As he made to leave, Poppy gave in to one more impulse. “Oh, and Asprey?”
He turned back. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.” She squirmed a little, unfamiliar with what came next. “For being worried enough to stop by and make sure I was okay.”
“Of course,” he said lightly, but by that time, he’d turned away, his head slightly bent as he made his way out of the gym.
“Thus the Prodigal returns.” Tiffany pushed open the back door to the hangar, watching as Asprey parked his bike and pulled the helmet off his head. They switched the license plates when on a job requiring mobility, which meant he could take the motorcycle out for regular errands like the one to Poppy’s gym with no criminal investigators being the wiser.
His feet crunched loudly on the gravel as he hung his helmet on the back peg pounded into the outer wall and stretched. He was taking his time, and Tiffany knew it.
“What happened? She skip town just like Graff said she would?”
“No. Graff was wrong.”
“Graff begs to differ,” his brother said, coming out to join Tiffany in the doorway. He bit into an oversized sandwich, chewing loud enough that he could have probably covered the sound of an airplane taking off, had the airport still been fully functional. “There’s plenty of time for her and Todd to pocket that money and run.”
Asprey was very careful to pay attention to each movement of air through his body, in his nostrils and out his mouth. He would not let Graff goad him. He would not let Graff get to him.
“The amount of planning and foresight that would have to go into a con of that magnitude wouldn’t be worth the thirty thousand,” Asprey said. “Not when we offered her two-thirds of that free and clear last week.”
“So that’s it? We trust her?” Tiffany didn’t seem too concerned one way or the other. Asprey’s indifference in general life activities was nothing compared to hers.
“Yes. Absolutely,” Asprey said, just as Graff barked out a sandwich-laden, “No.”
“Cool.” Tiffany nodded and turned back to the hangar. “I like her—and not just because she’s tough. She doesn’t ask questions or make demands. Or whine. You guys whine.”
Asprey decided to follow Tiffany’s path of retreat and brushed past his brother, allowing their shoulders to meet in a solid whump.
“Hey.” Graff grabbed him on the shoulder and squeezed. Other than a slight flare, the pain was almost gone now. “Don’t be like that. We talked about this—that woman is a professional at what she does. You don’t do two years in adult detention and walk out with pure motives. I’m just taking the necessary precautions.”
Asprey didn’t like the direction his brother was headed. “A professional at what she does? You mean robbing people of their hard-earned money, right?”
Graff maintained his grip. “Yes, there’s definitely that. But you also have to consider her methods—she knows how to use her looks to her advantage. Don’t be that guy. Don’t let your dick get in the way of what’s really important here.”
Asprey shook him off. He already felt like a dirt bag for lying to Poppy about why he’d stopped by the gym that morning. He didn’t need his brother making it any worse with flippant remarks. Graff hadn’t earned that right.
“I mean it.” Graff pointed the remains of his sandwich at him. “You might have been able to convince me that her ex-con status is a good thing, since she has a lot more at stake if we were to get caught or an anonymous tip was whispered in the right ear, but the fact remains that you aren’t in charge here. I am. I can’t even imagine what kind of trouble we’d be in if we let you call the shots for a change.”
That did it. Asprey whirled. “Why am I here? If I’m such a fuck-up, if I can’t even be trusted to control myself around one woman, why do you want my help getting the company back from Winston’s evil clutches?”
“Now you’re being stupid,” Graff muttered. “This is as much for you as it is for me.”
“Is it? Really? Because from where I stand, your biggest goal is to divide the family, and I put the numbers on your side.”
“It’s not dividing the family, Asp. It’s doing what needs to be done.” Fury made Graff even gruffer than usual. “Winston can’t keep stealing from innocent people under our name. Something has to give.”
“So turn him over to the police and let them handle it,” Asprey returned. “Besides, it’s only a matter of time before Winston discovers that we’re the ones behind all the thefts. What happens to your grand plan then?”
“He won’t figure it out.” Graff’s lips were white and tense, and he’d given up the pretense of nonchalant eating. That was Asprey’s line anyway, that of the careless rogue. “He’s a man with enemies, especially in the world of business. You know he was the one who convinced Dad to take the company deeper into the insurance side of things, and that’s not a move anyone makes without a hell of a lot of greed at his back. I could name half a dozen men who would be happy to bring him to ruin.”
“So let them.”
“No.” Graff released Asprey with a shove. “This is our responsibility. Five years he spent making those forgeries, handing off the fakes to clients and selling the real thing to God-knows-who. Jail time won’t get people their valuables back—and you know Winston would probably hire some lawyer who could get him off with a slap on the wrist. This is the best way. It’s our mess, our responsibility.”
“And it has nothing to do with you wanting control of the company, does it?” Asprey asked bitterly. He knew Graff was right, knew that at least this way they could compensate people for the damages Winston had done.
“Of course it does,” Graff said coolly. “I’m not afraid to admit that we’re the victims here too. With each successful forgery, Winston methodically chipped away at everything Dad and Grandpa and Great-Grandpa built. He also stole the Charles family legacy—and that belongs to all of us.”
