The Love Scam

by MaryJanice Davidson, Camille Anthony, Melissa Schroeder

  “Doing okay in there? Do you two, uh, need anything?”

  “Will you just give me a minute?” he shouted. Christ. No sense of decorum at all. “We’ll figure it out,” he finished. “All of it. Because we’re a team now. Which reminds me, another team member has been alone with the bad guys long enough—”

  “Exactly long enough,” Lillith agreed. “Here.” She pressed a slender dark tube into his hand. He blinked down at it, then with a snap of his wrist the telescoping baton tripled in length. “Don’t worry. Those are legal here. So’s pepper spray, but there wasn’t room for that in my belly bag.”

  “I feel so safe with you,” he said with absolute sincerity. “Now keep back. Daddy has to go give the bad guy a concussion.”

  “I’m not calling you Daddy.”

  “Noted. Keep out of the way regardless.”

  Fifty-one

  Well, that escalated quickly.

  Rake had only been gone a minute before Kovac had calmly instructed Small to “grab her and I’ll cut her face—oh, wait, all that ‘not the face’ stuff is his thing. Well, it’ll be ironic.” To her: “No offense, but it’ll be easier to believe you if we hurt you and your story doesn’t change.”

  No offense? Really? Delaney wasted no time hurling a book—not for nothing had she been using the bookcase for back support—straight at Small’s face. All she hoped for was a hit, a distraction that would let her follow up with something painful and immediate. To her immense satisfaction, the thing caught him square in the face and everyone heard the raw carrot–snapping sound that heralded a broken nose.

  “Are you kidding me?” Kovac cried. The bad news: The idiot had a gun. The good news: He didn’t make much use of it, as evidenced by how long it took him to snatch the thing up and fumble with the safety. Delaney had plenty of time to slap his wrist, hard, which sent the barrel pointing at the floor. There was the dull boom of a bullet plowing through the carpet, and Kovac was so startled by the recoil, he almost dropped it. Delaney stuck her finger through the trigger guard, preventing him from firing, and while it hurt like hell as he mashed the trigger in frantic attempts to shoot, it was a lot better than a .38 exploring her lower abdomen. Also …

  “A thirty-eight? Really?”

  Kovac ignored her firearm critique in favor of shouting, “Don, get that kid and Tarbell the fuck back here now!”

  “I don’t think he can hear you.” Delaney slapped his other hand away as he tried to smack her, then snapped his pinkie for good measure. The shriek was indecently satisfying.

  The office door burst open

  (let’s hope Tall is as easily incapacitated; three versus one is a little much)

  and Tall fell in. He hit facedown, revealing an irritated Rake behind him brandishing—oooh, was that the Guardian twenty-eight inch? Nice.

  Even nicer to see him smack Small with it, further compounding the damage to his face. “Should’ve stayed down,” Rake growled. Then: “Delaney, is it sexist if I offer to help you beat Kovac to death? And before you answer, please don’t think I’m implying you’d need help beating someone to death.”

  “Thank you. And no, it’s not sexist. Or necessary.” This because after she’d broken his finger, Kovac was more interested in getting away than escalating.

  “This is fucking ridiculous!” he yelped.

  “Tell me. Just let go of the gun! That’s why you can’t get away.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “You are truly terrible at this. At all of this. I can’t believe you managed to have Donna killed.”

  “I didn’t!” Kovac freed himself with one more yank, staggered, caught his balance with his bad hand, let out another shriek, and fell flat on his ass on the carpet. She could see his eyes watering with tears of pain as she trained the gun-barrel site on his forehead. “But she sure as shit deserved it! She was going to ruin me!”

  “No. She. Wasn’t.” She knew she should hand the gun over; it was getting harder to resist the impulse to empty the rest of the clip into the bridge of his nose. “She wasn’t running from you. She was just running. She wasn’t going to expose you, she just wanted to keep her kid safe. The flash drive was just to protect herself. It was a reflex, like how it hurts when someone pokes a bruise.”

