Page 32 of Brazen Deceits

“Okay. Either this coming weekend or the following one, you two are heading to Chicago. Full cover, disconnected assets, cash where possible.”

Walker finally clears his throat, joining the conversation. “Remember, I need to run to Chicago, too. The sooner the better.”

Trips sits back in his chair. “I don’t like all three of you there at the same time. Also, I don’t think you need full cover, Walker. You can use your university duplicate self to visit a museum. Art students are always visiting famous art, right?”

Walker shrugs, his jaw tight.

Trips turns to RJ instead of engaging with Walker. “Do you have work next weekend?”

“Yeah, but I can get someone to cover for me.”

Trips leans back in his chair. “Then you and Jansen leave Friday. Get a car, use cash. Walker, you’ll have IDs ready by then, right?”

Walker shifts back toward the group, not really having a choice in the matter. “If RJ can get me the clean trail, I can make the IDs.”

RJ grins. “I’ve been saving a bunch for a rainy day. I can get them to you whenever.”

Trips nods. “Good. Walker, you’ll drive out there the weekend after that. Take Clara. You can use a romantic getaway as cover.”

I don’t think my jaw could drop any faster. After the fight we just had? Five or six hours stuck in a car with Walker, both ways? No. Just no. “I have to work the next two weekends. If you want my rent paid, I can’t be gallivanting off to Chicago without warning,” I say.

Walker nods along. “I can go solo. It’s not a big deal.”

Trips shakes his head. “Things are about to get weird. I don’t want any of you alone in Chicago when the motherfucking mob is involved in this whole thing. And I don’t want any duplicate visits—it will look too suspicious if anyone thinks to look. Visit once, you’re a tourist. Visit twice and you’re up to something.”

I glance at Walker, but the set of his jaw tells me he’d rather pull out his molars sans anesthetic than go to Chicago with me. God. This wasn’t just a temporary setback, was it? My palms sweat, and I rub them against my sweatshirt. “What about you, Trips? What are you going to be doing?” I ask, grasping at straws.

Trips crosses his arms across his chest, and I focus on how his biceps stretch the cotton tighter than is probably comfortable, needing to latch onto anything but the growing dread in my gut. An image of him sweaty with his hands wrapped in tape, pummeling a canvas bag flashes in my imagination, and I’m grateful for my suddenly hyperactive libido. It’s the perfect distraction.

I still can’t tell where I stand with Trips, no matter how carefully I observe him. Some days, he’s the picture of grudgingsweetness. Others, I’m no different from the gum on the bottom of his thousand-dollar shoes: an annoyance that needs to be scraped off and thrown away. He’s the master of mixed signals.

Trips clears his throat, and I realize he must have caught me staring. Shit.

He leans forward, his hands on his knees. “I’m going to be figuring out who we’re up against and what tactics they’re likely to use. We’ve got to be prepared to counter. We will win this stupid fucking tryout, and then we’ll do the Rubens job. By the first of next year, we’ll be rolling in cash. And we’ll finally have the capital to move our operation national.”

I blink, that whole statement the most honest bit of truth I’ve gotten from Trips in over a month. “What about my rent money?” I ask, my brain not catching my mouth in time to stop that inanity from spilling out.

Trips laughs, the sound bright like the sun bouncing off a summer lake, and totally ill-fitted for the tension in the room. “Fuck, I’ll pay you a per diem or some shit for Chicago. You can be an independent contractor. The business can easily float some of your rent this month. RJ’s been making a killing lately.”

I glance at the man in question, and a bit of mischief sparkles in his eyes. Walker makes fake IDs for this mysterious company they have, and Trips runs his poker games. I’m fairly certain that the pickpocketing I saw Jansen working on at the football game is at least a portion of what he donates. What crimes does RJ commit to add to their business coffers? It’s not like teaching kids martial arts is what Trips was alluding to.

Now’s not the time for that, though. “So I’m going to Chicago no matter what. That’s what you’re saying?”

“Sure thing, Crash.”

I glare at that stupid nickname, but apparently teasing me makes Trips giddy, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d say he’s thirty seconds from breaking into a toothy grin at my expense.

Before I can figure out how to play this, Walker stands up, stretching. “Well, if that’s it, I have a paper due tomorrow.” And he walks upstairs. Without looking back.

“Thanks for dinner,” I call after him, not able to halt my good manners from rearing their useless head. He throws a wave of acknowledgment, but keeps on walking, disappearing from sight.

Trips glances between the two of us, a hint of a grin creasing his lips. “Remember, Clara, you promised no drama. Think you can do that?”

I show him my middle finger before pulling my plate back onto my lap and reaching for another roll.

Trips laughs, handing me a fresh one, then loading his plate before chuckling the entire way up the stairs.

Chapter 16

---