All About Evie

by Beth Ciotta

  The card that doubles as room key and passenger ID. At the end of the cruise those charges would be transferred to whatever credit card Arch had provided at check-in. I had to ask. “Who’s paying for this?”

  “The company.”

  “What company?”

  “TCC.”

  “TCC Productions? Never heard of them.” Truth was I no longer believed that Arch was affiliated with a legitimate production company. I suspected he wasn’t a professional actor as much as a master of disguise. So what exactly was TCC and what exactly was Arch’s profession? All I’d been told was that we were duping some creep for the greater good. It was no longer enough. “You and I need to chat.”

  “Not now.”

  “But—”

  He tweaked my nose. “Later, Sunshine.”

  I could do without the nose tweaking, but at least he kept eyeballing my body. Two points for skimpy attire! I’m pretty sure I’d hooked him. All I had to do was reel him in. I was banking on Sugar’s help in that department.

  Before she/I could act, Arch/Charles snatched up his cane and strode toward the cabin door. Once in the hall, I was sure he’d incorporate that fake limp. Why did he have to have a limp, anyway? How did that play in? More questions to be answered later. “Where should I meet you? When?”

  “You mentioned a dance class.”

  “Cha-cha Fever with Fred and Ginger.” I already knew the traditional steps, plus the Cha-cha Slide and the Cowboy Cha-cha. But it was dance class or a basketball tournament, and the only balls I wanted to handle were Arch’s. “Eleven-thirty. Deck Nine. Poolside.”

  “I’ll find you.”

  “You stay alive, no matter what occurs!” I mimicked in an overdramatic voice. “I will find you!”

  “Hawkeye to Cora. Last of the Mohicans. Nineteen ninety-two film adaptation.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “That’s what they all say.” He winked and then he was gone.

  ONE HOUR TO SHOP. One hour to buy perfume, clothes or some sort of trinket. Nicole, Jayne and I have been known to spend entire days shopping. But they weren’t here and I wasn’t me. Sugar, I decided as I slipped into the Internet Lounge, was an impulse buyer. She could do serious damage in half an hour.

  I located an open computer terminal, sat in a high-backed leather chair and signed on. Connecting to my server took longer than I was used to, and the rates were costly, so I vowed to read fast and respond briefly.

  I clicked on an e-mail from Jayne.

  So glad you wrote, Evie. I wasn’t up to another conversation with Michael. He’s such a jerk. Sure you don’t want to sign on with my agent?

  Re: The singing telegram position. I need the extra money so I’m going for it. Please don’t think less of me.

  Re: Lisa LeFarre’s breasts. Gossip is a certain VP of Table Games is groping them.

  Speaking of groping…Have you done any? Nic said you’re rooming with a Gerard Butler look-alike. Lucky you! I loved him in Phantom of the Opera. Can your Scot sing?

  Having dinner at Nic’s tonight. Will give her your love. Miss you much!

  Love, Jayne

  P.S. Please be extra careful. Madame Helene said that one of my loved ones is in danger and she’s never wrong. Well, hardly ever.

  I whipped off a quick response.

  How can you leave me hanging like that, Jayne? Which VP? Which casino? Dying of curiosity. Watch. She’ll marry the guy and be set for life. What’s up with men’s obsession with youth and breasts?

  Speaking of…what does your dream book say about gorillas and breasts? Two separate subjects.

  Re: The singing telegram position. Of course I don’t think less of you. Go for it!

  Groping. Um, yes, a little. Several atomic kisses. I don’t know if he sings, but he likes music. Oh, and he insisted I go shopping, his treat. He’s too good to be true, right? Right.

  I have to run. Wish you were here.

  Love, Evie

  P.S. You know what I think about Madame Helene.

  Skimming past junk mail, I spied a note from my brother. Yes! Whether it was good news or bad, at least I wouldn’t be in purgatory. Once I knew the situation, at least I’d know whether to laugh or cry.

  Evelyn,

  Dad bought the Corner Tavern. Can you blame Mom for blowing a gasket? Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.

  Mom says you’re on a cruise ship. Work or pleasure?

