Confidence Tricks

by Tamara Morgan

  “He was sure you were going to skip town with Todd and our thirty grand.” He shook his head. “You’re both so afraid of getting cheated—haven’t we been through enough yet to earn a little trust?”

  “Wait a minute. That was the day you stopped by the gym to show off your yoga skills.”

  “Ye-es.” He didn’t like that flash in her eyes. He recognized that flash.

  She strode forward, but there was nothing welcoming in her approach. “The day you said you were checking up on me to make sure I was okay.”

  Oh, crap. He knew where this was headed. “And I was so glad you were?”

  “You were checking to make sure I was still there!”

  He spread his hands helplessly. “Can you blame me? You’ve said it yourself countless times, Poppy—that’s what you do. And you have to admit, getting us to offer up that kind of cash…it would have been one hell of a con.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “I lied to Graff. He wanted me to make sure you didn’t leave,” Asprey countered. Feeling brave, he added, “Me? I just wanted to see you again.”

  A resounding yap from somewhere near their feet and the slam of a door stopped Asprey from making the mistake of following that declaration with action. Graff. He was finally here.

  “We have a problem.”

  Asprey and Poppy both whirled to face Tiffany, who stalked into the hangar, her laptop bag in hand. She used it as a shield to prevent Gunner from attacking her ankle. Poppy took the hint and gathered up the dog, settling him carefully in the area they’d set up near the entrance, a playpen full of squeaky toys and bones that were bigger than he was.

  “Graff didn’t show up for the rendezvous this morning,” Tiffany announced, skipping the preliminaries. “What the hell happened last night?”

  “You mean you haven’t seen him either?” Asprey and Poppy shared a worried look. The thought of Graff skipping town with the money was ridiculous—and not just because it was a drop in the bucket compared to the company’s value. There was also the small matter of Graff bringing Winston to justice. A man didn’t spend years of his life plotting the downfall of his nemesis only to give it all up for half a million dollars. For a woman, yes—Asprey could understand that rationale all too well. But money? Not a chance.

  Tiffany pulled out her laptop and booted it up. “Last I heard from him, Graff was heading out to the poker game. He and I planned to meet back here early this morning, but he never showed. And his cell phone must be either destroyed or the battery was taken out, because I can’t even track that.”

  Asprey frowned. “Why would his cell phone be destroyed?”

  Tiffany’s pointed stare would have put Graff’s to shame. “Because he’s in trouble. Walk me through the exact steps last night. What happened in that strip club?”

  Asprey did his best to lay out the night’s events, beginning with Graff’s change of plans regarding Todd and their own bewilderment when it turned out things were much deeper than either of them knew. Tiffany didn’t seem at all surprised to hear that Todd had been asked to bring more money, or that Graff intended to cheat him out of every last penny.

  “I know. We were going to send it back.”

  “What do you mean, send it back?” Poppy spoke up for the first time.

  For Poppy, Tiffany took the time to actually look up from her computer and address her. “There wasn’t even close to enough money to pay back everyone Todd ripped off, but we were going to send as much as we could.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us about the plan?” Poppy sounded hurt. “We could have helped.”

  “Graff doesn’t trust easily,” Tiffany said lamely, looking to Asprey for help. It was a look he knew well, the pleading mixed with expectation. Handle the messy human stuff for us, will you, Asp? Transform the grand decisions the rest of us make on a whim into something acceptable.

  “Let me guess,” he said drily. “He thought that if Poppy knew we could take Todd for more, she’d want a bigger cut. So he decided to go all dark and rogue and do it on his own.”

  Tiffany squirmed uncomfortably. “He didn’t think that exactly. He just thought the less you guys were involved, the better.”

  “It’s fine,” Poppy interjected, her voice flat.

