The Perfect Confidence, page 1
The Perfect Confidence
By Beth Rhodes
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www.authorbethrhodes.com
Copyright © 2015 by Beth Rhodes
Cover Design by Elaina Lee at For the Muse Design
Edited by Wendy Ely
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
Other Works by
—Beth Rhodes—
For Love or Duty
Letters From Home, Book One, Love Beyond Reason Series
Unwanted Vows, Book One, Vows Series
Visit my website and join my mailing list to be the first to hear about new books! And don't miss the first glimpse of my December release, Outside the Lines, at the end of The Perfect Confidence.
The Perfect Confidence
Easy-going con man, Dominic Foster is ready to get out of the game, buy his old family home, and settle down. He just needs the cash promised to him by an old buddy. Unfortunately, the woman holding his money is leading him on a chase.
Daughter of a con man, telling lies is the only life Heather Slate has ever known. Now with her father dead, she’s set on revenge against the man she holds responsible, gorgeous Dominic Foster—the object of her old, school-girl crush. After avoiding him for months, she is finally ready to exact her revenge. But after meeting him, she realizes things are not as they seem.
Both live in a world of lies where trust does not come easy. But it’s trust they need most when a winter storm has them stranded in Dominic’s small home town. Can the trust they find lead them to love and a new beginning for them both?
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
Coming in December
—Dedication—
To all my rough and rowdy Rhodester readers… who know there’s nothing like a bad boy to make us weak in the knees. To the Danny Oceans and Charlie Cokers, the Michael Westons and Nathan Fords…a happily-ever-after to all the bad boys.
As always, to my husband.
Prologue
Dominic Foster didn’t usually say no to money. Hell, he never said no to money and watching Jack’s dream go up in smoke was worth every penny.
He stood back from the heat, the flames of the burning house, surprised to see a shadow of regret on Jack Slate’s face. “Hey, it’s just a house, man.”
Jack shrugged. “It was a dream.” He sighed. “I left a note for Heather. Will you give it to her? The insurance money will be good. You’ll get twenty percent of the payout from the house and my life insurance. When you see her…make sure she’s okay.”
Dominic hesitated. He didn’t want to get between Jack and his daughter. “Why not call her yourself?”
“No.” He waved his hands and started for the car along the street. “Someone could be watching her. This is better. She was upset over our last con. Just needs time to cool off, I imagine. When I’m settled somewhere no one can find me, then...”
Staying off the grid was important after a job. Dominic had a few close calls of his own over the years. Success happened with anonymity. “Well, it’ll take a few months anyway for the paperwork to go through, and then…we can both call it quits.”
Jack nodded. “It’s best. I’m too damn old for this game.”
“Never.”
Chuckling, Jack opened the car door. “Time for these old bones to retire, son. I just hate to leave Heather on her own.”
“She won’t be alone.” Dominic couldn’t help but reassure his old friend. Jack had done too much for him in the early years. Jack had seen right through him during his first scam, the pool hall hustle. When he offered to play pairs and split the money, Dominic had agreed and then gone on to learn just about everything he could soak up about playing the opponents’ weakness. Learning what it was in the first place had been the hardest, but Jack had that gift to dig deep, learn quickly, and get to the heart of his mark.
Now, this was Dominic’s chance to help instead of take…okay, and make a few bucks to boot.
“Get out of here. I’m going to call 9-1-1.” Dominic watched the old car drive away as he dialed to report a fire at the old house on Valentine Lane.
Chapter One
Heather Slate had assumed a name and an identity before planting herself in this quaint little town. She waved goodbye to Sandra at the boutique on Main Street and quickly closed her jacket over her sidearm. Stupid! She didn’t need every curious resident seeing her 9mm. Even playing a part, she had to quit getting in so deep with the locals.
With a frustrated look to the clear, blue sky, she scowled. Nothing should be so perfect when her mood was this sour. Everyone in town was so nice, too nice for the revenge in mind.
And finding Dominic Foster was the only way to gain an ounce of justice.
He’d been there when the house burned to the ground. He must’ve known her dad was in there. The worse part was she’d always thought of him as a friend—to Jack, anyway. She couldn’t figure out—for the life of her—why he would be involved in something so awful.
Except that he was a known con man. He’d lied to others. Why not her father?
Now that she had the money from the insurance, she was going to lure him back to his hometown and crush him, like a bug.
Tomorrow there would be an auction for his family home, and she was going to buy it, dirt cheap. And then she was going to burn it to the ground.
A home for a home.
He’d taken hers. She was going to take his. Payback was going to be a bitch. Her bitch.
The road to the house barely met any kind of standard. Potholes were strewn from one side to the other, and when she’d nearly reached the old homestead, the road turned to dirt.
