Trevor stuck out his hand. “Trevor Smythe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Marissa prayed no one caught onto the stupid name. Smythe and Jones. Who at TRAIT had thought that was a good idea?
But Daddy Canalis shook his hand without even blinking. “Nice grip.”
Trevor’s lips twitched, and he glanced down at her. “It comes in handy for a few things.”
And just like that, she was back to thinking about sex. Pinned to the bed, while he did wicked, wicked things to her with his tongue.
This was going to be the longest few days of her life if she couldn’t tame her raging hormones. And she had a sinking feeling Trevor wasn’t going to be very happy about the arrival of Leo Canalis.
Which meant he’d argue about fulfilling that fantasy later.
She sighed and strode to her seat. At least they’d get lunch first.
That wasn’t a fight she wanted to have on an empty stomach.
“You know why.” Trevor paced the length of their suite, feeling like a caged animal. Too many things had gone wrong on this mission, and they still hadn’t set eyes on the stupid painting. And what had he done? Gone and gotten himself tangled up in the allure of sex with the hottest criminal mind he knew. He caught sight of Marissa reclining against the couch, her long legs crossed, the top one bobbing in time with his footsteps.
He stopped his movements. As much as he hated to nip this in the bud, her posture screamed disinterest. They had a damn job to do, and all she wanted was to play at romance.
“No. Keep walking. It’s kind of yummy the way you’re all worked up, but can you at least take your shirt off?” She shrugged when he glared her way. “What? If we’re going to play this game, don’t I get to decide on at least some of the rules?”
He jerked back at the echo of his thoughts before her nonchalance hit him. She didn’t care about the mission at all, did she? “No. You don’t. Because we’re not playing the same damn game right now.” He scrubbed at his short curls, but the motion just made him think of Marissa doing the same thing. His fists fell to his sides, and he stalked over to her.
As much as he wanted to yell to get through her thick skull, he kept his voice calm and quiet to prevent it from carrying into the hallway. “We have a job to do. No more fun, Marissa. No more sex. This morning was supposed to take the edge off. Get that out of the way so we could focus on what we came here for.”
“Wow. One and done. I didn’t take you for that kind of guy.”
“Damn it, you know I’m not.” He stepped to the couch, kneeling. It put him at nearly eye-level with her. “You know how I feel now.” Too bad he wasn’t even sure at the moment considering everything she did only reminded him that he couldn’t really trust her.
“No. I know you like to have sex with me. That’s different than how you feel. Unless you have no emotions—which, believe me, has been discussed as a possibility among the women at the office.” She winked like she was teasing, but he knew better. He’d paid attention.
Playful expression or no, when her snappy comebacks turned biting, she was pissed.
He wanted to take her hands, hold her, but he was afraid if they touched, it’d lead right back to them in bed—or on the couch. This morning had proven it would take a very long time before they’d explored each other enough that they’d be willing to slow down. He hated it, but he had his self-control or he had Marissa in his arms. He couldn’t have both at once. And they clearly weren’t on task when they were having sex.
Beyond which, her behavior now had him second-guessing himself all over again.
What was he? Her partner or her mark?
Every time he mentioned the painting, Marissa’s fingers twitched. The motion was slight but, whether or not she realized she’d moved, he saw it. There was more going on here than met the eye, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Things were dangerous enough with his personal issues regarding Leo Canalis’s part in Delray’s death. Whatever was going on with Marissa and the art only made things worse. “Are you here for sex or for the mission? Or are you actually here for the damned art?”
“Oh. My. God. Is that what you really think? That when Josh brought up this mission I said, ‘Hey, I know who’ll screw up and pull me out early so I can steal a painting. Let’s get Trevor.’ I wasn’t supposed to be here. Mari was.”
“And it shouldn’t matter, Marissa! Do you think you’re the only one who wants something beyond the mission? Canalis killed my best friend when we were just kids. Every instant since we met Frankie, I’ve been itching for revenge, but I held back because I chose a long time ago that I was going to serve my country instead of myself.” He hadn’t intended to bring up Delray—she didn’t need to know about his past, no one at TRAIT did—but it was too late to take it back.
