J. Fynn - The Long Game

“He knows I’m good for more than finding some little book. I was out on the road while you wasted all your time in school. Playing fetch is all you’re good for.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Prince. Maybe one of these days you’ll actually believe it.”

“If you didn’t have to look presentable for your little dinner tonight, I’d wail the tar out of you, you little shit. Jimmy Boy isn’t around to protect you this time, so don’t push your damn luck.”

We were in each other’s faces now, so close I could feel flecks of his spit on my cheek when he threatened me. My muscles jumped with the desire to pummel him. “I’m pretty sure I can kick your ass without you landing a punch if you’re that worried about keeping my face pretty.”

“In your dreams, Buffer. Maybe I should fuck you up so I can take your place at dinner. I saw a picture of Costello’s daughter, and I gotta say, I can see why you’ve been taking your time with that hot little piece of ass.”

I shoved him so hard it knocked him from his feet, and he flew backward, landing on the table, which immediately collapsed under him. He scrambled back to his feet, sending pieces of broken wood sliding across the kitchen floor. He slammed his body into me and drove me back into the fridge, which groaned as it inched backward, gouging out strips of linoleum. I lowered my head into his shoulder and aimed my fists into his sides, one after the other. I shoved him again, all my weight behind the effort, and he stumbled back. His foot caught a broken table leg, and he crashed to the ground a second time. I threw myself on top of him, intent on unleashing every bit of frustration, anger, and uncertainty I’d been keeping at bay since I’d realized how I really felt about Spencer. I let my arms fly, not all that concerned with where they landed. Judd defended himself with one hand and strained to reach something underneath him with the other. I assumed he was groping for a broken table leg, and I wasn’t really concerned about his ability to land a blow with it. But when something cold and hard pressed into the skin under my chin, I froze.

“That’s what I thought.” Judd panted. He kept the barrel of the gun tight under my jaw and forced me back so he could push himself up to sitting. “Now you want to rethink that whole kicking-my-ass thing?”

“Christ, Judd.” I held my hands up in surrender. “What the hell? You crazy fuck.”

“That’s right, keep insulting the guy with the gun. Real smart, Buffer.”

“You gonna shoot me for calling you crazy? That would kind of prove my point, wouldn’t it?” Part of me worried he might honestly be that crazy, but I tried not to let the panic I was feeling show in my face. There was nothing I could do about the thrumming heartbeat in my ears though.

“Try me and see.” Judd’s eyes glinted wildly. “I could have the book and a quick taste of that little slice of cherry pie and be on the road again before anyone found you.”

I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would shatter, but the gun at my neck kept me from doing anything more. “Okay, you’re right,” I forced myself to say. “I think we both just need to cool off. I admit I got a little distracted, but the game is back on track now. I’ll have what I came for by tonight. Just put that thing away.”

“You better.” Judd dropped the pistol from my chin but made sure it stayed where I could see it. “Or I’ll be more than happy to do it for you.”

I GLANCED AT the text from Spencer on my phone’s display, then frowned up at the imposing Main Line house. Set back from the road behind a long row of tall, thin hedges, the house was a huge gray stone construction spread out over what could’ve easily been an entire city block.

I double-checked the address on the unadorned black mailbox at the end of the driveway. I’d congratulated myself on finding the house so quickly after leaving the SEPTA station, but now that I saw the meandering driveway, I was pretty sure I’d made a mistake. When Spencer told me her father lived in the affluent neighborhood a couple miles from Balanova’s campus, I’d imagined a less gaudy version of Pop Sheedy’s house back home, but the word “large” hardly seemed to capture this monster. The area was home to some of Philadelphia’s wealthiest families, but this place put most of its neighbors to shame. I confirmed the address a final time, then started up the drive.

Once the house was in full view, I couldn’t stop from blowing out a low whistle. Tommy Costello had money—and way more than the five hundred large he’d stolen from my clan. The reality of just how successful he’d been since he’d taken off was just now starting to settle in. Spencer had told me Tommy was a venture capitalist, whatever that was, and it’s why he was so keen on her studying business instead of literature like she wanted. I had to admit, if this is what a business degree could get you, I’d be willing to take a few classes myself. My stomach twisted uncomfortably, and I glanced around for a place to sit.

As the driveway approached the house, it circled around a low, stone wall that enclosed a perfectly landscaped section of the lawn. I walked over to it and sat behind a wide shrub that had been planted among the flowers and saplings. I leaned forward on my knees and breathed in through templed fingers.

There was no reason for nervousness, I told myself. Maggie was fond of telling me I was favored by the fairies, and maybe she was right. I didn’t believe her folktales any more now than I had when I was little, but I had to admit everything about this con had come pretty easily.

Well, almost everything.

I thought of Judd, sitting on the couch where I’d left him back at my apartment, and the gun he’d so casually laid on the coffee table. If I came back empty-handed tonight, there’d be no telling what he would do. Or who he would hurt to get what he wanted.

I shifted on the cold stone, my thoughts turning to Spencer. I’d made an enormous mistake in falling for her, but if I didn’t get what I’d come for, she’d be in danger of things a lot worse than a broken heart. Still, she was the first girl I’d ever let myself have feelings for, the only girl I could ever imagine feeling this way about, and now I was supposed to walk into her father’s house and steal from him.

