Con Man: Complete Series Box Set: A Bad Boy Romance (12 page)

I struggled to keep my voice even, to stop myself from thinking about Bron in similar circumstances. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

Benita picked up from my comment. “You didn't use your past to try to cut a deal, to gain sympathy with the DA.”

“Yeah, but if I mentioned him, someone would have gone asking questions, and he would know where I am. Could you imagine being stuck in this hellhole
and
getting letters from that asshole?” Arielle shuddered. “No thanks. Son of a bitch would probably try to claim me on his taxes too.”

“Sounds like a winner,” I said. I didn't have to fake the disgust in my voice.

She nodded, then continued, “Anyway, I made the mistake of trying to pull one of my mini-cons on this guy who looked fairly well off.”

She took a deep breath, but I felt her tension with every word.

“Designer clothes. Expensive watch. Brown hair, short for a guy. Five seven, maybe five eight. Plain-looking. Nothing that would draw attention. Except those eyes. Green, like a cat.” She shook her head. “Predatory, but he didn't want sex.”

“So you approached him?” Benita prompted.

“Yeah. He saw through me almost instantly. But instead of being mad, he seemed pretty amused by the whole thing. He offered to take me to lunch. I didn’t realize at the time I was about to receive the entire recruitment special.” She laughed bitterly. “He offered me everything. Showed me the life I could live without ever having to go back to my father. And without having to sell myself. I wasn't that desperate yet, but I knew it would get there eventually.”

The nauseous feeling I'd had in my stomach since this whole thing started was only getting worse. The idea of this girl having to prostitute herself...of Bron having to face a similar choice...it made me want to vomit.

“I was kinda suspicious,” Arielle continued. “Even after a meal, shopping, the whole nine yards, it seemed too good to be true. But then he introduced me to his other protégé. Some kid he’d picked up a few years earlier. Guy was hot as hell too.” She shrugged. “I think he chooses pretty ones because it’s always easier to sell a con when a target has the hots for you.”

My heart was racing now, but I tried not to look too eager. “This kid, what did he look like? What was his name?”

She raised an eyebrow but answered my question. “Tall, lean like he'd just hit a growth spurt. These gorgeous blue eyes, hair this strange color. Like bronze, you know? Basically, the kind of guy who could make a teenage girl weak in the knees.” She appeared to think hard for a moment. “Called himself Bron Du Murier. It was all very French and pretentious, but I don't think it was his real name.”

“You joined them?”

I was thankful Benita asked the question, because I was barely keeping it together. Arielle knew Bron. She knew what had been done to him.

“What can I say?” She shrugged. “They sold me on the idea. I just didn't know that Uaine already had his star child. He didn’t need anyone else close. He trained me and raised me for several years before renting out my skills to his friends and connections for different cons. There was a rotating list of us. Me, Iggy Jamais, Mareena Nechante, a whole roster really.”

Anger began to push away my other feelings. This man hadn't only ruined Bron or just Arielle. He'd done this to dozens of kids.

“Sure, we had the protection of his name to keep from being violated, or killed on purpose, but there was no loyalty. That’s how I ended up being abandoned at the end of a con gone wrong. No one cared about me. Not my new family, not the person I'd been working for. It was every man or woman for himself or herself. No matter what we said.”

The bitterness in her voice was painful to hear. My hands curled into fists as I thought about how Bron must feel. Did he think I'd abandoned him? That I hadn't cared? Did he hate me as much as Arielle hated Uaine? Just because he'd kissed me didn't mean he had positive feelings toward me, just strong ones.

“Thank you,” Benita said. “Do you have any idea where he might be now?”

“Not exactly, no. But I’d be more than happy to give a list of all the safe houses I know of.”

Alverez pushed over a piece of paper and pen. Arielle took them and began writing furiously. I took note of several fine, hair-thin scars all over her pale fingers. I wasn’t sure what could have caused them, but they looked painful. I made a note to look it up later should it be important. Her abusive past could help us get her some consideration.

