by Dani Collins
She paused mid-step, started to say something, but then looked at her watch again. “Felix will be here in less than two hours. We have a lot to do before he gets here, starting with finding out whether Jacob or Spencer is going to provide us some money.” She pushed through the door of their suite, kicking off her shoes as she went.
It galled him to be relegated to second on her priority list. “I admitted I was wrong,” he pointed out.
“I heard you. It’s a start.”
A start. Hell. He looked at the plays available to him and had a feeling only a marriage proposal would beat the house this hand. The rest of the world knew he wasn’t the kind of solid foundation needed for building a family. Why didn’t she get it?
“Jacob?” she called.
No answer. With a shrug, she picked up the phone and dialed the front desk, asking for the local police.
“What are you going to tell them?” Con asked.
“That we’re setting up Felix. When he leaves the suite with both suitcases of money—when he steals from you—he will be arrested and we have the evidence to get him tried and convicted.”
“What about the other victims? What about getting Gran’s money back?”
“Maybe they’ll find a list of marks in his fake paperwork.”
Con mulled that over. He wasn’t happy with a simple arrest. He was in the mood to punish someone and Felix deserved it. Con wanted to see Felix come up against the sick realization that he’d been robbed. He wanted Felix to feel as stupid as Gran had felt. He wanted Felix to feel like a mark, but Renny didn’t need to know that.
He stared into the middle distance, pulling all the pieces of the puzzle together, looking for opportunities to double up strategy to achieve his multiple goals of keeping Renny safe, keeping her from reconciling with Jacob, and taking Felix’s money.
Renny left a message for the sheriff to visit the suite. She didn’t want to give the whole explanation to a clerk, so she just stressed that she needed a uniform here before eight o’clock.
Hanging up wasn’t easy. It put her alone with Con and she wasn’t ready yet. She was having trouble finding her footing between the buzz of knee-weakening sex and spine-stiffening indignation, between acting in her own interests and feeling terrible for doing so. She wanted Con and figured the only way to get him was to beat him at his own game, but he was obviously at a loss when it came to emotion. She felt downright sorry for him and wanted to reassure him, but that would put her in the position of supplicant again and she couldn’t do that to herself. Lying to him about wanting to marry Jacob wasn’t much better, even if it was just an itty, bitty baby con. On the other hand, a con artist was who she was. If he thought this woman was so wonderful, that’s the woman he would get.
If only Jacob had been here. Getting their breakup out of the way would simplify things immensely. Damn Con for sending Jacob on that silly errand, anyway.
What to do, what to do?
Someone knocked on the door, making her already taut nerves vibrate.
“Laila,” she said.
“No doubt,” Con said with resignation, moving to answer.
It was Mr. Laramie and the bellman from the basement.
“I’ve been in contact with the owners of the hotel, sir,” Mr. Laramie said in an affronted tone.
Not now, Renny thought.
“Great,” Con said. “What’d they say?”
“They had no idea you were interested in buying this hotel and it is not currently for sale. Where did all this luggage come from? I thought you arrived without?”
“Renny bought it. She’s nuts that way. Hey, cookie? I know you had your heart set on this one, but will the hotel across the street do?”
Renny folded her arms and glared at him, refusing to participate.
“There you are.” Laila’s voice carried from the hallway. “I tried a few minutes ago and thought you had reneged.”
Renny dropped her face into her hands. This was getting better and better.
“C’mon in, Ms. Washington.” Con held the door wider and both men straightened a little as they recognized the celebrity reporter. “As you can see, Mr. Laramie, Renny’s extremely disappointed. A nice dinner would probably make it up to her. Can you arrange something?” Con reached for his wallet.
Renny rolled her eyes and turned away. He was utterly without shame.
“What’s up?” Laila asked.
“Dinner. Have you eaten? Any special requests, Ren?”
Renny glanced at the waiting men. They wore expressions that said they knew they were being snowed, but they would be a few bucks richer so they were going to let it go. Laila had an avid, watchful look about her, like she knew something was up and was going to sniff it out. And Con had that irresistible glint in his eye that said, “C’mon, cookie. Play along.”
“What d’ya say? Fast or fancy?” he prompted.
Don’t encourage him, she thought, but couldn’t help saying, “Since I took ‘fast’ the last time I was offered that choice, I’ll say ‘fancy’, but Mr. Laramie is probably ready to go home. He doesn’t need to stay and cook dinner for us.”
Con’s look said, You’re hysterical.
Behind Mr. Laramie, the bellboy snorted, then swallowed a surprised chuckle when Mr. Laramie shot him a stern glance.
“I won’t be cooking, Ms. O’Laughlin. My room service chef will prepare your meal.”
“You have a chef in your room?”
“I should have said that differently,” Mr. Laramie explained with tested patience. “The room service chef is employed by the hotel and prepares all the room service meals in the hotel kitchen.”
“Have him make something simple,” Con said. “Enough for four.”
“Certainly, Mr. Burke. But first there’s the matter of—” Mr. Laramie cleared his throat, “the room charges. Under the circumstances, I’m not in a position to comp this suite.”
