Con Man: Complete Series Box Set: A Bad Boy Romance (20 page)

“
Y
ou know
,” Bron said when we walked up the stairs. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What same thing?” I asked, confused.

“What was today about? You obviously have some idea of what I've spent most of my life doing, so why did you take me to a museum?”

I stopped as I shrugged off my coat and put my badge on the counter. “I like art,” I said.

“Are you still working to get that confession out of me?” He stepped in front of me, his eyes dark as he looked down at me. “My little Karis.”

“I don’t need a confession,” I told him, ignoring the way his words made my stomach flip. “You’ve been pretty open with me about what you do.”

He smiled, and his voice softened even more. “I feel like I don’t have anything to hide from you.”

I took a step back, needing the space between us. “You can trust me.”

He watched me for a moment, then sat down on the couch. “So much has happened since the last time we saw each other. We’re different people.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said honestly. I'd been watching him, and I wasn't so sure that boy I'd known was gone. “We've grown up. We have shit in our past. But the core of who we were is still who we are.”

“Maybe so,” he said, then gave me a tight smile. “Not that it matters who we
are
, only what we've done, and that's as different as night and day.”

He was right, and I knew it. Every time either one of us tried to reach out, to see if we still had a connection, the truth was always there.

“This is how it’s supposed to be, I guess.” His tone sounded final, resolute. He was ready to settle for how our lives were.

“No,” I said. The word slipped out before I could stop it, but I didn't pull it back.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this, I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to know everything I'd wanted us to be. I wanted to convince him that there was still a chance to make that a reality. But, in the end, I knew he was probably right.

Bron's eyes narrowed. “No? Care to elaborate, Karis?”

“No.” I crossed my arms in what I knew was a protective gesture. “I don't know.” I stood abruptly. “I’m going to the gym.”

I couldn't stay here, couldn't finish having this conversation. I needed to get out, get away from him so I could think clearly.

“And what am I supposed to do here while you're out?” he asked.

I wasn't sure if he was curious or annoyed. Sometimes I thought I could read him as well as I ever had, but other times...nothing.

I handed him the television remote. “You can watch TV, read, order pizza, whatever you want. Just don’t leave the apartment,” I said as I walked past him to grab my gym bag from my bedroom closet.

“Is it something I said?” he asked when I came back out.

“No. I just need some fresh air.” Fresh air and time. Both away from him.

From the moment I realized he was the thief, I'd been going a hundred miles an hour. I hadn't taken the time to slow down, partially because I'd wanted to find him first, but also because I hadn't wanted to face the reality of what it would mean. If I was being completely honest, I'd been too scared.

I was still scared.

I stepped into the hallway and paused for a moment. When I heard the TV come on inside, I walked down the hallway to the stairs. The big decision ahead of me now was which gym to use. The gym in the apartment building was the closest, of course, and it was fine, but I didn't even want to be in the same building as Bron right now. Plus, I'd always concentrated better with background noise, and the private gym around the corner had plenty of that. I didn't use my membership often, but I kept it up-to-date just in case. Now, I was glad I did.

The locker room had several dressing rooms that allowed members to change into their gym clothes in private, as well as private showers, and I planned to take advantage of both, though the shower would wait until I was done. Right now, I just wanted to get into my workout clothes and try to use physical exertion to clear my brain so I could figure out how I felt, what I was going to do.

I pulled on my sports bra and my exercise pants, came out of the dressing room with my clothes folded in my arms, and put everything in my locker. I swapped out my everyday shoes for my gym ones, picked up a towel, and headed out to the floor.

On one end of the large workout room were several weightlifting machines, while on the other end were the exercise bikes, stair masters, and treadmills. I got onto a treadmill facing the window, adjusted my settings for the right pace and time, put in the ear buds from my mp3 player, and got lost. Nearly every machine was in use, and an instructor was leading a class on mats in the middle of the room. White noise, the busyness of people all around, the comforting rhythm of movement.

All exactly what I needed.

In just a few short minutes, I had gone from being that uniquely lanky girl in high school who'd grown into an FBI agent, to just being another woman in the gym trying to shave off a few pounds or inches. Except I wasn’t trying to shave off any weight or size. I was trying to get rid of the past.

I’d left Bron back at the apartment so I could get some distance. Now, a little exertion and sweat was all I needed to get my thoughts together. Coming here had definitely been the right thing to do.

I knew I was playing a very dangerous game here, letting a criminal stay at my house. A criminal who I'd once had a crush on.

I almost snorted a laugh. Who was I kidding? I still had feelings for him. Those kinds of emotions didn’t just go away because I'd hoped they would. I'd known they were still there, no matter how much I told myself that I needed time to sort it all out. I'd always known that Bron was why I'd never let myself get into a serious relationship. Partly because I'd always been terrified of losing someone I cared about again, but also because I'd known, deep down, that I'd never be able to care about anyone the way I cared about him.

