Conning for Keeps: A Novella Page 10

  And that didn’t take into account his attitude about her spending time with Canalis. Did he think she actually liked seducing that viper? She was over the uncertainty of it all. The sooner they had the damn painting and were out of here, the better.

  At least the rehearsal had gone off perfectly. Well, perfectly for her. Amy had huffed and puffed her way through Marissa and Evangeline’s antics.

  Surely it had been enough of a show to convince Canalis she knew how to play a damn mark, though. Managing that was all that mattered. Then she could do what she wanted so many years ago and finally set her hands on Certain Laughter.

  No. She wanted to turn it over to TRAIT. It wasn’t that she wanted it herself. She wanted Trevor, and if she pulled any stunts with the painting, she’d lose any chance at him. All that would remain were the memories of how good they were together. Not exactly her preferred outcome. Nope. Handing over the art was the path she had to take if she wanted the life she’d dreamed about.

  Too bad part of her kept chiming in with the fact that the government only wanted it out of Canalis’s hands. Why couldn’t it be in hers instead?

  It would have been nice if she’d had an answer better than “because.”

  The hardest part of the rehearsal dinner had been suffering through Trevor’s whispered questions during the meal, along with his constant reminders they had a timeline that ended tomorrow.

  Like she didn’t know the painting would be gone, departing via private helicopter or jet or freaking snowmobile before they were supposed to check out on Sunday. Like she didn’t understand he had an undeniable need to know what was going on—even if she was sure he really didn’t want to.

  “Tomorrow’s the big day,” he said. Again.

  “Getting cold feet?” She arched a brow at him. If anyone else heard his questions, hopefully, she’d planted the idea in their heads that he was just nervous. “If you like, I can take your mind off it later.” She winked as she pushed away from the remnants of her dessert. Tonight so wasn’t a creme brûlée night.

  It was an art acquisitions night.

  At least if she had any say in things.

  Trevor grabbed her as she stood. “Where are you going?”

  The pressure on her wrist brought back the memory of his hands on her thighs, spreading them wide, and heat rushed through her. Damn this man and his amazing hands. Forget the specifics, damn his amazing everything. The annoying need to be in the know at all times was his worst fault. Of course, all things considered, he had a right to be aware of what was going on. But, partner or not, it was safer if he didn’t.

  Better.

  He’d try to stop her if he knew.

  “To thank our host for the wonderful dinner. Then I’m going to go upstairs so I can get to bed early and be well-rested to become Mrs. Trevor Smythe tomorrow.” Marissa leaned down and kissed him firmly—not too chaste, not too much passion.

  “That’s not necessary.” His grip tightened on her wrist until it was painful, but she didn’t pull away. Trevor wasn’t even looking at her when he said it. His attention was focused on Leo Canalis, and she couldn’t help but think his anger was there, too.

  “Not necessary, but polite and tactical.” She frowned and pitched her voice slightly lower—enough of a change that he’d notice and pay attention. “Trevor, is there something you need to tell me?”

  Immediately, he let her go and turned back to the table. “No. You’re right. Go play nice.”

  There wasn’t much of an option for now, so she let the worry go. Squaring her shoulders, she sauntered over to Canalis, who’d just turned away from his son. Frankie cast a glare her way, and she wiggled her fingers in response. Only a couple more days. She could do this for a couple more days.

  “Mari.”

  “Good evening, sir. This has been so incredible tonight, and I know in the madness of the wedding tomorrow, I might forget to say thank you. I figured I should do it now instead.” She let her unspoken message hang in the air along with an equally unspoken, but less enthusiastic, offer.

  He sighed heavily, the exasperated father again. “Why don’t you join me for a moment? A digestif seems in order tonight. Too much rich food. I warned Evangeline about the menu, but it’s hard to argue with a bride-to-be.”

