CHAPTER SEVEN


Rack's was a hidden coffee bar that specialized in non-alcoholic drinks and
anything caffeinated. In the basement of a local art studio that hosted artists
from the next region, state, and block, it wasn't that big of a jump that Rack's
would have an artistic and edgy feel to it's darkened interior.


The walls were 3D. When I walked down the auburn painted stairs with beads,
strings, pictures, and old records glued to the wall, I noticed the walls
immediately. Probably because they leapt out at me and I needed to swerve to
narrowly miss a paper-machete tree branch that swung around the coat rack. Upon
further inspection, I saw the entire coat rack was a swiveling palm tree that
consisted of coconut shells torn in half to produce a bamboo bark that was the
trunk of most palm trees. The palm leaves were a smattering of green-dyed nylons
stretched over clothes hangars and velvet screens that fitted over music
speakers.


It was an artist's masterpiece and appreciated by a regular patron's eye.


The tree was larger than life and it was designed to welcome new visitors as
it swept at them and knocked their purses out of their hands or hats from their
heads.


As I ducked, I heard it take out a woman behind me and saw some of the
regulars laughing politely across the room. A few had employee badges from Hope
Center. All had coffee in front of them.


A grin of wry amusement crossed my features as I acknowledged the
entertainment the tree produced for those who'd already been hazed.


At the counter, the barristo asked, "What can I get you, honey?"


"Regular coffee with a shot of vanilla."


"Sure thing."


I scanned the room as he quickly shot the coffee in a to-go cup for me and I
wasn't surprised when I didn't see a DEA agent hidden in some shadowed
corner.


Chance Evans wasn't there to meet a possible snitch. He was there to meet the
girl who sniped a phone off his brother's body, who'd been watched over by
Taryn. She was the master swipe, but while I wasn't better than Taryn at picking
which pockets to slip my fingers in, I was better than her at thinking the
angles.


In fact, I'd yet to meet someone better and I wasn't arrogant when I knew
that.


Tray Evans had his guard against me the entire night. He'd attached to my hip
early on and it hadn't been much of a surprise that he'd kept my company
throughout the evening.


Like I said before, Tray protected his group, even ones like Mandy who was
still wary of him.


My game hadn't been to learn everything I could from Tray or Taryn. If I
wanted information to their inner secrets, I could've blackmailed them from
Carter. The truth was that I didn't care about their secrets or how their
relationship worked. I already knew that.


What I needed was an off-guard Tray and an off-balance Taryn.


Their eyes watched and protected.


And that's what I did. I got them off-guard and off-balance.


Did I believe everything Tray fed me about his feelings for Taryn?


Somewhat. Five years with someone, it's not surprising that he loved her and
felt comfortable talking about it.


If someone loved someone for five years and wasn't comfortable sharing that
information, then I'd start worrying about what else was behind their eyes.


Tray didn't buy my counselor gig, but I played it up anyway. If I wasn't a
counselor, I wouldn't ask the sappy questions about when he loved Taryn.


My truth—I wasn't lying when Taryn had asked for my insights.


I'd pushed her to the defensive when I evaluated her sister as not 'fully
real.' It had sparked a wall in Taryn and she'd quickly turned the tables and
gone on the offense. That was what Taryn Matthews did and it was what she was
known for.


I'd used that.


She'd gone on the offensive and tried to push me to the defense.


She'd asked for my insights, but she hadn't really wanted them. She just
wanted to know what'd I say, if I'd play her game and be nice so I wouldn't
infuse the wrath of Taryn Matthews.


I hadn't. I'd told her what I thought, which was a truth in my mind and the
best hand in any game—if delivered at the right time and place.


It had been the right time and place, so I showed her my hand.


And it worked. I got an opening to grab what I needed.


Was there a good chance that Chance Evans would tattle to his brother? Tell
him where he was going to meet the 'swiper'?


Yes.


Was I ready to handle that?


No.


My best plan was to throw my scalding hot coffee and run as fast and as far
as I could.


Could I handle myself in a fight?


Yes, because skirmishes happened from my world. Skirmishes and dodges
happened all the time.


Would I like to place myself in that situation?


No and that's where recognizing a shake-down was the best option to prevent a
skirmish.


