Rascal (Edgewater Agency Book 2)

by Kyanna Skye

  Sighing, Alec leaned back in his chair.

  The bones of the plan to lure Erika Hill were already taking form. But like any job, it was the specifics that were the most complicated. It was easy to get caught in the stickiness of details. Alec had to wonder what it was going to be like to meet this woman. Thief. Master of disguises. Long lost little sister.

  There was so much to find out about Erika which couldn’t be revealed through tracking her lives under aliases and in different cities across the globe. Did she know about her brother? Or her mother’s death? Did she grieve for the family she didn’t have? What had caused her to decide on a criminal lifestyle?

  Those were the kinds of answers which there was only one way to get.

  “Other than being here to make sure my client is happy,” Shari said. “Remind me why I’m here again?”

  “Basically, because we don’t know if they’re going to take the bait or not,” Alec said. “And just in case they do, you’re here to soothe nerves.”

  “And offer my services as an attorney?” Shari said with a smile. “You guys do think of everything.”

  Alec and Shari were standing shoulder to shoulder, in the middle of a new gallery in Santa Monica. It was a lesser known exhibit, a bit off the beaten track, but they had a new, very expensive showcase of jewelry. One which would hopefully draw the attention of certain people. Shari looked around discreetly and took a sip of her champagne. “I thought Kiefer was supposed to be around here?” she said softly.

  Alec smiled but he didn’t look at her, focusing on a painting instead. “Yes, your man is close by. Here doesn’t always mean within sight.”

  “I bet,” she replied.

  “Mingle,” Alec said. “Don’t get too cozy with anybody.”

  When Shari looked to her left, Alec was gone.

  The gallery was crowded. It was a new opening, one which usually wouldn’t have been on her radar. But since Erika was in the area she decided she would come down and have a look at it. It was small compared to some of the other places she had been, but it was filled with high-class art. She had expected that. This was a rich enclave, and they needed to have truly compelling artwork in order to engage people to come there instead of some of the larger venues nearby.

  The nice thing about it was the younger crowd. And there was money here, not just on the wall or under the protection of cases. No one was California casual here. The men wore nice suits with shiny dress shoes and expensive watches. The women wore skin-bearing dresses, diamonds and other precious stones dripped from their ears and their wrists, shined against the sunburned skin of their chests.

  She was offered a glass of red wine by the greeter, and she figured, why not? She intended to take a taxi back to where she was staying anyway.

  Erika walked around the perimeter first. She always looked for the same things: security panels, exits. She counted hallways and noted the placement of light fixtures and overhead vents, the number of art pieces encased in glass. By the time she made one full circuit of the space she had a count of how many paintings were included in the exhibit as opposed to wall paintings. She was able to figure out a risk assessment in her head. It came second nature to her.

  “May I get you another drink?”

  A soft male voice shook her out of her own thoughts. She looked up and found a man standing very close to her. He was a blond with hazel eyes and high cheekbones. How he’d gotten close to her without her noticing, she wasn’t sure. And as she’d scanned the crowd, she hadn’t seen him either. A man that attractive would have stood out in her memory.

  “I guess I did finish mine,” she said, looking at her glass. “I think I’ve had my share of it though, the stuff tastes a little bitter to me,” Erika replied.

  “Well, maybe I can take you someplace that serves better wine,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve always suspected museums serve Two Buck Chuck mixed with something else,” he said. “Either that or maybe some coffee.”

  She smiled. He was smooth. And if he weren’t so cute, she probably would give him a few choice words.

  “I was about to get out if here. My name is Erika. And you’re…?”

  “Alec,” he said.

  She balked at the idea of going to a bar with him, but she took his offer of coffee. They went to a shop within shouting distance of the gallery. He figured she would feel more secure there than somewhere too far. But he had to put it out there just in case; he’d rather come off as an interested potential date rather than someone who knew she was a thief and aimed to stop her. Despite whatever her profession might be in, she was probably as cautious as any other woman when it came to associating with strange men. He caught some of her sidelong glances. She was trying to figure him out as much as he was doing the same with her.

  He’d seen her the moment she entered the museum. He imagined she was doing the math in her head, trying to get the ins and outs of the space. She was subtle about it. Your average person wouldn’t have picked up on her attention, but he knew better. It was her first trip so she wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight. He made sure to let her make at least one full circuit around before coming up to introduce himself. She’d be more doubtful about his motives if he interrupted her while she was working.

  “You don’t seem like the artsy type,” she said. “What are you doing with those stuck up people?” she asked.

  They’d both ordered their drinks by then, and she was stirring hers, watching him intently.

  “Noticed that, huh?” Alec replied. “What gave me away?”

  “Swagger. And you’ve got scars on the backs of your hands. I figure most of those stiffs haven’t even typed enough to get carpal tunnel syndrome.”

  Alec smiled. “You seem to have some negative feelings against the well to do,” he said. “What’s up with that?”

