Con Man: Complete Series Box Set: A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

I
'd never thought
that I could delve so deep into the underbelly of cons and grifters that I would get bored of their theatrical antics, but after two solid days of file scouring, the cases became to be dishearteningly predictable. Which, of course, meant I was finding absolutely nothing useful.

Benita, however, had been much more productive in her search. She'd managed to contact the CPS workers who'd been on Broderick’s cases. She confirmed the bit of information I'd found before and had been able to secure the runaway report.

I'd thought that was where the trail would run dry, but then she stumbled upon a report about a young teenager who'd been busted in a forgery ring and held overnight in custody before being released on bail to his male guardian.

We were looking for that report right now.

“Do they have a picture or description?” I asked, hovering over her shoulder, my heart pounding in my chest.

I knew chances were astronomical that it was Bron, but I couldn’t stop myself from hoping. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for runaways to get snatched up by people eager to use them. Most ended up in some form of the sex trade, either taken for private use or put to work. Others ended up in sweatshops. The luckier ones – and that was a very loose use of the word
lucky
– were put to work as pickpockets and the like.

“No pictures,” Benita said. “But the hair color and eye color are a dead match for your pretty-boy con. Age is right too. Three months after he ran the last time.”

“What alias did he use?”

“Tobias...” Her voice hitched. “Melendez.”

My heart stuttered. Fuck me. It was him.

“Wasn't...” Her voice was quiet. “Karis, wasn't that your father's name?”

I nodded, unable to speak. Bron had used my dad’s name. Why? Had it been a cry for help? Had he been scared and alone and trying to leave a clue for the police to pick up on? Had he hoped my dad's name would trigger something, let us know where he was? Or had he just been terrible at using fake names?

Or...

My stomach twisted.

It was common practice for con men to not only create entirely new aliases, but they also stole identities by using the social security number of someone who had recently passed away. Had Bron known about my father's death and hadn't contacted me? Worse, had he profited from my father’s death? Used him as a way to skirt the law?

He'd been fifteen. Not really a kid, but not a man either. My chest tightened. What had happened to my friend?

“Hey.” I looked up to see Benita eyeing me with concern. “You okay, Rookie?”

“Yeah.” I blew out a breath and tried to pull my shit together. “Just wondering if we’re playing with Pandora’s Box here.”

Benita considered what I said and shrugged. “Probably, but it’s too late to turn back now.”

“Good point.” I took a moment, rubbed my forehead, and then forced myself to start thinking like a Fed again. “Any info on his guardian?”

“I’ve got the messiest signature this side of a doctor’s office – standard grifter fare – but I’ve got a typed out name of Guy West.”

Definitely not the guy's real name. “I’ll run it through our known alias’ database.”

She nodded. “Coffee break for me. Do you want something?”

“Yeah, double espresso. Black. As strong as you can make it.” With how poorly I'd been sleeping lately, the caffeine was much needed.

“Whatever you say.”

While she headed out, I turned to my computer and logged in. I found the database I needed and typed in the name, height, timeframe, and other physical characteristics, then let it run. I knew it would take at least a couple hours to pick out any possible matches, but I stayed at my computer, staring at the screen without seeing anything. I let my thoughts drift.

What was I hoping for here? Did I want there to be some sort of Oliver Twist-esque villain who'd compelled my best friend into a life of crime? Was I trying to find an excuse for Bron's behavior, something that would allow me to accept what he'd become? If not accept, at least soften it enough so that I didn't need to feel guilty about the fact that I still felt...
something
for him?

“Working hard, or hardly working?”

I glanced up to see Colman standing at the edge of my desk, looking as smarmy and unwanted as ever. It was sad, I thought, how Colman, who was supposed to be the good guy, made my skin crawl, but I was fighting my feelings for Bron, someone I knew to be a criminal.

I forced a polite smile. “Just pursuing some fringe leads on the museum case.”

He nodded and sat on the edge of my desk. I tried not to bristle at the thought of his designer clad ass mussing up my paperwork. “You’ve been putting in some serious hours lately. You know what they say, don't you? All work and no play makes Karis a very dull girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “I don't think that's exactly how that goes.”

He laughed. “You do go out and play, right? Gorgeous single girl like you has to have at least a little fun from time to time.” He gave me a lascivious look. “I can just imagine the things you get up to.”

I wanted nothing more than to show my lecherous boss exactly what I'd like to do for fun. Namely, staple his balls to my desk, but instead, I decided to play it cool. The last thing I wanted was a pissed off boss breathing down my neck. Still, a part of me wished he would cross the line so I could report his ass to HR and get him slapped with a harassment suit.

“I wasn't aware FBI supervisors had imagination.”

He laughed again even though I'd meant it as the insult it'd sounded like.

“You do make me feel old, Rookie.” He shook his head as he pushed up from his desk. “I’ll check in before lunch, and you better have moved out from behind your desk at least once.”

I didn't respond because I fully intended to stay where right there until I found what I needed.

Thankfully, he didn’t wait for a response before he sauntered back to his office. I couldn't just keep sitting there doing nothing, so I started on a timeline. It was busy work, unnecessary considering I already had all the relevant information memorized and tucked into the appropriate recesses of my mind, but at least it kept the thoughts from going round and round.

“What’s the word, hummingbird?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin and let out a nervous laugh when I realized it was just Benita returning with our coffee. Raising an eyebrow, she handed me one of the steaming cups of caffeinated goodness. “Relax before you give yourself a stroke, kid. It’s too soon for me to be training another partner.”

I took the cup gratefully and tried not to let her see just how much this was stressing me out. I wasn’t sure how successful I was, but Alverez sat back in her seat without further commenting on my upcoming demise.

