LITMIR.BIZ

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can’t cheat an honest man, and I never conned anyone who couldn’t afford the loss.”

      He didn’t sound or look angry, but my internal radar blipped. I’m pretty sure I’d just insulted him. There was always a calm before Arch’s storm. “The difference between a scam artist and a scum artist, huh?”

      “Aye.”

      Night and day to him. Bad versus evil to me. He was right. I’d never cut it as an honest-to-gosh grifter. Guilt would eat me alive or land me in jail. But those same morals, coupled with my artistic nature, told me I was a born Chameleon. They conned cons. Entrapped sociopaths through elaborate and sometimes not-so-elaborate schemes. Smoke and mirrors. Deceiving for the greater good. I wouldn’t feel guilty about duping scum artists. I’d feel like a superhero.

      “After a devastating divorce and a year of celibacy, I’ve rediscovered passion, thanks to you. Now I need purpose. A new goal—because I’m not going to invest in plastic surgery, BOTOX injections and a lifetime supply of diet pills just so I can perform in the casinos.”

      “Glad to hear it.”

      “I’m a decent singer and dancer and a damn good actress.”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Those acting skills, along with my excellent memory and a talent for sleight of hand make me perfect for Chameleon. I can tap dance with the best of them. All I need is to learn the steps. You’ve been teaching me the basics. You’ve seen me in action. You know I can do this.”

      Looking up at the darkening sky, he dragged both hands over his head and laughed low. “Bloody hell.”

      “What?”

      “All this week I thought I was educating you so that you wouldnae fall prey to another scam.”

      This wasn’t news to me. While sightseeing on St. Thomas, I’d fallen for a street hustle. As a result, Arch had designated himself my mentor. In a world where a sucker is born every minute, he’d declared me a grifter’s dream. Gullible and trusting. Easily persuaded and deceived. If I learned how the grifts work, I’d spot them coming a mile away.

      “In truth, I gave you a crash course so that you could impress Beckett when you reported for your first day.” He angled and regarded me with an amused expression. “You snowed me, Sunshine.”

      “You think I manipulated you?”

      “Didn’t you?”

      My stomach clenched.

      “When did Beckett hire you?”

      “The day I woke up in the hospital.”

      “Ten days ago. Yet I’m just hearing aboot it.”

      I wet my lips, scratched my neck. “I tried to tell you at the airport, before we all flew out of La Romana. You cut me off and …” I blew out a breath. “I was going to tell you first thing when you picked me up at Heathrow, but you distracted me and …”

      “Yeah?”

      “Well, the days just sort of whizzed by and the right moment never …”

      “Uh-huh. You didnae tell me Beckett hired you because you were afraid I wouldnae approve. You worried I’d stop teaching you the basics, yeah?”

      “No.”

      He stilled my nervous scratching.

      “Maybe.” My brain acknowledged the ugly truth. “Oh, God, Arch. I used you.”

      “Dinnae look so stricken, love. I’m impressed.”

      “I manipulated you.”

      “I didnae feel a thing. Either I’m slipping or you’re gifted. A bit of both, I imagine.” He clasped my hand and skimmed his thumb over my knuckles. “Beckett has a brilliant eye for talent. He’s also obsessed with his work. If he hired you, it’s because he believes you’re a valuable asset to the team.”

      My heart pounded. I wasn’t sure if it was because of Arch’s touch or Beckett’s belief. Probably both. “What do you think?”

      His mouth quirked. “I think you’ve changed.”

      I took that as a compliment. Three weeks ago, my self-esteem had been at an all time low, but instead of sticking my head in the sand, I’d taken a walk on the wild side. For the first time in years I felt genuinely motivated and happy. Well, except for now. Just now I felt ill. “I hope you don’t think I slept with you just to learn your secrets.”

      “You slept with me because you wanted me, yeah?”

      I rolled my eyes, but it was true. “Please don’t make me say it out loud. Your ego is scary big enough.”

      He smiled, that ornery smile that made the back of my knees sweat. Great. “You once said that mixing business with pleasure is messy.”

      “Aye.”

      “Beckett said the same thing.”

      “He would.” The grin broadened. “So you’re breaking off with me, yeah?”

      “We’d have to be in a relationship to break up. You don’t do relationships, remember?”

      “That bang-on memory of yours is going to bite me in the arse one day.”

      I forced a smile of my own. “Maybe it’ll save your ass.”

      He laughed. “Maybe.”

      I marveled at my sudden calm. Another talent of Arch’s: obliterating my frustrations. “So you’re okay with me working for Chameleon?”

      “Not my call, Sunshine.”

      I frowned. “You’re not okay with it.”

      “I’m okay with you.”

      The man talked in circles, but I was used to it. So had my ex. “What about the not-having-sex part?”

      “Are you sure you’re not breaking off with me? That sounded a wee bit like the ‘can we still be friends’ speech, yeah?” He squeezed my hand and smiled. “We don’t have to shag to get on.”

      I scrunched my brow. “The least you could do is sound disappointed.”

      “Didnae say I wouldnae miss it.” He kissed me then. Slow. Deep.

      Heat spiraled through my system. I dug to the center of my soul not to feel anything other than lust. Lust I could manage. Anything deeper was dangerous. Loving a man like Arch was insane. First, he was too young for me. Second, what if he’d plotted to kill Simon the Fish from the get-go? Third, he’d once told me I couldn’t believe anything he said. One way or another, the man would mangle my heart.

      He eased away, and my heart thump-thumped at the teasing sparkle in his eye. “So how do you want to spend your last night in London, friend?”

      Sweaty-kneed, I gave him a come-hither grin. “I haven’t officially started with Chameleon.”

      He nipped my earlobe. “I’ll race you back to the flat. First one to get naked gets to be on top.”

      CHAPTER THREE

       Atlantic City, New Jersey

       SHE LOOKED LIKE MEG Ryan, only shorter and softer. Blue eyes, full lips and pair of killer legs. She ran toward him singing a Joni Mitchell classic. “Help me! I think I’m falling …”

      Her voice jumped an octave, a feminine squeal, as she tripped and plowed into his open arms. They landed on the beach, rolled around in the sand and surf. “From Here to Eternity,” she said in her little-girl voice. She was obsessed with Hollywood. A real fruitcake. Twinkie, he called her, because she was so damn sweet. He shouldn’t do sweet, but he

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