  “Didn’t answer my question.”

  “When you break a window with your fist, one of the side effects is you get scars. Could have been worse. And no, I’m not am the artistic type, but my sister is. She’s going to have some of her work included in the next exhibit, so she was there to support the gallery tonight. I agreed to go with her. But by the time her friends came around, I was getting bored.”

  “She’s a painter?”

  “She does paint, but her favorite medium is sculpture. She’ll have a few pieces there so she’s excited about it as you can imagine.”

  Erika nodded. “Good for her. “You never explained about your fist though? How’d you do that?”

  “Teenage stupidity. Jealousy over a girl. Didn’t feel anything at the moment I did it,” he replied. “Hurt like all hell later.” He’d learned a little bit of truth went a long way.

  “Well, if you must do that again, gloves next time,” she said.

  “I don’t think I’ll try it again but thanks for the advice,” he grinned.

  “What do you do when you’re not suffering the art crowd or breaking things?” she teased.

  Alec took that as his cue. He gave her his cover story about being an accountant who had only moved to Los Angeles the previous year. He grew up in the Midwest, in a modest home. She listened to him but he made sure to stop before going into too much detail; no need to sound pompous. What surprised him was that he was a little nervous. Not about keeping up his veil of secrecy; he was used to having to lie on command and be creative when the situation called for it. She was focused on him, with those wide dark eyes of hers, and a round, subtly pouting mouth. It occurred to him that he was staring at her and not for reasons which had anything to do with the job he’d been tasked to carry out.

  She was prettier in person than in any of the pictures he had seen. And he realized that she wasn’t in a particular disguise either: no wig, no contacts. She wore a simple black dress, upswept hair and heels. Was showing her real face in public brazen, or was it just that no one had seen her in this city before? Maybe after wearing so many disguises, showing her own face wasn’t really much more than another guise i
n a host of characters. Perhaps a new city made her feel more comfortable being herself.

  “I grew up a little of everywhere,” Erika said. “I haven’t been in town that long either, so I’m still checking out all the sites around the city. I do like art,” she said softly. “I don’t exactly appreciate the people who can afford it. I always think unless it’s work from a small independent artist—great artwork should be somewhere the public can come see it. It’s not supposed to be on some rich jerk’s house, where only he and his friends can see it. I guess I think of it as the same as people who go hunting endangered animals so they can mount the head on their wall.”

  Alec grinned. The irony of her statement was not lost on him, but it wasn’t something he could point out either. “Probably not the most popular opinion in this town but I can certainly understand it,” he said. “I take it you didn’t grow up around a lot of wealthy people, either.”

  “I did not,” she said. There was a dreamy look in her eyes. Alec wondered if she was simply remembering or coming up with a story to tell him. “I miss Prague.”

  “Prague?”

  “My mother took me there when I was young and I fell in love with it,” she said. “I’m probably the strangest American you’ll meet because I was born here but grew up everywhere else. I haven’t been back to Prague in years and lately, I find myself almost homesick for it. All the buildings are so old, gothic really. You see lots of stone and all sorts of carvings, beautifully done, and so ornate. Not like the States. Buildings don’t get torn down. It just gets repurposed into something else, if it changes at all. You might find a place that was once an old church and turned into a bakery a hundred years later, and maybe a night club twenty years after that. And people are always coming in and out, from everywhere. People get out and talk to each other at the coffee shops and the bakeries. It’s a thing.”

  “Similar to the cafes in France?”

  “Yes. It’s where people gather.”

  “I’ve never been to Prague,” Alec said. “Sounds like I should put it on my list of places to see. But then I still have a lot of Europe to see. I’ve been to England and Spain, but that’s it.”

  “Maybe,” she said, smiling. “I don’t recommend Czechoslovakia in the winter, though.”

  The two of them talked about safe subjects: movies, books, and places she should go in the city. The suggestion was made that he could take her to some of these places through innuendo, though he never clearly stated it was what he wanted. She seemed oddly focused at times, and then she was somewhere else, daydreaming or just watching him. When her concentration was on him, he felt oddly vulnerable. Her mind was always working; he could see the proverbial wheels spinning. She analyzed his words, his movements, and he felt it. When her attention was away, he found himself working to pull her focus back to him.

  They spent an hour in casual conversation, through several cups of coffee and at least two awkward silences. The silences were only a few moments but were heavy with meaning. Their flirting was leading in one direction, and Alec was curious to see how it would work out. His purpose to get near her, gain her trust. He wasn’t planning on telling her who he was yet or that he was there by her brother’s request.

  They stepped out onto the street together. It was dark by then and the street lamps were on.

  “Can I walk you to your car?” he asked.

  “Oh, I walked,” she said. “I’m very close.”

  They turned to each other. A warm breeze blew. Other people walked around them on the street as they stood for a moment, watching each other.

  “You mentioned wine before,” she said. “I have some at home.”

