Conning For Keeps (An Agents of TRAIT Novella) (Entangled Flaunt) (2 page)

The grumbling from behind the desk meant the conversation would be over soon. Trevor was as fluent in Josh-Marron-noise-making as he was a dozen other languages. This one came in useful more often than the others, though.

“We are in a budget crunch. The Department of Defense is breathing down my damn neck. So if the Secretary of Defense comes to me and says, ‘Get this painting away from Canalis,’ we get the damn painting. If he told me it was a matter of national security to get Kim Kardashian’s bra and panties, I’d send every agent in until we got the right damn set. Follow your orders and get the job done.”

“Yes, sir.” He stalked out of the office, barely suppressing the urge to slam Josh’s door hard enough to shatter the window. But he was a professional, not a child. And it was in his professional best interest to get over his irritation.

The mission was a damn babysitting job. That was it.

Things might not make sense to him, but he didn’t have to know why some politician wanted an ugly, old painting. What he did need was to understand exactly how Marissa’s memory implants worked so he could help her through the snatch and grab—maybe that would keep him preoccupied enough he wouldn’t think about Canalis at all. He tromped down the stairs as loudly as he could so they’d know he was coming.

Greta stood in the doorway, frowning at him. “If we’d started, you would have ruined the whole thing.” She was a good eight inches shorter than him but, at the moment, she sounded furious enough that he winced.

“Sorry. I wanted to know how all this works in case there’s any problem during the mission.”

Marissa’s voice dripped with honey-coated seduction from inside the room. Reason number five-hundred-twenty-two it was better she was being programmed for the mission: the last thing he needed was a distraction in the guise of passion. “Why, Agent Harris, do you mean to tell me you really do care? I never expected that from you.”

He was glad his skin was so dark; she’d never see the heat rising in his face at her words. Definitely better this way. “It’s my job to keep you safe while you’re getting to the art. Hard to do that if I don’t understand all of this.”

She leaned back against the arm of the couch, her face an impassive mask, as he stepped into the office. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was toying with him. Every agent in this office was one more mark as far as she was concerned. “I go under a deep hypnosis, and Greta sets me up with a profile we built specifically for this case. It enables me to get close to the mark, find the goods, and then I’ll tell you all about it. You poof me back to my human state, we grab the painting and get the hell out of Dodge.”

As Greta settled into her chair, he leaned over to glance at her laptop screen. Tiny details of a stranger’s life stared back at him. No, not a stranger. His fiancée. The woman Marissa would become instead of who she was.

Hell, did he
know
who she really was?

Or was everything some construct put in her brain once upon a time? Had all the previous hypnosis sessions led her to taking on this persona of sex and danger? “Why this? Why not just pretend? I know you’re talented enough.”

Pain flickered over her face—there and gone again—before she spoke. “Because this is how my parents trained me, big guy. And, in this case, where I have to play it all sweet and innocent, I don’t slip up and get us killed. I’m invisa-girl. No one can get in as deep as I can. Then when the grift is over, you say the words that snap me out of it and, like magic, I’m back to my old, charming, sexy-ass self.”

She batted her damn eyelashes at him, and he swallowed hard.
Charming, on occasion. Sexy, yes. But there is no way I’m going to let myself check out her ass.

“You do remember what you have to say, right? It’s kind of important.”

“Yes. It’s stupid, but I remember.”

Marissa’s lips quirked to the side. She was enjoying his discomfort far more than necessary. He should go, but damn it, he needed to see this. She propped up on her elbows and pressed out her lips for a second in what was far too like an air kiss for his liking. Then it was gone. “Tell me. Tell me the words now before I go under so I’m sure you’ve got it.”

More heat rose until his ears felt like they were on fire. How did she do that? He didn’t get embarrassed. Of course, that was mainly from avoiding people, but damn it… He ground his teeth together. “The zombie apocalypse has started. Get your squirt-gun.”