  Christopher

  My heart hammered as my fingers flew over the keys in ticked response.

  What do you mean Dad bought the Corner Tavern? When? Why? If you don’t want me to worry, please be more forthcoming with details.

  Yes, I’m on a cruise ship. Work. Did you give Sandy and the kids my best?

  Love, Evie

  I sat staring at the computer screen, my body vibrating with a half-dozen emotions. I felt bad about the potshot I’d taken at the singing telegram position in my initial e-mail to Jayne. I didn’t realize she was considering the job, although I know she’s nearly as desperate as me for work. Ten years ago, I would have taken that gig. A temporary fix. Certainly better for my artistic soul than working a cash register or serving up today’s special. Now the thought of showing up on a stranger’s doorstep and singing “Happy Birthday” filled me with…I don’t know. Contempt? Humiliation? Hardly a job for a forty-one-year-old woman. Whether that was my or my mom’s thought, I don’t know. But the notion nagged my brain. As did the thought, I’m meant for something more.

  The question was what?

  Speaking of…what was my brother’s problem? Great. Torture me with minimal information then flaunt your influence. I’ll handle it. Of course he’d handle it. He was, after all, a male version of Mom. Logical and controlling. I resisted a second response. Resisted lashing out. I told myself to sign off and back away from the computer.

  But then a new e-mail came in. An e-mail from Nicole.

  Did you boink his brains out yet?

  Nic

  I laughed. Thank God for my friends.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  HE SPIED ARCH SITTING on the right side of the theater, beneath the balcony overhang. Most of the audience sat closer to the stage, listening to the shore excursion director, Lucas, flag fun-filled day trips to exotic ports of call. Arch had positioned himself away from the bulk of the crowd.

  Milo took advantage of the semiprivacy and slouched into the seat next to him.

  Arch peered over the rims of his tinted glasses, noted his palm tree bowler shirt and jungle boots with a raised brow. “The disguise is almost as obnoxious as your alias’s personality, yeah?”

  “I live to offend.” Milo grinned around the cigar clamped between his teeth. “You.”

  The man’s lips twitched.

  Milo itched to test his good humor by addressing Arch’s fling with Gina. She wouldn’t talk about it, but he knew she was pissed and that didn’t bode well for the team. Unfortunately, time was limited and they needed to discuss the mission.

  He veered his thoughts from Gina and tuned in to Lucas’s sales pitch. Informative. Enticing. He noted the body language of the crowd. Hooked. By the time the charismatic man wrapped, the majority of the audience would line up to book guided tours of multiple ports of call. The adventurous sort would taxi ashore and explore on their own. Very few would stay on board. Even a good portion of the crew would enjoy free time at port.

  “The roper could be making his play on land as easily as at sea,” Milo ventured softly. “A chance meeting in a local bar or shopping bazaar.”

  “True.”

  “Safer than being overheard by undercover security while on the job. I guarantee there are plainclothes officers circulating. Security surveillance on this ship is top-notch. Have you noticed all the cameras?”

  “Aye. Public access areas are well protected.”

  “Watch your ass,” Milo said. “They are.”

  “You doubt my abilities? I’m wounded.”

  “Like hell. So wh
at’s the plan?”

  “You mean aside from giving the impression that we’re wealthy opportunists?” His gaze slid to Milo. “Some of us morons?”

  “Yeah, asshole. Aside from that.”

  Arch tapped his forefinger on the decorative tip of his cane. “We should book excursions.”

  “Genuine cruise enthusiasts would take advantage of ports of call.” He nodded. “Got it. So tomorrow we trek into San Juan.”

  “Tomorrow, I’m going to have a setback with my ankle.”

  “That right?”

  “You and Hot Legs go ashore. Evie and I will stay aboard.”

  “Divide and conquer.”

  “You’re not in Stokes’s age group, so you’ll have to work the arrogant big-spender angle.”

  “I know my role, Arch.”

  “If our man’s ashore and watching, we want him to peg you and your wife as perfect marks.”

  “If he stays on board and goes pigeon hunting he’ll find the Duponts.” Milo tamped down his annoyance. “Figured that out on my own. Imagine.”