  “Wait.” Rake was still holding the baton—Delaney could see his knuckles were white—and looked ready to bust more heads, but he paused. Which seemed safe enough; Kovac was whimpering and cradling his bad hand, and Tall and Small were semiconscious at best. “You’re saying you didn’t have someone run over Donna on purpose?”

  “What, you need a narrator? Fuck off.”

  “So when she disappeared, you assumed she was about to blow up your life, so you acted accordingly.” To Delaney: “And you assumed that he killed Donna over the flash drive and acted accordingly. That’s all this is? A misunderstanding?”

  “An epic, gross, violent misunderstanding,” Delaney agreed. And that was the worst part. Donna died running from her past, but not the way Delaney assumed. It was one of those laugh or cry moments, if laugh meant succumb to hysterics, and cry meant the same.

  “Aw, dammit.” This from a new voice, and everyone looked. Ellen/Elena was framed in the doorway, and Teresa was behind her, holding Lillith. “How did I know you weren’t gonna save any bad guys for us?”

  “Wow! How’d you guys get here? I didn’t spot a tail.”

  “Donna texted us. Which was as unsettling as you might imagine.” Elena nodded at Lillith. “Well. Donna’s phone texted us.”

  “She— What? Amazing.”

  Rake shook his head. “That’s the least amazing thing she’s done in the last ten minutes. The cops are on the way, too, so anyone with a record—not you, Kovac—should be vamoosing.”

  “I’d like an ambulance, please.” Kovac groaned.

  “Go!” Rake made shooing motions with his baton. “I’ll tell the cops what happened. The parts of it I understand, that is. So it’ll be a short conversation. But use the delay to get clear.”

  “I’m staying.”

  “Delaney—”

  “I’m staying, too,” Lillith added. “You said it yourself: We make a great team.”

  “True, but irrelevant. Out!”

  “But they’ll kick you out of the country!”

  He smiled at his daughter. “And you, too.”

  Fifty-two

  “You thought I was going to kill Kovac? You thought I killed all those other people?”

  “You were talking about hits and hacks! You were insanely secretive and you lie like you’re getting paid.” Rake paused and guzzled half his ginger beer. Stress made him thirsty, clearly. “Actually, you are getting paid.”

  “Point,” Delaney conceded.

  It was hours later; Kovac and the C team had been arrested, lawyers had been summoned, statements had been taken, paperwork had been filed, teeth had been gnashed. Rake had been politely but not really asked to leave the city, the nuclear option vouched for him and promised to put him (and Lillith, and herself) on a plane ASAP, and the others did a fade, then met up with them for supper at Antiche Carampane, a centuries-old restaurant justly famous for its homemade desserts.

  And just in time, because they were all starving and had walked past several acceptable restaurants, all vetoed by the nuclear option.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but I simply refuse to eat in a restaurant that employs the use of neon lighting to lure customers, specifically makes a point of saying Americans are welcome, or serves chicken tenders.”

  “This,” Rake said. “This is what I had to put up with, you guys. All my life. Oh, and Blake, too. I guess.”

  “Gift horses, dear. Lillith, you come sit by me. Now: all of you. I’m dying to hear the whole story, beginning to end.”

  “Come to think of it,” Rake said, “so am I.” But he smiled as he said it, clearly relaxed for the first time in days.

  “But first, we’ll order.” Then, proudly to the waiter; “My granddaughter wil
l be ordering for me.”

  So she did, suggesting the carpaccio of raw wild fish

  (“You like sushi, right, Grandma? Then you’ll probably like this.”)

  spaghetti with spicy sauce, and finishing with several sorbets and biscottini della casa.

  “She’s trilingual!” Mrs. Tarbell announced to the waiter, the table at large, the tables behind them, a third of the kitchen staff, the street outside. Rake caught Delaney’s gaze and they both smiled when Lillith didn’t correct her.

  What the hell, Delaney thought. Let her keep some secrets. That one at least won’t get anyone killed.

  Meanwhile, Ellen was breaking it down for the Tarbells. “To be clear: Hits and hacks don’t equal murder. They mean that when someone promises money for the Big Pipe Dream, then reneges, we investigate why. We break in, in every sense of the word. We look at everything.”