As the two-story house came into sight, her heart gave a funny clutch.
She scowled. Ridiculous to feel anything for the place, anything but anger. But the sentiment was there anyway…and it was the reason her doubts about Dominic wouldn’t stay squelched. He’d lived here, talked about it and his family. Could he really have done something so cold as to involve himself in a con that would hurt her father, hurt her?
The house had a worn, white railing that ran the length of the porch. Hanging above it were old, rusty planters that had once probably been filled with flowers. Petunias, she’d guess. The kind that draped over the sides in brilliant colors of purple and pink and white. There was a stained glass window over the front door. The original color of the house was a mystery. Today it stood in dilapidated blue, faded to a shade lighter than that of the sky.
Why, in God’s name, did a person abandon such a home?
Growing up, she’d have killed to live in a house like Dominic’s. Instead she and her dad had moved from city to city and state to state, always looking for the next big break. She’d loved her dad…
She’d just never found stability with him. Lessons in disguise. Lessons in role playing. Lessons in cold, hard cash. Yes. Jack Slate made sure she could survive, no matter what or who came knocking. The funny thing was…there’d never been anything to knock on. But then there had been, and he’d lost it. To Dominic freaking Foster.
If she was completely honest with herself, she blamed her father, too. Live by the sword. Die by the sword. And then Jack Slate been gone.
Her dad had gotten himself into more than he could handle. Bitten off more than he could chew. Maybe, if she hadn’t been on her yearly trip to the Keys, she could’ve stopped it. Her fist clenched. So much blame to go around, even some for herself.
A warm, wet tear fell down her cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. “Stiff upper lip, Slate,” Heather whispered to herself, hearing her father’s voice in her own. “Always keep moving. Look ahead to the next job, even if I’m not there.”
And, by God, she planned to do just that. It was the least she could do for her dad’s memory. She wasn’t sure where or how, but she wouldn’t quit, not after all her dad had taught her.
She opened the truck door and stepped out.
The back door opened with the key from the box, and she made a slow perusal of the main floor—outdated kitchen reminiscent of the early eighties followed by a dining room done in pastels. As she moved through, she checked behind walls, looking for any signs of substandard materials. The house was sturdier than she’d expected. It had good bones, as her dad would say. They’d flipped more houses than she could count. Her dad had known the people to target. He’d known how to cover up the worst of any trouble.
There’d even been a time she’d felt guilty. One couple in particular. The husband had been hesitant to buy from them. It was as if he’d seen through their charade. But he hadn’t been able to say no to the wife. In the end, he had been too weak.
She’d known that day that the lines between right and wrong were blurred. T.S.T.L. Too stupid to Live. What kind of weak-ass man couldn’t say no to a woman? Sheesh.
They’d gone beyond the housing market shortly after tha
Near the front of the house, she found a set of double doors off the hallway. Dark wood panels that could disappear into the walls on either side. Carefully, she slid the right side, but it caught on the track halfway back. She jiggled the panel, trying again, and moved the door an inch until it stuck. She shoved, hard, and yelped when the door finally gave.
Dust clung to every crevice, every bevel on the wood, onto the baseboards, and beyond. “Good Lord,” she breathed, fanning her face as a month’s worth of allergens settled around her.
Aside from the dust, the room was tidy as if the owners had expected to come back. Large desk in front of the window. Book shelves on the wall to the right. Two big, wingback chairs off to the left in a sitting area that had a little coffee table centered there with two teacups on it. “Like the freaking Titanic,” she whispered. “Just come on in and sit down for tea.”
Dominic had been back three times in the last year, but never bothered to clean it? He’d been shoveling money into a bank here, too. Every three months, an amount more than enough to hold off foreclosure would be automatically transferred to the First National Bank on Main Street.
As a matter of fact, everything she’d been able to deduce only spoke of one thing: Dominic wanted this house. The kernel of doubt stuck against a crevice in her conscience. Maybe he’d had a change of heart since the incident at her father’s home.
Maybe you’re wrong about him.
Heather crossed to the desk and pulled on the drawer handle. A few pencils, paperclips, and post-it notes cluttered the space. Left of the center drawer was a deep file drawer…and locked. Heather removed the pin from the inside pocket of her jacket and worked the key hole until the lock mechanism turned and the files were liberated.
She blew out a breath.
“Freeze, Dirtbag!”
She froze, cursing herself for her carelessness, and turned slowly, hands raised to find him in the doorway. “Dominic Foster, we meet again.”
Chapter Two
“I’ve always wanted to say that.” Dominic grinned and waved his empty hand her way in casual disregard…and holy moly, she was even more beautiful up close. They hadn’t made a connection in the four months since her dad’s insurance scam. Heather was always a step ahead, avoiding him. It hadn’t seemed right, letting the facts go for so long. She’d deserved to know. He’d finally had to mail her the letter from Jack. But even when she knew all the details afterward, she still wasn’t willing to share.