  That was a good sign; maybe it meant he was willing to give in. She only hoped she didn’t have to screw him to get the painting. That was not on her agenda, at all. Flirting and innuendo were fine, but she was not going to have sex with the man to get the art. With a smile, she waved to the bar and followed him with a bounce in her step that had been absent a moment before. Focus on the good stuff. You’re almost done…

  “Cognac. Two, please.” He handed a glass to her and waited for the bartender to disappear before speaking again. “One thing I’ve learned in my business is it’s never smart to welch on a deal. And I won’t with regard to you, but I’ve also learned it’s wise to wait until a race is finished before paying up on a bet.”

  “So that’s a no?” Her grip tightened on the glass, and she had to take a sip to calm her frustration. So much for almost done and away from any temptation with regard to the art.

  “That’s a ‘wait twenty hours’ and it will be a yes. Considering you’ll be in your room much of that time, I’m sure you’ll come out on top.” He twirled his glass, light catching on the cognac and making it glow golden.

  At least he hadn’t suggested she come to his room. “If you’re so sure, why make me wait?”

  He downed what was left in his glass. With a smile, he leaned close, pressing something cold and sharp against her stomach.

  Marissa froze, afraid if she moved he’d decide she wasn’t worth the trouble after all, and he whispered in her ear, “If I’m going to allow you access to my most prized possession, I need to be sure you will give it the respect it’s due. Also, because you plan to work for me. Not the other way around. I have ways of dealing with employees who forget the order of things. You’re a beautiful woman, Marissa. It would be a pity for you to have to learn that lesson the hard way.” He stepped away without a backward glance, shouting, “Where is that bottle of wine I ordered?”

  Marissa caught candlelight glinting off the corkscrew in his hand and remembered how to breathe. Not a knife. It was a threat, a reminder. And, no matter what else, Trevor was safe. That was what mattered.

  She managed to plaster on a fake smile and join in the good night toast, but when Canalis’s gaze flicked toward Trevor, she faltered. What if Evangeline wasn’t the only test? What if he wanted her to show her loyalty before he gave her the painting?

  Considering the way he talked about Certain Laughter reminded her far too much of Gollum ranting about his “precious,” she wouldn’t put murder past him. And if Canalis was as bloodthirsty as his file said, it wouldn’t be ridiculous to think he’d ask her to put a bullet in the brain of the man she’d deemed nothing more than a “pretty body to get her in the door.”

  Marissa couldn’t get back to the suite fast enough. Her shoes landed in a pile when she kicked them off. Then she raced into the bathroom, slamming the door and sucking in panicked breaths.

  Messing with Canalis like this was so much more dangerous than any job she’d ever pulled with her parents. If this went wrong, Canalis knew who she was and, with his resources, he’d find her. It wasn’t just a job she was risking now. It was everything. If he found out who she was working for, the lies she’d spun about Trevor would evaporate, and then what? So much for protecting him.

  TRAIT agent. Ha! She was a grifter, a thief. At her heart, she was only supposed to have to watch out for herself. Not a team. Not a partner. And now…

  She would not get sick, she would not…

  “Marissa?” Trevor knocked softly on the door. “Are you okay?”

  It took a second to steady her breathing enough to call out, “Yeah. Working on getting all squeaky clean for our wedding tomorrow.”

  More like she wanted to wash off Canalis�
��s breath in her ear while he pressed metal into her gut. A corkscrew tonight. What would it be next time?

  She leaned over and twisted on the shower, praying to a God she vaguely remembered from childhood. Please, Lord, wash my sins away. Keep Trevor safe. And if you can, I’d really fucking appreciate it if you kept me safe, too. She heard Trevor’s hand fall on the doorknob and tore her clothes off, stepping under the stinging spray before he saw her like this.

  The water hit her skin like a hundred needles and, instead of chasing the worry away, it drove it home. The job was always dangerous. This shouldn’t be any different.

  But it was.

  Different because the one sure fire way to make certain Trevor was safe was to be exactly who she told Canalis she was—the dream Marissa who would walk happily toward Evangeline and hand over the damn painting.

