All About Evie

by Beth Ciotta

  Arch retrieved his laptop out of the safe, placed it on the desk and fired it up.

  Milo grabbed two beers out of the minifridge, tossing one to Arch after he typed in his password. “Fucking hot out there.”

  “Better than freezing your balls off in Alaska, yeah?”

  “Not so sure.” He noted Arch’s fat suit and prosthetics with a raised brow. “You gotta be dying in that getup.”

  “Suffer for my art, yeah?” The Scot slugged back a quarter of his beer then started shedding layers. He angled his head toward the computer. “Go ahead. I want to peel off a few years, wash my face. I’ll be right oot.”

  He disappeared into the bathroom and Milo settled in a chair to access his secured account. He pressed the cool green bottle against his flushed cheek as he waited for files to download. He still couldn’t believe his good fortune. He’d planned to hang back when they’d entered the Coconut Shack. After spying Gavin King, Charles had begged off cocktails with Vic, claiming he owed Gavin a drink for escorting Sugar safely to their cabin after the Fred fiasco. But King had insisted Vic join them. Said he’d heard the Texan was keen on investments and since the Duponts and Parkers were friends…

  “Figured he’d double his score,” Milo said to himself. The man’s pitch had been scripted and sparse in detail. If they were interested, and they were, he’d introduce them to the man with his finger on the pulse of Dragonfly Cruises. The man with the inside scoop on this exclusive business opportunity—Mr. Simon Lamont. King had cleared his throat throughout, a nervous tell. Not the smoothest roper Milo had ever encountered.

  Nursing his beer, he opened the first file and read. “You’re right,” he said as Arch exited the bathroom, drying his face with a towel. “King’s not a pro.” He angled the screen when the man pulled a chair in alongside him. “Been with Fiesta Cruises for ten years. Passed over twice for promotion. The last time, this past year. Looks like you had him pegged, Arch. Disgruntled employee.”

  “Sticking it to the company by bilking its customers, yeah?”

  “Word will eventually get around,” Milo said. “Fiesta’s reputation will take a hit. By that time King will be long gone, his bank account well padded.”

  “Dinnae know aboot the padded account,” Arch said. “Look at these financial statements. Our boy’s in serious debt.”

  “Gambling problem. Special fondness for cards,” Milo said, reading on. He glanced at Arch. “Explains the location of tomorrow’s meet.” The Coco Casino. King would meet them there and make the introductions to Lamont—a man he’d described as a wealthy entrepreneur who routinely spearheaded hospitality resorts, including but not limited to the Coco Casino. Imagine if you will, he’d said, an international Donald Trump.

  “I dinnae like going into the Coco blind. We need a floor plan.”

  “Woody’s working on it.”

  “Step ahead of me, yeah?”

  Milo smiled. “Whenever possible.”

  Arch lit a cigarette. “Plenty of casinos in the Dominican Republic, legit and otherwise. Odds are the Coco Casino is a sucker gambling house. Lamont either owns a piece of it or he rented a meeting room to use as the big store.”

  Milo nodded, his thoughts traveling a similar path. “If Lamont frequents the casino, he could’ve run into King at the tables, learned his story and reeled him in as a roper. Our friendly cruise director could be using his cut to feed his habit.”

  “Or maybe he lost a wad to Lamont and/or his casino cohorts,” Arch said. “Maybe he’s working off debts. Doesn’t matter. Gavin King’s vengeful, greedy, and in deep.”

  “He’s also the least of our problems.”

  Arch blew out a stream of smoke, chugged more beer. “I cannae send her away now. Not after King mentioned he’d bragged aboot Sugar and how Lamont’s looking forward to meeting her. She’s the reason Dupont wants to purchase this dream residential cabin. Like it or not, Evie has become vital to the sting.”

  “You want this guy so bad that you’re willing to put a civilian at risk?”

  Arch flashed a brief smile. “You willnae let anything happen to her.”

  Milo didn’t buy his flippant manner. He sensed concern, but more bothersome, a restrained rage.

