Everybody Loves Evie (28 page)

Nicole stirred. “She'll sleep better if something's settled tonight.”

“In that case,” Milo said, “would you mind asking your friend to come downstairs?”

She set aside her drink, muttered under her breath.

He cocked his head. “I've been called worse.”

“Wait,” Arch said. “I'll go up and explain the situation, lay
oot
the alternatives.”

Milo summed up a lecture in one sentence. “Let her decide.”

Arch saluted, then rose. He may as well have given him the finger.

Milo watched as he climbed the stairs. In all the times they'd argued they'd never thrown punches, but something told him that day was near.

“What do you want to bet we don't learn the outcome until tomorrow morning?” Nicole noted, picking up the liquor bottle and topping off both glasses.

Milo didn't answer. He was too busy warding off images of Arch seducing Evie into submission. If the Scot had his way, they'd take down Gish without her.

“Don't know about you, but I couldn't sleep now if I tried,” Nicole plowed on. “What are the alternatives? Glad you asked. You could let me read that file and fill me in on Evie's choices.”

“Or?”

“I could fill you in on what's transpired in this movie so far and we could watch the rest while polishing off this bottle.”

Milo shut down the laptop, snatched up his drink in one hand, the TV remote in the other, and hiked the volume. “So what's Bette Davis's problem?”

I
VENTED IN MY DIARY
until my fingers cramped. My heart and mind were still jammed. I took a hot shower, hoping to ease my tense muscles and rinse away the icky feeling of betraying the man I love. Which is sort of what I did when I asked Beckett to solve my problem instead of Arch. At least I'm sure that's how he viewed it. In all honesty, I couldn't blame him for being bent. Especially after he'd admitted his desire to be my champion. A man's ego, I'd decided, was as fragile as, if not more than, a woman's.

The more I obsessed on the day, the more my stomach hurt. I regretted not driving over as I'd first intended and handling Randolph Gish in my own way. I'd second-guessed my abilities. If I didn't believe in me, why should anyone else?

I glanced at the clock—11:00 p.m. Even though I'd been in bed for half an hour, even though my mind and body were drained, I was still wide-awake. I actually welcomed the knock on the door. “Come in,” I said, switching on the nightstand lamp.

The door opened and closed and suddenly Arch was standing next to my bed. He'd changed into gray sweatpants and a loose-fitting black tee. Nothing sexy about the ensemble, yet he took my breath away.

“I expected Nic,” I said, cursing the hitch in my voice.

“I need to speak with you, lass.”

My mouth went dry and my stomach flipped. “Are you breaking up with me?” Hello. What was I, sixteen?

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

“Good. Scoot over.”

He climbed into bed, on top of the covers, and crossed his legs at the ankles. Repositioning a pillow, he relaxed against the headboard and pulled me into his arms. “You smell good, yeah? Like soap.”

“I took a shower.”

“Sorry I missed it.”

Zing. Zap.
No matter our conflicts, the physical attraction sparked like white lightning. I ignored the tingling between my thighs, braced myself for our talk. “What's on your mind?”

“Randolph Gish.”

Not Beckett. My heart settled in my chest as I rested my cheek on his shoulder. “What about him?”

“Woody sent over a report. A criminal-arrest report.”

“So he
is
a con artist.” I tried to sit up, but he pressed my head back to his shoulder.

“Just listen. Gish isn't in the league of the grifters Chameleon normally cracks. Still, he easily falls into your rat-bastard-rat category. Though he's been arrested on various short cons, he specializes in Sweetheart scams. Nurturing relationships through Internet dating services and business ventures.”

“Like his dance lessons.”

“Aye.”

Pain zinged up the side of my face. I relaxed and massaged my jaw, skin sizzling when Arch took over the task. Gentle yet strong, his touch worked miracles. “If he's been arrested, why isn't he in jail?” I asked.

“Several arrests,” he said, “but no convictions. Gish is sloppy, but he keeps slipping through the justice system for dozens of reasons. Not important now. What
is
important is that there's an
oot
standing warrant, a victim willing to testify and enough evidence to put him away for a good bit.”

