Fool Me Twice (Riley Wolfe 2)

“That’s just— How can it possibly be worse than that?” she said.

“Because,” he said, still looking away, “the shit gets deeper. And—you are in it with me.”

Monique stared at him. After a long moment of silence, she realized her hands were clenched so tightly they had begun to ache, and she let them drop to her sides. “I think you better tell me what that means,” she said.

So Riley told her.

* * *

—

Fuck a shit-piss, Riley!” Monique stared across the table at me, all righteous horror, and I have to say it looked really good on her. Of course, just about everything looked good on Monique. And nothing on her looked even better. So, too bad she was dressed, but I live in hope. And for now, we had heavy shit to talk over. We sat in the little kitchen nook of her apartment, nursing cups of espresso, one of the few things Monique had learned to make well. “Fuck a goddamn shit-piss!”

That had a really nice ring to it, so I nodded encouragement. “True,” I said. “But that’s the first time I’ve heard that one, Monique.”

“That’s because you’ve never fucked up this big before!” she said.

I know by now I should never be surprised at the way a woman can turn things around so that no matter what she did, it turns out it was my fault—but even so, I thought this was pushing the envelope. I fucked up? How? By letting myself get kidnapped?

But I also knew better than to try to use that logic—especially on someone who was as talented as Monique at knocking you upside the head. So I just raised an eyebrow, which naturally pissed her off even more. “Jesus goddamn fucking shit! Don’t you dare fucking smirk at me! What the fuck have you done?!”

“Me?” I said. “I didn’t do anything, Monique. I’m the victim here.”

“No, goddamn it, I’m the fucking victim! You deserve it! I didn’t do shit to get sucked into this!”

There was a lot I could have said to that, but again—there was no point. So I just sighed. “If I wanted to be an asshole—”

“Which you usually do!”

“I could point out that Stone got your picture because somebody tailed you, probably all day long, and you didn’t notice.”

“But how did they know to tail me, Riley?” she demanded. Aside from having absolutely no street smarts, Monique was also surprisingly ignorant of how things worked on the dark side of the street—the side she had chosen to work on. In fact, she was pretty clueless about just about everything except art and how to copy it perfectly. And so because she obviously hadn’t figured out something that should have been obvious to any career criminal, I bit back the really funny remark I’d been about to say and explained it to her.

“You do know you’re really goddamn good at what you do, right?” I said.

“Don’t try to soothe my rumpled feathers, Riley, or I am coming across this table at you.”

“I am not soothing,” I said, in a very soothing voice. “I am stating a fact. There are only a few people in the world who can do what you do, and as far as I can tell, none of them do it as good as you do.”

Monique opened her mouth to say something, probably something like “cut the bullshit,” but I held up a hand and cut her off. “Monique, you know it’s true, quit the false modesty.” She frowned, but then she shrugged and waited for me to go on. So I did. “This is something pretty well-known by now. You’ve got a rep. And we have done some shit together that has gotten a whole lot of attention.” I leaned over the table a little so she’d get that I was dead serious. “Monique, guys like Stone? They can add up two plus two. It’s not hard to figure out we have a working relationship. And maybe something more than that.”

“It’s nothing more, and it never will be,” she snapped. Like it was an automatic thing she had to stick in there, just in case I was going to try anything again. And of course I was—but not right now.

“But it looks like we do,” I said. “That’s enough for somebody looking for a handle on me.”

“How is this always about you?” she snapped—forgetting that two minutes ago she’d been insisting it actually was all about me. “Damn it, Riley, I’m the one getting dragged into your lethal bullshit games!”

“They’re dragging you in to get at me,” I said, still keeping very cool and patient. “Because they think I care what happens to you.”

“And you just fucking proved it by caving in to Stone!” she snarled.

“Well,” I said, “I guess as long as you know I care . . .”

For a minute I thought she was going to come across the table and strangle me. So did she. But she settled for grinding her teeth. “This has nothing to do with me, and I am not going to let you pull me down your goddamn wormhole!” she said. “You just let those two assholes know I am not involved!” Very firm and commanding and all that, and it meant about as much as a sparrow fart in a windstorm.

I sighed. She really didn’t get it. I mean, she was not stupid—she was probably smarter than me. But this kind of shit, anything to do with life and the way shit actually works—helpless. “Monique, think about this for a minute. Think about it like you’re a really badass dude who doesn’t mind fragging just about anybody, whenever you think it might help just a little bit. If I told Stone, hey, she’s nothing to me—what’s he gonna do? Like, instantly?”

Monique frowned, shook her head, and I had to think she must get it, but I said it anyway. “He’ll go okay, fine, so you don’t mind if I stick a knife in her throat? And he would, Monique. Because either it gets me to say, ‘Stop, I’ll do it,’ or it’s totally meaningless, and either way he’s still got me by the nu