After a few minutes, the girl handed us the sheet and sat back. “So I guess I’ll be hearing from my lawyer in a month or two?”

Benita shook her head. “More like tomorrow, if I have to drag him here myself. You helped us, we’re going to make sure to help you.”

For the first time, the girl’s face softened, and I caught a glimpse of what she must've looked like years ago when she'd been that scared little kid.

Like Bron had been.

“Thanks.” Her expression shifted into something serious. “I…uh…just be careful, okay? Uaine is a powerful man, and he’s used to getting everything he wants. Men like that are dangerous because they’ll do whatever it takes to always come out on top. They don’t have mercy. They don’t have empathy. We’re all just means to an end. Make sure you don’t end up as another pawn.”

“Duly noted,” Benita said as we both stood and walked toward the door.

We were quiet as the officer led us back to the front for our weapons. There was a lot to think about. We had a name now, and a vague description.

We were one step closer, but the footing seemed more dangerous than ever.

I
sighed
and closed my eyes. It was two days after our informative little meeting with Arielle, and we'd systematically been going through each and every safe house she'd given us. We'd visited ten yesterday, which didn’t seem like much until the driving time going from one expensive place to another was taken into consideration. Uaine had been all over the city.

Of course, once we actually arrived at the former safe houses, they were either empty or had been sold to new tenants who came up clean when we ran a search on them. One thing all the places did have in common were how high profile and expensive they were. It was obvious this Uaine fellow had a taste for the finer things in life. I hoped that meant he had an aversion to going too far underground. That could be his weakness.

I wondered if he had passed any of that on to Bron. If so, tracking him down might be easier than I'd first thought. There were only so many five-star hotels and million dollar penthouses in the city, and, based on the expensive suit I'd seen Bron in before, I severely doubted either man would ever allow themselves to slum it. Hell, for all I knew, they were sharing a place while planning their next con.

“What’s next?” Benita asked, her voice as tired as I felt.

And she had every reason to be. She'd not only been doing all of this work, but she'd also been handling Colman. He'd never been overly observant, but he did watch me more carefully than a lot of the other agents. Which meant he'd use any excuse to check in on us, including wanting to know how our case was going. Benita had been great fielding those questions and keeping Colman away from me, but I knew it wouldn't last long.

We needed to find Bron.

“I had a thought last night,” I said. “This Uaine fellow is smart, and I'm sure he has his ear to the ground. Someone like him doesn't stay out of jail for as long as he has without knowing his stuff. He has to know by now we’re hitting up each one of his hideouts. I figure we should skip down to the end of the list, then work our way back up. That way we’re at least slightly less predictable.”

“Slightly.” Benita let out a small laugh as she shook her head. “I already feel like we’ve been chasing the ghost from the museum for ions, not a week.”

“Huh, you’re right. It hasn’t been that long at all.” I paused and thought back to that very first moment I'd walked into the museum. If only I’d known then what was going to happen...

Then again, if I had known, would I have done anything different?
Could
I have done anything different? I felt like I was locked into my path both by my feelings for Bron – or rather, my feelings for the boy I'd once know – and my loyalty to my job. A split path that I was trying to force into taking me the same way.

If I wasn't careful, I knew, I was going to lose everything.

“Might as well get going,” Benita said, interrupting my thoughts. “This time of day, we're going to hit major traffic.”

I nodded and plugged the location into the GPS, my mind full of all the tiny choices I'd made since that fateful moment. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, but it didn't change a single thing.

* * *

W
e pulled
up to yet another massive apartment complex, this one with sides composed of chrome and glass. High tech, but ultimately cold. Not that warmth appeared to be one of Uaine's character traits.

We walked in and flashed our badges to the receptionist, who didn't even blink at the fact that two FBI agents were standing in front of her. I wondered if that meant she was used to the authorities coming in, or if she was on Uaine's payroll and was expected to keep her cool no matter what.

