Neal was bored. Everyday scams and frauds were boring. Too easy to solve. Except, of course, that 'solved' for Peter meant that they had proof, which very soon turned into boring paperwork finding something you already knew.
When Peter came by to see how he was doing, he took a deck of cards and pushed it into a row over his desk.
"Pick a card. Any card."
"What does this have to do with our property-fraud scam?"
"You'll have the whole thing cracked before I can say 'ta-da,'" Neal insisted. "Pick a deed."
Peter sighed and obliged him.
"Now what?" he asked, looking at his card and putting it in his pocket.
"Now I take these 51 deeds and figure out which one you took. It's not magic. It's math."
Peter's face turned from annoyed to pleased in a second.
"We go through the title company's records, match them with the realtor's, and figure out which one is missing."
"Ta-da."
"Nice work," Peter said. "But here's another case we need to make disappear."
Peter handed him a file, and he opened it. A photo of a woman in her forties.
"Selena Thomas. Who's she?"
"Devoted serial monogamist who marries wealthy men right before they die."
"A black widow."
"Could be. She has four rich late husbands."
"She gets around." How did she sleep at night, though?
"And now she's finally getting around to New York," Peter said, gesturing for him to come with him. He rose and followed.
"Quite the Queen of Hearts," he said.
"Cute." Peter pulled the card out of his pocket. Queen of Hearts, of course.
"You like that?"
"Move it, Copperfield."
They walked into the conference room, and Peter called for the rest of the team. Within five minutes, they were all gathered.
"Selena Thomas," Peter started, pulling up her picture on the screen. "Four dead wealthy husbands. Their deaths are listed as natural. Heart attack, embolism, skydiving accident."
"What about the fourth guy?" Jones asked.
"We're waiting on the L.A. Bureau to send their report," Diana said.
"Four husbands, four dead bodies," Peter said. "We think she's killed them, but we don't know why."
Neal blinked, surprised.
"They're not leaving her all their money?"
"Nope. That's what you'd expect. But she's not collecting on any of the insurance payoffs. We flagged her name on this. It's an application for the Manhattan Millionaire Society Bachelors Auction. If she's gonna be at this auction, then so are we." Neal suddenly found his just-solved property-fraud scam more interesting. He knew where this where heading, and he was not interested. "Club has three open slots for eligible men. That means I need three volunteers. Neal, raise your hand."
"Do I have to?" Neal whispered.
"Yes," Peter whispered back. Neal raised his hand. "There's our first lucky bachelor," his handler announced. Neal turned in his chair to watch the rest of the men in the room. They, too, suddenly found other things more interesting. "Come on. We'll create very irresistible identities for you guys."
"Yeah, then hope she doesn't kill her latest boy toy before we find the money," Jones said to a colleague beside him. Unfortunately, he was making a gesture as he said it.
"That's a hand!" Peter pointed. "Jones is number two."
"No, Peter, I didn't—"
"One more. Come on. It's only a cover. Who's number three?"
"How about you, Peter?" Neal asked with his best smile. "I mean, you seem like the marrying kind, right?"
"I am married."
"Hey, it's only a cover," Jones repeated with a smug smile.
"Be nice to give her some variety," Diana nodded.
"Unless, you know, you need permission…" Neal said.
It had just the right effect on Peter and on the people in the room.
"I don't… I don't… no, I… O-okay, fine. I'll do it."
"All right," Neal grinned.
"Let's set it up," Jones nodded.
Neal rose and whispered to Peter when he passed him.
"Are you scared to tell Elizabeth?"
"Terrified."
Peter met El for lunch, and she brought Satchmo. Somehow he never got as far as telling her about the new assignment. They left the restaurant and started walking. But his intelligent and sometimes disturbingly observing wife noted that something was off.
"I guess you've got a new case with Neal," she said.
"What makes you think that?"
She shrugged.
"You behave as when you've something uncomfortable to tell. And I got this cryptic text from Neal."
Peter was just bending down to pick up Satchmo's doings in a bag.
"From Neal? What did he text you?"
"Relax. Something that I should remind you it's only a cover. What's only a cover?"
Peter took a deep breath.
"Neal, Jones, and I are going undercover at the Manhattan Millionaire Society Bachelors Auction with the hope of catching a black widow. And I don't mean the spider but—"
"A woman who kills her husband for money," El finished. "You're posing as a bachelor?"
"Yes. The team thought it was good to offer a variety of—"
"Men. A variety of men. Seriously?"
"Yep." Was it any idea to tell her that his own team set him up more or less? And he had not had the balls to say no? "My role in the assignment's minimal."
"Right. You're playing Piece of Meat Number 2. You're gonna flirt—"
"Talk. I'm gonna talk to them."
"And then you're gonna walk across a stage while these women are bidding on you."
El seemed to know a lot about these settings. But she had a catering and event firm.
"El, my chances of being picked are slim to none between Neal and—"
"Wait. Hold on." She stopped. "Your chances are not slim. Honey, look at you."
What? He did not get it.
"I'm holding poop."
"And you look damn sexy doing it," she returned, looking him straight in the eye. "You know what?"
"What?"
"You're gonna win this thing."
With Neal and Jones in the pot, not likely.
"I am?"
"Yeah. I'm gonna make sure of it. Come on."
"What's the grand prize on this?" Sarah asked, watching him try different ties to a three-piece navy blue suit.
"I get to take a very lovely, very dangerous woman out on a date."
"Hmm." She put her lovely arms around him. "It's nothing you can't handle."
"Thanks to you."
"Uh, we, actually, have never been on a date."
"Peter and Elizabeth's house," Neal reminded her.
"Dinner date. Not date-date."
"Define 'date-date.'"
"One-on-one."
"What about lunches?" They had had a few of those. They were one-on-one.
"Lunch is not romantic. Lunch is lunch."
Neal frowned, realizing she expected something he thought they had had.
"We've never been on a real date," he said.
"It's okay. What's your cover?"
"Playboy son of a Texas oil tycoon," he said with what he knew was a more than decent Texas accent.
"Oh, well! I like the accent."
"I'm glad you do, ma'am."
"There's gonna be a very big problem, though."
"What's that?"
"All the women are gonna want you, so what happens when your kill gets outbid?"
He knew he was good-looking, and his life as a conman had told him he had charm, too. No need to be shy about facts.
"I see your point."
"You're gonna have to throw your meetings with all the other women."
"How do I do that?"
"Well, we are very shallow creatures, but there are things that even beautiful men like you do that drive us nuts."
She pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and wiggled it in front of him. He got it.
"Oh, you're good."