She chose to focus on the now anyway. “And you think I didn’t? God!” She threw her hands in the air. “Is that why you blew me off last year? Because I’ve got too much of the criminal in my blood for your taste?”
Yes. No. He clenched his hands into fists when he found he wanted to shake her. There was no answer for that. Not a good one at least. “I didn’t know you.”
“Bullshit! We’ve been working together for five years, Trevor. I don’t care how much you avoid people. You know me as well as anyone else does.” She shoved to her feet and stalked away from him, her arms crossed over her chest like she fought the urge to get physical, too. “I guess I was right all along. You don’t trust me. Never have, never will.”
“That’s not true. Not entirely. I want to trust you.”
She snorted a laugh. “But you don’t. Which means sex with me was nothing more than a warm body.”
“You’re being unfair, Marissa.” There was no argument he could give her, though. He did have a hard time trusting her. And sex… he’d wanted it, wanted her, more than he could iterate, but it had to end. Where they’d wind up, he didn’t know, but for now, he had to steer her back on track. “You have to admit, this isn’t what we came here for.”
“Yeah. You’re right. This sudden need to separate work and pleasure is all about the job. Too bad I’m pretty sure this morning actually made us more believable as a couple in a lot of eyes.”
He knew she wasn’t being deliberately obtuse. “With Leo Canalis here, we need to be more on guard, and we’re not when we’re having sex. Would you have noticed trouble this morning? We barely noticed the noises in the hall until Amy knocked on our damn door, and we sure as hell weren’t trying to get to our objective. His son might not care what we say or do, and Evangeline might miss things, but Canalis didn’t get where he is by trusting blindly.” Or having a calm and forgiving nature. “He’ll be watching for duplicity and pondering every slip.”
“And I slipped already, is that it?” She hopped to her feet, hands on her hips, fingers digging in like it was all she could do not to touch him, too.
And given too much time to dwell, he’d slip as well. This mess wasn’t all on her, but she already knew his issues. He was professional enough to keep a lid on his urges, including the baser ones. “I’m simply saying we need a plan. We need that more than we need sex. Because right now, we’re in trouble.”
“I covered. We’ll deal.”
“Until Amy says you filled out all the paperwork as Mari? And if someone decides to go searching the web for a Marisol Jones? That isn’t the cover that’s out there for you.” Shit. They were going to have to call this in. There was no way around it now.
Marissa went pale for a second. “Then I distract him from the name thing.”
“What?” And why the hell do you look so scared? This time when her hands twitched, she balled them into tight fists.
Color slowly soaked back into her cheeks, and the tension disappeared as she nodded. “Simple. I convince him that he has nothing to worry about.”
This sounded bad. Really, really bad. The nervousness was a new thing, and he wasn’t sure if he should be more worried abou
t that or her normal cockiness. “And how do you plan on doing that?”
She sucked in a deep breath and swept her hands over her hair, smoothing it. “They might have only put me into play when I was under hypnosis, but I lived with my parents for fourteen years. I learned a few things along the way. Time to be the girl you always thought I was and put my Valjean to the test.”
A con? She had an actual back-up plan. Somehow thanking God for small miracles didn’t seem the appropriate course of action. He wanted to trust Marissa but couldn’t shake the feeling she was up to something. “What the hell’s a Valjean, and how do I help?”
“You don’t. For someone who’s never run the game or seen it, it’ll take too long to explain. Plus, it’s kind of a one-man con. The less you know, the better since it means you’re playing the same part you have since we arrived.” She blew out a breath and nodded rapidly like she was convincing herself.
He didn’t like that part. At all. Too many things had gone pear-shaped already. This was supposed to be a simple snatch and grab. A huge set-up for one, but that’s all it was. Get the painting and get out.
