Urgent, padding footsteps across the worn wooden floor of the Community Hope storefront. "Mrs. Holloway," Sylvia Carter called out as she approached Sophie.
The grifter turned and noticed the fleeting look of concern on the woman's face before it was masked with uncertainty. She offered up a warm smile. "What can I do for you?"
Sylvia was holding an open folder. "I'm looking at these last minute supporters you brought in." She shook her head. "I don't know how you got some of these businesses—I really don't—and some are big fish in the community."
"Call it my specialty," Sophie replied with a wink. She kept her smile though knowing where Sylvia's concerns lie.
There was a long pause before Sylvia spoke again. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but I have deep reservations about Home Keepers. It is not our policy to recommend them."
Sophie took Sylvia by the elbow and lead her to the ring of chairs and out of direct earshot of most in the room. She caught Nate's eye before addressing Sylvia's concerns. "I understand there is bad blood between your organizations, but I believe you both have a desire to help the community in your hearts."
Hardison listened to the grifter through the earbud as he leaned back in the squeaky desk chair and looked at the monitor. The desktop system was too old and far too slow for his liking, but for the average person, or helpful organization, it would do. Reaching across the desk, he picked up a bottle of orange soda that he had grabbed at the convenience store down the street.
Across the desk, behind several stacks of folders and books on coping with grief, Hardison spied several framed photos. A picture of Sylvia and her husband—in his police uniform—a little boy and girl, and their dog. The same white ragamuffin that was sitting in the middle of the floor twisting her head around and watching people come and go. She had been way too interested in his shoes earlier.
There was just something about yappy little dogs that made him nervous.
The last photograph on the desk was of an older woman in her Sunday best, her gray hair pulled back into a bun.
Reminded him of his Nana.
"Excuse me, Mister," the words drifted off.
Startled from his thoughts, Hardison turned in the chair and found himself looking at the man from the photo approaching.
"It's just Alec," he said a little too quickly. Mentally reminding himself to not smile too much. "Officer."
"How about just Charles," the man replied and offered Hardison a firm handshake.
Realizing where he was, Hardison jumped out of the desk chair. "I was just finishing up," he said.
Charles stepped behind the desk and noted the web page splayed across the display. "I hate to say this, but my seven-year-old daughter is more computer literate than I am, but that website makes this place look almost professional."
"Social networking," Hardison said. "It's fast, it's cheap and you can get the word out easily." He leaned forward and took the mouse in hand. "I'll show what I've set up."
While waiting for the page to refresh, he glanced over the display to a table where Parker sat drumming her fingers behind a stack of envelopes that Nate had ordered her to stuff and stamp as punishment for her earlier excursion.
The young blond looked at Hardison and was about to get up to see what he was doing when she caught sight of Nate sitting at the other desk across the office in discussion with a man and a woman. She sank back into her chair and picked up one of the envelopes as if to do as she was told. She sniffed at the glue strip and wrinkled her nose, then she licked a section of the glue and tried to suss out the taste.
Nate had watched Parker on and off for nearly an hour. He guessed she wouldn't bolt anytime soon, but he knew he needed to sit down and talk to her.
He could almost hear Sophie admonishing him, telling him that this was a growth experience for Parker and that he should go easy. The problem being, if she was a loose cannon on a job where no one was likely to get shot at and not be called to the table for her actions, then what would happen the next time when the situation was more dire?
He would be firm with her.
Once he was free of the visitors, Nate crossed the large store front, eyeing the little white dog sitting near the entrance staring at him. It's pink tongue hung out in such a way that gave the dog a funny little smile.
They had a little dog once . . . .
He stepped around the dog and approached the table where Parker was still staring at the barely touched pile of invitations and envelopes. He sat down across from her and pulled a sheet of preprinted address labels toward him and started to stuff the envelopes and label them. He pushed the finished envelope towards Parker.
"Needs stamps," he said simply, but gave a little nod toward the stack of stamp books to Parker's left.
The thief straightened and then grabbed one of the stamp books. She opened it and studied the tiny artwork inside. After a moment, she leaned in and sniffed the stamps.