  Erika was living in a duplex three blocks away from the gallery. She occupied the upper floor. It was a Spanish style home painted white. The floors were of mahogany wood, as were the exposed wood beams above. The living room was very simply decorated; a flat screen television mounted over the fireplace, a red sofa, and a matching chair.

  “Nice,” Alec said. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Since I’ve been in town,” she said.

  He watched as she walked ahead of him down the hall, taking off her shoes as she went. She half unzipped her dress, and then cast a mischievous look at him over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  He sat down in the living room. He could hear her in the bedroom, crossing over the wood floor, opening a dresser drawer and then closing it.

  She came back out wearing a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. With her hair down, and makeup wiped away, she looked younger. She only had lip gloss on, a thin, candy cotton shade of pink. She walked up to him and drew her arm from behind her back. With two steps forward, she moved her arm from behind her back, and Alec found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

  Chapter 3

  “Whoa, wait, what the hell are you doing?” Alec held his hands up.

  Erika held the gone steady. “I know Pascal is having me followed. You might as well admit it, he sent you, didn’t he?”

  “Lady I don’t know who Pascal is or what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Of course, that’s what you’re saying now.”

  “Erika. Listen. I don’t know who this person is you’re talking about, and if you want to put that gun down we can talk about it, but right now nothing good is going to happen if you keep pointing that at me.” He rose to his feet, hands still up. “This can’t be how all your first dates go.”

  “No, you need to admit…”

  Alec jumped at her. Grabbing her arm, he pinned it behind her. He disarmed her. Holding her close, he spoke against her ear. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Alec said. “Believe it or not that’s not what I’m here for. This can be unpleasant, or we can talk about whatever is going on here.”

  “Well if you’re just here to get laid, you might as well let go of me, that’s not happening either.”

  “Are you going to attack me if I let go?” he asked. “I don’t really think you want a disturbance where police will have to show up at your door.”

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to try it and see what happens.”

  Alec backed away and let go of her. She turned to look at him. He emptied the bullets from her gun and then jammed the weapon into the back of his belt.

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “It figures.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “It figures that you’re freaking crazy.”

  “You’re not one of Pascal’s people?”

  “No,” Alec said.

  “No one sent you to find me tonight?”

  “No.”

  She cursed under her breath. She headed for the kitchen and he followed her, if for no other reason than to be sure she wasn’t going for a knife.

  Alec stood at the center island, arms crossed and watched her reach into the refrigerator. She produced a bottle of vodka from the freezer.

  “Are you going to explain why you just threatened to kill me?” Alec demanded. “And who this person is you’re raving on about?”

  “Oh please,” Erika said through her teeth. “I don’t know who you are but you’re not just an accountant. You can handle yourself. My guess is you’re pretty used to having people try to kill you.”

  “Is that a compliment?” he asked.

  She reached into a cabinet for a pair of glasses. “Could be. Depends on which circles you’re running in.”

  Alec laughed. There was a little of a hysterical edge to it. He wasn’t sure what this woman was going to try next but he was on guard. At the same time, he believed the worst part had passed.

  “Must be something to do with my personality,” he told her. “Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

  She pushed the bottle of Vodka towards him, but he didn’t touch it.

  “Damn, I’m not trying to poison you now,” she said. Opening the bottle she took a gulp in front of him. After knocking it back she put the back of her hand up to her mouth.

 
; “Well, we have a problem now. If you’re not really one of Pascal’s people, what do I do with you?”

  “Hopefully not kill me and bury me in the desert,” he said. Taking the vodka, he ignored her glasses and drank straight from the bottle. “Who’s Pascal?”

  “I don’t know that I can trust you.”

  “You assaulted me with a gun,” Alec said. “And not only haven’t I called the police on you, I haven’t hurt you. I think that should be taken into account.”

  “Why?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

  “Apparently you’re not talking to anyone else,” Alec said. “Maybe I could at least listen.”

  Something in her eyes shifted. He had reached her. It had to be a lonely life for her, being on the run and constantly paranoid.

  “Talk to me,” Alec said. “I already gather you’ll kill me if I spill any of your secrets.”

  “You’d take that risk?” she asked him. “For the possibility of getting some action? And you just called me crazy?”

  “I did,” Alec said. “I never said I was really mentally stable either. I’m just curious now, and I’m not going to let you get rid of me without some kind of explanation. Or, I could make a complaint to the police. I don’t think you’re really looking for that kind of attention.”

  “You’d do that? Really? Instead of just walking away?”

  Alec leaned forward, stretching his eyes at her. “Indeed I would.”

  She took another swig of vodka. “Alright. You’re going to need time then.”

  They went back to the living room, and sat next to each other on the couch, passing the vodka back and forth. Alec was still aware of everything—the exits, the unloaded gun in his pocket, the possibility of her trying something again. But as the night drew on she was opening up to him more. There was no way he was leaving until she was through with her story.