  “No, it’s not,” Asprey protested. He was tired of this role, tired of being the clown carrying the bucket and a shovel behind a parade of high-stepping stallions. “Graff is an overbearing jerk who thinks he gets to make all the rules. And it’s my fault because I never tried to stop him. It was easier to let him call the shots, make all the difficult choices, leaving me blame-free and responsibility-free. I should have paid more attention to what was going on with him, should have forced him to include us in that plan, if only because then we’d at least have an idea where he might be right now.”

  Poppy watched his speech closely, her shoulders falling with each sentence. “I think his motivations had less to do with you and a lot more to do with me. What reason does he have to trust me? What reason does anyone?”

  “I think you’ve more than proven yourself here.”

  “But that’s not really the point, is it?” Poppy countered. “The point is that we need to find where he is—and fast. I think I should come back from the dead to find Todd, see if I can talk a little sense into him.” She pounded a fist into the opposite hand.

  Tiffany shook her head resolutely. “It’s not Todd. His cell phone is on and working just fine.” She whirled the laptop so the screen faced them. A map of the southwestern United States popped up. “Right now he’s headed due south—I’m guessing Mexico.”

  “He could have Graff with him,” Poppy insisted.

  “And he smashed Graff’s phone to keep us from triangulating his location, but left his own intact?” Tiffany shook her head. “Todd even has the GPS on—most middle school students with Internet access could find him with that. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You said Graff’s car is missing too?” Asprey asked. Something about this scenario didn’t make sense. “It wasn’t by the docks?”

  “Not by the docks, not at any of his regular spots, not in impound.”

  “All the stuff from the Bouncing Booty was in that car.”

  “So?” Poppy asked. “It could be at the bottom of the ocean by now. Todd looks benign, but he’s not. Believe me.”

  “That’s not it—Louis was in that car.”

  Poppy shook her head. “I still don’t follow.”

  “If he left the docks after Todd fled, there’s no way he would go anywhere but this hangar afterwards. Not with Louis in the car. He had to have been stopped sometime between leaving the docks and heading here.”

  “So?”

  “He probably left between three, when we were there with him, and, what, six? When the sun came up?”

  Tiffany nodded. “We were supposed to meet here around seven. That makes sense.”

  Asprey pushed the laptop closed. His heart had picked up to the point where he could feel his rib cage reverberating with each beat, but the rest of him clicked smoothly into action. “Then I know where he is.”

  “Where?” Poppy and Tiffany cried at the same time, the latter rising to her feet.

  “Poppy, you’re coming with me. Tiff—you stay here in case anything goes wrong. There’s only one place Graff goes every morning, without fail, Louis and Todd money be damned.”

  “Oh no.” Tiffany dropped her head in her hands.

  Poppy whirled on him. “What? Where?”

  “Charles Appraisals and Insurance,” he said firmly. “Or rather, the coffee shop across the street. He’s been going there since long before any of this started happening. Jalapeno bagel, cream cheese, black coffee. Sits by the window on the right, under that picture of the dancing scones. He’ll leave a five-dollar tip to make up for the fact that he won’t begrudge the waitress a single smile.”

  “You don’t think…”

  “I do think. If he’s not still there, someone will
have at least seen him.” Asprey nodded once. “Suit up, Veronica Maxwell. We’re headed to the office.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You are such a wimp. Thirty-three flights are not that many.”

  Asprey leaned over, his hands on his knees, breathing deep. “Elevators were invented for a reason.”

  “Elevators are windowless, airless boxes of doom.” Poppy rubbed her hand in circles on Asprey’s back, moving lower and lower until he shot straight up. That got him moving again. “I promised myself I would never have to be trapped anywhere like that if I could possibly help it.”

  “What happens if you go to jail again?”

  “Why would I?” she asked breezily, even though her whole body clenched at the thought. “I’m with you. You’ll never get caught—it’s that charmed life you lead.”

  He stared at her a moment too long. “You call this charmed?”

  She nodded at the placard above the door, his surname in large, expensive lettering. “I do. Now here’s hoping that waitress was right and Graff is still here.”

  Before Asprey could say anything else on the subject, she pulled the door open and let out a peal of false laughter. Making a grand entrance was a great way to force him to comply.

