Con Artist, page 1
Copyright © 2023 Tiffany Andrea. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names or product names used in this publication are trade names, service marks, trademarks, and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publisher and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book. All product, business, or brand names remain intellectual property of their registered owners.
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-990724-35-0
eBook ISBN: 978-1-990724-34-3
Cover Design by: Burden of Proofreading Publishing featuring Graphics by Kudryashka via DepositPhotos.
Interior Graphics by Marco Livolsi and Mykola Lytvynenko via Canva
www.boppublishing.com
To anyone whose head and heart have been at war with each other.
Contents
Preface
1. L-Evaded
2. Shady Character
3. Sting Operation
4. Left-Tenant
5. Under Covers
6. Mugged
7. Window of Opportunity
8. Steak-Out
9. On Duty
10. Sketchy
11. Lie Ability
12. Con Etiquette
13. Out-Law
14. In-Law
15. Inn Mates
16. Legal Eagle
17. Jail Bait
18. Resisting a Rest
19. Cell Service
20. Clean Getaway
21. Guilt By Association
22. Con Descending
23. Breaking Out
24. Stainless Steel
25. Behind Bars
26. End of a Sentence
27. Concrete Evidence
28. In the Loop
29. Tied Up
30. Just Ice
31. Framed
32. Key Witness
33. Fed Ex
34. Prime Crime
35. Felon Love
36. Hard Time
37. Give the Slip
38. Stole Her Heart
39. A Brief Case
40. Federal Man Date
41. Epilogue: Got the Guy
Acknowledgements
Also By
Preface
I want to make a quick note here to say that this book is a work of fiction. It is meant to be a feel-good romance with some laughs along the way. It is by no means an FBI procedural drama and is not meant to be a reflection of any present or past FBI agents and their conduct. I'm Canadian, and everything I've learned about the FBI was from Miss Congeniality. Take a second to forget everything you know about federal law enforcement and their protocols. Just go along for the ride.
Also, if you have any potential triggers, please read the warning below.
This story has a brief mention of suicidal thoughts and depression, though it is just glanced over in conversation. If this is something that could be troubling for you, please proceed with caution.
Chapter one
L-Evaded
Archie
How can someone so beautiful be such a ruthless criminal?
My years in the FBI White-Collar Crime Division should have drilled into my head that you can’t assess a threat based on appearance. It’s always the smallest guys who are the most dangerous in an altercation. It’s always the sweetest-looking old ladies who have the harshest tongues. And it’s the gorgeous blondes with piercing blue eyes who roam the streets like a goddess, but secretly operate an art-theft ring from their studio apartments in the South Loop.
Though, that may be specific to this case.
I have yet to make contact with my number one suspect, Miss Georgia Dewan. Age: 26. Height: 5’4”. Address: 351 East 14th Street, apartment 502. Occupation: freelance artist. Graduate of The School of The Art Institute of Chicago. Relationship status: single.
On paper, she’s a law-abiding citizen with no reason to resort to a life of crime. Her parents are still married after thirty years, living in her childhood home in North Utica. They both have successful careers and don’t appear to have any criminal contacts. Georgia achieved good grades through college and, based on her online presence, is remarkably talented and well liked. Somewhere along the line, like so many others, she decided a life of crime was easier. At least, that’s what my criminal informant has assured me.
For four months, I’ve been tirelessly working this case, scouring the city for a lead. Until last week, nothing had materialized and my supervisory agent was pushing me to scrap the investigation and take on one with a more promising outcome. But I wasn’t about to give up. I negotiated with her to give me seven days to come up with something useful, and with a stroke of luck—and promise of a hefty sum of cash should it pay off—my CI, Bobby, presented me with a name: Georgia Dewan.
She approaches my passenger-side mirror, striding down the sidewalk in her hot pink mini dress, white sneakers, and denim jacket, carrying a large canvas tote bag. Her toned legs eat up the distance in my mirror until she’s in my blind spot. She passes by my unmarked SUV without glancing my way. Good. Her wavy hair sways rhythmically, brushing her shoulders and giving brief glimpses of her silver hoop earrings. If I’m not careful, it could land me in a hypnotic trance; it’s mesmerizing.
Once she is a few yards past the front bumper, it’s time to trail her on foot.
I climb out of the driver’s seat of my Bureau-issued SUV and walk around the rear so I can follow my target from a distance. The warm early autumn air is a stark contrast to my comfortably air-conditioned vehicle.
“SA Prewitt, in pursuit of target. White female. Blonde hair. Traveling north on South Wabash between East Fourteenth and Roosevelt,” I relay through my comms.
“SA Prewitt, copy,” the operator replies.
Georgia may not look like a criminal, but I’m not about to leave myself exposed if she leads me somewhere she could be meeting with other criminals. This heist crew has proven themselves to be merciless and tenacious. Two qualities I don’t want to come face to face with without reporting my whereabouts.
