The Player (The Game Maker #3)(21)

“Hey, that’s a big mark for anyone.”

The unspoken words hung in the air: But especially for you, Vice. With my six busted cons. Everyone was so focused on my recent failures, they seemed to have forgotten my years of success.

I’d had such a great start, and all the support I could ever need.

My mom loved to tell our friends: “I remember when Vice pulled her first card hustle at four.” Her voice would grow thick with emotion. “Her hands were so tiny, she could barely palm-deal. And don’t get me started on her first three-card monte.”

In a monte, the dealer would shuffle around three cards, two black and a queen of hearts, using misdirection to obscure the queen. Dealers of montes were called broad tossers because of the queen card.

Mom had home movies of me hustling tourists, lisping, “Can you keep your eyeth on the queen, thsir?”

Benji whirled back around toward the desk. “Here comes the congressman’s limo.”

The Midwestern lawmaker was a married father of four—who’d told Karin he was a childless movie producer from California, a widower since his wife had passed away in a “fiery car crash.” So Karin had told him she was a divorced, childless waitress and aspiring actress.

Benji tossed me his phone. “Check out the texts he sent right before he met up with Karin.” Benji had cloned the congressman’s phone while Karin had distracted the man.

If we’d gotten a clone of Dmitri’s phone, maybe I would have a better understanding of what was going on up in that penthouse villa.

I scanned the politician’s exchange from an hour ago as he’d played up his day of meetings and told his (strangely alive) wife, Sheila, that he was about to pass out for the night and he’d call in the morning. The woman had responded that he was working too hard and that she and the kids couldn’t love him more. Then, his cherry-on-top text: There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my family.

I wanted to vomit.

As Karin and her “date” laughingly strolled up the walk, Benji murmured into the mic, “Earpiece check. Check.”

Behind the mark’s back, she gave a thumbs-up sign.

Benji said, “Get me a sound bite about his ‘dead’ wife, luv, and I’ll buy drinks all night.”

Another secret thumbs-up.

I’d seen Karin do this dozens of times. She was so sexy and skilled, she never even had to touch a bare dick. After her customary striptease, she’d tell the mark to lie back in bed and show her how badly he wanted her. He’d sprawl and grip his junk, then she’d kneel over it. Taking her time, seeming about to slide down, she’d say smutty things while the guy gawked with utter desperation on his face.

Boo-yah. Money shot. Oftentimes, from one angle, it’d look like he was inside her.

As soon as Benji had collected enough evidence to hold up in a potential divorce, he would go bang on the door, acting like a murderous ex-husband. On cue, Karin would hurry the mark out the back door.

Damn it, I could do this—if I could ever lure a guy back here. Did I want to kiss a man I knew was a lowlife? No. But that didn’t matter. . . .

As Karin poured a round of drinks, beginning to tighten the noose, I stowed my cards and pulled out my phone, hoping I’d missed a text chime.

Nope.

My unread e-mail number blinked. I found offers from my former design school, a downloadable “hot fireman” calendar from Gram, and a seamstress forum newsletter.

I knew I’d get another message from Brett tomorrow. Initially, his fight to win me back had consisted of long, remorseful voice messages, with him swearing he wouldn’t have gone all the way with that bombshell.

Then he’d started a weekly e-mail campaign, recounting some memory from our history. He’d written every Sunday without fail for several months.

Last week’s:

On our second date, you tangled with Jack Daniels and Jack won. I held back your hair as you got sick. You told me to leave you and go back to the party. I realized I’d rather hang out with you over a toilet than be around anyone else. The next day you made me feel like a hero and gave me a helluva thank-you.

I’ll always love you, B

Regardless of his betrayal, I felt guilty that he couldn’t move on. I mean, yeah, we’d been about to join our lives together forever and all, but a year had passed. Maybe my persistent singlehood spurred his hopes.

“Whoa,” Benji said. “You sew that up for her?”

I glanced at the monitor. Karin was already on the striptease portion of tonight’s program?

She wore my newest lingerie creation, a system of red bands that resembled a merry widow. “Yep.” I’d designed it to be nearly impossible for a guy to rip off. To undo each snap would be like a puzzle for a patient man—or a tease for a honey trap.

She’d had her son, Cash, six months ago, but Karin had bounced back with a vengeance. The only lasting effect from her pregnancy: her boobs were now bigger than mine.

At the sight of her in lingerie, tension stole through Benji’s shoulders and his respiration accelerated—even though he’d never want me to note those signs. Alas, some reactions couldn’t be masked. “Don’t bother trying to hide it. Grifter here, remember?” Details were my job.

Without looking away, he said, “You’re an annoying kid sister, you know that?”