“How much longer does that thing have to run?”

I glanced at the screen. “Only about ten minutes left.”

“Not bad. That new server is really giving us a boost.” She put her feet up on the corner of her desk. “You should've been here back when I started. Some searches would go through the whole night and into the next day.”

“Wow, I’m surprised they had computers at all back then.” I grinned at her.

She responded by throwing a pen at me, which sailed over my shoulder. “Watch it there, Rookie. Don’t get cocky, or I’ll have to cut you down to size.”

I was ready to make some sort of retort regarding our height difference, proud of myself for being able to at least feign being functional, when the computer let out a familiar little
ding
.

“That was fast,” she said.

I leaned forward and had my hand on the mouse before she got her feet off the desk. We were silent for several minutes as she let me skim over the folders of information the search had pulled up.

I leaned back as a new flood of adrenaline poured through me. We had a lead. “There’s only two possible matches on record.”

“Names?”

“Jason Mackinder, and Uaine Leconte.”

“Two. That’s not so bad. You take one, I’ll take the other?”

I took a deep breath. “Jason Mackinder was killed last year. Crossfire in a firefight between the cops and the crew he ran.”

“And what do we know about Uaine Leconte?” she asked.

“Not much, considering how long this file says he's been working. Person of interest in various robberies and cons, but never enough proof to convict him. Late thirties, no family that anyone knows of. Nothing of his background, so that's probably not his real name.”

Benita was silent for a moment as she absorbed the information, her chartreuse eyes sparkling. “Do we have a known address?”

“No,” I said. “But we do have a very extensive list of lesser grifters who might know more. Several of them enjoying the hospitality of the city of New York.”

The smirk on her face was downright predatory. “How about a little field trip?”

* * *

I
returned
my badge to my belt when they handed it back, but they kept my gun. Didn't want to risk even a white collar prisoner getting ahold of a weapon.

“The prisoner is ready for you.”

The officer who spoke looked like he was only a couple years older than me, and he was about two inches shorter. He directed his words to Benita but kept glancing at me like I somehow made him nervous.

“Lead on,” Alverez said.

He nodded and turned, leading us down a flight of stairs, and to a series of rooms that were often used for parole reviews, or visits such as ours. When we reached the third one, he stopped and unlocked the door.

Benita and I filed inside, my partner having a seat at the small table in the center of the room while I walked the perimeter, just observing. The officer stood by the door at attention.

Sitting opposite Benita was a young girl who couldn’t have been older than twenty-one. She had fine, elfin-looking features, and skin so pale that it was almost translucent. Her once platinum hair had long since grown out, leaving noticeable auburn roots to her ears.

“Hello, Arielle,” Benita murmured. “I’m Federal Agent Alverez, and behind you is my partner, Agent Melendez.”

The girl tilted her head. “Pacing, or watching?” She was silent for a moment, thinking. “I think watching. Steps are too measured to be an anxious habit.” She turned, looking over her shoulder with jade eyes. “You’re young, don’t seem to have a chip on your shoulder, so I’m guessing you're still a rookie.”

I didn’t say anything, but I was as impressed as I knew Benita was.

My partner nodded and granted the girl a faint smile. “Not bad. Just think of all the legal things you could do with a head like that.”

“With my record?” The girl scoffed. “Couldn't even if I wanted to.”

Silence fell again, and I stopped walking to join my partner back at the table. I sat as well, and looked at Arielle, really looked at her. I tried to see past the jumpsuit and the criminal label she wore with pride. This girl could just as easily have been Bron.

“What if we could change that?”

The slim woman shifted in her seat. “What do you mean?”

Benita continued as if she couldn't tell Arielle was interested. “I read your file. Used as a bait girl, trap goes bad, you get hurt and can’t run. None of your ‘friends’ can be bothered to stop and save you.” Her voice was matter-of-fact, no judgment in it. “You were hung out to dry for a felony when you weren’t even important enough to know what crime you were committing. Stop me if I’m wrong.”

Arielle scowled and slouched in her chair. “You did your homework. Is that supposed to intimidate me?”

Benita didn't take the bait. “It’s supposed to let you know that I’m thorough. Very thorough. You help us get what we want, I get you into a rehabilitation program that helps particularly skilled individuals such as yourself become employable in all sorts of sensitive fields.”

“What, like spying or some shit?”

Benita shrugged. I knew my partner would keep her word, but she wasn't about to make specific promises.

Arielle crossed her arms. “What do you need to know?”

“Anything and everything that you might have on one Uaine Leconte.”

She went paler than I thought was possible, her porcelain skin losing all of its color. Her lips twisted. “Of course. Of course, it had to be
him
.”

I kept my voice even. “I take it you know the guy.”

She let out a snort. “Know him? He practically raised me. He’s like some sort of crime nanny.”

“Well, that’s one way to put it,” Benita said with a dry laugh.

“Won't do any good. Nothing I know will help you.”

“Let me be the judge of that. Now, stop wasting time and start working with us, or we'll leave and find someone else Uaine Leconte screwed over. From the sound of it, that won’t be too hard.”

Arielle glared at us for a few seconds and then sighed. “Fine. I was a runaway, you know, standard story. Daddy beats me, but Daddy also is a cop so no one does shit. So I took off when I was twelve. I spend a couple weeks on the street, always hungry, dodging cops and pervs. Got real good at hiding, blending in. And I got
real
good at getting people to give me money. I did all the typical grifts without anyone having to teach me.” Her eyes flicked between the two of us. “But those weren't crimes, you know. Yeah, I was lying, but I wasn’t breaking any laws. Not then.”