  Arch ground out his half-finished smoke. “Let’s just do this, yeah? I’ll protect Evie.”

  “I suppose you have a plan.”

  “Dinnae I always?”

  Milo was all ears. He was also tired of being jerked around. He nailed Arch with a look that telegraphed his mind-set. “The artist, the man Lamont betrayed and silenced. Who was he to you?”

  The grifter looked away, took a lazy pull off the longneck. After a long moment, he spoke a single word. “Family.”

  Milo raised a brow. “You mean like Chameleon?” Arch and Gina’s rift aside, the team considered themselves a family. They shared the same vision, watched each other’s backs, provided emotional support though no one ever asked for it.

  “Blood.”

  No shit? As far as he knew, Arch had no siblings. His father had run off before he was born. His mother had died years ago. This was a surprising twist to a man he thought he knew well. As well as anyone could know Arch Duvall. He waited for the man to look at him. “Okay.”

  Arch blew out a breath, nodded. “I’d appreciate it if—”

  “Between you and me.” The admission, he knew, had cost Arch. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have given up the personal information. Still, Milo found it hard to accept the man’s angst at face value. He’d been sidestepping grifter bullshit for too long. On the surface, he’d shared the insight to cinch Milo’s determination in felling Lamont. Played the compassion card. Milo got that. Question was, did he have an ulterior motive? Smoke and mirrors. The cagey Scot always had an ace up his sleeve, hence his moniker.

  “One thing, Arch. This better be about justice and not revenge.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning I’ll be damned unforgiving if your intention all along was to finesse a meeting with Lamont in order to end his grifting for good—eye for an eye.”

  “I’m not a killer.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’re not capable of killing under extreme circumstances.”

  Arch flashed an easy smile. “Good thing I have you along to keep me in line.”

  Milo snorted. “Yeah. Good thing.” Acknowledging a pang of dread, he clicked on an incoming file from Woody.

  The Coco Casino’s floor plan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “OH, GOOD. YOU’RE HERE.” I closed the door behind me, dropped my shopping bags near the bed. I was flushed and winded from rushing to board on time. Or maybe it was the sight of Arch, freshly showered and wearing nothing but a towel and an MP3 player, that left me breathless. Throughout the afternoon my imagination had concocted several scenarios. Most of them ended with the ship setting sail and leaving my superspy behind on St. Thomas where he shot it out with Vic while stuff blew up all around them.

  Finding him in our cabin sans blood and gore was a major relief. I didn’t want to consider the possibility that my feelings ran beyond concern for an associate. Thoughts that we’d bonded as friends were just as troubling since we might say goodbye in four days. Since there was a very real possibility—since he’d made it clear I wasn’t TCC material—that I would never see him again. So I focused on the physical.

  He stood at the bathroom mirror, just as he had that first night in the hotel, his back to me, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. I breathed in the scent of Irish Spring and Marlboro cigarettes. I fixated on that tribal tattoo and thought naughty, primal thoughts.

  He raked gel through his short dark hair and caught sight of me in the mirror. This time I didn’t scream and back away. This time I stayed and stared as he snuffed his cigarette, pulled out the earbuds and turned to face me.

  Breathe, Evie, breathe. “Oh, good,” I squeaked. “You’re here,” I repeated, figuring he didn’t hear me the first time. “What
are you listening to?” I’d been wondering for days.

  He unclipped the player from the towel. “Dinnae laugh.”

  “Okay.”

  “Boy George.”

  I smiled.

  “You’re laughing.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m just, well, surprised.”

  “You expected heavy metal?”

  “Or Celtic rock.” My smile widened. Movies and music. What else did we have in common? “I love Culture Club.”

  “How do you feel about Madonna?”

  “Brilliant.”

  “As in a marketing genius?”

  “As in excellent.”

  He smiled and my heart slammed against my ribs. I locked my knees as he moved toward me. Don’t melt, you ninny.

  He pushed my big black sunglasses on top of my head, examined my face. “You look like you got too much sun, yeah?”