  Delaney picked up the narrative. “And if we find out they broke their word for a legitimate reason—unexpected hospital bills if it’s a private person, or needing to rebuild after a storm or fire if it’s a company, or not pulling in the contributions they anticipated … that stuff happens, and it’s nobody’s fault. Something like that, we let it go and no hard feelings.”

  Mrs. Tarbell was nodding. “But if, say, somebody wants to buy his mistress a summer home—”

  “Right. Then I go to them, and lay out what we were able to dig up, and I tell them, ‘Keep your word, or we’ll put all your dirty laundry out there. I’ll expose you as a liar and a cheat and you’ll lose a lot more than the donation you promised.’”

  It wasn’t a calling, exactly. But they’d been doing it forever—since a few months after she’d kicked Elena’s bully in the balls back in middle school, in fact.

  “Exposure is their worst nightmare,” she continued. “Their exposure going viral is too terrifying to even be contemplated. They’ve always given in.”

  Elena had gone quiet, and Delaney could guess why. The first person they’d hacked, years ago, had been their mutual foster father, who had a bad habit of “accidentally” walking in on them if they were in the bathroom, or dressing, or undressing. Pretty soon there were dozens of accidental sightings every week. The foster mother refused to take it seriously

  (“Oh, you girls are so sensitive! Aren’t we all one big happy family? Who cares who sees what?”)

  and the girls knew from experience that CPS was overworked and unlikely to be helpful without proof. So they’d hacked his home office and computer and found the porn, which was gross but not unexpected, and the monthly payments to the seventeen-year-old mistress, which was gross but helpful. Which they discussed with him. At length.

  End of “accidents.”

  “I wish you’d told me what you were really up to,” Rake said, having the gall to sound wounded.

  “How could I? Your takeaway from Lillith’s story was ‘Your dead mom was a thief and a blackmailer.’ Why the hell would any of us confide anything we didn’t absolutely have to?”

  “I like how she’s lumping us in with her,” Ellen commented with a grin. “I actually wouldn’t have cared if you’d confided.”

  Rake cleared his throat. “So … you guys didn’t go to prison together?”

  “What? No.” Delaney saw what he was getting at and realized she couldn’t give him shit for this one, because that’s what she had told him earlier in the week: We did time together. “We were in the same foster home. Why do you think I didn’t care about talking to the cops once we knew exactly how Donna died? I’m the only one in the family who doesn’t have a record. And do you know why, Rake?”

  “No, but I’ll bet it’s a great story.”

  “It’s a wonderful story,” Teresa confided. “We come off as piuttosto eroico.”*

  “It’s not because I was smarter or faster or trickier. It’s because they”—pointing at Ellen and Teresa—“took the fall. Each time we got caught—which admittedly wasn’t often, and certainly not since we were voting age—they kept me clear of it. We’re all dirty, but they help me at least look clean.”

  “Is that why the Big Pipe Dream is so important? Why it has to be an off-the-books shelter? Because some of you have records?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly right,” Delaney said as the other girls nodded. “It’s one more piece of bureaucracy that gums up the works and makes it harder to make kids safe. But, thanks to your grandmother…”

  Mrs. Tarbell was already nodding. “Oh, yes, dear. You’ve done your part and then some. I’ll be wiring the rest of your funds first thing in the morning.”

  “You— Really?” From long habit, Delaney had already began mustering arguments. “Just like that?”

  “It’s not ‘just like that,’ Delaney. You did everything you promised, even though your life was in danger—”

  “Repeatedly,” Rake growled.

  “—and your friends were at risk, to say nothing of my littlest darling.”

  “Aw.”

  “Not you, Rake.” Lillith giggled.

  “It was worth being at risk,” Teresa said. “To find out what happened to Donna. To find her girl and make her safe. We would have done such things for nothing.”

  “Which is not a hint to delay sending funds,” Ellen said. “Like, at all.”

  “I wish I had friends like you guys,” Rake said with bald honesty.

  Delaney smiled. “Everyone does.”

