by Penny McCall
He tried to slouch. He didn’t quite pull it off.
“And when you talk to me, you stare me straight in the eyes.”
“Which means I’m telling the truth.”
“That’s what everyone believes, but people who are telling the truth generally hesitate, and their gaze shifts to the right as they search their memory. Liars rehearse, so they look you in the eyes. And there, the muscle in your jaw flexed once, and your eyes narrowed just a little. You’re annoyed, but you suppressed it without even trying.”
“So you have me all figured out.”
“How could I? You’re too practiced at controlling your expression, letting the world see only what you want it to see. That means you’re either a grifter or a cop.”
“You don’t sound too enthused about either possibility.”
“I’m not, but my money is on cop, probably federal considering your military background. And since it seems to matter to you, I consider that the lesser of two evils.”
“I’m FBI.”
She lifted a brow and crossed her arms.
He read her skepticism loud and clear, digging in his back pocket and coming out with a leather bifold wallet. Norah took it and flipped it open. She didn’t have to study it long; she’d seen enough FBI badges to know it was authentic. And she’d been questioned enough times to know what he wanted. “You’re here about Lucius.”
“Which you knew going in, so how accurate can your character assessment be?”
Her first reaction was to let it go. Then she glanced over at him, and decided a point needed to be made, so he didn’t think she was a fool. And so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself over a man who appealed to her far too much for her own good.
“You laugh a lot,” she began, interpreting the lines on his face, “which means you are easygoing. Probably why you didn’t make a career of the military, and why being a federal officer appeals to you. You’re still working within the same set of rules, you feel like you’re contributing, but there’s no set schedule, and that suits you better. It also means you’re not interested in stability, and you don’t do long-term relationships. Your parents are likely divorced or—”
“My parents died in a car accident when I was twelve.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and she truly was. She understood how it felt to lose parents, even though one of hers was very much alive. “It explains a lot. You were old enough to know what you lost and remember it, young enough for it to mark you permanently. You’re afraid of that kind of loss, so you don’t let anyone close.” And she needed to remember she was talking to a person, not writing a case study. No matter how annoying that person was.
“You don’t pull your punches,” he said.
“You invaded my life, and you expect me to handle you with kid gloves?”
“It would have been nice.”
She gave him a look, but there was a smile at the end of it.
“How much do you know about your father?”
“So we’re being honest now?”
“Only if you answer the question.”
She bumped a shoulder, pulling open the door to the stairway and starting up. “Lucius MacArthur,” she said, trying not to think about him following her up the stairs, his eyes level with her butt. All of her butt. She curbed her embarrassment. He wasn’t interested in her butt. He was interested in her family connections. Nothing new there, except her regret over it. And wasn’t that troublesome?
“He’s nicknamed Puff for Puff of Smoke,” she said, putting away her attraction and getting back to the reason Trip Jones was there. The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner he’d be gone. “He can con even a true skeptic out of their life savings and disappear before they begin to realize they’ve been scammed. He hates that nickname, by the way. I could tell you his favorite color, but you can ask him yourself in a few weeks, when he gets out of jail.”
“For?”
Norah sighed. She didn’t like to revisit it, but she obviously wasn’t getting rid of Trip until she played his game. And really, it wasn’t her father being a criminal that haunted her, it was his crime. “My father was a very successful con man, and a failure as a bank robber.”
“That all depends on your definition of failure.”
“He’s been in jail for fifteen years. I’d say most bank robbers would consider that an epic failure.”
“But the loot was never found.”
“No,” Norah said, “the loot was never found. Instead of fading quietly into the past, my father had to become a criminal legend, and his crime is one of the most infamous of the twentieth century, right up there with the Brinks Robbery and D.B. Cooper.”
“Of the original three conspirators, he’s the only one who’s still alive and that’s only because he’s safe in jail.”
Norah sighed. After being verbally attacked, not to mention almost run over, dealing with memories of her father left her feeling a little defeated. Ignoring the truth, however, was never a solution.
Her father, Lucius MacArthur, was a federal inmate, but before that he’d been a con man. One of the best. And a sucker for a challenge. He’d been tapped by a trio of petty thieves, moving up the criminal food chain by pulling their first bank heist. Lucius’s job was to charm his way into the bank and case the joint. He’d done his part, the others had done theirs, and then they’d died, one by one. All but Lucius. The proceeds of the robbery had never been found, which brought her to the infamous, and haunting, part of the story, at least for Norah. “You’re here about the loot.”
Trip shrugged. “My job is to find out where Puff hid it, and recover all the stolen goods.”
“That’s a pretty tall order,” Norah said, “since they emptied all the safe-deposit boxes, and there’s no way of knowing exactly what was stolen.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy.”
No, but he acted like it would be a piece of cake when really it would be next to impossible. First of all, her father hadn’t given up the hiding place, even after nearly fifteen years in prison—not that she’d had contact with him in all that time, but Trip’s invasion into her life meant Lucius had outlasted the FBI. And then there was the problem of even knowing what to recover. “Not all the people who rented those boxes had made accurate disclosures,” she reminded him. “Some of them refused to report anything at all.”
