In my line of work, there are the short cons and there are long cons, and I’ve just finished the longest one of my life. I’m feeling a bit out of sorts now that it’s over.
I was only slightly joking when I said I was going to sleep for three days, since I slept for most of two. Devon and Amy tiptoed around me, making sure there was food close by and not peppering me with questions like I know they wanted to.
Because this was a long job for them too.
“You’re finally awake,” Devon says as he sinks down in the chair next to the couch.
“Barely,” I say. “It’s like a hangover but without the fun of getting one.” He laughs. “So too early to bust out the champagne?”
“It’s never too early for that,” Amy calls out as she enters the room, taking the chair next to Devon. “Morning.”
“If you say so.” Just as I’m thinking about how badly I need coffee, Amy sets a mug down in front of me.
We’re quiet for a moment, then Amy says, “Wish I could have seen his face in the bank vault when he opened the safe deposit box.”
Devon laughs. “I said the same thing.”
Shrugging, I say, “I wanted a jaw-dropping look of astonishment that I had bested him, but I only got a raised eyebrow.”
For the next half hour, I fill them in on all the details of the meeting with the detectives, since Devon wasn’t listening in for that.
“God, you’re lucky he basically sent your twin or you would have been toast,” Amy says. “Even with the alibi from Tyron, it would have been hard to convince them that wasn’t you.”
I shrug. “We could always have risen you from the dead if prison loomed too close. I’m not actually a murderer.”
Amy laughs. “Well, yeah, there’s that too.”
“It was a good thing Amy was already in that laundry basket before the filming started. I checked that building right before I delivered the body from the morgue, and the room directly across from hers was empty.” Devon frowned then added, “I hate when someone gets the jump on me like that.”
I push my foot against his. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’ve saved our asses more times than either of us would like to admit. Can’t be perfect all the time.”
I thought I had asked Devon for everything until I asked him to get me a dead body. A very specific dead body. Newly dead. White. Female. A Jane Doe who no one would miss. Approximately five foot seven inches with long blondish hair that we dressed in that unmistakable red coat.
For our plan to work, Amy Holder needed to die in a big splashy way.
When we first started preparing for this day, the day we would be free from Mr. Smith, none of us knew just how long it would take to get here.
Although the execution took longer than any of us wanted, the plan itself was fairly simple. While we worked through our own jobs, we would look for proof that he was double-crossing any of his own clients. Something big enough that he would fear for his own well-being if it got out. And most importantly, we had to discover his real identity.
Amy was right, though. We had no idea what he would do when he started questioning our loyalty.
We had to flush out anything he had on us early on so we could adapt our plan accordingly. Amy stumbled on the Connolly double-cross, and that was all we needed. So Amy became the sacrificial lamb. She would be the disgruntled employee who would go rogue on a job. If Mr. Smith was holding something in his back pocket that could bring her to heel, he’d be forced to use what he had on her.
And he didn’t disappoint.
It took Amy a long time to tell me about her sister, Heather. They had both been put into the foster-care system when they were young, just after their mom overdosed and no other family showed up to take them in. They were sent to separate families and lost touch. Amy found Heather after she started working for Mr. Smith, using the same resources available to us to do our jobs. We both knew that if Amy had found her, Mr. Smith probably had too.
And that’s where he hit her. Mr. Smith had evidence ready to go that would result in Heather’s arrest for drug use and distribution, and her young daughter, Sadie, would be placed in the foster system. Amy’s and Heather’s worst nightmare.
Devon pulled Heather and Sadie, relocating them to a different state under different names, just after Mr. Smith delivered his first threat against
them. This was a temporary fix, but a fix all the same.
We controlled that explosion.
It also didn’t hurt that Heather and Devon hit it off, and he’s been very protective of both of them ever since. No one was going to be able to get near her or her daughter.
“What does this mean for Heather and Sadie?” I ask Amy now. “Will they head back to Tulsa?”
“She likes Phoenix. It wouldn’t surprise me if they stayed there. The fresh start has been good for them.” Amy grins and turns to Devon. “I heard you may be relocating to Phoenix too.”
“Maybe,” Devon says with a shrug, but the smile gives him away.
Once Heather and Sadie were out of immediate danger, Amy relocated to Atlanta, where she would act wild and unstable. Mr. Smith would be left with only one option—send someone to retrieve what Amy had.
Our biggest risk was assuming that I would be given the job. We timed Amy going rogue to coincide with me just finishing a job, so I was available. And truth be told, I was one of the best he had working for him. We had a contingency in place in case he didn’t send me, but thankfully the job was mine.