I shook my head to get rid of the thoughts tumbling around inside it. It wasn’t my heart or Spencer’s I needed to be concerned with. The closer I’d gotten to Spencer, the less I’d thought about Rosie Sheedy. Marrying her had zero appeal, even up against the idea of one night with Spencer. But I needed to think about Maggie and Jimmy Boy. The way Judd talked about my family, it was pretty clear that if I didn’t get the book soon, I wasn’t the only one who would suffer for it.

It was what it was. I came to Balanova for one reason, and I couldn’t change things now. I balled my hands into fists and rubbed my knuckles hard against the top of my thighs. Falling for a mark was a stupid mistake—an unforgivable one—but only if I let it get in the way of the job.

Besides, it wasn’t Spencer I was there to con. Not really. It was Tommy, and he deserved it. It was his selfishness that had robbed Spencer of the chance to grow up around family and friends in the Village. And, of course, it was Tommy who’d betrayed my clan and my father. I needed to remember that.

I stood up and followed the stone wall around to its other side. The dark mahogany door greeted me, and I glanced down at myself before going up the steps to knock. I’d chosen a pair of gray slacks and a simple black button-down. Originally I’d worn a tie, too, but Judd’s mocking laughter had quickly convinced me to abandon it before leaving the carriage house. I brushed some lint from my shirt, then ran a palm down the front of my slacks to smooth out any wrinkles.

Satisfied with my appearance, I bounded up the stone stairway that led to the front door. I reached the porch and blew out a long breath before lifting the thick, iron doorknocker.

I held my breath as I waited for the door to open. Would Tommy answer? Would he somehow recognize me as a Traveler—or, worse yet, as Wiley Jim’s son—and slam the door in my face? Suddenly this dinner seemed like a terrible idea. I needed more time or at least a better plan. I needed a way into the house that wouldn’t involve meeting Tommy at all. I needed—

“Spencer.” I took a step back as the door swung open and grabbed the iron railing to steady myself.

“You found it.” She beamed at me and stepped down onto the porch to take my free hand in both of hers. “I was a little worried you might get lost.” She pulled me through the door and into the cool air inside the house.

The joy in her face made all my earlier nervousness vanish in an instant. Somehow, just being near her made me certain everything would work out the way it needed to. “It’s a little…bigger than I was expecting, but yeah, I found it okay.” I smiled down at her as I shut the door behind me.

She grinned sheepishly at the floor. “I may have understated the size a little bit. I didn’t want to sound like I was bragging or anything.”

I chuckled and slid my fingers along her jawline, tilting her face so she looked up at me. “Spence, you’re the most unassuming person I’ve ever met. You could tell me your father was the Pope, and it wouldn’t sound like you were bragging.” I leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose.

Spencer’s smile grew, and she stood on tiptoes to throw her arms around my neck. I winced as she pressed into my bruised ribs but wrapped my own arms around her waist and found her lips with mine. I would’ve been content standing there kissing her in the hall all evening, but a voice at the back of my head—one that sounded a lot like Judd Sheedy—reminded me of why I’d accepted the invitation to dinner in the first place.

“Something smells amazing,” I said, using it as a convenient excuse to put a little distance between her mouth and mine.

“Dinner should be ready soon. I hope you like lasagna.”

She looked toward the kitchen. I took the opportunity to glance down at her while her attention was elsewhere. She wore a cream-colored skirt made of a gauzy material, and the neckline of her black sweater framed her delicate collarbone in a way that made me want to run my tongue over it and down to the hollow at the base of her throat.

“You look beautiful,” I managed.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed. “Thanks.” She held her hand out to me, and I laced my fingers in hers.

We walked toward the back of the house, passing a wide staircase that sat to the right of the hall and disappeared into darkness several feet over our heads. On the left, the French doors that served as the entrance to a sunken, formal living room stood open, giving the wall a sort of slack-jawed appearance. The room was dimly lit, and I only caught a glimpse of its contents before passing. The shadowy figures of several large pieces of furniture crouched around the room, but it didn’t look like the kind of place Tommy would hide a stolen ledger.

“This place is a little like a museum.” I barely spoke above a whisper. The house was beautiful and tastefully decorated as far as I could tell, but the air seemed too close—almost oppressive—and I wished for the cool evening breeze that had kicked up outside.

“I know,” she said. “We don’t use the front of the house very often. To be honest, we don’t use much of the house at all. No one ever goes upstairs. It’s not even furnished. It’s kind of a shame. I’m not really sure why my dad bought such a big place when he’d be fine in a condo, but I guess it looks good when he has clients over.”

“Does he have people over often?”

“Once in a while.” She shrugged. “He’s having some cocktail party in a few days, actually. I’m supposed to be here to play hostess.” She turned to flash a weary expression over her shoulder.

“Sounds awesome.”

“Yeah, almost as much fun as microeconomics.” She laughed but stopped abruptly to turn back to me. “It would be way more fun if you’d be there.”

Her expression was so hopeful I couldn’t say no, even though there was every chance I’d be on a bus to Louisiana by then. “I’d love to,” I said. “Assuming your dad is cool with it.”

Her mouth split into a wide grin, and she threw her arms around my neck a second time. “You’re the best,” she said. “And don’t worry about my dad. He’ll probably be too distracted to even notice, but I’ll ask him just to be sure. Come on.”

She started toward the brightly lit kitchen at the end of the hall, and although I could only see a section of cabinets through the doorway, I heard running water somewhere inside the room. I slowed a little, tugging her arm. She paused for half a second, then gave my hand an encouraging squeeze and kept moving.