Was I good at recognizing shake-downs?


A resounding yes, but I didn't think it'd come to that.


I gambled and my bluff told me that Chance Evans wasn't too tight with his
little brother. That was my hunch and when I turned and saw an older version of
Tray Evans step around the swing palm branch, I knew my gamble ended on a pair
of sevens.


Chance Evans had come alone and he looked irritated.


That was very good indeed.


He spotted me immediately, which wasn't surprising. He was law enforcement.
He was trained to see what didn't make sense and zoom in for the inquisition and
arrest. I didn't know what it was about myself, but he saw me, studied me, and
met me.


"You're Maya."


It wasn't a question.


He signaled for a coffee, just black, and he looked me over again.


Chance Evans was older than his brother, much older. I'd guess mid-thirties,
but he looked like his younger brother. Plush lips, chiseled cheekbones, and
sandy-brown hair that accentuated their hazel eyes. The hazel eyes could've been
an Evans' trademark, but it was their attitude that really shone bright.


Tray was guarded, but Chance seemed was more with an air of recklessness.


That was what I was banking on.


He grimaced as he tasted his coffee and noted, "You're pretty scrawny to risk
my brother's wrath."


I shifted and leaned to face him squarely. I said steadily, "That's assuming
that you told him." I watched him and added, "I don't think you told him."


Amusement and suspicion flickered in his eyes as he murmured, "I don't make a
habit of sharing my business with my brother."


There was a bite to those words and I asked, "You're not close?"


"Honey." Chance said dully. "You're a con. You got the phone from Tray, which
is…pretty remarkable, actually, but you're a con. I con druglords for a living.
Don't try to out-con me."


"Fine." And the game was stripped clean as I threw back, "I want to know
where Jace Lanser is."


His eyebrows arched, unamazed, as he drawled, "And what do you got for
me?"


"Marcus Mallon."


He sparked at that and leaned closer, trying for intimidation, "And what do
you know about Marcus Mallon?"


"I know who he talks to at four in the morning when he thought I was
sleeping."


At my words, irritated older brother who seemed to be indulging a game was
gone and a DEA Agent took it's place. I saw the cunning and ruthlessness and
could believe this was the same DEA Agent who had seduced Galverson's top gun to
work undercover for the DEA instead.


"You're a lover scorned?"


That part wasn't for him to know.


I said instead, "I've got five years with Marcus for one bit of information
about Lanser."


He grinned, not amused, "I'd give my left nut that Tray had no idea you
really wanted Lanser. No way he would've let you anywhere near them, not if
you're involved with Jace."


"Why? Because Taryn's still in love with him and he knows that a part of her
always will be?"


He whistled in appreciation, "You're no con. You're a mastermind, huh?"


I'd been called worse.


"How about it?"


"Look." He straightened and ordered another coffee. He pushed his empty cup
across the counter for the server to throw in the garbage. "Maybe I can work
something out. Let me talk to my constituents," He paused and smiled to himself.
He muttered under his breath, "I love saying that."


And he remembered, "Anyway—as I was saying—let me talk to my constituents and
maybe we can work a deal. But," he paused, "I gotta take something back with me
about Mallon for my boss to bite, you know that. So what do you got for me?"


"He has an off-shore account in Taiwan under the name of Wan Song."


He countered swiftly, "And a mistress knows this information?"


"I never said I was his mistress."


"My boss is going to ask who you're working for and why you want Lanser."


"Your boss is going to assume that you already know that information, which
you don't."


"My boss is going to say that we need that information to even consider
giving up Lanser." He bit back.


We watched each other.


We were at an impasse.


I knew his type and he knew mine.


Neither would give an inch and both had a hidden agenda.


Did I want Jace's location? Yes, but not from him. That's just what I wanted
him to know because it kept my real want in the blind.


From Evans? I couldn't pinpoint what he actually wanted. We both knew that
he'd never give up Lanser. Jace Lanser was too important and too precious to
risk even faulty information for another career-building bust.


I'd hoped to play the dumb, but lucky card and let him think that he could
play me. Chance Evans saw through me, or he saw more than others had and he'd
let me know his cards the moment he uttered 'mastermind.' It'd been given in a
joke, but it showed me that he already connected me.


Masterminds aren't dumb, but lucky.