  Arch grinned. “I’d cite the likeness of great minds, but your head’s big enough, yeah?”

  “Nothing compared to yours.”

  He scratched his silver whiskers. “Might help if the two couples bond publicly. Establishing a relationship would make meeting more convenient.”

  Milo considered. “Let’s bump into each other at the poolside bar.”

  “Sunset. Beau’s shift.”

  The bartender Arch had nominated as a possible roper. If he was their man and if Milo played his cards right, Beau would try to gain his confidence. Fine by him. Since he’d come this far, he wanted to be the mark. Safer because he’d be on the inside, not Arch. Even now he could feel a suppressed edginess to the man that he’d felt only once before.

  Lamont broke the code. What frickin’ code? No honor among thieves…or grifters. So what had prompted Arch to circumvent Chameleon and investigate Ms. Benson’s beef on his own? The man didn’t act without purpose. “Why are we here, Arch? What’s in it for you?”

  “Peace of mind.”

  He knew when he was being stonewalled. He let it slide. Pushing would get him nowhere and might end up garnering unwanted attention. He’d press later. In private. He wanted to know why he was risking A.I.A’s wrath before this reverse sting went down.

  He tongued his cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Most hustlers would have hit and run, transferred their game to another cruise line. The longer Lamont plucks pigeons from this ship, the greater his chances of being caught.”

  “He’ll move on. Eventually. He’s cocky and he’s got a good thing going. I dinnae think his roper’s a career grifter. More like a disgruntled employee who took the position when presented with a get-rich-quick scheme.”

  There had to be more to it. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

  Arch rolled back his shoulders, visibly weighed his words, the cagey bastard. “I’m familiar with Lamont.”

  “Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “I wasn’t sure at the time. I needed to be sure. I made some quiet inquiries within the circle and…this is something I need to do.”

  “So this is personal.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Christ.”

  Arch shrugged. “Pull oot. Turn a blind eye. You and Gina can catch a flight out of San Juan and be home by tomorrow night.”

  “And leave you alone? Risk you landing your ass in a foreign prison?” Milo dragged a hand down his face. “No offense, but your emotions are showing.”

  “Bugger.”

  “Yeah.” In this game, genuine emotions made a man vulnerable. Compromised his judgment. He knew it and Arch knew it. Mistake #1: He’d dragged an inexperienced player into this. What if things went wrong and Evie paid the price? Arch didn’t have much of a conscience, but Milo did.

  They sat in silence for a moment, listening to Lucas’s accented patter. Milo sighed. “So what’s the bait? Say the roper introduces you to Lamont. How are you going to tempt him back to the States?”

  “Art.”

  “Art?”

  Arch nodded. “Lamont’s fingers are in a lot of pots, yeah? He occasionally appropriates masterpieces for a private art collector.”

  “He’s an art thief?”

  “He’s a criminal with varied interests and contacts. A scum-artist. This collector shells out astronomical money for priceless paintings. Lamont’s orchestrated a few scams, substituted forgeries for genuine articles.”

  “So the galleries, museums, whatever, are unaware that they’ve been robbed,” Milo surmised.

  “Aye.”

  “Art theft and investment fraud.”

  “Like I said, varied interests. Thing is, the last scam Lamont pulled for this collector curdled. As a result, they’re on shaky terms just now. Given the buyer’s obsession and deep pockets, Lamont would like nothing better than to get back in his good graces.”

  Milo mulled over the information. “Okay. So I’m guessing Charles Dupont possesses something that would be of particular interest to this collector. Something valuable enough, rare enough to lure Lamont back to the States for a lucrative switch.” He glanced sideways at Arch. “Am I close?”

  “Bang on.”

  “You seem awfully sure of yourself.”

  “I’m sure of Lamont’s greed.”

  Milo blew out a breath. “Fine. So art is your bait. What if the roper passes you over, introduces me to Lamont instead? That angle won’t work for my alias, unless that collector’s interested in an Elvis on black velvet.”

  Arch cracked a smile. “We’ll figure something out before and if that time comes.”

  “Why didn’t Woody turn up this art forgery information when he ran a background check on Lamont?”