At the same time, though, I knew that the wrong move could cost me my career. I’d worked too hard to get where I was to lose it over a man I no longer knew. A man I couldn't trust, no matter how desperately I wanted to.

I jogged until someone touched my arm, letting my thoughts have free range, as if that would somehow miraculously solve my problem. I pulled out my earbuds and turned off the treadmill so I could talk. I grabbed my towel and wiped my face, realizing how sweaty I’d become and how tired my legs were. I'd lost all track of time.

One of the trainers looked up at me. “You might want to take a break,” he said with a winning smile. “You’ve been at this for a while, and I’d hate to see you over do it.”

I smiled. “Thanks. I guess I just got in the zone.”

“That’s great,” he said. “I’m glad to see members with that type of dedication. Just do me a favor.”

“What’s that?” I expected him to ask me for my number or to get something to drink after his shift. Most likely some sort of juice bar or something like that. Guys like him rarely drank alcohol.

“Get some water and take a break before you get back on it.” His smile sparkled as he turned and walked away.

Now that I’d stopped, I could feel now how hard my heart was pounding, hear the blood rushing in my ears. I'd really pushed myself without even realizing I was doing it. He was right. I needed to get something to drink and cool down.

I grimaced as I stepped off the treadmill. Shower. Definitely needed one of those too.

I took my time, gave myself over to the sound of the water on my skin, on the tile. I let it take away everything else I was thinking, let my mind empty. I knew I had a lot that needed deciding, a lot of things that could go wrong, but for right now, most of the tension had left my body. I could only hope that it'd last until I got home.

O
ne of the
perks of the path I'd taken in life was not having to remain in one place longer than I wanted. I was usually able to pack it up and leave pretty much any time desire or need forced me to. Having spent too many years after my parents' deaths not having any control over where and when I went, being able to make the decision for myself was important to me.

That being said, when I found myself stuck in Karis’ tiny apartment, I didn't like it very much. Between being locked in the interrogation room for hours, spending the night with my legs sticking out over the arm of her couch, and now being stuck inside all day, I was starting to get claustrophobic, and I couldn’t even leave to get fresh air.

For one, I didn’t have the code to get back in, even if I could charm my way back in with a resident. For another, I had a tracker on my leg that would tell the big bad wolf where I was at all times. Even if her buddies assumed she was with me, she'd know she wasn't, and she'd be able to find me. I couldn't cut it off, couldn't pick the lock. I'd already tried it.

“How does she live like this?” I asked her empty apartment.

Her life was so confining. She carried that badge and gun with her everywhere. She was practically always in uniform. She lived in this tiny apartment that barely had enough room for what little furniture she had. She worked in a squat little office building and had to follow all of their little rules. She had to show up when and where they told her to. She was always on duty.

I wondered if she actually liked it that way, or if it had become her way of coping as much as criminal activity had been mine.

Our lives couldn't have been more different.

I'd grown accustomed to following an unwritten code when dealing with other people in my line of work. There were no set rules, per se. It was all just common sense, really. The goal was to score big without getting caught, and that was the only real rule there was: don’t get caught. Hell, and even getting caught didn’t mean it was game over all the time. Sometimes getting caught merely added a new obstacle. I couldn't decide if I wanted that to be the case now or not.

I didn't like the idea of thinking of Karis as an obstacle, something to overcome. Even though she'd arrested me, I didn't want her out of my life. Just the thought of it hurt.

I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t completely gone, that I hadn’t completely turned to the dark side. I’d tried at the museum when I offered my advice to the curator, letting him know how easily I could have hit the place and why. I even told him some of the things he could change to make his security better. I hoped it'd show Karis that I could change, that I could redeem myself.

But we'd barely gotten back here before she left again. It seemed like she couldn't even bear to be in the same building as me.

I would've been lying if I said I hadn’t noticed her struggling to reconcile the man I’d become with the boy I once was. But there wasn’t much I could do to prove myself while stuck in her apartment. I would have cleaned it, but there wasn’t enough room for it to get messy or dirty. Besides, merely picking up after myself was simply common courtesy. I needed to do something more. Something that she'd appreciate.

Finally, bored out of my mind, I ventured into the kitchen and started looking through her cabinets. I found some noodles and sauce, a few spices and herbs, and some fresh vegetables in a refrigerator drawer. Other than that, her fridge was mostly empty except for a few cups of yogurt and a few bottles of light beer. The freezer had a pack of frozen chicken breasts shoved in the back. I searched for some vinaigrette, but she only had the traditional spaghetti sauce.

