The Con (11 page)

"What are you doing here, Jagger?"

He looks over at the boy next to him before
responding to my question. "We need to discuss that thing we talked
about last night, and I need to bring my nephew to his baseball
game so I thought I'd do both at the same time."

I look over at the boy next to him who I now
see is in a white and navy baseball uniform. Bits of black hair
poke out from underneath his baseball cap. He's pale, like me,
which is a stark contrast to Jagger's tan skin.

Jagger stands up and walks over to me,
handing me the other coffee in his hand. "Hurry up, twinkle toes.
You're also coming with me to get a haircut."

"A haircut?"

"Yep. I thought I might try a new look.
Something much shorter and tamer. I want to look presentable." He
winks at me.

Taking a sip of the coffee I head back to my
room, not even thinking about challenging him on the plans he's
made for me today. Going with him is something I know I need to do.
I need to learn as much about this con as possible so I'm prepared
and can study my ass off.

I was excellent in school and was always
good at studying.

Changing into an off the shoulder white
t-shirt and cut-off denim shorts, I run a brush through my messy
hair and slip on a pair of flip-flops. Then I head to the bathroom
and splash my face with water, wiping the sleep out from the
crevices of my eyes before brushing my teeth. I'd put on make-up
but Jagger is already calling me to hurry up from the other room,
so I grab the coffee he brought me and head out to meet them in my
living room.

I've never been to a baseball game so I'm
excited to experience something new with Jagger.

***

"One more, Mason!" Jagger's hands cup his
mouth as he yells out to the field. "You've got this."

Mason is the star pitcher of his twelve and
under travel baseball team. I've got to admit while I know very
little about baseball, it's obvious how great Mason is at the game.
It's also obvious how much Jagger plays a part in that.

I asked Jagger if he ever played before but
he never has. He does go to every one of Mason's games and pays for
him to go to pitching camps and hitting camps, on top of paying for
Mason to play on this travel team. It's amazing to see how much he
loves his nephew.

We're sitting on a blanket near left field
instead of sitting on the bleachers like the rest of the parents
and families. This made me curious at first but when Jagger started
talking about the bank job it was apparent why we sat so far away
from everyone else.

"So this woman, Cheyenne, is just going to
let us walk in there and take the money?"

"Yes and no. She's going to be the manager
on duty that day. She'll make sure everything is in place so our
presence doesn't alert any of the other staff. She's... in a sexual
relationship with Angelo and thinks she's in love with him. She
would do anything for him, including committing a felony and
risking spending the next twenty years in prison where she won't
get dick unless it's from one of the prison guards."

"Awesome," I whisper under my breath as I
stare off onto the field. Suddenly the realization of what we're
doing and all that can go wrong is right in front of me. Cheyenne's
risks are the same as mine. I could be spending the next twenty
years behind bars and sleeping with prison guards, or becoming a
lesbian with my cellmate.

"Hey." His hand comes out to caress my
cheek, bringing my attention back to him. His hand is rough against
my smooth skin, evoking the carnal need I have whenever he is
around. "That's never going to happen to you. I promise. I brought
you into this so if someone ends up needing to take the fall it
will be me. I'll never give your name, no one will ever know you
were involved, I swear."

"We could also end up dead, Jagger. Matteo
Esposito is never going to let five million dollars disappear on
him with no retaliation. I watch the news. I know just what kind of
man he is. We'll be sitting ducks just waiting for him to hunt us
down."

"I'm working all that out," he responds
sweetly, his thumb brushing back and forth against my cheek. "But
you've got to trust me, twinkle toes. This will never work if you
don’t trust me."

"I've trusted you ever since you pulled my
ballet slipper out of the mud when I was nine," I respond honestly.
"It's not about trust, Jagger."

"But it is, twinkle toes, and I trust you
more than anyone with this. It's good to know you trust me,
too."

We're sitting next to each other, his face a
few inches from mine and my eyes fall down on his lips, lips I've
kissed before, and lips I want to kiss again. A few years ago those
lips made me feel like I was the only girl in the world that
mattered. I want him to make me feel like I matter again.