A grin split her face, and he was pretty sure she came very close to applauding. “Perfect.”

“I’m not an idiot, Marissa. And I know how to do my damn job.” He clenched his jaw, keeping the irritation from spilling out. It was going to be enough of a chore staying on task with this mission as it was. While his issues with Canalis might not be her fault, she didn’t have to make this harder with her smartassery. “Why is your code so stupid, anyway?”

Her smile turned to one that was less overt, seductive. “It’s like a safe-word in the kink world. You want to make sure it’s not a phrase that will slip out. Otherwise, you end up with me rather than the beautiful fiancée who loves and adores you.” She seemed to choke on the last bit, like she was trying not to laugh. “Can’t have that, can we?”

Great. He couldn’t get Marissa out of his head, and here she was laughing at the idea of being his woman. Chance blown a year ago. He still wasn’t sure if he should regret it or celebrate his ability to resist temptation.

If nothing else came of sitting in on her session, at least maybe he’d get rid of the stupid yearning for her. She obviously wasn’t the least interested in him anymore. One more criminal bullet dodged.

And when she woke up after all this, he wouldn’t have to worry about her trying to screw the agency over. She’d be nice and boring. “Fine. Let’s get this started.”

“Finally.” Greta shot him a glare as Marissa lay back on the couch and closed her eyes. Greta turned to her screen, scrolling through a bevy of facts. “Oh, we do need one thing from you for the profile.”

From him? “What’s that? Birthday? Mom’s name?”

She shook her head. “We took care of all that. I was told to use your actual details—other than the name change. Easier for you to remember if it’s all real.” She glanced up at him, her face perfectly composed as if she did this every day. “I need to know your favorite sexual position.”

Now he couldn’t think for the way his skin boiled. He glanced from Greta to where Marissa pinched her lips together, trying to hold in laughter. “Why do you need that?”

Greta tipped her head at him like he was being obtuse. “You two are supposed to be engaged. Virginal brides-to-be are rare enough to draw suspicion, so it’s going to be assumed she’d know how you like sex. Don’t worry. Part of her programming is to insist on falling asleep promptly at eleven at night—she’ll be like a sleepy Cinderella’s pumpkin. Make sure she’s in your room before the clock chimes so she can pass out. You two should be busy enough there won’t be a lot of wiggle room in there for anything to happen. Plus if it does, you have the drugs.”

Yeah. Everything was carefully constructed so she could be the doting girlfriend but never get close to him. And he’d have all night to figure out how to ruin Leo Canalis’s life. The volatile mix of Marissa and Canalis made this the creepiest assignment of his career.

At least he didn’t have to worry about slipping and forgetting himself if she passed out every night. There’d be no temptation to make his libido and his brain twist up in confused knots.

Of course, it also left an opening for all sorts of other trouble.

“So…” Greta said, dragging the word out to impossible lengths. “Position?”

“Pick one and let me know. I can remember one detail.”

He spun on his heel and stalked out the door. The situation might be necessary, but he didn’t have to like it. He didn’t, in fact, like it at all. There was his one mistake for the mission—thinking he needed to watch Marissa go under. There wouldn’t be another one. He couldn’t afford another.

Actually, he needed to forget Canalis, too. He wasn’t a kid anymore. The past was the past, and if they pulled this off, maybe Leo Canalis would finally get what was coming to him—the legal way. All Trevor needed was to keep Marissa safe so she could get them in and get the art out.

Simple.

Straight-forward.

So why did he get the sinking feeling he’d missed a memo somewhere?

Chapter Two

What’s L
ove Got to Do with It?

TRAIT’s
jet had landed about an hour earlier, the rental car meeting them right at the bottom of the stairs. Trevor had loaded Marissa’s sedated form into the passenger seat, thrown their luggage in the back, and started driving. He kept stealing glances at her, watching her sleep, trying to distract himself from thoughts of Canalis and vengeance.

It wasn’t working—the memories raced to his mind faster than he was winding up the mountain.

