ever read any of Montgomery Alexander’s books?”
Devin shook his head. “Never.”
“Well, I have. Every one. They’re all about this dude who’s your average, everyday super-spy named Joshua Malloy. A real slick number. All the books are pretty much the same. Old Joshua’s hired by some government to fight terrorists, assassinate the enemy, that kinda thing.”
He popped a karate chop toward Devin. “Fire fights, supersonic jets, nuclear bombs. Sex. You name it, these books got it.” Jerry grinned. “They ain’t literature, but they’re a damn wild ride.”
Blond curls, petite features and delicate hands flashed through Devin’s mind. “And that wisp of a woman writes these things?”
“Who’da thunk it, huh? For years people been wonderin’. ‘Who is Montgomery Alexander?’ they ask. Navy SEAL? Former CIA? Lot of folks say he’s a retired spy carryin’ a grudge. Got tired of his life being top secret and decided to call it fiction.”
“So you’re saying nobody knows what we just overheard?”
“You kiddin’?” Jerry lowered his voice. “This is major scoop material. I’ll tell you something else. Nobody, I mean nobody, woulda guessed Alexander was the homecoming queen.”
Devin looked down the bustling street, but her cab was well out of sight. His first impression had been right. She was one hell of a woman. And she’d taken a taxi right out of his life.
Idiot. He should have raced through the bar, fallen at her feet, shouted bad poetry over the loudspeaker. Something, anything, to have kept her close to him.
“Well,” Jerry prodded. “What do you think?”
“About what?”
“Come on, Dev.” He gripped Devin’s shoulders and groaned with exaggerated melodrama. “The perfect scam just walked into our little corner of the world.”
Devin jerked away. “I run a pub. That’s not my world. And when I hired you, you promised me it wasn’t yours anymore.”
“I’m clean, man. I been straight over a year, ever since you hired me. But you need that money, and opportunity just strolled by. You can’t tell me you didn’t think of it. You’re a chip off the old block, eh? And your pop was among the best.”
“I’ll get the money, Jerry,” Devin insisted.
“What? In two weeks? How? This place is mortgaged to the hilt, buddy boy, and I know you don’t got any spare cash tucked in a drawer somewhere. What’re you gonna do? Call Derek?”
Devin grimaced. His older brother had been more than happy to follow in their father’s footsteps. On the night Devin moved out, Derek had told him in no uncertain terms that he was a loser, would never make it in the legitimate business world, and would come crawling back with his tail between his legs. Every cruel word was a prophecy Devin had no intention of fulfilling.
“I’ll get it. Without Derek and without pulling a con.”
Jerry held up his hands in surrender. “See, this is what I been talkin’ about.” He gestured to Devin and then back to himself. “You and me, we ain’t communicatin’. I’m not talkin’ ’bout conning nobody. The thought never even entered my mind.”
“Sure, Jerry.”
“Honest. A simple business deal. You do something for diamond-lady, she does something for you.”
Twenty grand weighed on Devin’s shoulders. If Jerry really did have an idea, didn’t he owe it to himself to listen? And if Jerry’s idea wasn’t legitimate, he could just walk away.
Fighting against his better judgment, Devin looked into Jerry’s eyes. “You’ve got five minutes.”
JERRY LET OUT a low whistle. “Man, you are gonna knock ’em dead. If this were a movie you’d be a shoo-in for an Oscar.” He was sprawled in the middle of Devin’s tattered but comfortable couch, the major piece of furniture in the tiny, rent-controlled apartment. Piles of paperback novels teetered on either side of him. Index cards and empty cans of soda littered the glass-topped coffee table, replacing Devin’s financial magazines that were now scattered across the floor.
Devin chuckled. “Yeah, well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But I’m not interested in anything beyond the girl. She’s where my head is tonight.”
“The girl’s money, you mean,” Jerry said, slapping a sticky note inside one of the books.
“Of course,” Devin lied. First rule of the con—always keep your eye on the ball—and he’d already blown it.
His head knew the money was the only reason he’d finally agreed to this little scam. Unfortunately, his heart and certain other parts of his body were preoccupied with the thought of seeing Paris again. Of getting close to her. Talking to her.
Touching her.
His head was planning a scam, and his heart was planning a seduction.
Wonderful. His first con in over ten years and he couldn’t even focus. The woman had really thrown him for a loop.
But for the most part, he wasn’t worried. Jerry’s instinct was right. As a teenager, Devin had worked the streets enough with his dad to know he had a knack for playing whatever role needed to be played. Once he got the old rhythm back, Devin could practically sleepwalk through a con and pull it off.
That thought fostered another. Why not combine some not so pleasant business with some very pleasant pleasure? As long as when all was said and done he had twenty grand in his pocket, he might as well make the most of it. And other than paying off his dad’s debt, about the only good thing that could come out of the whole mess was the chance to spend a little time with Paris.
He moved to the apartment’s one bedroom and studied his reflection in the full-length mirror. He’d never really thought of himself as the suave, sophisticated baccarat type. More the jeans, T-shirt and poker type, actually. But he had to admit he looked the part. All it took was a close shave, some hair dye, and a double-dose of attitude and he was in like Flynn.
How easy it was to fall back into old habits. Bad habits.
His stomach churned and he pinched the bridge of his nose. Dammit. What the hell was he thinking?
He ripped off the suit jacket and threw it on his bed, then stormed out of the bedroom, determined to rectify this mistake before it went any further.
“Forget it, Jerry. I’ve changed my mind. I’m not conning her.” No matter how much he needed the money, he wasn’t going to scam Paris. He’d walked away from that life the day he turned eighteen. And not even the prospect of seeing her again could entice him back into that role.
Jerry closed a paperback crammed full of yellow sticky notes and stood up. “You’ll be doin’ her a favor, buddy boy. You heard the lady. She needs an Alexander.”
He tossed the book to Devin. “And here you are, a walkin’, talkin’, breathin’ solution to her little problem.”
Devin studied