She studied him suspiciously, accusation coloring her pale skin and amusement sparking in her eyes. “Freeze, dirtbag?”
There was a tiny mole at the top of her cheekbone. Sleek blonde hair framed her face and fell down her back almost to her waist. He’d thought her eyes were blue, but now he could see they were more of a gray. Some might say plain, but he’d call them all fools.
“Yeah. Never had a chance before.” He liked that she was off balance. “Can I get you something to drink? Water?” She hesitated as if uncertain what to do. He’d decided as soon as he saw her break into his house that he was going to play along with her rouse. If she wanted to hog the shares, it’s no wonder her dad wanted to quit. “You are here to case the joint, right?”
“No. I—I don’t—”
“I’m your man. Seriously. I know this place like the back of my hand.” Dominic stepped into her space, sensed her jolt, and smothered his grin. He grabbed her arm. “Come on. You have to see the kitchen. It hasn’t been updated in twenty years. It’s perfect. I swear my parents should have burned the place down years ago.”
She frowned, trying to pull away before finally giving in with a roll of her eyes. “Look, Nic—”
“Hey, I like that. Is that how you distance yourself from the target?” He patted her shoulder. “Nicknames. It’s good.”
“You’re not a target.”
“I’m not?” Too bad. He wouldn’t mind having her focused on him, have all that tension aimed his way. She was doing crazy things to his libido, something he’d let go dormant in the last year.
Frustration rolled from her in great big Point Break waves, and when she struggled to get free again, he let her go. Her arm came out to whack him in the shoulder. “No.”
“Hmm.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Of course not,” he admitted. Not only did he not believe her, he didn’t trust her, either. She was obviously considering some kind of con. “You are the daughter of Jack Slate, are you not?”
She stiffened and turned with a shrug. “Don’t talk about my father.”
Her eyes were taking in the room. And he wanted to get inside her head, know what she was thinking. Had she changed since those days, years ago, when he’d been a desperate, angry boy looking to make a quick dollar? They’d played cards. Her skill at poker had rivaled his own. And that had been saying something because he’d spent the first two years of college, gambling his way for tuition.
He hadn’t been smart enough for the scholarships. Not like his sister and brother.
“What can I say? I like the guy. There wasn’t a con he couldn’t pull. I respect that. Maybe he got out of the game too soon.”
Heather nailed him with those eyes again. “Thanks to you.”
“No, but I understand how a man might want to call it quits.”
“Oh, really?” Her face was turning a beautiful shade of angry red.
“Well, sure.” He approached her and frowned as he traced a finger down her cheek to the rapid pulse in her neck. Beautiful was an understatement. Even gorgeous didn’t seem to fit the bill. “Don’t you think this is a hard life? When was the last time you enjoyed a cup of coffee without looking over your shoulder? Or got a new library card without using an alias? Some days, I forget who I’m supposed to be.”
She slapped at his hand. “I’m so glad you approve, you— you— you jerk!”
She turned and fled toward the back door but found it locked. It took her three tries before it opened and she raced to her truck.
He wasn’t exactly sure what just happened. He’d hit a sore spot, though. With a sigh, Dominic followed her out. “Hey!” he called as she stepped up onto the running board.
She stopped short, looked at him, every muscle vibrating with tension as her small hand gripped the door. He remembered her special friend tucked away under her arm and lifted his hands as a sign of peace. He couldn’t figure out why she’d be so upset. Maybe she’d had a big project planned and Jack had backed out at the last minute. Either way, she was just too damn pretty to get in an accident. “Don’t drive angry.”
She growled, actually growled, before slamming the door shut and spitting gravel as she turned and sped down the drive.
Dominic threw his head back and laughed. He didn’t want to like this feisty woman. His money was still in her possession, and it was high time she gave it up. He didn’t mind helping a friend, and he’d have done what he did for a lot less…
But a promise was a promise. Jack promised, and if Dominic could finally get his share of the money, he could buy his parents’ house and settle down. There was a bar on the south side of Main that was going up for sale. Jones had gotten married and was moving to the city. Dominic planned to be his buyer.
As he turned to go back in the house, he noticed dark clouds forming on the horizon. He sighed. Looked like they were in for a doozy.
~*~
“Dad!” The house burned hotter than her temper in that moment. Sirens screamed down the street. It was too late. She knew it, and her chest hurt to even breathe. “Dad!”
But then she saw him in the corner of her eye. A familiar face, one she hadn’t seen in fifteen years. Her mind was playing tricks on her even as her heart welled up. Maybe he was here to help.