He’d been twelve years old when his best friend, Delray, had convinced him the Brotherhood would keep him safe. They needed kids to do a couple jobs, and there’d be enough money to take care of his family for a long time. “It isn’t like what they show in the movies,” Delray promised.

A little desperate and a lot hungry, Trevor had agreed. At first, it all seemed golden, exactly as Delray had said. The only thing they were asked to do was to deliver a package to some guy named Canalis and trade it for the cash. Ten grand each. That was the moment Trevor started worrying.

“Ten Gs? For taking this to a meeting?” He tipped his head toward the flat, paper-wrapped parcel they carried. “I don’t know, man. It doesn’t smell right.”

“That’s the fish, fool.” Delray jerked his head toward the water then glanced around. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “I was thinking, though. We’re picking up the money. There’s got to be more than that in the bag. A lot more, or they wouldn’t give us so much. What if we take it? Grab our moms and bail?”

Fingers of dread crawled up Trevor’s spine like an army of spiders. “I don’t know, man. Screwing over the Brotherhood sounds like a bad idea.”

Delray shrugged. “With what they’re paying us, there’s got to be a lot more money involved.”

“How much, you think?”

“At least a hundred thousand. Probably closer to a million. Four people could disappear real nice for a million bucks.” Delray nodded toward the long, black limo approaching them. “That kind of money means a house and school. You could go to college like you want. We’d be out of this hellhole for good.”

It had been a wonderful thought. They wouldn’t have to struggle anymore to make ends meet. And a million dollars would get them far enough away from the Brotherhood that no one would bother chasing them.

Too bad when they made the exchange, Canalis had told Delray to open the package. He’d torn through the paper, hissing as it cut into his finger, and threw the wrapping aside. “Happy now?”

“Happier than you. That’s a nasty cut.” Canalis handed a duffle bag to Trevor. Full of cash—he checked.

Suddenly, sirens split the air and flashing lights danced in the twilight sky. Trevor grabbed Delray’s hand and yanked him away while their buyer and his goons pulled out weapons.

They hadn’t gone far before Delray started to stumble. His eyes were wide and pained, and then he dropped to the ground, face first. Trevor rolled him over, searching for breath, a pulse, anything…but his friend was gone.

When all was said and done, it turned out there had been more than a million dollars in his hands. The police had found the body—Delray’s death ruled “natural causes.” And Leo Canalis had walked away from the gunfight without a scratch—the money he’d handed to Trevor the only thing he’d lost.

Natural causes, my ass.
To this day, Trevor could see the gleam in the bastard’s eyes when he’d spoken. He didn’t know how, but Canalis had known Delray wasn’t getting out of there alive.

The memory still tormented Trevor.

More so now that he was likely to come face to face with the man who had taken his best friend.

Better to focus as much as he could on Marissa’s peacefully sleeping form.

She looked softer like this. No smart mouth saying things designed to make him sputter or fume. No wicked smile hiding some secret or joke. No cat-like green eyes giving him that penetrating stare that went right to his soul. And most definitely no air of trouble hovering as if ready to turn into soul-devouring fog.

Trevor liked her this way—she was safer.

But shouldn’t she have woken by now? Memories of Delray’s still form threatened again. Trevor calculated the drive to the airport, the flight, the time on the road, and factored in her weight and dosage.

Shit.

His specialty was languages, not math, and definitely not medicine. His eyes glued to the road, he reached out and found the pulse thudding steadily under the silky skin of her neck.

“I love that you worry about me so much.” The voice that came out of Marissa’s mouth was soft, young…innocent. It was the voice of a stranger.

He jerked his hand back at her words. “Sorry.”

“You’re sorry because I love you? Say it isn’t so.” She wrapped her slender fingers around his and brought them to her mouth, brushing a kiss across his knuckles.

For a second, Trevor forgot to breathe.

Damn. They were going to have to kiss. It’d be expected of them as a couple.