Nate tried not to pay her too much attention and kept stuffing envelopes.
After some hesitation, Parker peeled off a stamp and placed it in the corner of a finished envelope that Nate had sent her way. "I didn't blow the job," she said after a while. "Paul," she nearly hissed, "was too busy ripping Rose off to notice."
"Yes, but you could have endangered it." Nate stopped and looked at her. "Parker."
For a time, Parker kept her head low, her attention on the stamps as she poked at the tacky back of one. "I was worried about Rose."
"We are watching out for her."
"I know, but—"
"Do you trust me?"
A thoughtful look. She nodded. "Yes."
Nate smiled and pushed all of the invitations and envelopes toward Parker. "Good. Now finish these up."
Paul sat in a darkened bar nursing a badly drawn beer. Any other time, he might have had issue with the quality of his drink, but at the moment, other thoughts kept his attention. At the sound of the door opening, he looked up but frowned and took another swig. His drinking buddy was running over thirty minutes late.
His patience was growing thin.
More importantly, his thoughts kept going back to that pretty little blond in the pickup truck. Something was wrong, he just couldn't place it.
Again, he was drawn to the opening of the door and he let a little smile slip. "Hey, Howard," he said to the bartender. "Two whiskeys. Neat."
"Man, this better be worth having me drive all this way," Felix Gerhardt said as he took up the stool next to Paul and accepted the glass slid his way. He motioned to his recently smashed nose. "Alan wasn't too happy with me leaving." Silence as Gerhardt glanced about the sparsely populated establishment. He spoke in a low tone. "You bringing me more of your problems?"
Paul shook his head and followed with a draught of his beer. "There hadn't been any problems until that old codger tried to argue over a bill. If he had kept his mouth shut, he could have had a heart attack in his sleep and no one would be snooping."
Gerhardt frowned and nursed his drink. "You might keep your voice down." He glanced over at the beer in Paul's hand. Again, Gerhardt swept the patrons, they all carried a sense that they wanted to be left alone to their drink. Still, they shouldn't have met in a public place. Too many ears. "How many of those have you had?" he asked nodding to the beer.
"Third." Paul didn't touch the whiskey in front of him, but went instead for a manila folder he had placed safely off to the side. He handed it to Gerhardt who looked at him curiously. "Take a look."
"You know I'm not into that line of work anymore," Gerhardt said as he laid the folder on the bar top in front of him. He tapped the smooth card stock and then pushed the folder across the tabletop. Shaking his head as he stood back up. "No. Get someone else to do your dirty work. I'm out. And keep your junk jewelry."
Paul turned and grabbed Gerhardt by the sleeve to stop him from leaving, but found his right cheek pressed hard to the bar and a firm hand against his neck. He tried to shift, but his hand was twisted back, immobilizing him. "If I go down—"
Gerhardt leaned close. "Don't waste my time with idle threats." He released Paul and stepped back, but didn't turn his back on the other man.
Sitting up, Paul paused to check his arm. He was half surprised Gerhardt hadn't broken his wrist the way it had been twisted back. "Fine. You're not interested, that's your decision. I was just giving you first shot at revenge."
The words caught Gerhardt and he turned. His gaze shifted to the folder still on the bar. Reaching out, he caught the corner of the heavy stock and dragged it closer. Drawing up the corner, he shifted to look inside. A work application and a copy of a photo ID. The name said Noah Westerly, but it was the photo of Eliot Spencer that had his attention. He couldn't help the smile even as he lightly tapped his broken nose. "That's the bastard who helped the blond thief escape the shop a few weeks back." He looked to the other man. "How did you find him?"
From his pocket, Paul produced a small family photo he had swiped from Rose's house. "Look familiar?"
Gerhardt narrowed his gaze, recognizing Parker, who was photoshopped into a picture of Rose and her grandsons.
Retrieving the photo and slipping it into the folder, Paul then turned his attention on the other man. "Lauren is behind this. I knew something was up when she made me hire him." He set his beer down on the folder. He glanced about the bar making sure no one was listening. "I'll deal with her. The other two are yours."