  “And then the president told me it was a goose the whole time! Can you imagine?” Poppy linked her arm in Asprey’s and pretended to be perfectly at ease. She nodded politely to the receptionist, Tracy.

  “I’m still on the lookout for that old, ugly yellow chair for you,” she quipped, remembering their conversation from before.

  Tracy laughed. “You’re off the hook for that one, Ms. Maxwell. We had one go rogue for a while but it’s back now, none the worse for wear. Good afternoon, Mr. Charles.”

  Asprey’s grip on her arm tightened. “Hey, Tracy. Is my brother in?”

  “He should be in his office. Did you want me to buzz him?”

  “No need. We’ll show ourselves in.”

  “Was she talking about Louis?” Poppy hissed as they moved through the fish-tank maze toward the executive offices. “What is it with you guys and that chair?”

  “Think of it this way—if we were playing chess, Louis would be the king. It belonged to our father.” It was all the explanation she was going to get. Asprey stalked ahead of her, not stopping until he stood in front of a heavy steel door that looked like it led to a vault.

  Please don’t let it be a vault.

  It wasn’t. Yet another huge office with windows up to the ceiling and decorated like it was cut from sheets of stainless steel, it was almost identical to Asprey’s office, though a bit bigger and with a familiar and elaborate wingback yellow chair behind the desk. Louis. And Graff was nowhere to be seen.

  Poppy had to admit the effect was chilling.

  “I wish I could say I’m surprised to see you here, Asprey.” Winston looked up from his seat on the chair, missing only a cat in his lap to make the perfect villain. “But since most of the accounts have been of not one, but two masked crusaders, I knew he had a partner. Or are there three? Veronica from Vancouver, right? How lovely to see you again. I can’t tell you how happy I am to find my original assessment of you was correct.”

  “Do you want me to take him out?” Poppy asked, glancing sideways at Asprey, her body tensed. She didn’t have a whole lot of love to spare for Graff, but he was their partner. And the way Winston looked at Asprey, as though he was an insignificant worm, made her want to punch something—preferably a squishy body part. “Just say the word.”

  Asprey shook his head just slightly, enough so that she knew he needed some space. She took a literal step back, giving him the floor but letting him know she was there for him. Not for him. For Tiffany and Graff and their entire cause. It was an important distinction.

  “What did you do to Graff?”

  “You think I don’t know he’s been watching me from that coffee shop every morning?” Winston let out an almost silent laugh. “I just needed his guard to be down—and taking Louis out of his car was the perfect bait. He came to me, blazed right up here like he owns the place. I expected him to be a lot tanner, having spent all that time in Hawaii.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Don’t be stupid. This isn’t some game—it’s not one of your pranks with my espresso machines. Which, by the way, I want back. All of them.”

  “I’ve always loved a good cup of coffee,” Asprey returned. A strange calm had descended over him, and he even took a seat on the other side of Graff’s desk, hitching his pants and propping one leg on the opposite knee. If Poppy didn’t know better, she’d think he was preparing to chat about the weather or next season’s Mariner’s line up. But she did know better—and Asprey was far from calm. This false serenity was a hell of a lot more dangerous than Winston knew.

  She flanked Asprey’s chair, arms crossed, legs wide. She was also a lot more dangerous than Winston knew.

  But Winston’s gaze barely flicked over her. “Don’t be flippant. This is real life, Asprey—you’ve heard of that, right? This whole, big, grown-up world where people make hard decisions and live with the repercussions? Dad didn’t do you any favors growing up, letting you always have your way, indulging your little art hobbies.”

  “At least he saw to it that I have manners.”

  Poppy snorted. Winston obviously didn’t appreciate the interruption, his face growing purple in that way Graff had when pushed too far.

  “You let me know how those manners work out for you when I find a way to cut off your trust fund. Like it or not, this is my company, and now that Graff and I have reached an understanding, there’s not a whole lot you can do to change that.”