She continues northbound, talking on her phone. I’m too far away to hear what she’s saying, but it’s possible she’s scheduling a meetup. I don’t have enough evidence to tap her phone or request a warrant, so I’ll have to stick close and find out where she’s going. As she ascends the stairs to Roosevelt Subway Station, I text an update to SSA Lancaster rather than keying my radio. If Georgia is meeting someone in her crew here, I can’t risk being heard.
We reach the open area of the elevated station and stop thirty feet apart. She positions herself, leaning on one of the concrete pillars, still fiddling with her phone. I mimic the gesture, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
I pull up the “L” schedule to see what time the train should be arriving. Six minutes. It doesn’t look like she’s meeting anyone here, so I guess I’m going for a ride.
A throat clears to my left.
“Are you following me?”
My eyes travel up the shapely form of Miss Georgia Dewan. She’s wearing sunglasses, so I can’t read her eyes, but judging by her crossed arms, she’s not happy about my presence.
I slide my phone into my pocket, trying to act casual. “No. Why would I be following you?”
“Usually when a strange man follows a single woman on the streets of Chicago, it’s not for noble reasons. So if you’re planning to kidnap me, know that I have a black belt in jiu-jitsu, and I will not go quietly.” Now she pairs her crossed arms with raised eyebrows that peek over her thick-framed sunglasses.
My research never turned up anything on jiu-jitsu, so I’m pretty sure she’s making that up, but I make a mental note to look into it. Maybe that’s where she met the people she’s working with.
“I’m not going to kidnap you… or anyone, for that matter. I’m just waiting for the ‘L’.”
“Where are you going?”
I stare down at the feisty blonde, analyzing her body language. Based on her confrontational manner, I doubt she realizes I’m an FBI agent. I can use this to my advantage. “The Museum of Contemporary Art.”
Her eyes don’t relax at all as she asks, “Why?”
“Listen, I’m just waiting to get on the train. Same as you and everyone else here. I don’t know what’s with the twenty questions.” I release a deep sigh, trying to sell my irritated reply. “If you must know, I’ve been waiting to see Calder’s exhibit for months, and I finally have a few hours off to do it.” In reality, I couldn’t care less, but based on the rash of thefts, I’ve familiarized myself with the more popular art exhibits in the city, so I attempt to use that as common ground.
“You’re going in a suit?”
I look down at my crisp white shirt and navy two-button jacket. “I had a meeting this morning.”
Finally, her arms fall to her sides and the twin lines between her brows disappear. “I’m sorry.” She chuckles and flashes a tense, toothy grin. “A girl in the city can never be too careful, you know? It’s just, I saw you walk all this way behind me, and it set me a little on edge.”
I silently berate myself for being spotted, but try to maintain a neutral
The squealing brakes of the train interrupt our conversation and draw her attention to the tracks. “Well, this is me. Take care of yourself…” She pauses and glances around at the other pedestrians on the platform corralling themselves into the train. “Sorry. I didn’t get your name.”
My plan was not to interact with her, so I don’t have a cover identity in place. But now that my covert operation is blown, I go off script to work with the new parameters of the case. “Usually kidnappers don’t share their real name. It’s bad for business.”
“Right. I really am sorry.” She shrugs and steps closer to the door that won’t remain open much longer. “Small-town girl. Big city. Some habits die hard.”
“It’s a good habit.” I give her a reassuring smile. If she wasn’t a criminal, I’d appreciate her self-awareness to keep herself safe. “I’m Archie.”
She steps forward to the stopped train alongside me, thrusting out her hand in offer to shake mine. I oblige.
“Georgia.”
Yeah, I know.
We enter the crowded railcar, her in front, and she turns right, dropping into a seat on the left side, crossing one leg over the other. She sets her bag on the floor in front of her since the train isn’t too busy on a Tuesday afternoon. I park myself opposite her so I can study her non-verbal cues. Though, much of that relies on a person’s eyes, which are currently covered.
There’s a reason an extensive part of Quantico training revolves around reading body language—most criminals don’t outright admit they’re guilty. I only have a few moments to read as much of hers as I can.
“So, Georgia, the jiu-jitsu master, where are you headed?”
She snaps her head from her focus at the front of the train car back to me. Direct eye contact from behind her glasses. “Why do you want to know?”
“You asked me. Only seems fair.”
She grips her left hand with her right. “So you can call your kidnapper friends to pick me up where I’m going and get off on a technicality that you weren’t the one to do it?”
The right side of my lips tilts upward as I do my best to keep a straight face. “You have a very active imagination.”
“Combination of too many true crime documentaries and life as an artist. We’re notoriously eccentric.”
This is exactly the window of opportunity I was hoping for. “You’re an artist? Are you going to the museum too?”
“No.” She doesn’t elaborate, nor offer any insight about where she is going.