  “Simon Lamont’s an alias. One of many. The Kid’s good, but Lamont’s slippery, hence his moniker, Simon the Fish.”

  Again Milo sensed an edginess in Arch that set off warning bells. “You know, whatever your beef is with Lamont, you can be up-front with me. We’re partners.” That comment earned him a raised brow. “More or less.”

  The Scot bit back a smile. “This dance of ours, it’s a bit mystifying, yeah? Why the hell do we put up with each other?”

  “Good question.”

  ARMED WITH MY FIESTA CARD, I perused the shelves of an exclusive gift shop in the ship’s Atrium. I’d spent more time online than I’d anticipated, so I really needed to buy and run. I wish Arch had stipulated a price range. Normally a frugal person, my eyes bulged at most of the ticketed merchandise. I didn’t need a new bathing suit; I’d packed three. The jewelry was pricy and not really to Sugar’s taste. Perfume, I decided, was the way to go.

  I picked up a small decanter of Chanel, sniffed. Nice. Chloé had a light, fruity scent. Also nice.

  “If you really want to drive your man insane, try this.”

  I looked up to find a tall, striking brunette standing beside me at the cosmetic counter. The same brunette that I’d seen floating through the Atrium yesterday in a red chiffon dress. The one who’d caught Arch’s eye. Today she was wearing another halter sundress—canary yellow—and carrying a Gucci purse that matched her gold strappy sandals. Her arms were toned, her skin flawless, and her supergorgeous legs stretched from here to the moon. She exuded confidence and expensive taste. Her face was you-gotta-hate-her gorgeous—a cross between Angelina Jolie and Catherine Zeta-Jones. Arch had admired her from the rear. I could only imagine his reaction to her exotic beauty full on.

  I stiffened with jealousy, which was crazy because Arch and I weren’t an item. Well, not in real life, anyway. Tall, Dark and Beautiful passed me a sample bottle of the perfume she’d just spritzed into the air. The scent, floral. The label, French. “I’m not familiar with this brand.” Or the language, I thought, squinting at the foreign script.

  “It’s the scent that matters,” she drawled in a lazy Southern accent. “Jasmine. Allevia
tes stress, promotes self-confidence and, best of all, works as an aphrodisiac. Sweet yet exotic.” She raised a dark brow. “Appeals to a man’s Madonna-whore fantasy.”

  I blinked at her bluntness. I reserved this kind of talk for close friends. This woman was less inhibited and so, I reminded myself, was Sugar. I sucked it up and played the role, relying on a portion of the profile Arch had drilled me on. “I know what you mean about the good girl–bad girl thing. My Charlie chased me around the bed after I surprised him with a Catholic schoolgirl getup.” I cocked my head in deep bubble-brain thought. “I’m not sure what riled him most, the short plaid skirt or the bobby socks. Anyway, he sprained his ankle in the process, poor baby.”

  The woman’s plump red lips curved into a coy smile, and for the first time in my life I wondered if I should brave collagen injections. Even I wondered how it would feel to kiss a mouth like that. No, I’m not bi, just imaginative and, okay, envious.

  “Last night I surprised my husband wearing this fragrance and nothing else,” she went on as I stood there mesmerized by her blatant sexuality. She leaned closer, spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “The man ate me up—head to toe.” She straightened and summoned one of the salesclerks. “I’ll take two bottles of Les Fleurs de Provence Jasmine, please.”

  So that was how you pronounced it.

  “Forty percent off. Duty-free. Can’t beat that,” she said with a man-eating smile then slunk to the front cash register.

  I’m sure she was just trying to be helpful, and I did want to seduce Arch, but instead of grateful I felt competitive. Call me crazy. Or insecure. I needed all the help I could get. I motioned to the second clerk. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  I stood my ground as the brunette exited the shop without a “see ya” or a second look. I bristled, deciding without any real basis that I didn’t like her very much. And, mostly, I like everybody. Mostly. But that woman struck me as a manipulator.

  I flashed on yesterday’s conversation with Nicole. Michael blabbered something about the guy you’re working for being a manipulator.