  “I’m just flushed from running. I was shopping, lost track of time.” Yeah. That sounded good.

  “I was a bit worried. If you weren’t with Carol—”

  “I wasn’t with Carol.”

  “What?”

  I shrugged, eased away and moved into the bedroom. “I’m sorry, but I don’t like her. First there was the perfume thing and then today, the beach. I’m telling you, she took off her top and challenged me to do the same just to embarrass me. She’s mean.”

  He dropped his chin, scratched his dark whiskers. “She’s not mean.”

  “Did you tell her to dare me with that topless bit? You know, when you two were together at the governor’s mansion. Did you conspire against me? Did you expect me to run screaming for the airport?”

  “I didnae know aboot the nude beach. I did ask her to watch over you when I wasn’t around. As a favor. Dinnae take this wrong, but she’s not as gullible as you.”

  I blushed from head to toe. “I’m not gullible.”

  “Fred.”

  “Trusting.”

  “Same thing.”

  Talk about cynical. I didn’t know how to respond without looking more foolish, so I stayed with something I knew. Or thought I knew. “Are you and Carol Parker having an affair?”

  “No.”

  “Is she a double agent?”

  He laughed. “Carol Parker is a spoiled rich girl who’s married to a spoiled rich boy.”

  “There’s something weird about that couple. I don’t care what you say, she’s mean. And Vic, he’s…”

  “What?”

  “He’s always watching me.”

  “Everybody watches you, Sunshine. You’re adorable.”

  Blushing, I sat on the bed, unlaced my sneakers, and peered up at him through lowered lashes. “You mean Sugar’s adorable.”

  “Meant what I said.”

  Okay. That was sweet. That was…hot. I blew my bangs out of my eyes, toed off my shoes. “About the topless thing. Since I was Sugar, and since I don’t know how the Parkers fit into this, and I’m convinced they do, somehow…I did what I had to do. I was quick about it, hoping Vic wouldn’t notice.” I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, replayed the moment and cringed. “Do you think he noticed?”

  Arch crossed his arms over his impressive pecs.

  “You think he noticed.”

  He raised a brow.

  “Oh, crap. He noticed.”

  “When are you going to get it through that thick head of yours, Evie? You’re worth noticing.”

  That perked me up. “You are incredible for my ego.”

  He just smiled that secret smile of his then turned his back, dropped the towel. The sight of his bare ass perked me up even more. Must be a European thing, I thought. The man had no qualms about walking around naked. Viva la Europe.

  “Let’s get back on track,” he said, while stepping into a pair of grey sweatpants.

  “I didn’t know we were off track.”

  “Are you telling me you walked around town alone?” He sounded sort of bored.

  Uh-oh. One thing I’d learned about Arch. There was a calm before his storm. “Actually, I ran into Martha and her friends. So there were six of us. Trust me, I wasn’t alone. Speaking of shopping—”

  “Were we?”

  “Yes. When did you replace my driver’s license and credit cards with Sugar’s?”

  “That first night in the hotel. You just noticed?”

  “It’s the first time I needed anything other than my Fiesta Card. How did you do that? Get my picture on a license with Sugar’s info? And the credit cards…”

  “Trade secret.”

  “They were all I had. I only had so much cash and I wanted to buy some gifts so I used them.”

  “That’s what they’re for.”

  “But who’s going to pay?”

  “Dinnae worry about it.” He shook his head. “I cannae believe Carol ditched you.”

  “To be fair, I ditched her. Tell me about your day.” I wanted to avoid a lecture on personal safety, but mostly I was curious. Horribly curious. I stretched out on my stomach, my chin cupped in my hands. “Everything. Don’t leave anything out. Starting with your meeting with Gavin. Did he mention Dragonfly?”

  “He did.”

  “Did he tell you when and where to meet the guy in charge?”

  “Uh-huh.” He swung open the minibar. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Water would be great, thanks.”

  He handed me a bottle then nabbed a beer for himself and sat in a seat near the balcony door.

