Fugitive Heart - By Bonnie Dee Page 0,67

Bander

Coming Soon:

Sibling Rivals

A life of crime is easy…until love goes all ninja on your ass.

Confidence Tricks

© 2013 Tamara Morgan

Asprey Charles has always assumed he would one day take his place in the family art appraisal and insurance firm. “His place” meaning he plans to continue to enjoy his playboy lifestyle, lavish money on his Cessna, and shirk every responsibility that dares come his way.

But when a life of crime is thrust upon him, he is just as happy to slip on a mask and cape and play a highwayman rogue. After all, life is one big game—and he excels at playing.

Poppy Donovan vows that her recent release from jail will be her last—no more crime, no more cons. But when she learns that her grandmother lost her savings to a low-life financial advisor, she’s forced to do just one more job.

It’s all going smoothly until the necklace she intends to pawn to fund her con is stolen by a handsome, mocking, white-collar thief. A thief who, it turns out, could take a whole lot more than money. If she’s not careful, this blue blood with no business on her side of the tracks could run off with the last thing she can afford to lose. Her heart.

Warning: This book contains masked crusaders, a remorseless con woman, and plans to boost a ten million dollar painting. Expect high speeds and fast hands.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Confidence Tricks:

“Someone has breached the perimeter,” Asprey announced, pulling a pair of binoculars down from his eyes.

Graff looked up from his book. “You make it sound like we’re in the White House or something. It’s probably a salesman or a Girl Scout. Get rid of them.”

Asprey ignored his brother and peered back through the window, which faced the runway leading up to the massive hangar they called home. This was definitely no salesman or little girl. The woman was still far enough away that he couldn’t make out all the details, but a smallish pair of jean shorts, bright teal cowboy boots and a flowy white blouse didn’t seem like standard attire for hawking Avon or vacuum cleaners.

“She’s on foot,” Asprey added, searching around for a parked car or bicycle. Located as they were at the end of an abandoned airport, the only other way to get to the hangar was by teleportation. They weren’t exactly on the bus route. “Why would anyone walk all the way out here?”

Graff slammed the book in his lap that time. “I don’t know, Asprey. Why don’t you go out there and ask? I know it might seem foreign to you, but I’m actually working over here.”

“Fine,” Asprey returned. “I’ll forcibly remove our visitor.” He set the binoculars aside and gently rotated his shoulder. It still hurt like a bitch—he’d gotten their younger sister, Tiffany, to pop it back in two nights ago, but she’d been less of the ministering angel he’d been hoping for and more like a gleeful spectator.

“Man up, big brother,” she’d said as he lay on the ground and she lifted his arm over his head. Bones and joints weren’t supposed to go that way, he was sure of it. “According to Graff, the woman could have done a lot worse to you. He said she went easy. I bet she thought you were cute.”

“Laugh it up, Tiffany,” he’d replied. “It’s easy for you to judge from the safety of your Internet cocoon back here at the lair.”

At least he thought that was what he’d said. His memories were rendered slightly hazy, what with the bone-searing pain and all. He might have just been screaming.

And now he had to hold his arm at a weird angle for days, moving around like a baby bird and praying there’d be no call for any sudden movements. Experience and multiple dislocations had taught him to avoid a sling—sucking it up and getting back to life were the best ways to make the recovery period ten times shorter, mostly because the muscles grew too stiff otherwise.

“Need some help?” Tiffany didn’t glance up from her computer, set up along the far wall of the hangar on a long, faux-wood table like the kind housed in school cafeterias. “I’m just about done with this code.”

“Sure,” Asprey said. “Why don’t we put you in charge of security? You can intimidate all incomers with your stature and overalls.”

That got her to look up. Tiffany promptly stuck out her tongue. “I can’t help that I’m short. And it’s called a romper.”

He laughed. “I can’t