The Player (The Game Maker #3) - Kresley Cole Page 0,33
I’d be forced to check my mailbox, might as well do it now. I opened Brett’s weekly message and read:
Tailgate, Fourth of July. You got a lightning bug to land on your palm, and it reflected in your eyes as you laughed. I’d never wanted a kiss more.
I’ll always love you, B
I recalled that night. He had kissed me, his earnest hazel eyes glinting as he’d told me how much he loved me. . . .
Then I frowned. Was this ache in my chest even for Brett?
Oh, shit. I was feeling emptiness—because of Dmitri.
“Speaking of gulls who are interested in Vice . . .” Pete turned to me. “How about you text Sevastyan?”
“That’d be an unconventional play,” Benji said, his voice lowered because Cash had conked out against his chest. “But then, he’s an unconventional mark. Dude owns two of the top fifty highest-grossing tech patents.”
Gram sighed. “I don’t know what that means, but it sounds just divine. What could he have done in a club that was so bad?” She was still angling to find out.
“I wasn’t thinking clearly last night. I was hammered.”
“Victoria Valentine!” Gram tsked. “Never drink on a con!”
“Not fair. It was my night off.” I set my phone aside and pulled my deck out of my bag.
“When Karin goes to the casino tonight, I think she should scout things out with Sevastyan,” Mom said. “If he’s attracted to Vice, he’ll be attracted to a woman who looks so similar to her.”
Marcia! I cut cards and shuffled. I wasn’t going to point out that Karin had already had her shot.
Dad said, “Your mom’s right, sweet pea. We should switch primaries—just this once—since you’re still getting into the swing of these new cons and he’s a unique target.”
Mom was more direct. “You tossed away the biggest mark this family has ever had a line on.”
Al made a move on the chessboard. “Only in America, with the catching and releasing.”
Karin sank onto the couch beside me. “I struck out with Sevastyan, but if you help me find an in, maybe I’d have better luck. Since you’re not interested in this guy, you shouldn’t mind, right?”
The idea of Dmitri touching my sister . . . his deep voice rumbling in her ear . . .
Bile rose in my throat. Jealousy clawed at me.
“No go,” Pete said, saving me from having to answer. “This guy wants Vice. Only her. Trust me.” Again a round of laughs. “He seems obsessed. When I stepped between him and Vice, for a second, I thought he was going to kill me.”
Recalling his sinister stare gave me chills. “Yeah, something’s way off with him. He’s pinging my radar left and right.” Because he was crazy! Admittedly! He talked to himself and handled confusion “badly.” His likes included spanking strange women and humiliating them in nightclubs.
“Has he lied to you?” Dad asked.
“Not a single time. Still, something is wrong with him.” I was about to add, “Trust me,” but stopped myself.
“We’re not asking you to marry him,” Mom said. “We simply need you to fleece him for as much as humanly possible in the next couple of weeks.”
Al said, “Type on phone to man. Tell heem you had change of heart.”
Dad cast me an encouraging smile. “We wouldn’t ask this of you if the alternative wasn’t so daunting.”
“Daunting?” Pete crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that what we’re calling murder?” He faced me. “’Cause that’s what Uncle Joe is looking at if we miss the payoff.”
Frustration welled. “Then we need to run!”
Cash woke in Benji’s arms and yawned, taking in the scene.
“This is our home.” Dad’s tone was firm. “These are our people. That’s our absolute last play.”
I shuffled. “Even if I reestablish contact with Dmitri, how do we monetize it? And every second I waste with him, I could be targeting another guy. Pete’s got those whales coming in—”
Another chime sounded. Again everyone tensed. Holding my breath, I put down my cards and checked my phone. “It’s him.”
Gram exclaimed, “Oh, thank Lady Luck!”
“What did he write?” Karin scooched closer to me.
“‘I will pick you up for dinner at seven.’” Excitement surged inside me, and I feared our desperate situation was only partly to blame.
Pete said, “I like it. Direct. No explanation. No rehashing.”
“What do we write back?” Mom rose, beginning to pace. “We need more engagement. Lots of question marks, Vice. Flirty, but not too flirty.”
If I was going back in on this con, I’d do it my way. I typed two letters.