  I sipped and shifted to keep him in full view. “So?”

  “Tomorrow evening. There’s a casino on the outskirts of La Romana. King will meet us there, introduce us to Simon Lamont.”

  He was filling me in, giving me details. Trusting me. Maybe he had come to consider me a sidekick after all, even if only for this job. It was a start, and made me feel more hopeful about my life than I had in a long time. Even more wonderful than any compliment about how cute I might be—though those didn’t hurt. Arch Reese and his metro-macho mystery had brought the shine back into my life.

  “He’s the shark? This Lamont?”

  “He is.”

  My stomach fluttered at the thought of facing an honest-to-gosh criminal.

  “I know how you feel aboot casinos, Sunshine. If you want to pull oot—”

  “No way.”

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “Okay.”

  “Why aren’t you scared?”

  “Because, whether or not I released you from that promise, you won’t let anything happen to me.”

  “Your faith in me is…unsettling.”

  Something in his voice, something indefinable but potent, caused my heart to swell. He hadn’t trusted very often. Probably never had the kind of support my dad had given me. He struck me as someone who’d grown up too fast. Someone who had it rough. Someone afraid to feel.

  He looked away, over his bare shoulder, out the balcony door. “We’re pulling oot of St. Thomas.”

  It took a second for his words to sink in. Then I registered the gentle movement of the ship and the sight of the colorful red roofs and vibrant green hills growing more distant. “Crap!” I catapulted off of the bed and rooted through three shopping bags. “I wanted to take a picture!”

  I found the shrink-wrapped package and tore at the plastic. I opened the box and…“What the hell?”

  “What’s wrong?’

  I stared. Blinked. Blinked again. “There are rocks in this box.”

  “What?”

  “Rocks. In. Box.” I dumped the contents on the table. No camera. Just rocks. Stones. Pebbles. “I don’t get it.”

  “Fuck.” Arch walked over, examined the manufacturer’s box, the plastic wrapping…the rocks. He palmed his forehead and let out a sigh that sounded half-frustrated, half-amused. “I cannae believe you fell for this.”

  “For what?”

  “Rocks in box.”

  “I know! I see!”

  He shook his head. “That’s the name o
f the con.”

  “What con?”

  “The short con. The grift. The scam. Where did you buy this?”

  My head reeled as I continued to sift through the pile of rubble in search of my newly purchased digital camera. “From a man.”

  “On the street?”

  “In an alley.”

  “Christ. I suppose he had a whole table of these boxes. All sealed. One actual camera on display. One that he showed you and allowed you to try oot.”

  I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  “He told you that he worked for a trucking firm or a retailer. Said something aboot overinventory. He offered you a bargain. An irresistible deal.”

  Uh-oh.

  “Rocks in the box. It’s one of the oldest short cons oot there along with the Pigeon Drop, Three Card Monte, Shell Game…”

  “Are you saying I was scammed?”

  “Royally.”

  I sank down on the edge of the bed, palmed my own forehead. “He seemed so honest.”

  Arch sat next to me. “He won your confidence, appealed to your good nature and your desire for a bargain, yeah? Good deal syndrome. No offense, Sunshine, but you’re an easy mark. A female Walter Mitty.”

  I knew the story, of course. A mild man with a vivid fantasy life. A regular Joe who imagined himself experiencing wondrous adventures. For instance, kicking criminal butt alongside an international spy. Tears pricked at my eyes. So much for superspy sidekick. “You think I’m a Walter Mitty?”

  “I think you’re…trusting.”

  “Same thing.”

  “We’re going to have to do something about that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like educating you to how it works in the real world.”

  “You mean your world.”

  “Aye. The real world. The world where a sucker is born every minute.”

  “That’s awfully pessimistic.”

  “Realistic.”

  I felt my head drifting out of the clouds, my feet nearing solid ground. It was a sickening sensation. “You’re not an international spy, are you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you tell me—”

  “You assumed. I played along. It’s what I do. I tell people what they want to hear. Perpetuate fantasies. Smoke and mirrors, love.”