“What did he do?”

“Short story—he embezzled the savings of a seventy-year-old widow by taking and cashing blank checks over a one-year period.”

“How much?”

“Fifty-two thousand.”

My head and heart throbbed. “I suppose he pretended to love her, earned her confidence.”

“That's the way of it, yeah?”

“Where is she now?”

He didn't say anything, and this time I did push away so I could look into his eyes. “Where is she, Arch?”

“She's a ward of the state. No family. No funds.”

My blood pumped. “Rat bastard.”

“Aye.”

“We have to turn him in right away.”

“That's one choice.”

I wiggled around to face him and perched on my knees. “What do you mean
choice?
He has to pay for what he did to that poor woman. We have to inform Sheriff Jaffe or call whatever police department or agency that issued the warrant.”

“Blow the whistle now, make a scene, and your ma will know she was bilked.”

“Her money's history anyway, right? Spent or stashed in an overseas bank account. Along with any other booty he might've scored while in town.” That's why I'd approached Christopher about replacing the funds ourselves.

“He's not stashing his score in a cookie jar, I can tell you that.”

“And the fact that he's still here signals he intends to soak Mom for more. Shooting for another fifty grand, maybe?” I curled my fingers into fists. “I could wring that thief's neck!”

Arch angled his head. “Remember, lass—he
didnae
steal your ma's money. This was a crime of persuasion.”

“That's why those crimes are hard to convict.”

“One of the reasons, aye.”

“I don't care about the money. I talked to Christopher and we're going to cover the loss. It's only six thousand,” I said, although that was a lot of money to me. “It could be worse.” Like
fifty-six
thousand. “At least Mom has Dad and Christopher and me. She's not destitute. She's not alone.” My heart broke for that fleeced widow.

Arch interlaced his fingers with mine. “You're a good soul, Evie Parish.”

I'd given my friends the runaround, entangled my family in a web of lies, run to Beckett instead of Arch…My cheeks flushed. “Not so good.”

“Matter of perspective,” he said, studying me at length. “Remember when I said there are all kinds of lies?”

I moistened my lips. “Yes.”

“There's more at stake here than your ma's money. There's her pride. Remember how you felt when you were scammed in the islands?”

Like it was yesterday. “Stupid. Humiliated. Violated. Angry.”

“Multiply the intensity of those feelings by ten, Sunshine. That was a street hustle. A hit-and-run. Gish has been working your ma for weeks.”

“She thinks they're friends.” I felt ill. “Good friends.”

“We could finesse this so your ma never knows that Gish took her for a ride, yeah? Lead her to believe the project went belly-up. Like playing the market, she risked and lost her investment. Advise Gish to claim he's moving on to be with his lover. The money's gone, but her pride is intact.”

Essentially what Beckett and I had discussed earlier this evening. Only I'd planned to insert the cash, supplied by Christopher and me, in an envelope along with a letter from Gish. A letter Beckett would type and coerce the rat bastard into signing.
An explanation and apology for the cancellation of the building project.

Again I felt a pang of guilt. Either Beckett had shared the details of our talk after all or he and Arch thought an awful lot alike.
Taught him everything I know.
I decided on the latter because it made me feel better. “You're suggesting we lie to save Mom's feelings.”

“I'm suggesting it as a choice.”

“By
moving on
to be with his lover, I assume you really mean Beckett would turn Gish in to the appropriate authorities.”

“Bang-on.”

“If Gish's case makes the news, there's a chance Mom will find out anyway.”

“He's wanted on the West Coast, and though what he did is despicable, it's not big news, love. Not to mention he played that game under another assumed name. Randolph Gish is just one of many.
Dinnae
see how she'd make the connection.”

