Page 6 of The Con Artist

I let go of his wrist and slipped his watch into the pocket of my cardigan. Now I needed to make a quick exit before he noticed it was gone. We walked out of the bathroom together and out of the lounge.

“It was nice to meet you, Gabriel.” I smiled as I walked the opposite way.

“Baggage claim is this way?” He pointed.

“I have a quick phone call to make first. Thanks again.” I bit down on my bottom lip.

“The pleasure was all mine, Hannah.” He winked.

I knew JFK like the back of my hand since I traveled so much and went another way to get to baggage claim. When I got there, I hid around the corner and waited for him to retrieve his luggage. Once he did and began to walk away, I swallowed hard as I silently whispered, “Goodbye, Gabriel.” After he walked out the door of the airport, I grabbed my bags and headed the opposite way, where I hailed a cab and went home.

Chapter 4

Gabriel

My bag was coming around the carousel when I arrived. I felt a little off by what had happened, and I didn’t want to walk away. She was incredible and I needed to know more about her. But she did say she was only in New York for a couple of days. It was time I put Hannah out of my mind because I’d never see her again.

“Good evening, Carl,” I spoke as I climbed into the back of my limo.

“Good evening, sir. How was Seattle?”

“Rainy.” I smiled. “But productive.”

“Home, sir?” he asked.

“Yes.”

I turned my wrist to look at the time on my watch and it wasn’t there.

“What the hell?” I loudly spoke.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Quinn?”

I never took my watch off. I distinctly remembered it being on my wrist while I was fucking her.

“That bitch stole my watch!”

“Excuse me, sir?” Carl spoke.

“Nothing.” I climbed out of the car. “I’ll be right back. I have to look for someone.”

I raced back to baggage claim and looked around for Hannah. Looking at the carousel where our luggage had come from, it was empty. I stepped outside and looked around. Nothing. She wasn’t anywhere to be found. I climbed back in the limo and told Carl to take me home.

I was enraged. A thirty-thousand-dollar watch gone. Taken by a woman I met on an airplane and fucked in the sky lounge at JFK airport. How stupid could I be?Fuck!I pulled my ringing phone from pocket and saw it was Greta calling. What the hell did she want? I wasn’t in any mood to deal with her, so I sent her to voicemail.

Carl pulled up to my building at 178 East 94thStreet, a townhome I had purchased three years ago when it went into foreclosure. My family and friends were shocked when I purchased it because they always believed I was a high-rise penthouse type of man. The thing I liked most was the homey feel it had. It was a place I felt would be right to have a family someday in the distant future. Or at least that was what I saw three years ago. Since then, my views on family and marriage had drastically changed thanks to the crazy women I’d dated.

As soon as I stepped through the front door, Grace, my housekeeper, greeted me.

“Welcome home, Gabriel,” she spoke as she took my suitcase from me.

“Thanks, Grace. How’s everything going?”

“Well, your ex-girlfriend stopped by earlier and cried her eyes out to me, mumbling something about what an asshole you are and how you broke up with her over the phone.”

I rolled my eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. The only thing I heard was you breaking up with her.” She smiled. “Don’t get me wrong; she was an okay girl, but she sure whined and cried a lot.”

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