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Excerpt
Copyright 2024, Diana A. Hicks
“I know what you are.”
Something hot rushed through me. He didn’t say who. “You first.” I braced my hands on my hips. “What did this town do to you? Maybe there’s a way we can help each other.”
He clenched his jaw. The effort made him look dangerous. Not at all like the Henry I remembered.
“I don’t know what brought you here. What I do know is that everything that comes out of that pretty mouth of yours is either a lie or a half truth.” His dark gaze darted from the condemned hotel, to the broken street, and me. “I see you. You’re full of tells, and you’re a horrible liar, but somehow people buy your act. My guys certainly did.”
My heartbeat picked up the pace at his words. “What am I, Henry?” I stepped closer.
“A thief.”
There it was again, a rush, a bubble in my chest. “I prefer con artist.” I rested my hand on his neck, and he let me.
His pulse throbbed fast and hard against my fingers. He was affected by my touch, even when his face remained blank.
“Same difference.” He met my gaze. “The question is: what are you here to steal?”
“Enough about me.” I jiggled his car keys in front of him.
“What?” He patted his pocket before he snatched the key fob from me.
“Now that we’ve established I have certain skills you could use, tell me about you. What do you want with this place?”
“We haven’t established anything.” He put his keys back in his front pocket. “I’m just an architect who happens to be good at poker.”
I nodded. That explained a lot—why he could read me like some sort of FBI agent. Whatever he was, I didn’t care. I was done here. “Fine. Five hundred Gs and the place is all yours.”
Lisa would have to listen to me. We never should’ve strayed from our original plan of winning her appeal and getting her out of jail. The money from my last con was supposed to pay for that. Instead, Lisa had struck a deal with that old-dude lawyer to purchase this place.
“Right. Except that’s not how much you paid for your half of the hotel.” He shook his head, a half smile pulling on his lip.
I crossed my arms. How did he know that? “How can you tell?”
“You scratch your nose when you lie.” He tapped my nose.
“No, I don’t.”
“Do too.”
What the hell? Did I scratch my nose? “Four hundred.”
“Is it really that hard to tell the truth?” He grinned, cocking his head.
“I didn’t touch my nose.” I was sure I hadn’t that time.
“Your hand twitched…because you wanted to touch your nose.” His chuckle sent an electric current through my body.
“Two hundred fifty.” I took a deep calming breath.
“Was that so hard?” He smiled, and a little wrinkle appeared around his right eye.
“You have no idea.” I grabbed my purse and took out my phone. “When can I get my money?”
He glanced at the hotel, biting the inside of his lip. “About that.”
“You don’t have the money, do you?”
“Not with me, no. I need a few days.”
About Diana A. Hicks
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