  Sobs wracked Marissa’s body, and she braced herself against the wall, trying desperately to keep from sliding down to wallow in the depths of her fear. When Josh had come to see her in juvie, she’d told him she couldn’t be a spy, that it would never work, but the man had been so damned persistent, she’d fallen prey to his certainty.

  And now look at her—ready to abandon ship and leave everything behind at the first opportunity. It didn’t matter that it was to protect the people she cared about—she was still choosing wrong over right.

  She was still nothing but a con artist.

  Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, supporting her and holding her close. “Talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know anything.”

  She leaned against Trevor’s chest, watching as the water sluiced over their skin. Light and dark. She always thought, in a lot of ways, they were alike. Different sides of the same coin. Her smartassery and his silence both defense mechanisms to keep people from getting close. So many little things.

  But there would always be differences.

  Gaps too big to get past.

  “Marissa, I won’t let him hurt you, but you can’t keep things from me like you have been.” He whispered the words into her hair, and it would’ve been easy to pretend she hadn’t heard.

  Problem was, she was too far in to tell him now. She’d made this mess, and she had to get them out of it. God! With the deception and trickery in her nature, how had she ever believed a future together might be possible? And what if she couldn’t salvage the mission? What if the only way to save him was to walk away from TRAIT? From him. Would he ever forgive her?

  Questions warred in her mind, and she turned her head, burying it against his chest in an effort to hide from them all. “Worry about keeping yourself safe, Trevor. Canalis…I don’t know what he’s going to do, but this con could still go so wrong. No matter what, I want you to make sure you walk away from this. As for the rest, you can’t help, but you can hold me.”

  He smoothed back her wet hair and kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer as he sighed. “Forever if you need me to.”

  Marissa thanked that God she hadn’t really believed in for the fact that the hot water wouldn’t run out for a while. It hid the presence of her tears as she realized she wasn’t made for forever.

  She was made for lies, for cons, and for running.

  Trevor woke to an empty bed and a note: See you at the wedding. I’ll be the one in white.

  Ha ha. She seemed in better spirits than she had after last night’s dinner—hopefully because the end was in sight. He couldn’t wait to get the hell out of here and back to some semblance of normal. For a while he’d thought maybe that could include Marissa, but now…she’d confirmed he couldn’t trust her.

  The simple fact that neither of them had laid eyes on the damn painting yet had him worried it wasn’t in the hotel at all. And that didn’t take into account her Goddamn “plan.”

  The only good thing about it was, with her flirting her way into Canalis’s good graces, Trevor had to stay in the background. There was no chance to get close enough to the man to exact vengeance for Delray. Which meant his ethics were still intact, even if he felt like a caged beast.

  Either way, the mission would be over soon, which meant a return of his sanity. At least what was left of it where Marissa was concerned. He still needed to figure out how to tell Josh he was done working with her. A partner he couldn’t rely on was worse than no partner at all.

  It was the big day, and she’d left him completely in the dark while she went off to hair and nails and make-up.

  Trevor cast a bleary-eyed gaze at the clock. Time to stop worrying about the future and get on with today. He had a few minutes to check in before hitting the late breakfast for the grooms. He hadn’t set an alarm and was lucky the noise in the hall woke him. Family and friends arriving for the nuptials in…four hours.

  He flopped in front of the computer and opened the secure chat with TRAIT. Greta’s icon came on the screen.

  Greta Gallagher: About time you checked in. How’s it going? Our feed tapped out that first night, and there were concerns. There’s a team nearby if you need back up at the ceremony. They’re dressed to pose as guests.

  Shit. Marissa had deactivated her comms after he woke her, and that first pair of shoes had been ditched in the bathroom when she’d changed into the nightie. They’d been in the closet ever since. As for back up, he had to assume Marissa would have clued him in if they needed more guns on site, even if she refused to tell him anything else.

  Trevor Harris: Sorry about the glitch. There have been some hiccups but nothing we couldn’t handle. Right now we don’t have confirmation the painting’s here. Let Josh know and have him make the call on the others. It’s a toss-up between spooking Canalis and having extra hands on deck.

