Page 22 of The Love Bandits

I went to the bathroom and came out to find her staring down at the necklace, which I’d left out on my dresser, her finger tracing the gem. Maybe she recognized it from the documentary; maybe she didn’t. Either way, I could tell she wanted to pocket it and run, so I told her I had to call it a night.

She left, and the only people I’ve spoken to since are Roark, my neighbors in this building, and Anthony Rosings Smith. I’ve been going out of my head, but at least I was being careful—doing what needed to be done to get Ryan out of this shit.

And then I went and invited Elaine inside…

She doesn’t live in this building.

I went up and down the hall after she left, hitting up the apartments of all the people I haven’t met, pretending I was selling Girl Scout cookies for my non-existent niece. Then I went downstairs and did it all again. I got enough cookie orders that if I stick around long enough I’ll have to hit up eBay or some shit because apparently the Girl Scouts aren’t up to their cookie mojo until spring.

Unless someone had Elaine and the cat hidden in a closet—and I doubt any closet would contain them—she doesn’t fucking live here. She lied to me.

It’s not often I get hoodwinked.

It’s…alarming.

Why did she choose me as her target?

I’d like to think she wanted to ride my dick because it felt ridiculously good when she practiced—but she spilled a whole beer on herselfandpretended to have her period, so I have to be realistic.

She didn’t want me. She wanted what she thought I might have.

Which leaves me with the question of why she thought Jake Jeffries, therapist and renter of a mediocre apartment, had anything worth taking. I guess it’s possible she has a regularroutine with her cat. She could go from building to building, suckering lonely men into letting her inside so she can mow through their shit, the way she did mine, and steal anything worth keeping.

A more alarming possibility is that she’s friendly with Chloe, who thought the necklace might be the real deal and sent in a pal to check it out.

But that still doesn’t explain the cat.

If it was some sort of a con, it wasn’t a very good one.

Except it worked, a voice in my head insists.She got you good, and you don’t want to admit it.

I checked out Nextdoor—a website that’s much more useful for thieves and con artists than people probably realize—and also Reddit and Craigslist, but no one was talking about a hot chick with a cat sidekick or two women pulling off cons together.

Of course, that doesn’t mean no one else has been fleeced. A lot of men would rather die than admit they’ve been taken in by a woman. Or women, as the case may be.

This morning, I told myself it was time to stop looking for Elaine, especially since I don’t know what I’d do if I found her. I can’t turn her into the cops for stealing the necklace.

But it’sreallynot good if it ends up in some pawn shop.

No doubt about it, Jake Jeffries is on life support, and I’m going to have to pull the plug soon if I don’t want Jake Langston to catch his disease.

So I have to finish this, and finish it quickly.

I have to finish ittonight.

I’ve never pulled off a job so quickly—usually, there’s a planning period after I scope out the territory. But at this point, Ryan’s life isn’t the only one hanging in the balance.

If the wrong people make the right connections…

I swear as I slump onto the couch, running my fingers up through my hair.

This job started out bad, poisoned, because of the way I’d been made to do it, and now it feels wrong all the way through.

I’d step away if I could.

But…

My burner starts vibrating on the table next to the shitty necklace, and I know it’s Roark.

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