated con. He tried the idea on for a moment, flipping the script, juggling the past weeks’ events, but couldn’t reconcile that version of her with the facts as he knew them. It just wasn’t who she was.

  Now, Caleb was that person. And Francesca had no idea he’d seduced her with a purpose in mind. The operation he and the detectives were playing out required skills Francesca didn’t have. So if she was playing them, her performance was flawless. But…Caleb just couldn’t see it. He was convinced she was exactly as she presented herself. An innocent.

  Marnie patted Francesca’s hand. “Black tie is very classy. Now let’s look at your cake design options. I know wonderful bakers that specialize in carrot cake. You must order the carrot cake.”

  “Oh.” Francesca nodded repeatedly, turning to Caleb for approval.

  “I’m allergic to carrots,” Caleb said. And Marnie knew it.

  “The wedding is for the bride.” Marnie blithely ignored his complaint. “Let’s not be selfish on her special day.” She scrunched up her face and smiled at Francesca, then took a deep breath and released it. “Now, let’s see. Your meal! Our market research has found fish to be popular.”

  “Fish?” Caleb grimaced, but Francesca seemed exhilarated with the idea. He hated fish.

  “Oh,” Marnie said between coughs. “Francesca, I’m having one of my allergy attacks.” Cough, cough, cough. “A glass of water? Francesca?” Cough. “Please?” Then she coughed until her face went red and she was bent at the waist, at risk of displacing her wig.

  Francesca shot off the couch and ran for the door. When it closed behind her, Marnie followed and inched the door open a crack. Caleb supposed Marnie suspected Francesca would attempt to eavesdrop. Always suspicious, Marnie had to make sure it wasn’t happening, but Caleb knew it would never occur to Francesca.

  Caleb followed her across the room, folded his arms, and waited for the shitstorm he knew was coming now that she could talk freely. “Say what you have to say, Marnie.”

  She closed the door again, strode up to Caleb, her jaw tilted up, and then she shoved him. Caleb stumbled back, not because she could move him, but because past experience taught him Marnie wouldn’t relent until she thought she’d pushed him back. “You…you…you lied to me.”

  “Marnie, this is not the time,” her husband said.

  “No.” She stepped back, glaring at Caleb. “You’re right.” She leaned toward Caleb, bringing her voice to a whisper. “The time for Caleb to tell me he’d been recruited into the FB-fucking-I was high school graduation. Isn’t that right, Caleb? When we were vowing to have each other’s backs—”

  “When have I not had your back?” She had every right to be upset about the secret, but not about that. “I’ve saved your ass more times than I can count.” A glance at the door was reminder enough that there was always a chance of being overheard. “This i
s not the time for this conversation.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “That’s the gig.” He was undercover. Now she knew, and he was glad. It never sat right with him to keep this from her.

  “The grift.”

  She wasn’t wrong. He’d told himself his job at the FBI was an extension of what he’d been doing his whole life, except now he’d have the protection of the government and he’d be paid from both tills. “I did it for all of us.”

  “What’s left of us,” Marnie said.

  She wasn’t wrong there, either. Their gang from the streets were long dead, massacred by Scrivener in retaliation for a job ten years ago. Only he and Marnie were left. “If I had told you I was recruited you would have stopped me.”

  “Yes.” Because she loved him like a brother, and he’d agreed to be recruited by the FBI because he loved her like a sister. She was family, and he’d do anything to keep her safe. His ties to the Feds had saved Marnie’s life more than once, and definitely more than she knew.

  MacLain lifted a duffel bag from behind the couch, just long enough to show Caleb it was there, and then he hid it again. “Ticktock. We should get started.”

  Marnie’s eyes teared up. “I can’t believe you put your job first. Over me.” Count on Marnie to cut him where he was weakest. It wouldn’t be long before Francesca said the same thing.

  “My job?” Caleb was tired of this shit. “A hundred points to the fuck who can separate my life from my job, because I don’t see the line, Marnie, and haven’t for a long time. I’m doing my best.”

  “You shouldn’t have lied to me…like Francesca just did.” Marnie arched a brow. “When she left us, she went into Harris Tate’s office. Unless that’s where they keep the water bottles, I don’t see why she’d run to her father’s henchman.”

  Knowing Francesca, she had her reasons. Marnie had her own secrets, and time was running out for this meeting. “Why did the Feds tap you to do this? Didn’t you tell them you’re pregnant?” Marnie suddenly refused to meet his gaze.