“The final tally is now estimated to be more than fifty million dollars, and that doesn’t include the personal items of unknown value,” Trip added, smiling. “I have to hand it to your father and his friends. It was a nearly perfect crime.”
“Sure, right up until the moment they got caught.”
“Hence the nearly part.”
“Hence?”
“I’m a fed, not an idiot.”
“You know what they say.” She glanced over at him, smiling slightly. “If you have to point it out . . .”
“Hah, funny.”
“Look, Trip,” she said, turning serious, “I know it’s irresistible.” Especially to a guy like him. Bank robbery was a sexy crime to begin with. This one was a legend, even before you added in the unrecovered loot and topped it off with the legendary crime. “The agent who solves this will get a gold star.”
“I’m going for a little more than a gold star. And you’re going to help me.”
Norah snorted out a laugh. “In your dreams.”
He gave her a look that said in his dreams she was naked, which gave her a flash hot enough to make her wish she was. And not just naked, naked with him, in a room with a bed, or a wall, or a table. A really strong table . . .
And some really strong drugs, ones that wouldn’t burn off in the heat so that before she tested the table legs she’d remember that James Aloysius Jones, III was just that kind of guy. The kind of guy who poured on the charm for any woman unfortunate enough to come into direct contact with him. Hell, he probably didn’t even know he was doing it. The charm just oozed out of him. Well, she’d spent enough o
f her life being oozed on; best to remember she’d hated it.
Still she didn’t imagine she starred in all that many naked male fantasies, so it was kind of a kick to get that feeling, even when she knew it wasn’t real.
“Resistance could be construed as obstruction of justice.”
She laughed again, softer this time. Trip’s kind was so predictable. “Your charm didn’t work, so now you’re threatening me?”
“Charm? I kissed you because there were two guys in the audience this morning who looked hinky.”
Norah felt a chill, and it wasn’t because the temperature dropped as they exited the stairwell. Then again, maybe he was dipping into his repertoire of tricks again. “You’re only trying to scare me.”
chapter 3
“SCARE YOU? SOMEBODY JUST TRIED TO RUN you over.”
“It was probably those two ‘hinky’ guys. Why don’t you go arrest them instead of wasting time with me?”
“I don’t know who they are.”
Norah stopped walking, half turning so she could zero in on his face while she talked to him. Trip didn’t like it. Then he reminded himself he wasn’t spinning the story for her, so it was okay.
“Let me get this straight,” she said. “There were two guys in the audience you thought were suspicious.”
“Yep,” he said, thinking she was just laying out the situation, getting her mental bearings, so to speak.
“And I was sitting on the stage, in front of three cameras, where my biggest danger was humiliation at the hands of a blond mouthpiece.”
“Um, yeah.”
“So those guys probably wouldn’t have tried anything, not in the studio, anyway.”
“No.”
“So instead of staking them out or calling for backup, or any of the other law enforcement tactics, you kissed me.”
Trip decided not to answer this time. He was only playing into her hands.
“And when we got outside, they tried to run me over.”
Trip heaved a sigh, wondering how the hell it happened. One minute he was in control of the conversation, and the next he felt like an idiot.
Psychologists, he thought darkly, that’s how. But this situation wasn’t about mind games. “I don’t know if those guys were in the Lexus. In fact, I bet they weren’t. They didn’t have time to get out of the studio, retrieve their car, and come after you. Which means it was somebody else.”
She looked over her shoulder, seeming to realize for the first time what had just happened.
“This won’t be the last time you’re targeted,” Trip said, “and that probably won’t be the only guy who comes after you. Your father has a pretty big fan club—treasure hunters, insurance investigators, and your basic nutcases, just to name a few—and they’re all about to go into a treasure hunting frenzy. They all know he’s due to get out of jail soon, they’ll all be after the money, and they’ll all see you as a possible avenue to getting it.”
“And you think you can protect me.”
“Not unless you let me stick around, and that means at work and in your house, all the time. Night and day.”
“Really? Is that what all the time means?”
“It means there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m your shadow.”
“Gee, I feel all warm and fuzzy now.”
There, he thought, that snippy, sarcastic, pissed off tone. That was how he knew she understood what he was saying and she was on board with it. “I just want it to be clear.”
“It’s clear. And stop looking at me like that,” she said, heading off in search of her car, “in fact, stop looking at me, period. And don’t touch me, either. And switch to unscented soap.”
Trip chuckled, hooking his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. “My soap is unscented.”
“How about your shave gel?”
“Nope.”
“Deodorant?” She waved that off. “Never mind, I’ll have to deal with your aroma, especially since scent is one of the biggest . . . never mind,” she finished. “Just keep your distance.”
“Because I smell?”
“Yes. No, because you’re blowing this all out of proportion. I don’t think the guy in the Lexus missed us because he didn’t want to scratch the car. If he’d wanted us dead, we’d be splattered all over the sidewalk.”
“Nice visual. But you’re right. He didn’t want you dead. He wanted to kidnap you and use you as leverage to get your father to give up the loot. Then he’d kill you.”