And while Mr. Smith had people there to watch me watch Amy, they didn’t look closely enough at the bartender who served Amy her drinks or notice that Devon didn’t put any alcohol in them. It didn’t strike them as odd that every time Amy screamed at me, making sure to let critical information slip at the precise moment we needed it to, it was always in a very public setting—which guaranteed it would trickle back to him.
Or that Amy chose Atlanta to ride out this storm she created, which was also home to one of my oldest and most famous friends, who would happily supply me with an alibi. Tyron made sure we knew Tuesday nights worked best for him.
Amy played her part perfectly. She was on a dozen security cameras when she left the bar and walked across the street into that hotel. Staggering the whole way. It was no stretch that she would have been careless with her cigarette in that state. I pushed Amy out of that hotel room in the housekeeping cart, then Devon took over as she continued her escape to the parking garage and into the car we had waiting there. She’s been hiding in this cabin ever since.
I wanted Mr. Smith suspicious of me, but I wasn’t prepared for him having hard evidence that would implicate me in her murder.
That came as a surprise to all of us.
After Atlanta, the first part of our plan was done. We had enough to bury him. Amy’s “death” ensured she was safe from any further retribution.
All we needed was his real name.
It was my turn. I needed to push him to use what he had against me.
Control my own explosion.
While we knew Heather and Sadie were a weak spot for Amy, we weren’t as confident about where he’d hit me. So I had to play along until he showed his hand.
The road trip was my own version of instability. I knew Coach Mitch was my best shot at discovering who Mr. Smith really was, and we could finally play that card now that we had the proof against him.
I needed to poke at Mitch, and I knew meeting with Andrew Marshall would send Mr. Smith over the edge, since he’s always believed there was a small chance I had the politician in my back pocket.
It lit the match for the bomb he had ready for me. Or so he thought.
“Any word on Smith’s whereabouts now?” Amy asks, pulling me from my own thoughts.
Devon is tapping away on his laptop. “Nothing confirmed. The Connollys will deal with him their own way, which means I don’t believe we’ll find any identifiable body parts.”
I cringe at his words. It’s the least of what he deserves after everything Mr. Smith’s done, but Devon knew I would struggle with being the one who hand-delivered him to his fate.
But it had gotten to the point where it was him or us.
“I can say this now that it’s over, but there were a few moments when I thought he got the best of me,” I say quietly.
Devon lets out a groan. “Yeah, Fake Lucca threw me. I never saw where that was headed.”
“Wish we could have pulled her out in time,” I say.
Amy leans close and squeezes my arm. “We would have if we’d had any idea that’s what he was planning. But she’s his last victim.”
I nod and try to take some comfort in that. “Did you figure out how deep Ryan is involved?”
Devon looks up from his laptop. I’ve put off asking this because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. After Devon planted the info on Amy in James’s parents’ house, he flew to Virginia, where Mr. Smith lived. While Mr. Smith was following me into that bank, Devon was hacking into his personal computer. Once Devon knew where to look, the floodgates were opened and he was able to discover every facet of his business.
“His only involvement was what we already knew. Smith used his services over the years. As Ryan’s business increased, so did Smith’s interest in him. I believe he intended to take over Ryan’s business, just as he had said to you. From what I’ve gathered so far—and it will be a while before I’ve gone through everything—Ryan knew him from those previous transactions but wasn’t privy to the scope and breadth of Smith’s organization.”
Amy sits up in her chair, her eyes darting between Devon and me. “Then why was Smith giving him the info on his own business?”
Devon shrugs. “Not really sure. I’m guessing Smith had his reasons for doing that, but short of asking Ryan, we may never know.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll never know,” I say.
Amy lets out a laugh. “Seriously? You’re not going to ask him?”
I can’t help the grimace that takes over my face. “I can’t ask him!” “Sure, you can,” Devon says, his focus once again back on the laptop. “What would be the point? The job is finished. And I’m on the straight
and narrow from here on out. No more illegal activities for me.”
Amy rolls her eyes. “Going straight doesn’t mean you have to be finished with him. He’s morally gray, you’re morally gray. Plus he’s superhot and probably great in bed.”
“I give her three months before she’s calling me and saying, ‘Devon, so there’s this job . . . ’ ” His high-pitched impression of my voice has me laughing as I roll my eyes.
“I give her one month,” Amy says.
I throw a couch pillow at both of them.
We stay in the cabin another three days while Devon digs through the rest of Mr. Smith’s files he copied from his computer. But this time away from the real world can’t last forever.
“Okay, ladies, I’m out,” Devon says, loaded down with his backpack and bag. His car is already packed with his equipment. He’s the first one to
leave, and Amy and I take turns giving him hugs, but I’m the only one who follows him out to the porch.