Asprey threw up his hands. “And when have I ever cared about the stupid Charles family legacy?”
Graff laughed, though there was no real humor in it. Asprey couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his brother give in to real mirth. “Don’t kid yourself. You care every time you pull out your credit cards, every time you roll out of bed in the afternoon and decide you’d rather take your airplane for a spin than go to work. Maybe our motivations aren’t the same, but you need this as much as I do.”
Asprey’s chest tightened, and he stepped aside to let his brother pass him into the hangar. Experience told him not to let his brother go, that his words, which sprang more out of his deep-seated sense of self-loathing rather than any intention to hurt Asprey’s feelings, were a gateway to something more.
But he let Graff go, failing like he always did.
It was kind of his thing.
Chapter Fourteen
“Here.” Asprey extended a plastic bag, swinging it casually between his fingers. “I bought you a sock puppet.”
Poppy laughed. She still had on her Natalie gear, her hair pulled back in a springy blonde ponytail, matched by the tightest pair of yoga pants he’d ever seen. They were his favorite pants. They made everything bounce.
And while the bounce was good—the bounce was great—it couldn’t all be attributed to her attire. Natalie was a naturally springy person. He could see that now. She walked differently than Poppy, with an extra sway to her backside and a jiggle to her step not unlike that of a sorority girl. Her mannerisms were different too, her hands more fluid as she spoke, her facial expressions exaggerated to the point of cartoons. Regular Poppy was a lot more controlled, and she had an uncanny way of sizing up both a person and a room at a glance. She always positioned herself defensively when she entered a new situation, her back to the wall so she faced the exit, never quite letting her guard down around the other people in the room.
Outside, on the sidewalk where a group of teenaged skaters whizzed past, leaving the earthy scent of pot and coffee in their wake, she seemed a little more a
t ease. He wondered if it had anything to do with him.
He hoped so.
She peeked into the bag and smiled. “A ninja. How cute.”
“It was either that or the fairy princess.” He shrugged. “I took a stab.”
Her laughter sprang forth, both a validation and a promise. “Thank you. A girl can never have enough ninja paraphernalia.” She cast a quick glance around. “But I should probably get off the street until I get a chance to take off the Natalie gear. I don’t want to risk being seen. You parked nearby?”
“Yeah. Right there, actually.” He pointed at his motorcycle a few car lengths down, the front wheel turned into the curb.
She swiveled to face him, one of her Natalie-darkened eyebrows raised in a question. “Seriously? You drove your getaway vehicle to a centrally located public place? And you want me to hop on?”
He tossed her his extra helmet. White and baby blue and covered in dainty swirls, the helmet had originally been purchased for any female riders he might pick up along his general cruise through life. Those moments were fewer and further between than he’d hoped, although Tiffany had been grateful to use it the few times she’d been out with him. “What can I say? I like to live on the edge.”
“That’s not it,” she said, pulling the helmet over her head, expertly tucking in her ponytail and buckling the chin strap. This clearly wasn’t her first time on a bike.
“How do you figure?”
She flipped up the face guard and studied him. “You don’t live on the edge. You live in the land of privilege. You think things can’t touch you.”
He flipped her face guard back down.
He hadn’t told Graff or Tiffany about this particular errand—mostly because both of them would approve of it, assuming he meant to build trust and break down walls. Well, that was what he intended, but not in the way they would have imagined it. For the first time in months, there would be no thinking about theft or family or the next big heist. He was back to thinking about himself.
A selfish and vain bastard that might make him, but even Asprey of London closed its doors for business every now and then.
“Just hold on,” he commanded, pulling his own helmet down. He swung his leg over the motorcycle, stabilizing it while Poppy moved into place behind him. Even through the thick leather of his riding jacket and the extra one he’d brought for her, he felt a surge of pleasure at the swell of her chest against his back. She didn’t hesitate to press firmly against him, slipping her arms around his waist and tucking her hands inside the flaps of his jacket, palms flat against his stomach.
He didn’t want those hands to stop moving, could already imagine how they would feel moving lower, her long fingers swift and sure as they sought a place to land. Ninja legs and pickpocket hands.
His groin tightened, his cock responding the only way it knew how to such an unlikely combination of attributes. It was going to be hard to concentrate on the road.
Fortunately, he found a kind of balance between speed and sensation as he started the motorcycle and turned the throttle. Women didn’t normally clamor to take place in this part of his life—they preferred the Charles family soirees or a candlelit dinner for two over a chance to zoom astride his high-speed Ducati through the city streets. The woman he’d gone to the ashram with had been like that. When the facility turned out to be a sprawling un-air-conditioned hovel on the outskirts of a slum instead of the luxury yoga retreat the brochure had led her to believe, she couldn’t pack her bags fast enough.
But he’d liked the balance between the turmoil around them and the quiet of their centuries-old courtyard. The bike, well, that wasn’t nearly as noble. Mostly he liked the way it made him feel, like he was still in touch with his admittedly juvenile, adventurous side—if only for a little while.
With every corner he took at a too-sharp turn, Poppy signaling where to go with the tap of her hand as they approached each intersection, she moved into him like someone who knew what she was doing.