In a moment of weakness, or maybe pure
primitive need, I lean in to kiss him. He pulls away, clearing his
throat before looking away from me and back out at the field.

"Here's how the next week will play out.
Today, I'm getting a haircut to make myself look more like a
multi-million dollar business man and less of a hoodlum, then I'll
drop you back off at home. Tomorrow you're going to come with me to
get new ID pictures taken. I have a guy who works at the DMV. We'll
have official identification marking us as Matteo and Giselle
Esposito. We'll then hand the ID cards off to Angelo who will get
them to Cheyenne, the bank's assistant manager. She'll remove the
real ID cards from Matteo and Giselle's account and scan in our
cards to replace them. As soon as we leave the bank with the money
next week, she's going to go in the system and switch the cards,
replacing them back with the originals. This will help ward off any
suspicion from the staff.

"I'll also be giving you a file tomorrow on
Giselle and Matteo Esposito. Read it, learn it, and memorize it.
You need to eat, sleep, and breathe Giselle for the next week."

"Right. Rule number two–don't forget the
story. I remember."

He peers over at me from the corner of his
eye. "Right."

Sitting up straight, I cross my bare legs in
front of me as Jagger's eyes follow my movement, lingering on my
toned thighs.

"Will I have to say much when we're in the
bank?"

His eyes move from my body and back up to
me. "Fortunately for you, Matteo is very much in control. That's
why few people even know what Giselle looks like. She's a woman who
only speaks when told to."

God, I feel bad for her, which is ridiculous
because I don't even know her, but I know that no woman should ever
be treated like a doormat. Marriage is a partnership. He should
appreciate what she has to say and always want to know her
opinion.

"How about clothes? I have nothing that
looks like I could be a cartel princess."

"We'll go shopping on Saturday. All high-end
stuff so prepare to see my wallet get a workout. Once the job is
over and we get our cut, what I spend on Saturday will look like
pennies."

"Will we have a getaway driver?"

"Twinkle toes, we won't need one. We're not
going into the place and holding it up at gunpoint. We're Mr. and
Mrs. Esposito and we're taking money out of our account. It's a
withdrawal the bank will be prepared for because they have to have
that kind of cash in the reserve for customers like me.

"I've rented a Bentley, which we will drive
to and from the bank. By the time Matteo Esposito knows any of his
money is missing, the car will have already been returned and we'll
be sitting at home in our trailers, planning what we want to do
with our money."

Okay, his plan sounds easy enough. But it
won't be. Nothing can be this simple. Jagger makes it seem like
it's just another day at work for him and it kind of is, yet it
isn’t. I can pretty much guarantee he's never stolen from an
organization like the Esposito’s before.

Just the thought alone is making me start to
hyperventilate.

"Jagger," I call out, attempting to suck in
deep breaths. My chest feels like it's going to explode.

He wraps a hand around the back of my neck,
pulling me into him as his forehead rests against mine. His breath
falls against my skin and it's oddly calming. "You can do this,
twinkle toes. I have confidence in you. It'll be simple, you'll
see. Deceiving people out of money is easy, and one of the oldest
careers known to man. It's even in the bible. There is absolutely
nothing to worry about. I've got you."

His forehead leaves mine and his lips brush
against my temple before he pulls me into his side. I rest my head
in the crevice of his shoulder and neck, continuing to steady my
breathing. Just being near him is enough to make me feel safe.
Whenever I begin to worry about all the ways executing his plan can
go wrong, I need to remember that Jagger won’t let anything happen
to me. He brought me into this so he'll make sure I get out of
this.

We continue to watch his nephew's game until
it ends, with Mason's team winning 4-1. The entire ride back to the
trailer park is filled with Mason's enthusiastic chatter over his
team’s win. They beat one of the best teams in the state, which is
a big deal in twelve and under baseball.

Instead of dropping Mason off at home,
Jagger pulls up to my small singlewide trailer and puts his foot on
the brake. I look over at him, puzzled. "I thought I was going with
you to get your hair cut?"

