Page 4 of Brazen Deceits

He holds out his arm like a gentleman, and I take the crook of his elbow like he’s my prom date, looping a small bag on my other shoulder. He leads me to the front of the house, turning off lights as we go through every room, making the house look dark and empty. At the base of the stairs, he leans in, his breath warm against my ear, the same ear he was teasing a quarter hour ago, and whispers, “I’ll take your kind of trouble anytime.”

“Promise?” I ask, turning so my lips hover just in front of his.

He closes the gap, his lips soft against mine, but pauses there, chaste. “Promise.”

He flicks off the last of the downstairs lights and leads me up the stairs, into a world I never imagined joining.

Chapter 2

Clara

I’ve only been in the attic once, and it was during a crazy storm while I was completely terrified. Now, with the lights on, the space full of people, laughter, drinks, and soft music, it feels like I’ve wandered through a portal to another planet.

Trips waits at the top of the stairs, observing the crowd. He glances at his watch as Jansen and I step into the throng, his lips pressing together as he takes me in, head to toe. I swallow, waiting for a caustic remark, the announcement that I’m officially one minute late, that I’ve failed in some unknown way, but instead, he snags my free arm, tilting his mouth down to my ear. “Good job,” he whispers before marching through the crowd, tablet in hand.

It takes a minute for my breaths to slow from his unexpected compliment. Once I’m recovered, it’s obvious to see that Walker was in charge of decorating the attic. The way thehoney-colored wood, green and red leather, and iron accents pull the room together gives the space a luxury speakeasy vibe. It’s his signature brand of excess, and a hum of approval escapes my lips.

Although I can’t see them, I know there are tiny microphones and cameras the guys have rigged up throughout the space, so they can know what’s going on with none of the patrons realizing. Two large oval tables sit in the middle of the space, eight chairs spread on three sides, and one chair closest to the bar, which must be for the dealer.

The bar is at one end of the attic, surrounded by plush sofas and chairs, people dressed in outfits that cost close to my semester tuition bill, lounging with glasses of high-end liquor. I thought my black dress would cover any situation I could find myself in. I think I might be mistaken.

There are a few guys in jeans and t-shirts, but I can tell they are regulars by the way they study the other players—they’re already hunting for weaknesses during the “drink and be merry” part of the evening.

Walker’s tending an actual, solid wood bar, his black hair forced into a side part, an affable grin on his face. He shakes some concoction before pouring it over a giant ice cube. Then he pulls out a beer from under the counter, filling another glass, and I realize they must have a dedicated fridge/freezer up here. It’s like the attic is an actual poker club.

Jansen gently pries my fingers loose from his arm, before resettling my hand with a gentle pat.

Yikes. I hope I didn’t draw blood. “Is it always like this?” I whisper.

He nuzzles my hair as he answers, his breath tickling my ear. “It’s a little extra tonight. We had to push the game a few weeks after the whole police situation, with, well, you know who, so we allowed extra players and guests to make it up to our regulars. Come on, let’s get you settled with some of that sushi.”

He navigates through the crowd, a smile and a nod for a select few people, eventually bringing me around to a full buffet set up behind the lounge area. Trays of rainbow-colored fish make me salivate, a vat of miso soup next to a pile of matching bowls, seaweed salad in epic proportions—I think I might have died and gone to heaven. Hot green tea is in a carafe at the end of the buffet, in case people decide against liquor.

“This is crazy, you know that, right?” I say, scooping up a smorgasbord of sushi, sashimi, and fancy rolls onto a solid ceramic plate.

Jansen pops a spicy sweet potato and avocado roll into his mouth, swallowing it in one bite. “It’s exactly what it’s supposed to be, Clara. Exclusive, reclusive, and for people who have money to lose.” He pours himself a cup of tea before turning to scan the room. “Sadly, Trips just waved me over, so you’ll have to fend for yourself for a bit.” He taps my nose with his finger. “Be good, beautiful.”

I stick my tongue out at him before remembering I’m supposed to be fancy. He gives my hand a squeeze then pulls the elastic out of his hair and weaves through the crowd to Trips, blond locks glinting in the light.

I take my full plate to the side of the bar, watching Walker work. He has a splatter of brown paint peeking out fromunder his right cuff, a spot he must have missed scrubbing when he got ready. He pours a glass of red wine for a woman in a blue dress, her blond hair falling rain-straight over her shoulders. “I wasn’t expecting you to be tending bar tonight,” she says, taking a slow sip from her wine, holding Walker’s gaze.

I hold my breath, waiting to see how Walker will deal with this blatant flirt. Part of me wants to shout “Mine!” at the top of my lungs, but a bigger part is curious about how he’s going to play this. Walker might be a forger, but he also likes to play the “smiling snake.” I’ve never seen the side of him that is adept at manipulation up close and personal.

He corks the bottle, tucking it into a wine fridge at the back of the bar. He turns back with his signature half-smile, but his eyes are sharp like jagged obsidian. “I wasn’t expecting you to condescend to play tonight, Summer.”

She huffs, this obviously hitting some button I know nothing about. “I enjoy a good game, you know that.”

“Only when you spent too much on your latest shopping spree,” Walker says, his onyx eyes flashing.

Summer pulls a twenty from her purse, sliding it across the bar. “Always such joyful conversation. Until later, Walker.” She scoops up her wine, winks, and saunters into the crowd.

Walker tucks the twenty into a jar, his face falling into a pleasant grin, his shoulders relaxing, playing the part of happy hired help as he wipes down both the wood top and the steel top workspace on his side.

I wonder for a second if a twenty from this woman is an insult or a compliment. If this is the same Summer that Trips and Jansen were talking about, she apparently has enoughcars to worry about them matching her outfits. What I can stretch to cover groceries for the week (with a few scrounged free meals along the way), is apparently a reasonable tip for a glass of wine for this woman. And if I were to guess, she’s in her twenties—where does she get all that money?

Bored with waiting for Walker to notice me, I knock on the bar. “Barkeep?” I call, using my snootiest voice.

Walker drops his rag and rushes around the back of the bar, scooping me into a hug. “Clara! You came up!”

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