Evie Ever After. Beth Ciotta

kidding.”

      I hugged my knees to my chest. “That’s what I mean. He had a skewed sense of right and wrong right out of the womb. He views his father’s choice as practical because, according to Arch, emotional attachments compromise a grifter’s judgment.” The conversation played through my head word for word. It had been a rare moment. Arch was a closed book, yet one night on the cruise ship, when I’d been obsessing on my own troubles, he’d revealed a page of his life and I’d been stunned.

      I was still stunned.

      “Doesn’t that worry you?” Nic asked.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Evie. Come on. Arch is condoning the behavior of a grifter who ditched his family for his career. How can you trust your heart to a man with iffy morals?”

      Trust, as it happened, was the key sticking point between Arch and I. As he’d pointed out in another of those rare honest conversations, it went both ways. I wasn’t the only one worried about getting my heart broken.

      “For what it’s worth,” I said, “when I asked Arch what he would’ve done were he in his father’s shoes, he responded, ‘I’m not my father’s son.’”

      “So you’re telling me that although Arch has a twisted sense of right and wrong, he does have a sense of decency. A bad boy with a good heart.”

      I smiled. “Exactly. I know you’ll find this hard to believe but he’s actually quite vulnerable.”

      Nic snorted.

      I wasn’t offended because I knew it was a tough pill to swallow. The man was six feet of hard muscle. He smoked Marlboros, had a tattoo and cussed a blue streak. Not to mention he socialized and tangled with bad sorts. Vulnerable didn’t fit the picture but that’s because people only saw what he wanted them to see.

      I flashed on a memory and cringed. “Oh, crap.”

      “What?”

      “I just remembered, Arch told me about his family in confidence.” He’d given me permission to talk about Chameleon, not his personal life.

      “Why does it have to be secret?”

      “Because he said the more people know about him, the more vulnerable he becomes.” I thunked my forehead. “I can’t believe I betrayed him.” Again.

      “Calm down.” Nic leaned over and squeezed my knee. A sweet gesture from a non-touchy-feely person. “I think your man is being paranoid, but we’ve all got our quirks. I won’t repeat what you told me about his family. Not even to Jayne.”

      I massaged my pounding temples. “I hate keeping things from her, but I did promise Arch.”

      “I understand.”

      “I just wanted to give you some insight. I know you don’t like him—”

      “I like Arch, Evie. He’s a likable guy. I just don’t trust him.”

      That made two of us.

      “Maybe I’ll feel differently when I get to know him better.”

      Ditto.

      “Moving on. So, do we break it to Jayne that you’re working with a team of fraud investigators before or after we save her from Madame Helene’s evil clutches?”

      “Tough call. I’d like to get Arch’s take, if that’s okay. He understands the psychological aspects of the mark and the con artist. I don’t want to make the wrong decision only to have Jayne turn on us instead of Madame Manipulator.”

      “Makes sense. Can you talk to him about it ASAP? I really want to get on this.”

      “I’ll have an answer today.”

      “Good. Great.”

      There was a pregnant pause while we both regrouped. I didn’t know what was on her mind, but I’d yet to share what I’d wanted to reveal in the first place. “Back to Arch and Beckett’s profession.”

      Nic shifted and caught my gaze. “Ah, yes. Big-time hush-hush.”

      “Brace yourself.”

      “Spit it out.”

      “Chameleon isn’t a freelance investigative agency,” I blurted. “It’s a covert branch of a government agency. You know, like the FBI.”

      “You’re working for the freaking FBI?”

      “No, the AIA.”

      “Never heard of it.”

      “Artful Intelligence Agency.”

      “Still never heard of it.”

      “Me, neither. But they exist. Don’t ask me what they do, but Chameleon falls under their umbrella.”

      If I were Nic I’d be pacing the floor just now, venting and spewing rapid-fire questions. She just sat there, assessing. “You’re telling me Slick is a G-man?”

      Slick was her moniker for Beckett. One he didn’t care for because she usually said it with sarcasm. I had no sympathy because he called me Twinkie. “Yes,” I said. “Beckett’s a federal agent.”

      “What about Arch?”

      “Nope. Beckett’s the only official member of the AIA. He answers to the director, a hardnose named Vincent Crowe, and everyone on the team answers to Beckett. Well, except Arch. They’re partners. Sort of.”

      “Complicated relationship. I got that. Complicated further by you.”

      I smirked. “Thanks for reminding me.”

      “This is an awful lot to take in, Evie.”

      “I know.”

      “It’s bigger than I first thought. More dangerous. And it plays right into Jayne’s fears about a friend getting burned.”

      “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you and Jayne.”

      She quirked a lopsided smile. “Yes, well, you’re here now and we’re going to help our friend.”

      I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and my throat got thick as I thought about another friend in potential need.

      “Any other bombs you wanna drop?” Nic asked.

      “No.”

      “Anything you want to talk about?”

      I swallowed and met her gaze. “I’m worried about Beckett.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      Philadelphia International Airport

      “I’M ON THE GROUND.”

      “How’d it go, mate?”

      “Mission accomplished.” Milo Beckett navigated the crowded terminal, fighting exhaustion and self-disgust. He’d manipulated and intimidated con artists before, but he’d never lost his composure. Then again, Turner wasn’t a professional grifter. He was a former pro athlete with an arrogant streak and, as it turned out, an explosive temper. A dirtbag who cheated at sports, cheated the IRS and cheated at cards. Still, making him disappear for the sake of a politician’s career left a bad taste in Milo’s mouth. He’d spent several hours trying to put the ugly episode out of his head. Finally, he’d resorted to rationalizing. I sold my soul to the devil for the greater good.

      Evie Parish, a virtuous soul who kept him connected to innocence and the pursuit of dreams, would view that rationalization as copping out or selling out. She’d certainly disapprove of the tactics he’d employed to accomplish the senator’s goal. He hated that he cared. He wished he could stop thinking about that pleasurable but ill-timed kiss. He’d sent her away in order