  There. Honest without saying too much. And totally honest on the last part. No one needed to know that Marissa had gone completely off-script or that he’d debated—more than once—sneaking into Canalis’s room and slitting his throat. And they definitely didn’t need to know that curling up next to Marissa’s naked body was the thing that kept him from doing it.

  Trevor tapped his fingers on the table while he waited for Greta to talk to their boss and wondered for a second how much of the office had been called in on a Saturday for this or if it was only the two of them.

  Greta Gallagher: Josh is pulling some people to infiltrate as staff. Less obtrusive, but they’ll still be on hand. The others are a call or text away. I’ll forward you the number now. Make sure you put it in as your 911.

  Trevor’s phone vibrated a second later with the promised phone number, and he immediately set it for quick dial.

  Greta Gallagher: He also said if the painting isn’t there, just finish out the play and come back. The last thing the people who ordered the mission want is for Canalis to file another harassment suit. His exact words were “Remind Trevor to follow the secret part of being a secret agent and keep his fists to his damn self.”

  Of course. Unless the shit hit the fan, especially with everything that had already gone wrong. One more thing, and all bets were off. But “another” harassment suit? The Feds had gone after Canalis before, but he thought it had all been on the down-low. Not enough evidence so they always pulled back.

  Need to know, Harris. If Josh thought you needed that information, you’d have had it. Then again, if he’d known Canalis was sitting pretty because people were afraid to touch him, he might have given up a night with Marissa to take care of the man once and for all.

  Trevor Harris: Orders received. Disconnecting.

  He shut down the program and closed his laptop. Time to get ready to get married.

  For all the stress of the night before, the morning went off without a hitch. For his own sanity, he made a point of wandering by the room where the girls were getting dolled up, satisfied at the sound of Marissa’s clear laughter echoing into the hallway.

  No tightness to the sound at all, as if everything was as normal as could be.

  Right.

  Trevor marched to their room and shut the door, ca
tching it before it slammed. He was far too edgy. There were some things he did need to know, damn it. And what was going on with Marissa was one of them.

  Her phone sat next to his laptop, plugged into its charger, ripe for the taking. Trevor scrubbed at his face for a minute, balancing her privacy with the mission. Blowing out a sharp breath, he decided. If she’d gone dirty, her privacy didn’t matter, and if she hadn’t, she’d understand.

  He hoped.

  Their phones were password protected, but he’d seen Marissa put hers in often enough that he knew it as well as his own. Nothing in her browser history. Or phone records. Or her texts. At least since they’d been here, she’d been off the grid.

  Wait. No. There were the texts to Cal, and she hadn’t deleted those. But those were meaningless. Trevor tapped the phone against his palm. Would she risk email?

  Thumbing that icon, he pulled up her accounts. Two. One for TRAIT and a personal one. Her TRAIT email, unsurprisingly, came up dry. So did the other. It seemed like it had been dormant for almost a year. Which either meant she didn’t use it much, or she deleted everything on a regular basis. No answers there.

  He was about to give up on her email as well when he noticed her draft folder wasn’t empty. Probably nothing, but he opened it anyway.

  The file there was addressed to him—at his personal email. The one no one in TRAIT had access to.

  This couldn’t be good.

  Holding his breath, he read.

  My dearest Trevor,

  There are so many things I feel like I should say right now, so many things to apologize for.

  He debated stopping right there. Marissa had as much as confessed her treason in those two lines. Calling in the cavalry was the only option. But he didn’t. The salutation kept him immobile. Would she call him “dearest” and then betray everything they’d stood for in the next breath?

  But if you’re reading this, it means I wasn’t there to stop it from sending, which means you’re hating me for all the wrong reasons. Yes, the Valjean thing…I made it up. It was a wild-goose chase to keep you busy while I gave Canalis something to focus on—namely me. I had to get in close the only way I knew how, and I had to keep you in the dark to make the ruse work.