  Lillith tugged on his hand. “We agreed, remember? You and I are friends.”

  Rake smiled down at her. “I remember. Now I just need five more of you.”

  “Listen, why do you think we paired you and Lillith up as soon as the principals were in place? Who the hell would trust a kid with ten grand?”

  Ellen’s hand shot up. “I know!”

  “Former street kids,” Delaney said, ignoring Ellen’s hand waving. “Plus, look at her! Could she appear more disarming and cute?”

  Lillith smirked.

  “And who would view a notorious carefree playboy with suspicion?”

  Rake snorted. “You Bruce Wayned me?”

  “Oh, I like that,” Ellen said, nodding. “Yep. That’s exactly what happened. You’re pretty and careless and spend your money doing pretty, careless things. Hell, googling you brings up loads of pics of you with supermodels. And not a little public nudity.”

  “I went to one Victoria’s Secret fashion show,” he mumbled.

  “My point! Who’d ever think you were doing anything but being Rake Tarbell on vacation?”

  “We made you guys as safe as we could by putting you together,” Delaney added. “But one thing I don’t get—Lillith?”

  The girl broke off the “I’ve got no use for a pony, but I would like the latest MacBook Air, please” discussion with Mrs. Tarbell. “Yes?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you had the flash drive? Why wait until we were literally under the gun?”

  “That’s exactly what I waited for. Mama told me it was my spade, and to hold it for six months or until our backs were to the wall, whichever came first.” At their uncomprehending looks, the little girl elaborated. “Remember, Mama didn’t actually act on the information she hacked. She figured if that awful Mr. Kovac didn’t intrude in our lives within six months, he never would. But if he did intrude, and things got bad, then I was supposed to give it to un adulto fidato.”

  “Your spade?” Delaney glanced at Ellen, who shrugged.

  Rake laughed. “Your ace.”

  “Oh. Yes, my ace.” Lillith shrugged. “I don’t play cards.”

  “But I’ve been with you the whole time. Ever since I found you at the neighbor’s after I got your mom’s letter.”

  “Delaney, I barely knew you. And my mother had just died. I’m smart, but I don’t get it right every time.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, darling,” the nuclear option said, glaring at literally everyone in the restaurant except Lillith.

  “Abort,” Rake murmured to Delaney. “For the love
of God, abort.”

  Delaney surrendered. “Fine. Yes. Excellent point, Lillith. It’s not your fault that things got weird in a hurry.” She shook her head and laughed. “It wasn’t just Murphy’s law, it was Murphy’s ongoing disaster. First you gave me the slip in Lake Como—”

  “I’m still vague on how I got to Venice.”

  “—and then when I picked up your trail again, you jumped in the canal!”

  “Fell, dammit! Do I have to write it on my forehead?”

  “I mean—who could plan for that? Then once you were fished out, I clocked the new tail, so I had to leave Lillith and hope you guys would make it to the hotel while I played rodeo clown with the B team.”

  “Nerve-racking?” Mrs. Tarbell guessed.

  “Just a smidge. I was beyond relieved when you guys showed up at the Best Western.”

  “You may well be the only person ever to be relieved to show up at a Best Western, dear.”

  Delaney quirked an eyebrow at Mrs. Tarbell. “So when I think we’ve finally got stuff under control and I’m about to bring the hammer down on Kovac—”

  “Under the guise of stuffing Easter baskets. Darling, you have had a week.”

  “—Rake gets sick! Like, violently, flat-on-your-back, should-we-call-an-ambulance sick. Again: Who could plan for these variables? Frankly, I’m astonished that we’re all here to talk about it.”

  “And don’t forget the Donna variable,” Ellen pointed out quietly. “She had everything ready to go: false IDs, paperwork, a reasonably good exit strategy, proof if Kovac got cute … only she died before she could do much more than send Delaney a letter. No one could have predicted that, either.”

  “I’m terribly sorry about your friend. And your mother, Lillith. Perhaps the silver lining is that the accident set all of this in motion. And brought you to us,” Mrs. Tarbell added, hugging Lillith. “And … maybe accomplished something else.”