  “An understanding?” Asprey sat up, dropping some of the pretense at relaxation. “You and I both know that’s the last thing Graff would ever offer you. What have you done to him?”

  “Calm down, Asprey. Whatever you may think of me, I’m not going to hurt my own brother.” Winston stood, pushing back from the desk so that the chair grated across the floor. Even Poppy winced, knowing what that was doing to the delicate wood surface of Graff’s prized possession. “All you need to know is that he’s not hurt, and he will continue to stay unhurt until—”he paused to check his calendar sitting open on the desk “—Friday at nine a.m. Pacific Time.”

  “What happens on Friday at nine?” Poppy couldn’t help asking.

  “That’s when all of this becomes irrelevant, isn’t it, Asprey?” Winston smiled and tapped the calendar. “All your hard work, all your careful planning. The moment that insurance policy expires, you have nothing left.”

  “That’s four days from now,” Asprey said tightly. “What’s to stop me from waltzing in there right now and taking the painting tonight?”

  Winston spread his hands in a gesture of generosity. “Certainly not me, though my guards might have something to say about it. But let’s not kid ourselves. You and I both know that you would have never been able to do any of this on your own. This is Graff’s grudge, and it has his stamp all over it. Oh, wait—I know what this situation needs.”

  He held up a finger and moved to his desk drawer, rummaging around until he found a stack of papers. With a smile, he held them extended, his arm unwavering. “Go on, they won’t bite.”

  “You know how I feel about heavy reading,” Asprey said, not moving to take them. Unable to help herself, Poppy grabbed the proffered item.

  “It looks like some kind of title and registration,” she said, flipping through the several pages of legal jargon. “For something called a Corvalis?”

  Asprey took the papers then, and without glancing at them, ripped them in half. “You think you can bribe me with my own plane?”

  “Yes, I do. The plane and everything that comes with it. You’re as much a part of this company as any of us. I don’t know what Graff promised you in exchange for your help, but I’ll double it.”

  There was a long pause in which Poppy thought Asprey might actually accept the deal his
brother laid out on the table, that the promise of money might win out in this strange power struggle.

  But he didn’t. Even though she’d refused to see it for so long, Asprey was stronger than a simple promise of dollars and cents.

  “Thanks but no thanks.” Asprey smirked. “Your generosity moves me, but I’m going to see this through to the end. You better beef up security, Winston. I’m taking that painting.”

  They turned to leave, but Winston stopped them with one hand on the door. “This is your final chance. Don’t be stupid. Don’t throw your life away on another man’s dreams. Hell, I’ll even give you the damn chair back.”

  “I don’t want the chair, Winston. I’ve got my eye on a Pollock.”

  Winston stepped back. “If you were any other man, Asprey, I’d consider that a threat.”

  “And if you were any other man, Winston, I’d consider you one.”

  Dinghies and Donuts seemed like the most appropriate place to plan the heist. Call him sentimental, but there was something about being in charge that made Asprey want to pull out all the stops. If he thought he could get away with asking the waitress at the diner to put on some Dubstep, he’d have done it.

  “Why are we here?” Poppy asked warily. “Can’t we just do this at the hangar?”

  “This is probably the only time I get to be in charge, and I intend to enjoy it.” Asprey put his hand on Poppy’s back as he led her inside, nodding at the waitress to bring them a pot of the diner’s infamous coffee.

  Poppy didn’t know it, but she had this thing about him touching her in the small of her back. Her body went completely tense for a fraction of a second, and then a low hum escaped her throat. That hum told tales, gave him powers—he probably could have directed her over a cliff’s edge, lemming-style, and she would have purred contentedly as she fell.

  “Well, this works for me,” Tiffany said. She lifted the ubiquitous laptop out of her bag and set it up on the chipped, wood-grain surface of the table. “Chances are Winston isn’t watching the hangar, and I did a sweep for bugs, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “Speaking of bugs, um, did you take care of the one…?”