"What do you really want?" Evans surprised me. The question was real.


"I want to talk to Jace Lanser. I want to see him in person and I want to see
his eyes when I talk to him."


"Why?"


And this was another marker along the way.


Chance Evans knew everything about Galverson. Well—not everything, but eighty
percent of his business and life.


There was a very good chance that he knew I was Krein's little sister and if
he did—he might think I wanted vengeance for my brother scorned.


"That's personal." I said stiffly. I'd been backed into a corner.


He laughed at that. "Well—not good enough, darling."


I fell silent.


"How'd you get close to my brother?"


His question surprised me and I realized that was the real reason he'd met
with me. Mallon had been dangled, but it hadn't been the true carrot.


"What do you want to know?"


He yawned as he paid for his second cup of coffee. "My little bro talks to
three people. Me, Taryn, and Carter. How'd you get his phone off of him?"


I shrugged. "I invaded his inner circle and he tested me."


"And Taryn wasn't around?"


"She was, but she was distracted."


He frowned at that. "What do you mean?"


I countered, "Why are you so interested? The two of you are brothers.
Wouldn't you know your brother's weakness?"


He stiffened, but in a flash—it was gone. He was relaxed and could've passed
for boredom.


Check-mate.


I just found his weakness. It was a crack in his armor and I pushed forward,
wanting to know every corner and every gloss inside of him.


"Not real close, huh? You and Tray."


He smirked and remarked, "You're good. I'll give you that."


I smiled.


"I read all those stories about the two of you. They said that you tried to
force your brother to collect evidence on your dad when he was working with
Galverson. And when he didn't, you beat him up."


He laughed at that. "Have you met my brother? He can handle himself."


"Not against a big brother when he's fourteen."


He shrugged. "Tray got over it."


"But he didn't forget. That was your price, wasn't it?" I pushed,
relentlessly.


It was. I saw it as a wall slammed over him. It was there and it wasn't, but
it was back again. Anyone else wouldn't ever see it, but I saw it.


"You lost your brother." I stated.


His eyes glittered in checked anger, but he said silkily, "If you want to
deal. Marcus for Lanser, I'll deal. I need more than an off-shore account. How
about the password? Or what's inside that account? Give us something to actually
take him down?"


Marcus was slippery, more slippery than Galverson.


"Marcus took over the territory when Galverson went down."


Galverson had been killed, but everything about the man still seemed to
live.


I added, "He got all of Galverson's and Lanser's territory and business. I'd
get why you'd want to take him down. Marcus branched into smuggling, off-shore
embezzling, and blackmail of U.S. Senators."


I got his interest on that comment.


I shifted closer, "That's just the tip of Marcus' iceberg. I know that you
want him."


We were going in circles and to his credit, I was a little off my footing.
The match of wit against wit was starting to turn on its end, but I didn't know
who'd be on top and who wouldn't.


I'd been around enough games to know that I needed to get out. My red flag
had flared and I needed to be gone, immediately.


He sighed, and my flag lowered—just a bit—, "I'm not giving you Lanser. You
know that. I know that. And my boss knows that. But…I could do a phone
conversation."


"Not good enough." I said quickly. "I need to see him."


"Why?"


"Why?" I scoffed. "You're an agent and you're asking me why I'm not satisfied
with a phone conversation?"


To read a person, you needed to be with a person. Live and 3D.


Not through a phone or a piece of video, no matter how digitalized.


In breathing flesh, that was the best and it could never be copied.


"I can't do in person. Not with Lanser. You know how important he is." Chance
argued and shifted on his hip.


I caught the movement and realized he'd shifted twice already. That was his
tell. I just didn't know if he was lying or he expanded on the truth.


His hip stood for something. I just needed to find out what.


"No deal then." I said firmly.


"Are you serious?" Chance shook his head in frustration. "Lanser's gone. He
can't be found by anyone. He's a ghost and you're asking me to trap a ghost for
you?"


He shifted again and this time—he rested lightly on the back of his heels.
Like he readied for a fight.


A hunch burst inside of me and I said, calmly, as I met his eyes, "You don't
even know if he's alive, do you?"


Shock rang throughout him and I was right. I saw that I was right.