Now this mess and her playing solo? Every single fear he’d had regarding Marissa roared back to life. This wouldn’t fly, not if he had anything to say about it. “We’re supposed to be a team, remember? Have each other’s backs?”
When she stood, the wicked, cocksure smile he knew too well was in place. This wasn’t Marissa in love or lust or whatever she felt for him. This was the Marissa who’d clawed her way up the ranks at TRAIT when everyone, him included, said she couldn’t.
“This goes right, and neither of us will be in any danger. Government agents won’t enter Canalis’s mind. I promise. So…I’ve got your back, handsome.” She ran her hands through her hair again, fluffing it out, taking on a level of confidence he’d never seen in her—which was saying something. “See you for dinner.”
She was out the door before he’d moved from his knees. The instant it clicked shut, he rushed to the computer, determined to mine the depths of the Internet for any information on a confidence game called a Valjean. He was going to be involved whether she liked it or not.
Chapter Seven
Valjean’s Confession
Marissa stood outside the Queen’s Suite, nerves giving her pause. Hiding this from Trevor wasn’t right, but it was necessary. As much as she’d rather bury herself in him for the rest of the week and nick the painting on their way out, as soon as he’d mentioned Leo Canalis questioning her identity, she’d known what she had to do.
In a certain way, she’d known from the moment she woke up to find the mission barely begun that it would come to this. Time to be the con artist and betray the fragile trust they’d started building. Time to be the person everyone knew she was deep down.
Everyone but her.
Fate had brought Certain Laughter within her reach, and it wasn’t going to let her get away without facing her past. Before she changed her mind and used the sedatives on Trevor to get him out of here so they wouldn’t get caught, she raised a fist and rapped twice on the door. Maybe Canalis wasn’t here. Maybe when he arrived, he’d switched suites with Frankie and Evangeline. The pause between her knock and the door opening was just long enough for her to re-think the plan and take a single step back down the hall.
Then Leo Canalis stood before her, top two buttons of his shirt undone, sleeves rolled up, and she was stuck. As he stared at her, his lips quirked to the side in what was almost, but not quite, a smirk. She straightened under his scrutiny. No way she was letting him enjoy this more than necessary.
“Mari, this is a…surprise.”
She grinned and batted her eyelashes, letting her gaze rove over him languidly. “No it isn’t.”
“No. It isn’t. But it is a pleasure.” He stood back, holding the door with one hand and waving her into his room with the other. “Come in.”
Giving him a saucy smile, she slithered past and tried not to jump when the heavy wood shut behind her, sealing her in. Her breath hiccupped, and she fought to keep it steady. She could do this. It’s what she’d been raised for after all.
“So, Miss Jones, what can I do for you?”
She’d had less than thirty seconds to size him up since walking through the door, but what she’d felt at lunch was still there. He hadn’t looked at her as an adversary but something he’d like to eat up.
Time for a new game.
Biting her lip coyly, she walked her fingers up his chest. “A lot of things, but I’m mainly here because I’m pretty sure you want me with you.”
“Maybe I do.”
It was his turn to rake his gaze over her. Marissa fought to stay in seductress mode, but Leo Canalis was no Trevor. For starters, she was pretty sure Trevor wouldn’t kill her in cold blood. On the other hand, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she could convince Canalis to trust her.
“Like what you see?” Judging by the darkness of his gaze, she didn’t need to ask, but it fed so well into the next bit of her plan. “Because there’s a lot more to me than meets the eye.”
In one step, he closed the distance between them, catching her throat in his hand. “Oh. I’m well aware of that. The question is how far am I going to have to go to find out what it is?”
She could have tried to break his grip, but for the moment, he wasn’t the enemy. No matter how wrong that felt. Instead, she gave a half-hearted shrug and let him shove her backward.
She caught herself on the edge of his desk, momentum sending her upper body onto the mahogany top. He likes it rough. Great. Stay on task—you need him to trust you. That’s it. Sex will never come into it. All you have to do is make him believe it will.
