A/N: This is the second last chapter of this story! I think...


Wyatt drummed his fingers against the wall uneasily. Ocean wasn't late yet, but he wasn't here either. And really, once a forgery was completed, and especially once it was signed, he wanted it off the premises as quickly as possible.

They looked good, even if he did say so himself. Some of his best work. Oh, an expert would be able to tell the difference, eventually, but Phillistines like Terry Benedict and Reuben Tishkoff? Not a hope. If Ocean could swap the paintings unnoticed, it could be years before it was discovered.

At half past on the dot the studio door opened without so much as a knock and Danny Ocean walked in, smiling. He barely nodded to Wyatt before strolling over to inspect the paintings.

Watt waited for a very long time, not even certain whether Ocean knew what he was looking for, but too nervous to consider interrupting.

"Yes," Ocean said at last. "These are excellent." He smiled at Wyatt like they were sharing some fantastic joke on the rest of the world. "They should do nicely."

"When will you make the switch?" he asked, smiling back simply because it was impossible not to.

"I'll give it a couple of months," Ocean – Danny – said easily. "People tend to pay more attention to paintings that have just been moved. I want to give everything a chance to calm down. There's no rush."

That suited him just fine. After all, if everything went wrong he didn't want anyone to immediately think of him.

"'s important to seize the right moment," Danny went on. "Grab your luck while it's in." He shrugged. "Anyway. Here's your money." He passed over the briefcase. "Feel free to count it."

Wyatt opened the case and gazed inside. It was absolutely full of neatly stacked bills. Surreptitiously, he lifted the top layer, but it looked like it was all legit. He smiled. "Nah, that's okay. I trust you."

"Alright then," Danny nodded. "I guess we're done here. Been a pleasure doing business with you, Wyatt. I think this association is going to be very lucky for both of us."

Wyatt nodded eagerly. "If you're ever looking for any paintings in the future, or if you know anyone else who is..." He let the silence dangle hopefully.

"You'll be right at the top of my list," Danny confirmed.

Wyatt smiled as he left. It seemed as though Danny Ocean was everything people said he was. And he felt like he'd made a more than favourable impression. It was good to be on the same page as a man like that.

And Danny was right. His luck really was in. He should take advantage of that.


"Think he took the bait?" Rusty asked as Danny walked into the back room of the club.

Danny shrugged. "We'll see."

Rusty nodded brightly. "Linus is ready to go if you didn't get him," he said helpfully, perched on the edge of the desk.

Danny just looked at him. "We'll see," he said mildly. "Don't you have some clothes you could be removing right now?"

At that moment, as if he'd heard his name being mentioned, Linus called. Danny put it on speaker phone. "Wyatt just passed me, heading straight for you. Phase one is on!"

Danny raised an eyebrow. Rusty grinned. They had phases now.


Wyatt rapped smartly at the door and waited impatiently until the hatch was open. The manager from last night peered at him suspiciously. "Yeah?"

"Swordfish," he said confidently.

The man frowned, eyeing him carefully. "This is a private club. You're not a member."

No. Samuel hadn't put his name down yet. He gritted his teeth; this was lucky day, he just knew it, and if this asshole screwed it up for him... "Oh, come on," he pleaded. "I was here just last night."

"Wait," the man said slowly. "I remember, yeah. You won a bundle on Blue Eyed Wolfboy."

"That's right," he said smugly.

There was the sound of a bolt being drawn back and the door swung open. "You interested in a game of poker?" the manager asked.


Rusty watched the poker game unfold with professional interest. Frank had it under tight control. Wyatt was winning nicely. Not so much at first to make it obvious, but now, an hour in, and Wyatt's expectations were raised, the pile of chips in front of him was growing all the time, and the stakes had increased tenfold. Right now, Wyatt felt like he couldn't lose. Frank was running the game masterfully. Not that that came as a surprise to Rusty; he and Frank had spent many a happy hour running tables. They'd been unstoppable, especially when Danny had been involved, both as another pair of hands and in charming and enticing the players in the first place...the marks hadn't known what hit them. Good times.