“FBI,” Benita said. “We believe a resident of room 492 may possess some information about a case we're investigating.”

“Of course,” the receptionist said with a fake smile. “Do you have a warrant?”

Benita gave her a smile that was just as sincere. “We’re not here to perform a search. We're merely looking for a conversation, ask a couple of questions.”

“I apologize, but everything above the lobby is private property. If you wish to enter those floors without a resident ID, you need a warrant.”

Benita glared at the girl. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I apologize.”

She didn't sound even the slightest bit sorry.

“If you wish to talk about company policy, I have the number for our complaint department, and you're welcome to contact them on either your own or at the phone in the corner of my desk.” The smile became brittle.

“Are you fuc–” Benita let out an aggravated growl. “Fine. Rookie, you stay here. I’m going to call Colman. See if he has any strings he can pull.”

I nodded and watched her storm out, a five foot four bundle of rage. The drive home with her was certainly going to be interesting, especially if we couldn't get up to that apartment.

I turned back to the receptionist, a thought popping into my head. It was a long shot, and probably a bad idea, but I didn't have anything else to do. “You mentioned a phone?”

“Yes, of course. Would you like to file a complaint on our hotline?”

I wondered how many times she'd asked that question.

“No, actually.” I walked over toward the landline phone that sat on the edge of the desk. “I was just hoping to make a call to the room to see if the resident can come down to speak with us since we can't go up.”

Her chin lifted. “If you know the number, you're more than welcome to dial it.”

I bit back a curse. “Are you serious? You don’t even have an emergency paging system?”

She seemed to be enjoying arguing with me. “Our residents enjoy their privacy. I wou–”

“It’s alright, Chelsea.” A man's voice came from behind us. “I was expecting these guests and neglected to tell you about them. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

I turned in surprise to see a man with thick, brown hair and piercing green eyes coming toward me. His face was unlined, but he looked to be about the same age as Benita. He was shorter than me, a couple inches taller than Benita, but he had a commanding air about him. I could feel the air change around us as Chelsea snapped from nonchalantly unhelpful, to attentive and sincerely cheerful.

“My deepest apologies, sir.” She actually gave a little half-bow. “I didn't realize I was delaying an appointment of yours.”

“Don’t worry about it, my dear,” He had the vaguest hint of an accent, but it was enough for me to surmise where the ‘Du Murier’ name Bron had taken on had come from. I was willing to bet this was the guy who'd given it to him. All the pieces were certainly falling together.

Except for the one where Uaine apparently had known we were coming and came down to the lobby to greet me. I didn't know how he knew, or why he'd chosen to speak with me instead of staying where he was or running. Chelsea could've warned him. Hell, Arielle might've even done it out of some weird sense of obligation for what he'd done for her long ago.

Or had Bron been the one to tell Uaine about me? Then and now? When? How much?

I pushed the questions aside. They could wait.

“Mr. Leconte?” I asked.

“The one and only.” He gave me a charming smile. “Come, let’s continue this conversation up in my living room. I’m sure those long legs of yours are tired from all the searching you’ve been doing.”

Maybe that would've made another woman swoon at the compliment, but it just made my skin crawl. “My partner’s outside. If you don’t mind waiting a minute, I’ll go get her.”

“Time is important, and I don’t have much to spare. Either come now, or we can have this conversation when I’m next available.”

I knew he was trying to manipulate me. I also knew that going alone to the unknown apartment of a confirmed criminal who was possibly violent wasn't the intelligent thing to do. But I needed answers, and Uaine had them. I couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

“If that's the case.” I gave him a polite smile. “Lead the way.”

I could already read the superiority and condescension, the sense of entitlement that he carried with him. It didn't matter how much he knew about me, or where he'd gotten his information. I had him at a disadvantage. People who assumed they were better, smarter, than those around them eventually made the mistake of underestimating the people pursuing them. In fact, bloated egos seemed to be the number one downfall among most criminals.