"You've had a long day, twinkle toes. I've
thrown a lot of information at you and I think you should be alone
for a while to digest everything. I'll come by tomorrow to see you
and we can talk some more then."

"And your hair?"

"I'm going to go by myself to get it cut.
You'll see it tomorrow." He leans across me and opens my door from
the inside. "Go inside, Ronnie."

His fingers graze along the top of my thighs
as he sits back up straight, his hands returning to the wheel. I
slip out of his car and then lean inside the window. "Hey, you
called me Ronnie."

"That's your name, isn't it?"

"Yeah... but... you never call me it."

"It was a serious moment so I thought it
called for your real name. My mistake. See you tomorrow, twinkle
toes."

I stand up straight, moving away from the
car window as Jagger peels off. "See you tomorrow, Jagger."

Chapter Ten

This past week has been jam packed with all
things Jagger related. After that Sunday at the baseball game, I
dove into the life of Giselle Esposito and forgot all about Ronnie
Greenwood. It was something Jagger insisted on. We even started
calling each other Matteo and Giselle when it was just the two of
us.

I slipped up several times, but Jagger was
always there to remind me and I've gotten better and better at it.
I haven't called him Jagger in two days and he hasn't called me
twinkle toes in eight.

That part hurts a little, but I have to take
my emotions out of it. I can't take it personally because we're
playing parts. If he called me twinkle toes then he would be a
sucky con artist. I'm glad he's good at his job. It means I'll most
likely be able to avoid the inside of a cell.

Today is the day. The day I stand beside
Jagger and the day that will change the rest of my life, no matter
what the outcome is.

Today we take a ridiculous amount of money
out from under Matteo Esposito's nose.

I'm so nervous. My brain is telling me this
is stupid and I need to run now while I still can. My brain replays
all the ways today can go wrong. My brain makes me face the hard
fact that there is a real possibility I could end up behind bars by
the end of the day... but then there is my heart. My heart tells me
to believe in Jagger. My heart tells me to trust Jagger. My heart
tells me to stand by the man I love and he'll make sure I'm
safe.

I want to listen to my heart right now, but
my heart likes to get me in trouble.

I can't stop my hands from shaking as I look
at my reflection in the mirror and the imposter of a woman staring
back at me. My entire life I've lived in hand me downs and now I'm
standing here in designer threads. Black sleek trouser pants by
Stella McCartney, a pale violet blouse with gold stitching by Ralph
Lauren, black Chanel heels, and a classic black Chanel purse with a
gold link chain. I look like one of the mother's from the dance
school I used to attend.

Just the thought of it has me itching to rip
these clothes right off. Some of those women were just awful to me
and pretending to be a woman like that, for even a few hours, is
going to be hell. I may not like a lot about how my life has turned
out, but I like me. I've always liked me and I don't want to change
that now.

I've straightened my normally unmanageable
red hair and pinned it into a low bun. My face is coated in cover
up to hide my freckles, and my eyes are covered in black Ray-Ban
sunglasses–at the request of Jagger.

Eyes are the doors to a person's soul,
Giselle. We can't let anyone see our eyes because it might tell
them what they need to know about us–that we're frauds.

Giselle. At least after today he'll no
longer call me that.

My hands play with the buttons on my blouse
before I straighten them against the designer material and dust the
invisible lint off. I want to make sure I look perfectly
presentable. Like I belong in these expensive clothing.

The doorbell rings and it's showtime.
Walking down the hallway I look around, forcing myself to take in
the trailer I've lived in all my life. I want to remind myself why
I've agreed to do this. Why I need this money so bad.

After taking one last look, I open the front
door and step outside. The glare of the Arizona sun can hurt my
eyes sometimes and my shades block it perfectly, but the handsome
man in front of me is blinding perfection. He looks like he stepped
out of the pages of a high-end fashion magazine. His brown hair is
cut short to about three inches of wavy locks. He's rocking
four-day-old scruff, and I know this because I remember the first
morning I saw him this past week and he hadn't shaved. Before that
day I didn't think it was possible for him to look better than he
already did, but when he doesn't shave it just makes him look
hotter and more distinguished.