Everybody Loves Evie. Beth Ciotta

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      He lit a cigarette—amazing how he made a nasty habit look sexy—and walked beside me in silence as I headed toward Leicester Square. Probably trying to get a bead on my mind-set. Welcome to the club.

      Though it was early spring, there was a blustery nip in the air. At least it wasn’t raining. Although it was damp and gray. All I needed to augment my dismal mood was a blanket of London’s famous fog. Hands stuffed in my coat pockets, I breezed past the discount ticket booth and cut through the heart of the theater district. I saw the play and movie marquees, heard music from a nearby dance club. I imagined countless singers, musicians, actors and dancers warming up for a night’s performance. My old life. My stomach spasmed just thinking about my washed-up career. “I have to move on.”

      “You need to slow down and talk plainly, yeah?” He nabbed my elbow and pulled me onto a park bench.

      I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. “This isn’t going to work.”

      “What?”

      “Us.”

      He blew out a stream of smoke. “Because I’m a few years younger than you?”

      “Six years younger. And, no, that’s not the reason, though it doesn’t help.”

      “Because I lied aboot my age?”

      “No.”

      “Then what?”

      “I could name a million reasons.”

      He crushed out the cigarette. “Name one.”

      “Milo Beckett hired me.”

      No reaction.

      “I’m going to work full-time for Chameleon.”

      He looked at me, expressionless.

      He was good at that, not telegraphing his thoughts and emotions. Still … “I know what you’re thinking.”

      “Yeah?”

      “You think I’m not cut out for it. That I’m too nice.”

      “There is that.”

      “I’m capable of fighting my nature. I’m capable of change. I have changed.”

      “You’d never survive in my world, Evie. You feel too deeply.”

      “What world are we talking about, Ace? Your old world or your new world?”

      “One and the same, yeah?”

      “No. Smoke and mirrors. Confidence games. I get that similarity. What I don’t get is your inability to differentiate between conning innocent people and conning people who prey on the innocent. Your past grifts were for personal gain at someone else’s expense. Chameleon grifts are for the greater good.”

      “You 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 СКАЧАТЬ