The idea was on the fly and sketchy as hell, but hopefully Liam’s plans, leading to the enclosed study where their target would be retreating that day, would help.
Julia nodded over the screen and daintily bit her lip. An absolutely stunning woman, with pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, and the exquisite features of Grace Kelly in her heyday, she had cut her con-man teeth on staying away from her father’s heavy hand and cruel disposition. Carl had heard enough stories—many of them whispered—about Hiram Dormer’s monstrousness toward women and children. Julia had ever looked the pampered princess, but she’d been trapped in her tower by a fierce dragon, and her unlikely saviors had been Felix Salinger and Danny Mitchell.
She’d joined hands with them and marched into the game, conning her father, protecting her then-unborn child, and forging a family with Felix and Danny. Once, Carl had resented her because her marriage to Felix had caused Danny so much heartache. But Danny hadn’t let him feel that way, pointing out again and again that her resilience and compassion had survived what would have killed many lesser souls.
She’d been the one to invite Carl back to the mansion in Glencoe the night he had stumbled into one of the crew’s first jobs together, and Carl had found himself beguiled and impressed.
“Good,” she said now in response to Carl’s summation. “I’m going to keep your room in reserve. That way if this goes well, you don’t have to jump right back on the plane. We were going to have you fly to Munich. I’ll keep that possibility open, but I like this idea of going in covert and then the big reveal.” She flashed a smile at Carl that lacked its usual oomph, and Carl’s stomach knotted.
“How’s he doing?” he asked quietly.
“He’ll be spending this treatment round at the hospital,” Julia responded quietly. “The drive there and back is a little hard on him. We set up a cot there—he’s never alone.”
“Tell Grace that Hunter was an absolute asshole this morning and that he’s missed.”
Her smile picked up at the corners. “I will, thank you. It will make Dylan happy to know that.”
It was, in actuality, a lie. Hunter may have communicated in grunts and monosyllables, but Carl had met—and occasionally awakened with—much surlier men. But Grace had been devastated by Josh’s illness and torn when he realized that coming with them on this venture would mean he’d have to leave Josh’s side. In the end, leaving Josh was something he simply couldn’t do. Knowing that Hunter missed him would make him feel better, and Carl wasn’t above the occasional lie to make that happen.
“I’ll tell the others about the hotel—”
“And tell Liam to get on the plane if things get hot. We’ll make a plan to drop him off somewhere should we need to.”
“I will.” Carl dropped his voice. “The young man was smoking. Is that something we’re allowed to nag him about?”
Julia’s eyebrows arched. “Oh. Oh my, yes. But after the job.”
“Of course,” Carl said, trying desperately to pinch his smile off at the corners of his mouth. “Understood.”
“Good. Wish everybody luck for me,” she said. “And be careful. Leon de Rossi isn’t a monster, but he’s no one to fuck with. I’m reasonably certain somebody has been censoring our letters and emails from him.” Her face softened. “Matteo, his brother, lived in awe of Leon. But never fear. I got a feeling of protectiveness from Matteo’s stories, not oppression. Be as absolutely honest as you can.”
Carl nodded. He’d faced down the world’s worst insurance scammers and the world’s most cold-blooded insurance administrators. He had a fairly well-honed bullshit detector, and he’d become adept at diffusing tense situations. His international law degree may have been why he’d been tapped for this job, but those other skills were definitely a plus.
At that moment, Hunter turned off the main road onto a long straight drive. The mansion—literally on a slight hill—was plainly in sight, albeit probably a mile away at the least.
It was time to get his game face on.
“Julia, we’re almost there. Gotta sign off.”
“Tell Hunter to keep me on standby!” she told him, and Carl nodded before hitting End Call.
Next to him, Chuck had already removed his earbuds and relaxed into his patter with Molly Christopher, a budding actress, fierce tae kwon do fighter, and stunning con woman.
She was also one of Josh’s oldest friends from high school, who along with her brother, Stirling, had moved into the Salinger mansion in spite of being in their early twenties. They’d been foster siblings adopted by friends of Felix and Julia’s when they were fairly young, but they’d lost their adopted parents less than two years ago. Brilliant and devoted to each other, they also had the deep-rooted sense of amorality that helped all good con men in their jobs.
And Carl got the feeling that being a part of the Salinger crew not only gave them a community but also a chance to get back at the forces of life that had shit on them so often in so many small ways.
“Okay, sweetness,” Molly was saying, her voice relaxing into a Texas drawl much like Chuck’s. “You gotta show mama what we’re trying to buy here so I know how much we’re gonna spend.” Her drawl disappeared. “Stirling, are you getting this? We need to know how much to spend.”
Her brother—taciturn, quiet almost to the point of being antisocial—responded briefly.
“I’ve got the price tables up, Molly, and a list of people who’ve made offers on the property in the last five years. I’m not stupid.”
“I know it,” she said. “Sorry. This is just—”
“Don’t worry about me,” Stirling told her. “Just be fabulous and overbearing through the phone screen. You’re good at it.”
“I hope she is,” Liam said from the front. “Because we’re here.”
“Whoo-ee,” Molly said, her drawl firmly in place. “That is some special summer cottage, Charlie-bear. You and me are gonna have to shop to fill that thing with any decent furniture.”
Carl and Chuck exchanged dry glances.
That “summer cottage” was a castle—or more likely a chateau, given that the words in Flemish and English were often interchanged.
It sat flanked by shade trees, part of about an acre’s copse that stood out from the property of horse pastureland. They’d spotted the barns and outbuildings soon after they’d turned off from the main highway and had even seen a couple of Belgium’s trademark draft horses, sturdy and majestic, trotting amicably along the fence line.
The insurance investigator in Carl was wondering who cared for the beasts when Leon de Rossi was away, but the kid who’d liked to look at animals in books thought they were just marvelous, glossy and royal, and left it at that.
But none of the nicely manicured greenery and stunning equine muscle prepared them for Leon de Rossi’s “summer cottage.” Tall and angular, a rectangle with three stories and an attic, judging by the graded windows near the top, the structure also sported three turrets and a gabled roof that avoided coming to a point by a bevel. It was built of stone, with a smaller outbuilding—recently adjoined—that was probably once used to shelter farm animals and horses but, according to the floor plans they’d studied that morning, housed an indoor pool. As they’d driven in, past the modern barn, they’d also passed an even more modern structure, obviously used for cars, that appeared to have an apartment on the top floor. Carl even saw someone—probably the chauffeur—polishing a luxury SUV with tinted windows that were probably bulletproof.