The polished elevator doors shut in front of us, a physical reminder that I needed to cut the introspection and pay attention to the man whose home I was about to waltz into. Or, at least, one of his homes. It wasn’t like we had evidence to put this guy away. The word of a convict with a bargain on the table wasn’t exactly a smoking gun. Even the best witness needed corroboration.

But men like him, they didn't stop. No way were Bron or Arielle the last kids he'd taken advantage of. I just needed him to make one mistake. One mistake and I'd have a foot in the door.

The elevator stopped, and we stepped out into a small hallway. There were only two doors, one down and on the same side as the elevator, and the other on the left. Two apartments. Two apartments took up the
entire
floor of a fairly massive building. The other places Benita and I had seen had been nice, but this was beyond that.

He swiped a key card and then punched in a code on the keypad. I was a bit surprised that he didn't have some sort of biometric scanner or other techy security things. Then again, I didn't see many people being able to get past Chelsea.

“After you,” he said with a sweeping gesture.

“Thanks,” I replied automatically, although my eyes were already scanning the room for traps or an ambush.

I figured he wouldn’t attempt to hurt me, especially since my partner was right below us, but I didn’t trust the man. Like Arielle said, something about him was...predatory. He might con some people, but he wasn't going to con me.

“So, what brings you to my humble abode, Officer…?”

“Melendez. Agent Melendez, actually,” I supplied. “And the false humility is unnecessary. Both you and I know that nothing about this place is humble.”

He smiled, a toothy, suave expression that I was sure was used to getting him whatever he wanted. No doubt he was used to charming pretty much everyone he came in contact with. Well, he was about to be disappointed.

“You have a point,
Agent
Melendez,” he said. “But 'welcome to my opulent penthouse' sounds much less agreeable, don't you think?” He gestured to one of the white leather couches that probably cost more than I made in three months. “Please, have a seat.”

It was a command more than a request, but I still acquiesced. Let him think he had me cowed, that I'd fallen for his act. It would just make it that much easier for me to get what I needed from him.

“You're an art trader, right?” I crossed one leg over the other, gratified to see his eyes dropping to watch before moving back up to my face.

“I see my reputation precedes me.” He took a seat across from me.

“I do my homework,” I said easily. I wanted answers, but I knew I couldn't be impatient. This sort of thing needed finesse.

“I see.” He folded his hands over his knee.

His nails were short, manicured. This was a man who'd never done any sort of manual labor in his life. It made sense that he'd have others who'd do most of his work for him.

“Pray tell, how did my work history happen to fall into your purview?”

“I’m working a case, y–”

“Yes, I figured as much,” he cut me off.

I raised my eyebrow but didn’t bother to point out the interruption. Instead, I continued on as if he hadn’t spoken. “There was a robbery at the city’s art museum last week. We believe someone conned their way onto the staff to find any holes in their security setup, then exploited them to make off with a few priceless paintings.”

“Sounds like something out of a movie.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. “And this brought you to me?”

“Not directly,” I said. “Your name came up when we were investigating one of our suspects.”

“Oh?” He sounded surprised, but almost pleasantly so. Apparently, the idea of being connected to a criminal wasn't something that was going to provoke a response from him.

I kept my expression neutral as well. “Does the name Bron Du Murier mean anything to you?”

I had to give the man credit, he played it off perfectly. Head tilted, thoughtful expression. Just the right amount of pause before he answered, “Hmm, no, can’t say that I have. But I’m very active in the art scene, so my name in connection to a museum isn't that unexpected. Plus, I do charity work as well, so I meet a great deal of people. I’m terrible with names. I assume there's some sort of physical connection between this person you mentioned and myself, but I don't pretend to know what that might be.”

“Perhaps,” I said noncommittally. “Also, could be a false association due to the whole French thing.”

He chuckled slightly. “The French thing. I’ve never heard it described as such. Do you believe that all those with a French name must know each other? What nationality should I assume you know all of, Agent Melendez?”