Page 53 of Three Steps Behind

“Perfect.” Aubry smiled—almost impressed with her, it appeared.

“I’m just curious”—truly curious—“why did it take you so long to catch me?” He was good. Very good.

His smile softened. It kept doing that when he looked at her. Surely Agent Man couldn’t have a thing for her. Nah, she was being silly.

“You’re a master at your game,” he began. “You didn’t let your guard down until you met Dalton.”

“Clearly.” Her shoulders slackened as embarrassment sifted through her.

“He’s a master at his game too.”

Had he said that to make her feel better, or was he just stating the facts? Her intuition had failed her, and if she couldn’t trust it to lead her anymore, then what did she have left?

“All right. You’re set,” Tom said, ushering her toward the door she had zero desire to walk through.

“You’ve got this,” Aubry said.

Again, he’d pegged her thoughts. She really was slipping. She just hoped not with Dalton. Not now that she knew who he was. What he was. She needed him to buy it—lock, stock, and barrel.

Moving toward the door, she forced herself not to look back. Never look back. And why did she even want to look back at the man? Not delving there . . .

Her hand closed on the knob. Don’t. Look. Back. She’d say it as many times as she needed to. So he was handsome, so he appeared to be a good man—she still needed to keep moving forward. Forward.

“Be careful,” he called after her, and she kept going despite the burning urge to turn around.

Stepping outside and down the stairs, she moved for her VW Beetle—another gift from Dalton. She cringed, wanting to wash every bit of him from her life. The wind lashed frigid against her cheeks, but then the sun’s rays warmed them. Back and forth.

Climbing into her car, she ducked to look through the windshield, up at Agent Man’s room. There he stood, his frame silhouetted in the sheer curtains.

He had faith in her—such a strange thing. She needed to rekindle her confidence. Dalton’s true person had rocked her, but she couldn’t let on.

You’ve got this. You will out-con him. She had to buy into it, or she’d never fool Dalton. Agent Man had called her a master of the game. Time to remind herself of who she was. She’d been pulling cons since she could talk. She had this, didn’t she?

Shifting into drive, she pulled out of the lot, heading toward an unknown future.

Forty-five minutes later, she climbed the front steps leading to Dalton’s northern Santa Fe home, feeling like she was on a precipice. She was—both literally and figuratively. She glanced down at the gurgling creek deep below his mountain home. Then cast her gaze to the double wooden doors leading to Dalton’s courtyard. If he caught her with the bug, she had no doubt he’d kill her.

The wind chime clanged on the stiff winter breeze. The day Dalton bought the teardrop silver chimes flooded her mind. The picnic he’d prepared, the beautiful spring flowers blooming all around. It’d been a magical day, and yet he’d been playing her the entire time. To what purpose? Every con had an end game. What was his?

Okay, Bri. You can do this. He’s only a man. One of her mom’s favorite phrases—only a man. And also, one of her few rules. Never con a woman. They were far more dangerous. “Women have claws, Bri,” she would tell her, and so far in Bristol’s experience it had proven true—except when her parents conned Elliott Maxwell.

It had been on account of her parents conning one of the most dangerous men that they’d had to leave Vegas, and soon after, Bristol had left them. Pain squeezed her heart, but she ignored it like she always did.

Enough nostalgia. She lifted the knocker and tapped her sequence: three-two-three. Familiar footsteps shuffled toward the door.

She fixed a smile on her face.

Showtime, darling. Again, one of her mom’s sayings.

Dalton opened the door, confusion and happiness warring on his features.

She held her arms out wide. “Darling.” She raced forward, engulfing him with a hug.

He embraced her back. “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but how did you get out?” Seriousness overtook his face. “You’re not on the lam, are you?”

Of course he’d worry they’d come after her—and catch on to him.

She leaned back. “I got out on good behavior. They held an early parole board, and I wanted to surprise you.”