He’d thought, with her under, the hardest part would be talking enough to not come across as standoffish, which he was. But this… Kissing the woman who haunted him?

He’d forget himself in a heartbeat.

He’d simply have to keep his baser instincts in check. If he’d made it through the past five years without her noticing anything, the rest of the week should be easy. Surely he could manage until Sunday.

Marissa cleared her throat. “Um…it
isn’t
so, right?”

What?

He turned from the road, focusing on her for the first time since she woke. She’d dyed her hair for the mission, ditching the blonde for a deep, rich brown with caramel highlights snaking throughout. But the change was more than that.

There was an innocent sweetness to her gaze that he’d never seen before. And the softness she’d had in sleep hadn’t disappeared when she woke.

This
was the criminal genius at play?

“Trev?”

Her question. Right.

“Not so. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t. Can you stop somewhere? I need a break, if you know what I mean.” She shifted in her seat, her face scrunched up in a way that was far too…cute for Marissa. She was made for eye rolling and smirks, not this. He almost missed the real her.

“Sure.” He took the next exit and pulled into the first gas station. “I’ll fill up while you’re in there.”

“Do you need a coffee or anything?”

“Yeah. No cream—”

“One sugar. I know that, silly.” She pecked him on the cheek and climbed out of the car.

Trevor sat inside, watching her. Marissa’s normal swagger that drew every male gaze directly to her derriere was gone, replaced by the strange mishmash of walking and skipping favored by shy, young women. He sank back against the leather seat.

He’d heard about Marissa’s transformations, witnessed them a time or two, but nothing this extreme. There’d always been a piece of her in there—he’d assumed to ground her in reality. But now…

He shook himself and got out of the car. Seeing her in action up close and personal like this was different…wrong. He’d been concerned about being so near to Marissa for the week, but being close to her
doppelgänger
might actually be worse.

As long as he made sure to re-read the file and remember what his job was in all of this, there was absolutely nothing to worry about.

At least, he hoped not.

…

After a ride that seemed to take forever with the new and vexing version of Marissa by his side, they finally arrived at their destination. Amy, the wedding pla
nner, beamed an overly-bleached smile at them as she approached the massive check-in desk. The thing took up an entire wall. “Mr. Smythe, of course. How lovely to meet you, and this is Mary?”

How the hell had she found them so quickly?

“It’s Mari,” Marissa said, her voice demure. “A softer a-sound.”

Trevor nodded and put an arm around her waist, trying to remember his role as her husband-to-be. At least he’d be free to scope the place out once they were checked in with everyone—maybe figure out if Leo Canalis was already lurking on the scene.

His hands started to squeeze into fists until he remembered one of them was clutching his fiancée. He would
not
hunt for Canalis. The law would take care of the man eventually. Though, if there happened to be a showdown before all this was over, Trevor would happily dive in, guns blazing. “It’s nice to meet you as well, Amy. We’ve been traveling all day, though, and we’d—”

“Nonsense, there’s plenty of time to rest tonight after dinner, which is in” —she glanced at her watch and let out an exasperated sigh— “thirty minutes. If I’d known you would arrive so late, I would have pushed dinner back, but there’s nothing to be done for it now. See you in the turret dining room on the top floor.” She waved them toward the stairs, the dismissal as complete as anything Josh had ever mustered.

Marissa laughed, the sound light and flighty and…not Marissa at all. She linked her arm in his. “I guess we better get changed, or the Wicked Wedding Planner of the West won’t let us get married.”

“She’d have to answer to the people in charge if she played that way, and, considering the money they’re paying her, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to piss off the Canalis family.”

Her gaze drifted around the wide expanse of the lobby with its rich, dark wood and stone. And he couldn’t help but wonder what this new Marissa saw. The high, arched ceilings where security cameras lurked? The stained glass windows that would cut like daggers if they were shot out? The massive pieces of furniture that would make ideal cover if the need arose?