I pressed, "You stopped talking to him after Galverson went down. I'm right,
aren't I? You're not his handler anymore, are you?"


The truth was—I didn't care. I wouldn't get my information through Chance
Evans anyway. He'd never give it and I'd never give enough damning evidence on
Marcus either.


The game had just changed dramatically. I'd won the winning pot and I held
the money in my arms.


And then I witnessed a glimmer of regret in his eyes.


It wasn't about Jace Lanser. I could bet on that.


"Look—for what it's worth—you got your brother's phone back." I murmured and
I slid it across the counter to him.


He swiftly grabbed and pocketed it. The movement had been practiced to
perfection.


"That's what big brothers do." I added softly.


Compassionate and ruthlessness. The set of twins battled to overrule inside
me.


"Right." Chance shook his head, not hearing what I really said.


I added, "You're here because you wanted to check out someone who wronged
your brother. You're not really here for Marcus—"


"I'm not?" Chance laughed ruefully.


"Okay, yeah you are, but…you really came because some chick called you from
your brother's phone. You came to get it back and look out for him."


A brother's protection was the best feeling and duty in the world.


"Tray's not going to see it that way."


"No. He's going to be furious that you didn't call him so that he could come
and shake me down. He's going to be livid about that and you're right—he's not
going to realize that you were looking out for him."


The truth was…Tray and I were a lot alike.


We had both been stripped of that brother's protection and love.


Tray lost it the second his brother had asked him to collect evidence on
their father.


I'd lost it the second Krein had walked past without a first glance.


We'd both been rejected and had fought to find our own way.


The difference was that I knew where my path had changed and Tray didn't.


"You know what I'd like to know?" Chance surprised me with his comment. He
leaned on his side and watched me. "I'd like to know how you got 'five years' of
information on Marcus Mallon and you're not I.D.ed in his file. I'd like to know
how you're still alive if you're not with Mallon. I'm betting you're not. Our
files are pretty current."


They probably were current, but I was careful. I had needed to be. I had lied
to Marcus for five years and I had lied to everyone else.


"Because I'm the best con there is." I grinned, cocky.


"No. I don't think that's it. You wanna know what I think?"


He didn't want an answer. And he continued, nonplussed, "I think that you are
a very smart girl. I think that you have lived in a very tough world. And I
think that you survived by making nice with who ran your block and that was
Mallon. Am I right? Is that what you did?'


Somewhat, but not.


I shrugged and returned, knowing it was an evade, "I think that you're right.
I am very smart, but you're wrong because I'm no longer a little girl."


"No." Chance's eyes had seen more than mine. That spoke in volumes. "You
weren't even a little girl when you were born. Am I right?"


I was a little girl until I turned seven.


"Why do you want to see Lanser?" Chance insisted. "Tell me that…at
least."


"Why do you want Mallon?" I threw back.


His grin was instantaneous and he replied, "Because it'd be a third coup of
my career."


I countered swiftly, "Maybe Lanser would be my third coup?"


"What career, honey? You can't con Jace. I may not be his handler anymore,
but you couldn't con him ten years ago and there's no chance that you could con
him now."


A person didn't exist that couldn't be conned. If that person existed, he or
she was just a robot and not alive.


Everyone felt, even though the majority never realized those feelings.


And everyone thought, even though the majority of those thoughts weren't
realized.


Emotions and thoughts. That's all you needed to set up a con.


I wasn't about to enlighten the DEA agent of my insights, but I didn't need
to.


We'd circled around each other and gone for a second round.


I wouldn't get what I wanted and neither would he. We'd even found common
footing on a mutual respect for the other, even though that hadn't been
expressed.


That was how this world communicated.


Five percent was words. Everything else—it was everything else.


Anyone who could walk in that world, was able to read most of the other
ninety-five percent. If they couldn't—they didn't survive.


We were done. We'd hit an impasse.


And then I saw my real target laughingly duck underneath the moving palm
tree.


And I made my bid of goodbye as I slipped into the back corner.


I glanced back once, as I rounded a corner towards the back door, and I saw
the DEA agent dip his head to greet the still-laughing petite female with sleek
black hair.


I smirked and thought again: everyone has thoughts and feelings to prey
upon.


I had preyed upon Chance Evans and the kicker: he might never know it.