Our conversation has stalled, and the clock is ticking as we speed toward Chicago Station.
“If I guess, will you tell me?”
“I’d be really impressed if you guessed correctly, but it wouldn’t do much to convince me you’re not stalking me. So, no.”
With that, we squeal into my stop, and since I opened my big mouth and admitted I need to get off here, I stand, holding onto the horizontal rail above my head. I am able to peek inside her bag from this vantage point. Art supplies. A pair of small canvases, a sketchbook, a few flat boxes of paints, miscellaneous brushes, and a variety of pencils. Bingo.
To my surprise, Georgia stands, grabbing the bar on the opposite side of the aisle. The movement causes her dress to expose more of her legs. I look away before she has any more reason to suspect my intentions are less than noble.
The game has changed, but the goal remains the same. I’m not a kidnapper, but if I have it my way, she’ll be locked up somewhere soon enough.
Chapter two
Shady Character
Georgia
I consider myself an excellent judge of character. After years of studying the intricacies of the human form, I’m trained to spot the miniscule details that would slip most peoples' notice. The subtle shift of lips or raise of an eyebrow. Dilation of pupils or flushing of cheeks. All things I’m proficient in noticing. But this guy’s face is as expressive as The Mona Lisa and is cloaked in an equal level of mystery.
As soon as the train comes to a stop, I nod goodbye to Archie and beeline through the underground station, up the escalator, to street level. Once I emerge onto North State Street, I head east toward my destination. Again, I feel a palpable presence. I whip around to find Archie only a few steps behind.
“Are you following me now?”
“You knew I was going to the museum. It’s not my fault you’re headed the same way.”
I keep my pace brisk, assuming he’ll give up and fall back, but his tall frame traverses the pavement a lot faster than mine can. Within seconds, he’s in stride with me and slows his pace to match. It irritates me for no good reason that I’m walking as fast as physically possible, and he’s out for a casual stroll, yet we’re going the same speed.
While I am a trusting person by nature, my instincts are still geared toward self-preservation. I don’t think Archie has ill intentions, but I’m not going to present my itinerary on a silver platter, either. Instead, I go straight for the topic of conversation within my comfort zone. “What is it about Calder?”
“Huh?” Archie’s dark eyebrows show the slightest hint of movement, but otherwise, his face is neutral. His hair, on the other hand, the most uniform shade of espresso, possesses all the animation his face lacks. Its slicked back length at the top moves with each step, but the neatly trimmed sides maintain an air of seriousness.
“You said you’ve wanted to go to Calder’s exhibit for a while. What is it about his work that made you want to experience it?”
“You mean see it?”
I huff a sigh. If I’m being honest, I didn’t peg him for the artist type from the get go. His response confirms it.
“No, I mean experience it. A full exhibit like that isn’t one you go ‘see’. You immerse yourself in it. Feel the emotions. Question the logic. If you do it right, you walk out a new person because you grow from it. It’s not just something pretty to look at.”
He remains silent for several paces before replying. “It sounds like I need a guide.” Not only does his face not give anything away, his tone doesn’t fluctuate, either. “Can you spare an hour to make sure I do it right?”
We approach the gardens in front of The Water Tower, and I see it as my opportunity to cut ties. “Sorry. This is where we part ways.”
For the first time, Archie’s countenance expresses something other than indifference. Maybe it’s presumptuous of me, but judging by the downturn of his lips, I’m guessing he’s disappointed. At least, if I was drawing a disappointed person, that’s the expression I’d give them.
“Oh, sure. Don’t let me keep you from whatever you’ve got planned.”
The way he makes that statement, laced with a hint of contempt, makes me relieved I’ve got a legitimate reason to end this interaction. It’s been a wild ride, start to finish.
“Right. Enjoy your experience, Archie.” I turn to head down Michigan Avenue toward my destination.
Archie calls from behind me, “See ya, ’round, Georgia.”
I almost laugh. In a city of 2.7 million people, the chances of ever running into him again are slim. There’s a certain level of freedom offered in the anonymity of the city. You’re surrounded by more people, but you’re practically invisible amongst the crowds.
After growing up in a village of just over a thousand people, it’s refreshing. That is, until you’re trying to make it as an artist and you need people to know your name. The only way to do that is to keep creating and hope someone takes notice. So that’s what I’m doing.
Oak Street Beach has always been one of those places where I can really soak in the city’s beauty. I love sitting along Lakefront Trail, listening to the waves pound the shore in a steady rhythm as if set to a metronome, watching the tourists and locals enjoy their own anonymity, and studying the ever-changing skyline. The entire landscape varies so much through the seasons and even at different times of the day. Shadows shift, casting different buildings in darkness, illuminating others. Crowds of people appear and disperse. Leaves change color, shed, and return. Every single scenario is uniquely beautiful if you pay close enough attention.