“I love this place,” she said. “It feels like a castle.”

Trevor glanced down at her, startled again to see her eyes wide and innocent. That’s right. She wouldn’t see anything like Marissa would.

Not even him.

“You’d make a perfect princess.”

Still disturbed by the image of non-Marissa, he dragged their luggage to the ancient elevator and yanked the grating open. The space inside was bigger than he expected, but carpet, paint, and gilding couldn’t disguise its humble beginnings as a service lift. Trevor tugged the grating and door shut then pushed the button for the third floor.

Before his hand dropped to his side, Marissa was in front of him, inching closer and closer until his back was against the wall. The elevator shuddered and finally started moving. She cocked an eyebrow at him as her fingertips walked their way up his chest. “How long do you think we have until our floor?”

Trevor frowned. What was she doing? Marissa couldn’t think…? Crap.
Marissa
wasn’t thinking anything. Mari was, and Mari thought they were engaged. And Mari wasn’t going to pass out again for several hours.

His heart thudded with how close she stood, the way her hair smelled like crisp air and summertime flowers, the way it felt to have her touching him. He needed to get control of this, but he couldn’t exactly knock her out with drugs thirty minutes before dinner.

They should have taken the damn stairs.

He wrapped his hands around hers, gently pushing them down. Her expression fell alongside her hands, and a fist formed around his pounding heart. “Not long enough for what you have in mind. Plus…the wicked wedding planner, remember?”

Her lower lip stuck out in an affected pout that he wanted to take between his teeth and…

No. He sure as hell wouldn’t take advantage of her like this no matter how much part of him wanted her. Actually, no. He didn’t want Mari—he wanted Marissa. He hadn’t realized the desire went deeper than physical attraction until this moment. But with her like this… It was just wrong. Somehow, he had to play the role of besotted fiancé without touching her.

“Fine. Later then.” She perched up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his before he could protest.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What was he supposed to do? She thought they were in love. If he didn’t respond, she’d be hurt. That could affect how things played out with Evangeline and Canalis junior—not to mention senior. This was the game. Acting. He could act. He’d done theater in college.

Once.

Slowly, he shifted his mouth against hers, barely allowing the kiss to move beyond something virginal.

This isn’t Marissa. This isn’t Marissa.
The elevator shuddered as it came to a stop, and, thanking God in every language he knew, Trevor pulled away. Giving her the hint of a smile, he pressed his lips to her forehead and pulled open the door. “Mrs. Smythe…”

Marissa giggled, and the sound was so unfamiliar it sent a slither of discomfort up his spine. “We’re not married yet and, if you don’t kiss me good and proper before the night’s over, I might have to re-think things. The valet
was
pretty cute, you know.”

Oh, hell no.

He dragged the suitcases free from the elevator and closed the grate. The stark gray hallway seemed to laugh at him as he strode toward their room—reminding him of the TRAIT offices and their mission. “With the date this close, I was thinking maybe we should pull back, make the wedding kiss more special.”

At their door, Marissa leaned against the wall and blinked at him. “You’re kidding, right? Because unless you rented a second room, we’re going to be lying right next to each other all night for almost a week. I know both of us well enough to know chastity won’t work, never mind not kissing.”

He fumbled with the big, old key, wiggling it in the lock. Like that would distract her. “I could sleep on the couch.”

“Yeah. Six-three and sleeping on the couch.” She took the key and opened the door in one smooth motion. “What’s gotten into you? Is it nerves?”

An out.

Thank you, Marissa, I knew you were in there somewhere
.

“That’s it exactly.”

“Get over it, sweetie. Considering the only way we were going to get a honeymoon was to steal what time we could here before the wedding, we’re going to enjoy every minute.” She pecked him on the cheek and stepped into the room.

What the…?

Of course. Every couple here besides Canalis and his bride were charity cases—the two of them included. The “knowledge” there wouldn’t be a trip after the group wedding had been in the profile.