“We did it,” I say.
His smile stretches across his face. “That we did.” He pauses before saying, “When you get over thinking you’re done with this life, let me know.”
“I am done,” I say, although it lacks conviction. “And we can get together for fun! It doesn’t always have to be work related.”
Devon walks to his car, laughing. “Of course we can. I’m ready when you are.” He throws his stuff in the back seat before taking off.
Amy is the next to leave. “You’ll text me when you get settled, right?” she asks me.
“Yes. And then I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.” I help her get her bags to the car, then we throw our arms around each other and stay there for a long moment.
Then she, too, is gone.
I stay a little longer at the cabin. There are things to do, plans to make, decisions to consider, but for one blessed week there is quiet.
Alias: Evie Porter—Four Months Ago
It’s Thursday and Ryan Sumner is right on time. He pulls up to the gas pump on the farthest side, just like always.
He’s a bit casual today, his usual button-down replaced with one of those pullover golf shirts with the logo of the local club. I wonder what made this Thursday different.
I tug my skirt up just a fraction higher and run my hands through my hair, making sure it falls just the way I want it to.
I knew coming in that this was going to be my most dangerous job. Mr.
Smith sent me here to break me.
I’m going to play this one by the book. I won’t step out of line, won’t get ahead of the game. I will let it unfold around me. And wait for Mr. Smith to hit me with everything he’s got before I hit back.
“Hello,” I say, as I walk up to his car.
He’s startled but hides it quickly and easily. “Hey,” he replies, a grin spreading across his face. He’s cuter in person.
I tilt my head in the direction of my car, which is sitting off to the side, its left rear tire completely flat. “Any chance I can get some help with that? My dad taught me how to change my tire years ago, and in theory, I remember the basics, but it’s a little more daunting when you’re faced with it in real life.”
His smile grows and it lights up his whole face. And it’s a very lovely face indeed.
“Of course,” he says. “Let me just finish up here and I’ll pull around.” I give him a high-wattage smile right back, then return to my car.
He parks beside me and eyes me when he gets out. I’m leaning against the side of the car, showing off in just the right way. Ryan goes to his trunk, retrieving his jack, before kneeling down in front of my flat tire. I crouch down beside him, his eyes lingering on my legs a few seconds like I hoped they would.
I know from my research that he likes to play golf and tennis, though he’s not exceptionally good at either one. I know he went to LSU and was social chair for his fraternity. I know he dated a girl through sophomore and junior year but that she broke it off before she left to study abroad.
“You look really familiar,” I say, as he loosens the first lug nut off my tire.
He glances at me and says, “I was just thinking the same thing.” “Did you know Callie Rogers? We were friends at LSU.”
From his expression, I know he recognizes the name but can’t place her. I studied the girls who had been in sororities around the same time he was there, girls who were tagged in posts of his friends’ friends but never with him. Their names would be familiar but not familiar enough that he would ever ask them about me.
“Was she friends with Marti Brighton?” “Yes!”
“I think I met her a time or two when she was with Marti,” he says, then gets back to work.
Once the mutual connections have been made, I’m no longer thought of as a stranger and the conversation is easy. Even though Ryan has finished changing the tire, he lingers. We’re both leaning against the car now, turned toward each other.
“I should buy you a drink!” I say. “The least I can do for saving me.”
He leans in a few inches closer. “I’ll let you buy me a drink if I can buy you dinner.”
Ryan is smooth.
“I feel like I already know you, but we haven’t been officially introduced.” I hold my hand out, not far since we’re already so close. “I’m Evie Porter.”
His hand slides into mine. “Ryan Sumner.”
“Well, Ryan,” I say. “Drinks and dinner sound like a great idea.” “Follow me?” he asks.
“Right behind you,” I answer.
We pull into a small bistro, and he’s at the driver’s-side door before I can open it. Ryan holds his hand out, helping me from the car.
We step inside the restaurant, where he asks for us to be seated on the patio. It’s still chilly outside this time of year even though we’re in Louisiana. My short skirt offers no protection, but I’m relieved when I see several heaters scattered around the area. Twinkle lights stretch between the trees that border the patio. It’s a dreamy spot for a first date.
We order wine and appetizers, and we talk and talk and talk. He leans toward me and I mirror him.
“Tell me more about you,” he says, just as our main course is served.
Thoughts about Mama and that small trailer we called home—that Mama made a home—wash over me, and for the first time, I don’t want to tell the first lie. I want to tell him how she taught me to sew and how we made dresses for every stuffed animal I had. How we had tea parties and acted like we were royalty. I wanted to tell him about the map of the world that hung on the wall. We would throw a dart and then learn everything we could about the place it landed on.
