The Con Code
Page 29
I race back down the stairs and hightail it to the waiting getaway car idling a few blocks away, mostly because we couldn’t find a parking spot on this street and we’ve had enough run-ins with the law lately without adding a parking ticket to the mix.
I slide into the passenger seat. “Step on it!”
Dad rolls his eyes at me. “If by ‘step on it’ you mean slowly merge into traffic and then drive the speed limit, you got it.”
“You’d make a terrible getaway driver. I hope this doesn’t mean we’re aligning with the right side of the law now.”
He scoffs. “For traffic, yes. For everything else?” He winks.
I relax into the seat, glad my world’s back to normal. Somewhat. I get out my cell phone to bang out a text but see I have a few missed ones already.
Colin: Hey, what’s the big surprise? Where are we meeting? I thought you said to be ready by three?
I roll my eyes. It’s 3:02. Crimes can’t always be punctual.
I scroll to the next text.
Natalie: Tig asked me to be her girlfriend! She actually asked! With words!
I’m not sure which to reply to first, but I always have Natalie’s back, so I send a gazillion confetti and heart emojis to her and then some to Tig, plus a requisite warning that if she hurts my gal, she answers to me. On second thought, I send the same thing to Natalie. To Colin, I reply with:
Fiona: Hidden out in the open you’ll find your first clue, a beautiful art installation the community grew. Reach the top and you will see, the next step to reaching me.
* * *
As Dad swerves through traffic to the next destination, three little dots appear and then disappear. Finally, Colin’s response comes:
Colin: Nothing is ever easy with you, is it?
He tacks on a smiley emoji and then adds:
That’s what I like best about you.
Dad weaves the car along the coastline, the breeze flowing through the open windows and sending my dark locks flying around my face. I could let it go back to my natural blond color now, but I’ve gotten used to the choppy black bob Colin fashioned for me out of necessity rather than skill. Maybe I’ll go back to blond when school starts up again for the two of us in a few weeks. Or maybe I’ll embrace the new me now.
As Dad drives, I try to savor the things I thought I’d lost. The two of us, together. The scent of salt wafting from the ocean. Our three-story Victorian house, forever in need of upkeep.
We pull up along a jetty located on San Francisco Bay, and Dad manages to steer the car into a space.
“Good. I could use a little help on this one.” I unbuckle.
Dad scoffs. “And here I thought you only wanted me to be your chauffeur.”
I wave my hand dismissively. “And moral support. You can never have too much of that.”
Dad gets out of the car and stretches his legs. A ginormous structure greets us, constructed out of carved granite and marble from a demolished cemetery. The Wave Organ’s exactly the type of morbid curiosity my mom would have loved. The sculpture creates a semicircle facing the ocean, complete with a terrace and benches. Concrete pipes as well as PVC pipes jut out into the water at various elevations. When the waves crash against the pipes, they create gurgling musical notes that harmonize with a sound similar to putting a conch shell against your ear.
It’s a magical place, created by both nature and man. It’s the perfect setting for this clue.
“Where should I put it?” I ask Dad as I step over the cobblestones.
He purses his lips. “How about nowhere? As a dad, I have to say that, right?”
“As a dad, you have to support my dreams, and this is one of them. Making a boy I like go through extreme and unnecessary lengths just to hang out with me.”
“Over there, then.” He points to the longest pipe, the one that stretches over the makeshift benches and appears to dangle precariously over the ocean.
I affix this clue plus a five-dollar bill to the underside of the pipe, right above the seating, so if Colin sits down to glance at the ocean and looks up, he’ll find it. The money is because I’m a twenty-first-century kind of girl, and I’m not going to let a guy pay for himself on a date.
Now it’s time to get cheesy on you, one last task before we rendezvous. Find the treasure at the edge of a maze and a mirror, you have to look closely and it’ll all become clearer. The treasure’s not an object but the person writing this note. Yes, I called myself a treasure, but I’m your treasure—so feel free to gloat.
Dad shakes his head at me as we stride to the car. “Not the romantic words I would have chosen.”
“Would you have preferred something hidden within a book bound in human skin?”
I expect him to laugh at the ridiculousness of Mom’s clues, but instead a sad expression washes over his face.