Looked as though Livingston, Basher and Yen were holding up alright too. None of them were exactly who Rusty would normally have chosen to put front and centre in a poker game. But it was more a case of figuring out exactly who Wyatt would recognise. There was eleven of them. You wouldn't think they'd have this problem.

He smiled. It was all going well. Another hour, and Wyatt's luck would change.


He'd been winning. He'd been winning all day. At one point he'd been close to fifty thousand dollars up for God's sake. And now all that had been snatched away. It had all turned on one hand. He'd had a straight, and with the way his luck was going he'd been willing to bet the farm. And then the little Chinese guy had been sitting on a heart flush, and he'd had to watch it all disappear. He'd been frantic to win it all back, but luck hadn't been with him and he'd thrown good money after bad.

Right at the moment he'd lost all the money he'd got from Danny. All of it. Every last cent.

He stared across the table, horror-struck. He was down to his last two hundred bucks.

The manager looked at his watch. "We're gonna start getting crowded soon," he commented. "Make this the last hand?"

There was a muttering of reluctant agreement round the table.

Wyatt swallowed and looked down at his money. Right. He had to make this count.

Ten minutes later and he was holding two thousand dollars. Now that was more like it.

"Bad luck, mate," the Brit said sympathetically.

He shrugged with a carelessness he didn't really feel. "Easy come, easy go," he said. "I'll win it all back."

The manager snorted derisively. "Yeah. Sure you will, bud. I've heard that before.

He pretended to smile and inside he was fuming. He still had Samuel's sure thing to count on. He'd win all his money back and much, much more.

He still had time to get to the bank before the class started. He'd see what he could scrape together, ready for the bet.


Once again Wyatt spent the class shooting him conspiratorial glances. Only now he seemed even more on edge than he was before, and when he came over to look at Linus' painting, he leaned in and asked. "We still on for tonight?"

Linus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Danny and Rusty had been right. Of course. Losing had only made Wyatt more eager to win his money back, even more effectively than if he'd won. Plus it had the not inconsiderable advantage of ensuring that it was his own money that he'd be giving them. And that thought made Linus warm inside.

"Not tonight," he said with an apologetic grimace. "My contact doesn't have anything until tomorrow, but apparently that's going to be something special, he says. I'm planning on betting big, don't know about you." He brightened. "Hey, but if you don't have any plans, I know this sports bar down the street. You could give me some tips on my art, yeah? "

Wyatt looked disappointed. "I - "

" - oh, well, if you're not interested," Linus cut in dismissively.

"Wait!" Watt interrupted desperately, forcing a smile, obviously desperate to stay in his good books. "Yeah, that sounds good. We'll head out straight after class. And I'll join you for that bet tomorrow. I've got quite a bit of cash to put on myself."

Yeah, Linus knew. He'd followed Wyatt to the bank. Eighty six thousand dollars. Which, if Livingston was to be believed, was basically everything he had in the world. Which made the idea of taking it away from him all the sweeter. God, this con was making him vicious.

Or maybe he was just angry generally. They'd moved on to another pose today. Wyatt had asked Rusty to kneel down with his hands flat on the floor, and on seeing that Terry had smiled coldly and deliberately set up his easel directly in front of Rusty, so it looked for all the world like Rusty was kneeling at Terry's feet. Linus would be willing to bet that in Terry's head that was exactly what was happening.

Still, at least Terry was keeping his mouth shut, containing himself to looking Rusty straight in the eyes and smirking.

Thank God this was the last class they'd have to attend. Linus wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. Not least because the more he stared at Rusty naked, the weirder he felt talking to him afterwards.

He spent most of the session concentrating on the details of Rusty's hands, and trying his best to ignore Terry and to acknowledge Wyatt's ingratiating smiles. It was a relief when the class was finally over.