But I stick with the script and tell him my parents died in a car wreck and I’m just trying to find my way. I weave more truth than I should into the story. Give him more of myself than I’ve ever given anyone else.
His hand slides across the table and I steel myself for how good I know it will feel. And it feels good.
Too good.
So I pull away slightly. Not enough to make him feel rejected. Just enough to give myself some distance. I mentally wall up my emotions, brick by brick. Ryan Sumner is a job. One that won’t last. He’s charmed with Evie Porter, a figment of my imagination.
It’s time to remember exactly who she is and why she’s here. It’s time to get to work.
Evie Porter—Present Day
Ryan is in the front yard pushing a lawn mower back and forth along his perfectly green grass. The sun is setting and the dying light is throwing a golden glow over the two-story white house, making it shimmer.
He spots me as he makes his second pass and kills the engine immediately. He’s wearing old, faded khaki shorts and a light blue tee that is frayed around the edges.
I’m on the sidewalk watching him watch me. Neither of us moves for several minutes. It’s been three months since that morning in the hotel in Atlanta.
He meets me halfway. Grass trimmings coat his legs and shoes, and his hands are streaked with grease.
My eyes scan his face for any little change since I saw him last. “I’m hoping you still want to talk,” I say.
Ryan pulls a rag from his back pocket then uses it to clean his hands. After a long moment, he finally looks up at me and nods toward the house. Without waiting to see if I’ll follow, he starts making his way around the side of the house to the backyard.
My eyes snag on the three long rows of plants that are bursting with vegetables in the back corner of the yard.
Ryan arranges the two Adirondack chairs so they are facing each other rather than sitting side by side, motioning for me to take one. I choose the one that puts my back to the yard. I can’t look at that garden right now.
He grabs two beers from a nearby cooler, passing one of them to me. “I thought it would be better to talk without the prying eyes of the neighborhood watch. Although I should thank you, the little old ladies on this street have given me a wide berth after the spectacle in the driveway, and they’ve grown weary of throwing their granddaughters at me.”
“I’m available any time you need your good name tarnished,” I say, then take a sip of my beer.
“It was never as shiny as you once thought it was. We can stop pretending whenever you’re ready.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, hoping to calm my nerves. “I’m not sure I know where to start. I’ve . . . been pretending a long time.”
Ryan’s head tilts to the side as he studies me. While Devon, Amy, and I can speculate until we’re blue in the face, we don’t know Ryan’s side of this or what he knew about me or Mr. Smith. The only thing we do know is Ryan did business with Mr. Smith in some capacity, but he has been the sole owner of the operation in East Texas since his grandfather died.
I also know there’s something unfinished between us, and I had a strong desire to see him again that time has not lessened.
“I should make you go first since you’ve taken your sweet time to come talk to me.” He puts his beer on the little side table, then leans back in his chair, his head resting in the cradle of his joined hands. “You were something I wasn’t prepared for. Did I know you were trying to get information on the business in Glenview when I fixed your flat tire? No. Even before I met you, I could tell something was wrong there. Things had been moved around at work and at home. Shit missing. It got worse after I met you, but I didn’t link it to you. Not at all.” He gives me a lopsided grin and a shrug that tells me he knows he should be embarrassed, but he’s not. “An associate I’ve done business with off and on over the years told me he was hearing rumors that someone had infiltrated my operation and was selling info on my shipments to the highest bidder.”
“An associate?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No more from me until I get a little from you.” He takes a deep drink from his bottle then puts it back down on the table.
“You were a job. I was . . . having trouble with my boss and he wasn’t happy with me. When I got assigned to you, I wasn’t sure if this was a real job. Not in the usual way. My boss . . . he liked to play games. Test me to make sure I was still loyal. Needless to say, I wasn’t sure if you were playing me too.”
Ryan’s eyes narrow as he tries to understand what I’m saying, since I’m not being as clear as I should be. “That sounds . . . fucked up. Your boss seems like an incredible asshole.”
My laugh surprises us both. “You have no idea.” It’s so much harder than I thought it would be to just be honest. “If the associate that warned you someone was selling the details on your shipments was the same guy you were talking to in the motel corridor in Tennessee, then you met my boss.”
He leans forward, the laid-back attitude long gone. “I didn’t know you heard us talking. Is that why you freaked out and left? And yeah, that was him. But he was your boss?” His eyes glaze over as he tries to sort through his confusion. “He told me you were the one stealing files from me.”