“Hey, I’m sorry for mentioning her.” I grab his hand, squeezing tight for a second before letting go. The love of his life chose a life on the run rather than one with him. That’s not something you can easily get over. Or legally separate yourself from, if you choose to do that one day. Even if you are a rock-star lawyer as your side hustle from your real job of running cons.
Dad sucks in a shaky breath. “It’s okay. I need to…” He swallows hard. “I need to move on. I know that.”
But it sounds like he’s having a difficult time convincing himself of this.
The lump that lodges in my throat and makes it hard to breathe indicates I am, too. There’s still one mystery she left behind.
Where is she now?
She evaded the FBI again, on the run once more, and a little part of me feels relieved that my grab at freedom and safety for my loved ones didn’t result in iron bars and an unflattering beige jumpsuit for her. True, if she was behind bars, I could visit her one day and maybe finally say all the words I couldn’t bring myself to utter in the subway tunnel. But with her on the lam, I have to let her go for good.
We get in the car and stay silent for most of the way to the final location. When Dad pulls up in front of Pier 39, I place my palm on his shoulder. “Are you going to be okay?”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment but nods. “I’ve been trying to find the right time…” He rakes his hand through his dark hair. “But nothing seems right. Or perfect. Or—” He stretches over me to unlatch the glove compartment and then pulls out a tiny, velvet box. His hands shake when he presents it to me.
I squint at the box and then at him. For some reason, I hold my breath when I open it.
Nestled inside, resting on delicate white silk, is a beautiful silver chain with four flat circle charms dangling from the center.
“To replace the one you lost and represent the people you gained.”
Tears press against my eyes, and I hug it to my chest. I never thought I’d be able to replicate the sentimental value of the necklace my mom gave me, but as I string this one around my neck, it already feels like it belongs with me more than that one ever did. I wrap my arms around Dad. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, hon.”
I raise my brow and tap one of the charms. “Any clues hidden in here?”
He laughs. “Wouldn’t the FBI like to know…”
I laugh, too, then gesture toward the pier up ahead. “I should…”
Suddenly Dad’s face gets serious. “If he tries anything—anything at all—I’ll kill him!” He presses his lips together. “Well, actually, I don’t condone violence, so maybe I’ll just ban him from coming over on a school night. And I’m banning both of you from hotel rooms!”
I roll my eyes. “Dad, you can trust him now.” I don’t even hesitate when I say the next part. “After all, I do.”
Dad smiles. “Have fun, hon. But not too much fun. And remember your curfew! I’ll be waiting up!”
“Of course I have the one father in the world that doesn’t care at all if I stay out late on an illegal crime spree, but a date? Gotta be home by ten.”
“
Nine thirty!” He gives me a devious smile. “And remember, don’t stray from the plan.”
“I won’t.” I get out of the car and give Dad a tiny wave. A burglar usually wears all black for a con, and I’ve donned a little black dress in compliance. I guess Natalie’s sense of style rubbed off on me—after all, she helped me pick out this ensemble.
I waltz down Pier 39, passing by young children licking ice cream cones and families looking out at the water. I stop in front of a nondescript building and pay my five-dollar admission fee. Inside, a psychedelic array of flashing neon lights sparkles between columns of mirrors. The entire place is lit with black light that turns everything inside the colors of an Andy Warhol painting. Rave music pulses in my ears and in my veins, creating a trippy experience that’s as much enchanting as it is disorienting.
I weave my way through the maze, bumping into tall columns and shrieking once when I accidentally knock into another person that I thought was just a reflection. I find a spot to wait toward the end, surrounded by mirrors that produce an infinite number of Fionas across my vision.
After twenty minutes I check my phone, but there aren’t any texts. Does that mean Colin’s doing well? Or doing so badly he doesn’t want to admit it?
Or maybe he’s decided this whole thing isn’t worth it, and he’s backed out completely …
But a few minutes later, he comes huffing through the maze, out of breath, and at first tries to tackle my reflection before finally wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into a hug.
I laugh. “Did you run here from the Wave Organ?”
He rakes his hand through his hair, growing back a little by now. I still can’t decide if he looks better with hair or without. “Practically. I didn’t want to wait any longer to see you.”
“You saw me yesterday.”
“For a second! And our dads were there! And it was at the FBI office signing papers!”