I knew then what I could do for her, how I could show her what words would never convince her of.

I chopped up all the vegetables – celery, bell peppers, and onions – and tossed them in the sauce while I prepared the chicken with the different seasonings I’d found. Next, I took care of the noodles while the rest cooked. It wasn’t much, and it was incredibly simple, but it filled her apartment with a delicious, welcoming aroma. The smells of the different ingredients, the feeling of doing something constructive, combined to ease my sense of claustrophobia.

I opened a window to let in some fresh air and create a movement of air in the apartment so the aroma didn’t grow stagnant. I'd always enjoyed cooking fine things as much as I did eating it. Uaine had taught me that as well. At least with this learned talent, I didn't have to feel guilty when I used it.

As I was tossing the bits of seasoned and cooked chicken into the sauce, the door opened, and a moment later, she spoke.

“What is that wonderful smell?”

“A cooked meal,” I answered without turning. “I'm not surprised you don't recognize it.”

I felt her more than heard her and glanced over my shoulder.

She appeared in the entrance to the kitchen skin practically glowing, her hair wet. She'd taken a shower. For a brief, jealous moment, I wondered if she'd gone out to have sex. Some friend with benefits thing. But then I remembered something about her going to the gym, so the shower made sense.

The thought of her naked...wet...those lean muscles...long legs...gorgeous skin.

Shit.

“I cooked a little something for you,” I explained, forcing my attention back to dinner.

“I see that,” she said. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

I shrugged. “I couldn't when we were younger.”

“Was this a skill you learned on the job?” she called as she went to the bedroom, I assumed to drop off her bag.

“It was,” I admitted.

I plated the food and brought the plates out to set them on the coffee table in the living room. “Is it okay for us to eat in here?”

“Sounds good to me.” She came out of the bedroom in a t-shirt and pair of sweat pants. She'd pulled her dark curls into a mess on the top of her head, and I knew this was her comfy, lounge-around-the-house look.

She was gorgeous.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the pasta on the table.

“I don’t know if it will be any good,” I said, “but I worked with what you had to try to make something edible. I hope you like it.”

“It smells and looks amazing,” she said as she sat down next to me on her couch. She pulled her legs underneath her and grabbed her plate. She took a bite and looked at me. “This is wonderful,” she said with her mouth full, her eyes nearly rolled back in pleasure.

I figured that counted as a step in the right direction.

Now for another one. Some honesty.

“I have to tell you something,” I said after I'd eaten a few bites. “Yesterday, at the safe house, I said I saw some of Uaine's men.”

She looked at me, her expression wary.

“I'm not sure that I did. I didn't lie, exactly,” I explained. “I thought I saw some suspicious-looking people, and, honestly, I don't really trust the FBI. You're the only one I can trust.”

She took another bite, her eyes never leaving my face. After she swallowed, she spoke, “Thank you for telling me.”

I shrugged, relieved that she wasn't angry. “I want us to be able to trust each other.” I took a drink of the beer I'd brought out. “I'm sure you understand, with my past, how hard trust is for me.”

She raised an eyebrow, a shadow of some kind crossing her face. “Do you think you're the only one with trust issues?” Her voice was soft. “The only one who had a rough past?”

I stared at her. “How can you say that? You know what happened to my parents? To me after they...died.”

She set down her fork and turned to me. “Did you ever look into my past? Try to find me?”

“Of course.”

“What did you find out?”

I shrugged. “Not much. All I could get was that you'd moved out of the neighborhood, and no one knew where.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “I'll give you the short version then. Just so you can understand that while the circumstances might have been different, I had my own problems after you left.”

I wanted to tell her that I hadn't
left
her. I'd been
taken
away from her. But I could see by her expression that whatever she wanted to tell me wouldn’t be easy for her to say. I owed it to her to listen.

“We lost everything,” she said bluntly. “My dad made investments with a con man.”

My heart dropped, and I leaned back, almost feeling like I'd been physically struck. Not because it was more tragic than what happened to me, but because of how that experience must make her see me.

She held up a hand, as if sensing I wanted to speak.

“Two months later, my mother ran off with an investment banker. I haven't heard from her or seen her since.” There was a pause, then she said, “Not even when my father killed himself, and I had to move in with my aunt. The only family I had left.”

My chest tightened and I stared at her. My Karis. My poor Karis. In some ways, to lose her parents like that was even worse than what happened to me. At least I knew my parents hadn't left me willingly. Both of hers had chosen to leave.

I reached for her hand, curling my fingers around hers, hoping to convey without words just how much I wished I could've been there for her. For the first time, I realized that my life wasn’t the only one destroyed all those years ago. Hers was destroyed too.

Maybe we weren't so different after all.