“And you can stop with the scare tactics.”
He blew out a breath. “Since we’ve already had this conversation how about I fast-forward? I think it ended with me saying ‘night and day,’ and you getting snotty about it.”
“You remind me of my father—handsome, charming, and deceitful as all hell.” And there was the added complication, the huge complication, of her physical reaction to him, Norah admitted. And with her, it was a short trip from physical to emotional. “I’m sure I’ll be fine by myself.”
“I’m sure you won’t. And you’re not leaving.”
He put his hand on her elbow, a gentlemanly gesture. And a statement of his intentions.
She pulled free, then put a foot of space between them, sending a message of her own. “You said all I had to do was listen to you, and then I could send you away.”
“I didn’t say I’d go.”
“ARE WE GOING TO MAKE THE ENTIRE DRIVE TO South Chicago in silence?” Trip asked her about five minutes after they’d pulled out of the parking structure.
Norah concentrated on midday traffic. It wasn’t exactly “are we there yet?” but she still found it annoying. She didn’t want to talk, she wanted to process, to let the events of the past hour and the snippets of information she’d dragged out of Trip thrash around in her brain until the truth beat the crap out of the lies and the spin spun itself off into oblivion.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together. It’ll be easier if we make an effort to get along.”
“If you’re looking for sweet and agreeable you might want to cut your losses and move on.”
“Hmmm, I wonder what a psychologist would make of this level of hostility?”
“If it were me I’d take it as intense cynicism toward the person on the receiving end, based on an extensive past history of dealing with men with your brand of insincere charm and propensity for obfuscation.”
Trip just stared at her.
“I don’t trust you,” she translated.
“You don’t have to trust me. You need me.”
“So you keep saying.” Then again, he had come in handy several times already. And she was including The Kiss. She couldn’t begin to gage the cost to her personal and professional life, but the look on Hollie’s face? Priceless. “Look, I appreciate you risking your life and everything, but like you said, that car was just a scare tactic. I don’t think—”
“So you haven’t gotten any hang-up calls.”
“Everyone gets hang-up calls.”
“But you’ve been getting a lot more than normal.”
“I broke up with my boyfriend, too. Is that indicative of anything?”
“Good taste?”
Norah had to smile over that. “Raymond wasn’t a bad guy, really, just . . . I don’t know why I stayed with him so long.”
“Sure, you do.”
Laziness, she thought, although that wasn’t it, exactly. More like she’d chosen him for all the wrong reasons, chief among them being he was the exact opposite of her father. Staid, settled, reliable, comfortable . . . boring, which was exactly why the relationship had stagnated. No spark. Of any kind, really. She and Raymond Kline, dean of the Midwest School of Psychology, had always been more like friends than lovers, and once they’d stopped struggling with the lack of chemistry it hadn’t been a bad relationship. Especially since he was one of the few people she’d run across who knew about her father and didn’t care. “You don’t think he—”
“No,” Trip s
aid, “he’s an idiot, but we didn’t find anything linking him to the crime—or anyone involved with the crime.”
“You had him checked out?”
“Yes.”
“How many others—No, don’t answer that.”
“It was necessary.”
“Right. You’re worried about the people in my life, but you’re the one who invaded my privacy, not to mention the privacy of my friends.”
“And neighbors.”
“You’re not helping your case.”
“No, but you value honesty.”
Norah glanced over at him. He had a stunning profile, classic, strong, handsome as sin. And he was playing her with every word he uttered through his even, white teeth.
“You’re giving me just as much as you think is necessary to get what you want,” she said.
And there was that jaw flex again. He didn’t like that she’d pegged him, but he didn’t value her preference for honesty enough to say it outright.
Trouble was, he had the upper hand, not because he was stubborn and devious and prepared to stick to her like a staph infection. Because he worked for the FBI. She had issues with Trip Jones, but she definitely didn’t trust the FBI. They had Lucius under lock and key somewhere. If it wasn’t for the fact that all America knew of the crime and the deadline for his release, he’d probably be in FBI hell until he decided to tell them what they wanted to know.
As it was they wouldn’t let her visit him, for his safety they’d told her. That she believed. The kind of people he must be incarcerated with wouldn’t hesitate to torture him for the whereabouts to a fifty million dollar stash of goods, most of which could be easily broken up and fenced, and all of which had already been settled by the various insurance companies. She hated that he was alone, that she’d been denied even fleeting moments with her father, but it was worth it if it kept him safe—safe from criminals, but at the mercy of the FBI.
The lesser of two evils, she reminded herself, glancing over at Trip Jones with his handsome face, mouth-watering body, and tendency to bend the truth to suit his needs. When Lucius was released from jail in a few weeks, the whole lost treasure aspect of his crime was going to blow up in his face. And hers. Considering the morning’s events, Norah knew she wouldn’t be able to protect herself, let alone her father. She didn’t trust the FBI, but they were supposed to be the good guys, right? They wanted the loot, but they wouldn’t hurt or kill her father to get it like the criminals would. She really had no choice.