Karin said, “Maybe he’s an unlovable person—and he knows it. He could’ve spied on Vice, learned everything about her, then changed himself like a chameleon to trick her into loving him.”
They debated possibilities, each one getting more far-fetched.
I finally said, “I want to see the surveillance.”
Karin nodded. “Benji put a compilation together.”
He pushed buttons on a remote. “I’ll cue it up.” The TV flared to life.
I noticed they had a new flat-screen, courtesy of Dmitri’s money. Good. They’d proudly hung the art I’d bought them.
Video footage of the Caly’s main lounge began to play, with a date and time stamp at the bottom. August 21 at ten after ten.
I barely recognized Dmitri sitting at the end of the bar. Because he’d been a drug-addicted, addled, suicidal wreck—a shadow of what he was now.
He’d weighed at least twenty pounds less. His skin had been pale and clammy, his face gaunt, his eyes deadened and filled with pain.
Seeing him like that . . . Emotion squeezed my chest till my lungs threatened to collapse.
Then my group of seven women came on-screen—Karin and I, cousins, and grift friends. We’d booked rooms that night at the Caly; right then, we would’ve been heading out to a club next door.
Karin, dazzling as ever in a slinky red dress, had led the way. She’d been pregnant, but hadn’t looked it, except for her glowing skin and lustrous hair. Every man she’d passed had done a double take. Yet as she’d traipsed past Dmitri, he hadn’t spared her a second glance.
I was farther behind her, the last of the group. I’d been wearing a black strapless dress, my hair loose. I’d been laughing at something.
When Dmitri spotted me across the bar, his body jolted straighter. He’d stared at my face as I passed, rubbing his chest. All of a sudden, those deadened eyes glimmered with interest. . . .
He’d once described his first impression of me. He’d been telling the truth—about the real first time he’d seen me: “You looked like an angel to me. One with an edge. My chest tightened, and my pulse raced. When I registered the blue of your eyes, I believed I was having a heart attack.”
I swiped my forearm over my cheeks. He’d gazed at me as if . . . I were a candle in a world of darkness.
Hurrying to follow, he’d tossed money on the bar, then strode out of the casino.
The video skipped to later that night at the Caly. With Dmitri secretly observing me, I’d picked a pocket. The guy must’ve negged me.
Dmitri had canted his head, appearing utterly fascinated. An angel with an edge.
Gram murmured, “Nice lift, Victoria.”
“Not nice enough. He saw me do it.” Between that and the spying . . . “He’s known all along what we are.” All that worry and covering up for nothing.
Pete said, “Oh, yeah.”
At the end of the night, Dmitri had trailed my group to the elevator, then gone straight to the front desk, taking aside the manager.
Had Dmitri paid for my information then? My room number? He could’ve cloned my phone that very weekend.
Pete told me, “I had a hunch about all your burned marks, so we got more recent tapes. Vice, he busted your cons.”
My fists clenched. “What??”
Another video cued up, this one from just over a month ago. There stood Nigel in the lobby, fidgeting, smoothing a hand over his head, waiting for me to show. And off to one side—Dmitri, looking a thousand times better, phone in hand. He’d texted something; seconds later, Nigel glanced down at his own phone, paling at whatever he’d read. Dmitri had spooked the man somehow.
Right on time, I showed up in my white drape dress—then looked dumbfounded as my mark bailed.
In the video, Dmitri squared his shoulders, clearly intending to talk to me then. How nervous he must have been!
As he started toward me, I exhaled an irritated breath, texting Pete my humiliating defeat. When I pinched my temples, Dmitri slowed his pace, looking wrecked. As if he hated my pain. Even though he’d been the cause of it!
A group of babes approached him, circling him aggressively, blowing his chance to talk to me. He scowled at them, then reluctantly walked away.
The TV screen went black. I stared at it anyway.
What had he said to me that very night on the deck? “Perhaps I drove the others away so you would appear in front of me.”
Dear God, when he’d tipped his face up to the moon and exhaled, he had been longing—for me.
Then, as if his wish to the universe had come true, I’d shown up moments later. No wonder he’d been shocked.
Fresh from sabotaging my con, never knowing what was at stake for me, he’d kissed me. Wait. He’d known everything. He’d known about the cartel. My eyes narrowed. He’d paid them off so easily because he’d always intended to.
So why let us suffer? Why not pay sooner? Couldn’t he tell how scared we’d been? For months, we’d talked about nothing else, and he’d been listening in.
Dad said, “I watch that video, and I don’t see a man out to hurt my daughter. I see obsession and fixation but not malice.”
“Obsession?” Benji turned off the TV and set aside the remote. “You could say that. Today he bloodied the car window trying to get to Vice.”
“Then how could he keep himself away from her?” Mom asked. “Once Brett was out of the picture . . .”
Pete scratched his head. “He must’ve used some of that time to clean himself up.” He turned to me. “Is Dmitri off whatever he’d been on?”