“Right. Well, our financier has the credit card—”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Renny said, dropping the dumb act and retrieving her purse.
“It was worth a shot,” Con said. “Put that away. I’ll take care of it.”
“Promise?” she asked.
“Promise.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Burke,” Laramie said. “Now, if you don’t need anything else from me this evening, I’ll leave Perry here at your service and see you in the morning.”
“Have a nice evening, Mr. Laramie,” Renny said.
“And you, Ms. O’Laughlin.”
“I’ll walk down with you,” Con said. “I have another request.”
“Con!” Renny called, halting him at the door. “When will you be back?”
“Before eight,” he assured her and let the door close behind him.
“What was that all about?” Laila asked. “And what is with all the luggage?”
6:46 p.m.
Con hadn’t come back before the food arrived, Renny noted with annoyance. She didn’t entirely mind, however. She wasn’t up to playing referee between him and Laila and, without him here, she was able to connect with Laila woman to woman. In fact, the reporter helped her repair her nail while they both not-so-subtly squeezed each other for information on Spencer.
“How long have you known him?” Renny asked.
“I stayed on his parents’ farm for a summer when I was fifteen. He never mentioned it?”
“Not to me, but that’s no surprise. Con had no idea, though, and that does surprise me. Why wouldn’t Spence have told him?”
“Have you met Spence? Not a big talker, especially about himself. Do you know if he’s seeing anyone?”
“Mona tried to fix him up with a physiotherapist last year. She was shy, too. I don’t think they got past first base. So you’re really into him, huh?” Renny blew on her freshly glued nail.
“As opposed to using him to get closer to Con?” Laila asked tersely. “I want to wake up the elderly to fraud—and to Felix Newman, in particular—so you
can stand down from protecting Con Burke.”
Renny found a bottle of nail polish in her purse. “I’ve got a soft spot for Spencer, too. He’s sweet to Con’s Gran.” And he had told Renny he thought Con was an idiot to let her go, which led Renny to think Spencer had an I.Q. well above Con’s supposedly excellent one.
“Well, my intentions where Spencer is concerned are not exactly defined, but they’re not dishonorable, okay? Tell me about Mona. She’s Con’s grandmother, right? The woman Felix swindled?” Laila took up her pencil and notebook. “What happened?”
Renny gave Laila the rundown on the events since Mona had met Felix last week, while painting her nails and attempting to eat a Thai noodle salad at the same time. She wasn’t having much luck.
“So you called this number, found out it was a florist, and reported the crime to the police and the hotel. Then what?” Laila asked.
“I had to tell Con.”
“Why?”
“Because he had hired me to look after his grandmother and I felt I should have prevented her from being robbed.”
“Are you her nurse?”
“More like a Girl Friday. I do her shopping if she’s not up to it, get her to her appointments, travel with her when she gets the bug. Whatever she wants me to do. How do you do that?”
“What?” Laila asked, glancing up from her notebook.
“Eat with one hand and write with the other.”
“Practice. How long have you worked for her? Or Con, rather.”
“It’s coming up to a year and a half. Since she got out of the hospital.”
“Why was she in the hospital?”
“Do you want Mona’s answer or Con’s?”
“Just tell me what happened.”
Renny chewed and swallowed. “Well, I’m not going to sugar coat it, Laila. The Prince of Play scandal happened.”
Laila lowered her pencil, fork and gaze.
“Mona wasn’t exactly diligent about taking her medication or seeing the doctor regularly before then, and when Alicia Mills made her claim, Mona started worrying about Con but didn’t want to worry him, you know? She calls it her Victorian Decline. It was actually a stroke. When she was ready to leave the hospital, Con couldn’t be with her around the clock. He was finishing up with you and Alicia, and playing catch-up at Performance, so he hired me.”
“Why you? Why not a real nurse?”
Renny almost gave her Con’s response about her being the most interesting, but went with the truth she had believed from day one. “I’d been working in seniors’ homes for several years. I’m a registered recreational therapist.”
“What does that mean? You organized bridge tournaments?”
“And kicked butt when I played.”
“And in Con’s eyes that qualified you to look after his grandmother?”
“Have you met Con?”
Laila’s lip quirked. “How long have you and Con been involved?” Her tone became more casual, inviting a confidence.
Renny took another bite, using the excuse to delay answering. “We’re keeping him out of it, remember? If you’re fishing for gossip—”
“That was generic curiosity, nothing to do with the story. I’m an investigative reporter, okay? When I wrote the Prince of Play story . . . I thought I was exposing a rich guy who was trying to duck responsibility for the child he’d fathered. There are plenty of men who do it and think their wealth and fame entitles them to behavior beyond public scrutiny. Con didn’t have to turn around and sue her for custody, pushing it as far as he did. He knew he could call me and I would listen to his side of it.”
“And he might have, if he hadn’t been sitting in a hospital room making sure his grandmother was still breathing.”
Laila dropped her pencil and linked her fingers, pressing her clasped hands to her mouth while she looked out the window.
Renny looked out, too, to the view of pooled light on the streets below and the jagged black outline of the mountains against the navy-blue sky. Deep down, she had expected to enjoy waking up Laila to what she had done to Con. She wasn’t enjoying this. It sucked.