I wave my hand dismissively. “Still counts. Even if it’s no gas station bathroom.”
As does the fact that Colin’s dad took a week off work to spend time with him the way he’s been craving. I did manage to pry Colin away for a few hours tonight. Until nine thirty, apparently.
Colin spins around, taking in the crazy scenery. “So what is this place?”
“The site of my next con,” I say matter-of-factly.
He raises a brow. “What are we stealing?”
I have to smile at this, that he’s already game for more despite all we’ve been through. “Something of yours.”
He pushes me against a mirror, every part of his body settling into mine in a delightful tease. “I hope you’re not about to say something cheesy, like you’re going to steal my heart.”
I wrap my arms around his back, resting my palms between the ridges of his shoulder blades. “Already have that.”
He grins. “My soul, then?”
“I may be bad news sometimes, but I’m not actually the devil.” I blow a warm breath into his ear, the kind of torture a devil might actually deliver.
His lips trace along my jaw, and heat trails in his wake. “My dignity? Pride?” He quirks an eyebrow. “Wallet?”
I sink my mouth into his, softly at first, then fierce enough to make up for the last few days without his lips against mine. “A kiss.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Like Fiona relies on her con crew, this book wouldn’t be what it is today without my crew.
To Holly West, thank you for seeing the potential in this story and guiding me to the right way to tell it. All your editorial suggestions took this book to a new level and I’m so grateful to be working with you. Neal Caffrey would tip his fedora at the result!
To Brent Taylor, thank you for championing this book and being a rock star agent. Your enthusiasm is always a welcome dose of encouragement. Thanks as well to the rest of the Triada US literary team for all your efforts.
To Jean Feiwel, Lauren Scobell, and everyone else at Swoon Reads, thank you for supporting me and my books. Liz Dresner and Lesley Worrell, thank you for the fantastic cover art and interior design. Lindsay Wagner, thank you for shepherding my book through the publishing process. Brian Luster, thank you for your keen eye and exceptional copy edits. Kim Waymer, thank you for overseeing the printing process. Kelsey Marrujo and Madison Furr, thank you for all your publicity efforts. And a big thank-you to everyone else at Macmillan who helped along the way.
To Chandler Baker, Diana Urban, and Lauren Spieller, thank you for being fantastic critique partners and for all our brainstorming sessions, writing sprints, and gchats. Thanks also to my other early readers, Jen Hayley, Naticia Hutchins, T.A. Maclagan, and Jim McCarthy: Your feedback was invaluable.
To the Swoon Squad, thank you for your fabulous wisdom, solidarity, and reassurance. Special thanks to Shani Petroff, Samantha Hastings, and S.M. Koz for your feedback on the first one hundred pages. Thanks also to Novel Nineteens and the 2020 MG/YA Graduates group.
To Meredith Moran, Kathryn Pearson, Erika Shenker, Crista Finocchio, Chelsey Wolf, Amanda Simon, Melanie Doyle, Denise Jaden, my Pokémon Go friends, and my Covet Fashion house—thank you for friendship, support, and distraction. And to Jeremy Samon, Nikki Facchine, Stacie Ehrenfeld, and Amanda Goodman, thanks for letting me borrow your names and for being part of my real-life travel camp adventures at Ivy League Day Camp that served as inspiration for the setting of this story.
To my family: Becca Levine, Eric Levine, Casey Levine, Eliza Levine, Rowan Levine, Daniel Preiser, Marta Pagan-Ortiz, JoAnne Preiser, Richard Preiser, and my parents Nina and Steve Silberberg: Thank you for all your love, encouragement, and for putting up with my terrible jokes. I hope you all skipped over the kissing scenes.
To my favorite husband, Josh, and my favorite daughter, Quinn, thank you for being my favorite people in the entire world. (That line was suggested by Quinn.) I love you both!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Shana Silver, author of Mind Games, studied creative writing at Syracuse University. She’s been a computer animator, an ebook creator for a major publisher, and is now a project manager in digital and TV advertising, where she enjoys telling people what to do. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, young daughter, and the characters she dreams up. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2020 by Shana Silver
A Swoon Reads Book
An imprint of Feiwel and Friends and Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
swoonreads.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by email at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
First hardcover edition, 2020
eBook edition, 2020
eISBN 9781250266804