For once, Terry wasn't the first out of the door, hanging back and talking to Dennis. Not that Linus cared. His job was to get Wyatt out of here as fast as possible so that the way was clear for Rusty to do what had to be done.

Now he just had to suffer through an evening of Wyatt's company.


As soon as he saw Linus leading a reluctant-looking Wyatt out of the art centre, Rusty slipped into the office, the holdall in his hand. He glanced around quickly, but the office was clear. Which was a good thing, really. Being caught almost-naked somewhere he shouldn't be never seemed to work out well for him. Well, almost never.

Right. Time to get to work. Methodically, he lifted the perspex trophy off the desk, and replaced it with the identical copy from the holdall. Livingston had done a fantastic job copying it from the photos he'd took. Really, he couldn't see the difference. He spent a couple of minutes checking lines of sight, and he was just about ready to go, when the door opened.

He glanced up quickly, ready with a vacant smile and a story about wanting to leave some sketches for Wyatt to see in the morning, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw Terry Benedict, deliberately closing and locking the door behind him.

"Alone at last," Terry remarked, calmly pocketing the key.

Well, this was unexpected. Rusty looked at Terry for a long moment, his head tilted to one side. "You want something?"

In answer, Terry took a step forwards and deliberately looked him up and down, and Rusty was suddenly very aware that all he was wearing was a silk robe that barely came down to his thighs, and a pair of pink silk slippers. Oddly, he felt rather more vulnerable now than he had when he was naked.

"Maybe I do want something," Terry said, his eyes fixed on Rusty's. "Maybe I was enjoying watching you kneeling at my feet. Maybe I'd like a repeat performance. In private."

"Uh huh," Rusty said flatly, his mind racing.

"It seems to me as though Ocean makes a habit of taking what's mine," Terry went on, taking a couple of steps closer until he was within touching distance, and all he had to do was reach out and he'd be pinning Rusty against the desk. "I thought I might as well enjoy what's his. Since I know he has...exquisite taste."

He suppressed the bite of fury with an effort. He had to think. Terry remained entirely heterosexual. Fuck, Terry didn't look in the slightest bit aroused right now. This was all about power. Terry wanted him frightened and freaked out. He wanted him to run, simply so they would both always remember that he'd run.

Rusty didn't do what people wanted. Especially not Terry fucking Benedict.

"Why Terry," he murmured, "I had no idea you felt that way." He took a step forwards, his eyes half closed, his hips swayed.

"What...what are you doing?" Terry asked, unexpectedly shrill.

"What you want," Rusty told him, running his tongue over his upper lip and leisurely undoing his robe, letting it fall open so Terry saw everything. "You want to have fun, right?" He leaned in towards Terry as though to kiss him, and it was right about the time he judged Terry had to have felt his breath on his neck that Terry jumped about a foot backwards.

"No!" he snapped. "I..." He glared, wild-eyed at Rusty as though he was waiting for some inspired line that would cut Rusty down to size once and for all.

Rusty merely smiled and shrugged the robe off his shoulders so it fell to the ground, pooled around his feet, and a second later Terry was at the door, fumbling desperately in his pockets for the key.

He finished watching Terry not-quite-run-away. Then he sighed, pulled the robe back on, glanced at the hidden camera in the perspex trophy, calmly pulled his phone out of the holdall and dialled the number.

"Hey, Rusty." Livingston didn't sound surprised to hear from him. And he sounded apologetic which really wasn't a good sign.

"Tell me you're the only person watching right now," he requested hopefully.

Livingston sighed and Rusty could picture the look on his face. "Sorry."

Fantastic. "Who's all there?"

"Uh, Turk, Virgil, Frank and Yen..." Livingston hesitated for a long moment then finished in a rush and a whisper. "AndDanny."

"Is he - " Rusty started with dread.

" - he's smiling a lot ," Livingston confirmed.

Rusty sighed. He knew how he was going to be spending his evening.