“How ’bout some wine?” Renny pointed to the bar across the room.
“I don’t usually drink when I’m working.”
“Is that a yes or no?”
“Oh, hell, yeah, I could use a drink. It’s been that kind of day.”
Renny filled the deep bowls of a pair of wine glasses with merlot and set one in front of Laila. She remained standing beside the table, letting the reporter mull over the effects of her past actions.
“I’m not proud of the way I behaved,” Laila admitted quietly. “I was . . . anxious to succeed. In some ways I feel the same way now, with this story. Like it has the power to make or break me. I’ve got a lot invested in it and I want to get it right.”
“We’ve got a lot in common,” Renny murmured. She began walking around the room with her glass, picking up bags with careful fingertips and tossing them into the bedroom.
“What’s the story on all these bags?” Laila asked.
“It’s just Con,” Renny said with a shrug.
“That’s what you said the first time I asked.”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“Does that surprise you?”
They both grinned and drank.
“The wine might have been a mistake,” Renny said. “I’m a cheap drunk at the best of times and I didn’t eat enough.” She took another sip anyway and held up a soft-sided leather briefcase. “What do you think of this? It looks like yours could use an update.”
“It’s nice, but I bought mine with my first paycheck and I’m superstitious.”
“Well, take whatever you like. I can’t use them all.”
“Con bought them for you? Why?”
“Because he wanted me to leave town.”
“Got a lot of clothes, do you?”
“None here. He . . . forget it. It’s a long story and not relevant.”
“If you’re holding out—”
“No, it’s personal. I have to talk to someone else before I can talk to you about it. It’s a matter of principle.”
“Okay. Oh, I might take this one off your hands.” Laila examined a green canvas duffel and handed it to Renny before reviewing her notes and saying, “Why did you say we have a lot in common?”
“Because I’m trying to get something right, too.”
“Meaning . . . ?”
Renny took another slug of courage. Part of her knew she was an idiot for confessing to a reporter, but most of her was tired of working so darn hard to be respectable.
“A long time ago, I had a less than noble profession.”
“Oh my God, Spencer told me you were the prostitute Con took to the Games Convention. I didn’t believe him.”
“What?” Renny spilled wine over her wrist and licked it off. “I’m not a hooker. That . . . oh, God, did that make the news?”
“Just a blurb in a review of the convention. I wouldn’t have seen it, but a colleague came across it and accused me of writing it.”
“Oh, you’re kidding.” Renny laughed. “No, I’m not a hooker. Never have been. I was a grifter. Like Felix.”
“Really?” Laila set down her wine and braced her notebook on the bar. “When was this? How long did you make a living at it?”
“I quit after my arrest at seventeen. I suppose I started as soon as I could talk. Mom coached me. Good ol’ Mom.” She smiled tightly, drained her glass and set it aside. Gathering the straps of several shoulder bags onto her arm, she hid another load of luggage in the bedroom, more because she was restless with nerves than because she felt like housekeeping.
“Your parents were professional con artists?”
“Mom was. Dad was a one-night stand.”
Laila propped herself in the cracked doorjamb, notebook balanced across her forearm. “Where’s Mom now?”
“Washing dishes in Des Moines, if there’s a God.” Renny sank onto
the foot of the bed. “I don’t know. I’ve been trying to distance myself from that life for ten years. And look how far I’ve come.” She opened her arms in a gesture of defeat. “I went for the big score to show Mom I was a great criminal and I’m doing it again to prove I’m not.” She looked around at the cluttered floor. “Sitting here surrounded by baggage is too symbolic, don’t you think?” Disgusted with her wine-induced melancholy, she rose and went back to the sitting area.
Laila stepped out of the way, still scribbling, and said, “So you’re trying to prove you’ve risen above your past? Because earlier you said . . . ” Laila flipped back in her notebook, “you said you felt you should have prevented Gran from being robbed. To me, that suggests a sense of responsibility.”
“I am responsible. I knew Felix was a swindler. I didn’t say anything because I was protecting myself. I should have been protecting her. If I stop Felix, he won’t hurt anyone else.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“We’re going to let him steal some of Con’s money and have him arrested when he walks out.”
“Why make him commit the crime again?”
“Because we need evidence.”
“You mean the police do.”
“Right.”
“So you’re taking it upon yourself to ensure Felix’s arrest. Why?”
“Because I have to.”
“Why do you have to? So you can prove you have principles? Because earlier you said—” Laila flipped through her pages again. “You said you couldn’t tell me why Con was manipulating you because you had to talk to someone. It was a matter of principle. That suggests you have some.”
Renny’s view of herself rotated like a combination lock, clicking and falling into place, opening up a whole new door with contents that actually had value.
“Geez. Did you minor in psych or something?”
“Spent some time with family therapists. Had a few nice chats with policemen in my day, too.”
They grinned at each other, connected by shared experience.
“Oh hell.” Renny knocked the heel of her hand against her forehead. “The police aren’t here yet.” She tossed another load of bags onto the bed.
Laila was making notes from the papers Con had left on the night table. “I’d like to set up a camera.”