“Yeah, that sounds about right. Pitting two people against each other is his favorite pastime.” Or should I say was his favorite pastime. “He thought it provided the best results. One side working against the other, no one trusting anyone. And he conveniently watches from the sidelines.”
We’re studying each other. Comparing what we once believed against what we’re learning about each other right now.
“When did he tell you it was me? And why would you stay with me when you found out I was betraying you?” I ask. Ryan keeping me around made sense when I thought he was Mr. Smith.
“He texted me just before we left the police station. Asked me to meet him. Said he had some information for me. That’s where I went when I dropped you here and told you I needed to go by my office.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. He looks off toward the backyard. “It’s easy to see how he played me, looking back. Told me someone approached him, offering a partnership since they knew he’d used my services in the past, and thought he’d like to cut out the middleman. But he made me believe he was on my side. Was making sure they didn’t succeed. He told me you were using me to get close enough to get my financials, my client records, shipments records. Handed me ‘proof.’ Said you were meeting with your contact in Atlanta to give them the rest of the stuff you had on me, and they promised to help get you out of this trouble with the police. I agreed to stick close to you. I wanted to know who was behind this. Who sent you to do their dirty work. I was so fucking pissed off. I sat in my car in the driveway and read through everything he gave me.”
Ryan finally turns to look back at me, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows resting on his knees. “But then I was more confused than ever,” he says, his voice strong but quiet. “Everything he gave me as proof of what you had taken from me was altered. The dates of big shipments were a week later than what I planned. The cargo smaller. The buyers’ names changed. It didn’t make sense. And it was enough for me to doubt what he was trying to make me believe. And then I went inside. I went looking for you. And I found you in the shower and you were so . . . broken. Crying so hard I thought you’d break in a million pieces. It was the exact same way I felt. I knew there was a big piece I was missing.” He gives me a sad smile. “I was going to ride it out and see where we landed.”
His stare is so intense I have to look away. Coughing to clear the lump in my throat, I finally say, “He wasn’t the only one playing a game. I needed him mad at me. Madder than he already was. I needed to lose his trust completely. But I also didn’t want you to lose your business to him. I didn’t want it to become another cog in the wheel of his organization. So I changed the details.”
Ryan reaches forward, his hands sliding around the legs of my chair, and pulls me a little closer. “Tell me the rest of it.”
Taking a deep breath, I tell him about Devon and Amy, without giving away their names. I tell him about Eden, North Carolina, and living in that trailer with Mama until she died. I tell him about Mr. Smith and George and how I didn’t know they were the same person until it was almost too late. I told him about the woman who claimed to be me and how her life and James’s were cut short just so Mr. Smith could make a statement.
At some point while I was unburdening myself, Ryan had pulled me into his lap. My head leaning against his chest, his hand brushing through my hair as he listened to all my secrets.
“I’m sorry James got wrapped up in this. If I had known what was in store for them, I would have found a way to pull them both out.”
“I know you would have.”
We sit in silence long enough that the sun starts to set.
 |
I should be ashamed of how easy it was to fall back into the daily routine with Ryan. The only difference this time is we’re both honest about how shady we are.
It’s Thursday and Ryan is headed to East Texas.
“I’ll be home by six,” he says as he fills his travel mug with coffee. He’s dressed in jeans and a tee since he doesn’t have to act like he’s headed to his local office.
“And I’ll be here.” I move in close, wrapping my arms around him.
He buries his face in my neck and peppers me with kisses. “Want me to pick up some steaks on the way home?”
“Hmmm, that sounds good. There’s a ton of squash and zucchini we need to eat so we can grill those too. The neighbors run from me now.”
Ryan laughs. “That’s what happens when half of the backyard is a garden and we have to palm veggies off on everyone.” One more kiss and then he mumbles against my lips, “Try to be a good girl while I’m gone.”
Laughing, I say, “I’ll try but I make no promises.”
He leaves and I watch him drive away until he’s out of sight.
I top off my coffee and head to the small home office I created for myself out of one of the guest bedrooms. It takes a few minutes to settle in and get everything powered on. Devon created this space, and we take every precaution.
I place the call on the secured line and Amy picks up on the first ring. “Morning,” she says, although she still sounds half asleep. She kept her same first name but now goes by the last name of Porter as well. I guess I wasn’t the only one looking for a connection with someone else.
“Morning,” I say back, as I log on to the King Harvest fans message board. The alert box pops up, showing there are new messages, while the first few bars of the chorus of “Dancing in the Moonlight” plays over my computer speakers.
“Two new messages,” I tell her.
I hear Amy yawn and then she says, “Open them up and let’s see what they’re looking for, Miss Smith.”
It’s my favorite part of the morning.