That was when it hit him. Poppy was from the admittedly juvenile, adventurous side. Her life experiences—as a con woman, as a prisoner, as someone who looked a cheating gambler in the eye and went all in—trumped his in every way possible. There was something to respect in that. There was something to desire in that.
They drove for a while, much longer than he’d expected, moving south out of Seattle until they hit I-5 through a tunnel of greenery headed for the coast. The freeway winds whipped around them with a forceful, frigid hand, and it didn’t take long for his entire body to numb to the constant pressure and cold.
He welcomed the feeling. One of the reasons he loved this bike—why he missed his Cessna so much—was the way the thrill of speed soothed him. No thoughts other than what lay before him on the stretch of road entered his mind, and he didn’t have to play a role. Not son, not brother, not lover, not anything.
It was just him, and he was enough. That was a feeling he didn’t get to experience very often.
They hit Aberdeen, a small coastal logging town, as the sun began to set over Gray’s Harbor. It was one of the duller sunsets Asprey had seen in a while, dark and muted with the bulbous clouds that signaled an oncoming storm.
He thought they were headed for the city center, but Poppy gave him a few more signals, leading them past the populated area and into one of the more rural settings just north of town. The houses grew fewer and farther between, the leafy undergrowth taking over the empty spaces, until they finally stopped in front of a long, winding dirt road that led up into a wall of evergreen trees.
Poppy dismounted quickly, ripping off the helmet and shaking her head. Before Asprey could offer to help, she yanked at her wig, sending hairpins flying in all directions.
“We should have stopped along the way so I could take this thing off,” she offered by way of explanation as she tossed the hair into her bag. “Wearing it feels like someone is trying to shove my brain in a jar.”
“Here. Let me.” Asprey reached up and began extracting the remaining pins—dozens of them, it looked like, picking them off one by one and tucking them into his pocket. When he was sure they were all out, he moved his hands gently through her hair—her natural hair, those dark, loopy curls that ran through his fingers like silk.
She let out a low moan. “Let me guess—scalp massage was part of your advanced Eastern training?”
He let out a chuckle, the intimacy of the moment catching him off guard. “Nope. General life training.”
“I see.” She stepped away. “Lots of experience helping women to relax?”
Shoot. That wasn’t what he meant. He just knew what it was like to feel trapped in a vise, pressured on all sides. But it was too late to retract so he just smiled good-naturedly. “Any time you want a personal demonstration, just ask.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said drily. “So…you want to see where I learned to fight?”
He perked up. “Here? In the middle of the woods? Please tell me there’s a hidden cave and a secret ninja brotherhood. I’ll give you anything you want if there’s a secret brotherhood.”
She laughed and shook her head, her hair regaining a little bounce with each movement. “I think you watch too many action movies. This is Aberdeen, not some Tibetan refuge. Come on. I’ll show you.”
On foot, they wound up a long driveway about a quarter of a mile in length, the deepening dusk making it difficult to discern any details other than lush greenery in all directions. Asprey would never have admitted it out loud, but there was a moment when he realized this would be the perfect place for her to lure wealthy, unsuspecting marks to be tied up and ransomed.
The possibility that Graff might be right—that Poppy was indeed playing a game so twisted it was impossible for a guy like Asprey to see his way out of it—settled uncomfortably in the air, blanketing him as much as the darkness.
He fought it. Asprey might not have Graff’s natural leadership abilities and innate sense of justice, and he might no
t be as valuable in a heist as someone with Tiffany’s computer skills, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew people, and, more specifically, he knew Poppy.
Or he was trying to, anyway.
The line of trees broke to reveal a crumbling house slumped in the distance, the rustic décor set with an overgrown yard and a broken-down car in the dirt driveway. It had obviously never been a grand building, as evidenced by the decaying boards of negligible quality, and the roof, which sagged under layers of moss and poor craftsmanship. But there was an underlying charm to it just the same, like x-raying a mediocre painting to reveal a masterpiece underneath.
Poppy took a deep breath. “Here it is. The secret ninja training center.”
“You’re right. That isn’t at all like the movies. I expected there to be at least one giant stone staircase for me to run up.”
“To where? The top of that hill?”
“No,” he corrected her with a grin. “To a wise old man who smells like incense and has the answer to the question buried deep inside my heart.”
She snorted and cast an incredulous look at him over her shoulder, playing along. “When you find out what that is, I’d love to hear it.”
He paused, watching her. Poppy’s brown eyes were warm and expressive, miles from what he expected of someone with a criminal record. Her crooked smile made it even harder to believe she possessed the ability to knock a man flat.
Or did it?
“Sometimes,” he said simply, “I think I might already know.”
Her smile faded, and she quickly turned away. “You’re only looking at the outside,” she said. Asprey couldn’t tell whether they were still talking about the metaphoric wise man or the house. Or her.
“Am I?”
“Of course.” She snapped right back into Poppy mode, efficient and cool, and thumbed at the house. “The real training ground is out back. I used to spend quite a bit of time inside there, though.”
“Does that mean I get the grand tour?”
Confidence Tricks Page 15