I chewed my thumbnail, considered Arch's scenario. “Handling Gish and my mom's situation as you mentioned would take time. By finessing, you mean manipulating Gish, some sort of turnaround confidence. Meanwhile that widow has no satisfaction, no closure. And who's to say the slick menace won't take off on a whim. He is on the run, after all. Greenville's just a stopover, a small town where he can lie low, pull a short con or two. And, call me cynical, but who's to say my mom won't fall prey to a future scam. A telescammer? An inheritance swindle?”

Arch noted the fraud and swindle books stacked on the night table. He scratched his forehead and frowned. “
Dinnae
know
aboot
you and this research, Sunshine.”

“You're the one who said I needed to open my eyes to the real world.”

“Aye. What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking you wanted to protect me because you…care. You didn't want me to get suckered and hurt in the future. You opened my eyes, and I learned and I won't make the same mistake twice because now I'm educated. Mom is all about education. Part of me thinks I should show her the courtesy you showed me.”

His lips curved into a small smile. “Like I said—a good soul.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. Lately I'd been thinking good girls finish last. Now I wasn't so sure. “What's my other choice?” I asked, trying not to think about the way he made my body sing with that sexy mouth.

“Beckett makes use of that badge straightaway tomorrow and Gish is gone. No fuss. No reasons. Just gone. Your ma is a smart woman. If you
dinnae
tell her she was fleeced, she'll figure it
oot
on her own. How she'll handle it, I
cannae
say.”

My head spun. “Let me get this straight. Either way, Beckett's going to turn Gish over to the authorities. What I need to decide is, do I want my mom to know she was fleeced or do I want to shelter her from the ugly truth?”

“Also, do you want her to eat the loss or spin it so that she gets
her
money back?”

Realist and dreamer warred within. “Part of me wants to come clean with Mom.
You were duped and here's how I know.
A wake-up call to the real world, my new world.
I know you're humiliated—been there—but now you'll be sensitive to other scams.
Except she's lived most of her life in the real world, a grounded woman with narrow views. Finally, after all these years, she's thrown caution to the wind, indulged in something artistic, indulged in herself, took a chance on the unknown, invested in a dream.”

I dragged my hands through my damp hair, wanting to rip it out by the darkening roots. “This Sweetheart scam could turn her off to ever going out on a limb again. What if she reverts to her old self—closed, wary? Not sure how Dad would feel about that. And how would their marriage fare? How would
she
fare? She's happier now than I have ever seen her, Arch. She's moved on.” Instead of pacing, I hugged my knees to my chest and rocked. “I don't want Mom to go back. I want her to escape this mess with her pride
and
her money. I want to deliver Gish's head on a plate to that poor widow.”

Humor and admiration sparked in his gaze. “You want it all.”

“Call me a dreamer.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a crusader.”

I scrunched my brow. “Really?”

“A quality that seduces and frustrates me simultaneously.”

That coaxed a smile out of me.

He reached out and took my hands, stroked his thumbs over my knuckles. “So instead of a white lie or a lie by omission, we move up to a whopper, yeah?”

“Meaning?”

“You get it all, but not with
oot
sacrifice.”

“Define
sacrifice.
”

“Keeping your family in the dark
aboot
Chameleon. Continuing status quo at least until we've handled things for Senator Clark.”

“Secrets and lies.”

“Smoke and mirrors.”

“For the greater good.”

He kissed my palm, infusing me with passion and purpose.

The connection. The bond. So implausible. So real.

“Does Beckett know about Woody's report?” I asked.

“He's the one who filled me in.”

“What does he think we should do about Gish?”

“He said it's your call.”

A muscle jumped under his eye, and I realized that once again it seemed like I was deferring to Beckett's judgment instead of trusting Arch's experience. A Freudian slip that I scrambled to cover. “What do you think?”

“It's your call.”

My heart pounded with resolve. “I want it all.”

“You're sure?”

“Positive.” The tension in my body eased and I knew, heart and soul, it was the right thing to do. The dreamer in me made way for the crusader, a champion of noble causes, a person of action. A warrior and peacemaker rolled into one. Chief Little Turtle, with a spin. “So what's the plan?”