She could do this. Nothing but some plotting and a little seduction… Her eyes caught a glimpse at his computer screen as she pushed up, and what she saw made her blood turn to sludge.
The fake resume they’d posted online for Mari Jones was splashed on his screen. He’d already hunted for her. There was no turning back now. The only way she could get the painting and keep Trevor safe was the one she’d come here to put into play.
Blowing out a breath, she twisted and leaned back against the desk as if this was a perfectly normal occurrence. Smirking, she jerked her chin toward Canalis. “All you have to do is ask, but I kind of liked the forceful option B you were working.”
“Wonderful. I’m a busy man, Mari, so consider this my version of asking.” Canalis slid into the leather rolling chair, and Marissa hopped on the desk and swiveled around to face him.
She shrugged. Busy, busy man. Lots of people to kill and money to launder. “I’m sure Evangeline told you about my interest in your painting.”
“That she did, and I asked myself what the odds were a young woman would happen to be in this ridiculous wedding debacle of my son’s and also have a fascination with Certain Laughter. The piece isn’t all that well known, and it’s incredibly precious to me.” He turned his laptop and beckoned her closer. “So I did a little study of you.”
She propped her hands on the edge of the desk, settling in and feigning a calm she very much didn’t feel. Off her feet, though, the urge to run was hampered slightly. She kicked off her shoes to complete the illusion.
Here to stay for a while.
“Did you now? Let’s see how good a student you are.”
He patted her knee before turning back to the laptop. “Marisol Jones turned up about a half a dozen people living in the US. More than I expected, frankly. But when I cross-referenced that with art, there was one, and might I say you’re stunning for a sixty-three-year-old elementary school art teacher.”
He paused like he expected her to confess to everything on the spot, but she knew better. That wasn’t how games like this were played—unless you wanted to lose. She merely tilted her head to the side and smiled at him like she hadn’t a care in the world.
Canalis let out a low chuckle. Whether it meant he found her cute or he was impressed she kept her
mouth shut, she couldn’t be sure. He clicked on another tab. “So I followed the corrected name you gave and searched for Mari Jones and art. And there you were. All these shiny mentions of you on the Internet, including your resume. Art history major. Spent some time working at a gallery in Springfield. There was a cross-reference to your graduation records, too. Nice and legit. Very thorough.” He paused again, and Marissa made a show of rolling her eyes.
Her heart pounded. If he dug too far, this could blow up in her face. Time to find out how much he already knew. “And very cursory of you. I’m surprised that’s as far as you went.”
“Don’t worry. I was just getting started.” Apparently, that was where he’d stopped. She let out a slow breath.
“How about I save you the trouble and point you in the exact right direction so we can get to the good stuff?” She gave him as saucy a wink as she could manage. Canalis raised a brow, but spun the laptop toward her. Heart lodged somewhere in her throat, Marissa typed and hit the search button.
Thank you, Google, for the are-you-feeling-lucky button. Because, no, I’m really not.
When the search finished, she clicked on the first article, verified it had a picture, and twisted the laptop back toward him. “This is what you want.”
“That…I remember this.” He frowned at the screen. At the picture of her, along with her parents, when they were arrested. Juvie records might be sealed, but that didn’t mean her arrest wasn’t public knowledge.
And in that instant, she’d provided him the only thing he needed to destroy the life she’d so carefully built. Because, if this went badly, if she made a mistake and had to run, there’d be no going back. And there’d be nowhere she could hide. The only thing that kept her from sheer panic was the expression on Canalis’s face.
She could do this.
It was a confidence game like any other.
“Yeah. Twelve to fourteen were horribly awkward years for me. I was all gazelle-legged and pimple-faced. Horrible hair, too. I don’t know what my parents were thinking letting me wear it like that. So…if you don’t mind, quit staring. I’m a lot hotter now.” No fear. No hiding. Time to do what Jean Valjean did: stand up and proclaim her identity, no matter what it cost.
Conning for Keeps: A Novella Page 8