Mismatch - By Nana Malone Page 0,36
house or two. Then he mysteriously falls ill, his daughter tells the women he’s passed away. Once, there was even an actual funeral. Then, he and the supposed daughter move on to their next city. “
“Let me guess, the daughter would act concerned about his estate, and the women would insist that she keep everything that had been given to her father.”
“You guessed it. New York, Miami, DC, Palm Beach, Chicago, shoot, we even have Interpol working with us on a similar case in London.”
“Okay, what does this have to do with our current case?”
“We had a priceless Tomas Ekker reported as forged yesterday by Milton Insurance.”
“I’ve heard of them. They tried to recruit me a few years ago.”
“Yeah, well, they called because they'd heard about our Millionaire Doubles case.”
Eli rubbed the back of his neck. “Let me guess, the fake Ekker is a damn near match for the real thing. Which the rich widow had authenticated at auction or something.”
“Bingo.” Vince scrubbed his face.
“Okay, someone conned the widow with a fake. We don’t know if it was our con man and his daughter.”
“I thought the same thing, so then we started calling each of our other victims. Three out of our eleven cases reported forgeries to smaller insurance agencies. The other victims are checking. Want to bet money that they come up with forgeries, too?”
“Holy fuck,” Eli muttered. “You think Romeo is giving our victims gifts of forged artwork?”
“That’s right. I had local field offices fax over the last known images of our Lothario. He’s very careful. Always changing his appearance. But here it is.” Vince slid a photo across the desk to Eli.
Eli studied it. White male, probably somewhere between fifty-eight and seventy. Fit. White hair, thinning on top, but still mostly all there. Shrewd eyes. Straight patrician nose. Handsome with an air of sophistication. Probably what made him an excellent con man. “Okay, I’ll work my black market contacts.”
“We've got no actual photos of his accomplice.”
“This will do for now. At least we have something to work with.”
***
Jessica trailed a finger over the edge of her phone. Trying not to call Eli took effort. It wasn’t like she couldn’t just email him with the details. Her mother had decided she was speaking to her again—joy—and she had invited Samson to one of her artist salons, as she called it. Who had salons anymore? Honestly. Pretty much, her mother wanted to have a fancy party to show her friends that she knew some talented people. No doubt her idiotic boyfriend would be there.
Jessica cracked her neck as she warded off her nerves. “Don’t be a moron. You’re not calling him for a date.” It was a work-related call, so why did she feel like she was asking him to the Sadie Hawkins dance?
Jessica glared at her iPhone as she hit the send button. There was still time to rethink her decision. It hadn’t started to ring yet. Last chance for cowardice. Her thumb hovered over the end button, but she couldn’t press it. Instead, Eli’s clear baritone came over the airwaves.
“Jessica? I was just thinking about you.”
It was not a good idea to let his voice get to her. If she did, she’d be crawling back into bed for another go round with her B.O.B., and she’d already proven that, like the song, “ain’t nothing like the real thing, baby.”
“Uh, hi, Eli.”
A beat of silence. Okay. Awkward. She had no idea what to say, and he was taciturn enough to keep his mouth shut and force her to do all the talking.
“So uh, I need to do this dinner thing at my mom’s. It’s a good way to network with other artists, and there will be some potential buyers there as well.”
Another beat of silence. Eli’s voice pitched lower. “So, like a date.”
Jessica swallowed hard. “No. Not like a date, exactly. More like a work thing for you. But I’ll be there, and we’ll be spending some time together to uh, let things with us fizzle out.” God, did that sound as awkward to him as it did to her? “Look, this thing between us is way intense, and I’m not used to acting like this with a guy. You make me—” she struggled for the right word. “Restless, and itchy, and I don’t know what to do about it, except go back for more rounds with my battery operated boyfriend, and frankly, since that first night, it’s just not cutting it, not even Mammoth, and I love