you’ve been hired to sing at the Chameleon Club—period. She doesn’t know about the undercover work with Arch and Beckett.”
And Nic didn’t know Arch and Beckett worked undercover for the government. Yet.
“Jayne’s convinced your fate is at risk,” Nic continued. “Karmic payback for something she screwed up in a past life.”
“That sounds like Madame Helene talking.” Jayne’s crystal gazing, star-reading psychic. Nic and I had tagged along once and had both decided she was full of hooey. She was also a name-dropper, a favored psychic of B-headliner celebrities, and local hotshot execs—or so she claimed. Call me a nonbeliever. Pegging the psychic as a fake had only hurt Jayne’s feelings and since then we’d kept our opinions of Madame Helene to ourselves. Well, at least I had.
Exasperated, Nic twisted her thick, long hair into a makeshift bun. “That manipulative phony has Jayne wrapped around her cosmic-ringed fingers. I shudder to think what kind of money our friend has shelled out in an effort to predict the future. Her bimonthly visits are now up to once a week, not including phone calls.”
My stomach turned. “I had no idea.”
“That’s because you haven’t been around much lately.” She winced. “Sorry. That was harsh.”
I forced a smile. “Harsh, but true.” I’d cruised the Caribbean then flown off to London, then, after only being home a couple of days, jetted to Indiana. Granted, I’d been working, but I’d also been having a pulse-tripping adventure and whirlwind affair. My life was on the upswing whereas Jayne’s was spiraling out of control. Chagrined, I palmed my heated cheeks. “I’ve been so self-absorbed, I didn’t realize…”
Nic waved off my apology. “Forget it. You’ve been on your own emotional roller coaster. It’s just that the past few days…I think it’s time to step in, Evie.”
“What, like an intervention?”
“Someone has to be the voice of reason and it’s not Madame Helene. We have to cure Jayne of this obsession. Sure, she’s always had a new age spirit, and we’ve always supported that because, hey, to each his own. But now it’s escalated into something scary. I’m worried about her. Financially and emotionally.”
I felt sick. How could I have been so oblivious? “Maybe Arch and Beckett can help.”
“By having them expose Madame Helene for the fraud she is?” Nic traced a finger around the cup’s plastic lid. “I thought about that. Maybe.”
Nic was a skeptic and she was hugely skeptical of the two new men in my life. She questioned their wisdom for drawing me into what she considered a dangerous profession. Also, I’m pretty sure she hadn’t swallowed the story Beckett had fed her about him and Arch being freelance fraud investigators. Even though it was sort of true. Maybe she’d trust them more when she learned they worked for the government.
“Remember when Beckett told you he and Arch were fraud investigators?”
She settled back and nodded. Even though she looked relaxed, I could tell she was braced for a jolt.
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said.
“Go on.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“Go on.”
“It’s big-time hush-hush.”
Her green eyes sparked with annoyance. “What the hell, Evie? Do you want to spit and shake? Draw blood?”
“All right. All right.” I took a deep breath then spewed. “Beckett wasn’t lying when he said he’s an ex-cop. He used to work in bunko. That’s a unit that—”
“Investigates scams. I know.”
“Right. Anyway, he saw too many grifters slipping through the system. According to Arch, con artists are hard to prosecute because technically there was no crime. They don’t steal people’s money. They persuade the mark to give it over—a willing participant as opposed to a victim.”
Nic smirked. “Convenient reasoning, given his past.”
I bristled in his defense. “Arch only targeted the rich and greedy. He never conned anyone who couldn’t afford the loss.”
“And that makes it right? You must really love this guy if you’re trying to rationalize criminal behavior. You’re the straightest arrow I know, Evie.” She frowned. “At least you used to be.”
I felt like I’d fallen from grace in her eyes and it didn’t feel good. “Of course it doesn’t make it right,” I snapped. “But it does separate a scam artist from a scum artist. Scum artists prey on the vulnerable, the needy. They don’t think twice about wiping out the savings of an elderly person or a lonely widow or…well, Arch would never do that. I mean he never did that. Past tense. Arch is reformed.”
“So he says.” Her frown deepened and I realized I’d only made matters worse.
The old me wanted to change the subject, to avoid confrontation. The new me, the me who was determined to fight for what I wanted, dug in my heels.
I wanted Arch.
I wanted this job.
Dammit, I wanted a new life.
I just hoped it didn’t mean losing old friends. Or my integrity.
I chugged java and braced myself for Nic’s aggressive opinions. If I could obliterate her concerns, easing Jayne’s mind would be a cinch.
“I’m serious, Evie. How do you know Arch doesn’t pull a con here and there on the side? How do you know he isn’t scamming you?”
“I just know.” Only I didn’t. There were several aspects of Arch’s life that he was unwilling to discuss. Take the mysterious “Kate” for instance. A woman from his past. A woman who’s number was programmed into a special cell phone that he used for private stuff. Stuff he didn’t want me to know about. Although he’d sworn his relationship with the woman wasn’t romantic. All I’d gleaned was that they shared a mutual interest and it had something to do with grifting. I’d agreed not to press for details because it would mean sharing my own private stuff—thoughts, dreams, and rants I’d scribbled in my diary. In particular, I wasn’t keen on him seeing the comparison chart I’d jotted listing his and Beckett’s pros and cons. Let’s just say Arch hadn’t come out the wiser choice.
“No need to get defensive,” said Nic.
“I’m not defensive.”
She arched a brow and I ached to scratch.
“Okay. Maybe I’m a little sensitive where Arch is concerned. It’s just that he’s trying to do the right thing and that can’t be easy given his upbringing.”
“What do you mean?”
“His grandfather was an art forger. His mom was a grifter and so was his dad. Arch was the result of an on-off-on again long-term affair. His dad split for good before he was even born and, yes, he knew about the pregnancy.”
“Prick.”
“My thoughts exactly. Well, almost. I called the man cold.”
“What does Arch call him?”
“Practical.”
“You’re 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