The Player & the Game

CHAPTER 1

(Unwritten) Rule No. 3 of the Gibbons FamilyHandbook: Never give a man your heart—anddefinitely never give him your money.

Busy, busy, busy, Stephanie Gibbons thought as shehurried toward her silver BMW that was parallelparked in the reserved space near her office. Her stilettosclicked on the sidewalk as she walked. Her short,pleated skirt swayed around her hips and supple, brownlegs with each stride.

She shouldn't have gone to the nail salon beforelunch, but her French manicure had been badly in needof a touch-up. Unfortunately, that slight detour hadthrown off the entire day's schedule and now she wasrunning ten minutes late for the open house.

The spring day was unseasonably warm, but it wastempered by a light breeze that blew steadily, makingthe newly grown leaves flutter on the numerous mapleslining Main Street in downtown Chesterton, her hometown.The breeze now lifted Stephanie's hair from hershoulders and raised her already dangerously short skirteven higher.

She adjusted the realtor name tag near her suit jacketlapel, casually ran her fingers through her long tresses,and reached into her purse. She pulled out her cellphone and quickly dialed her assistant's number.Thankfully, the young woman picked up on the secondring.

"Carrie, honey, I'm running late ... Yes, I know ...Are you already at the open house?" Stephanie askeddistractedly as she dug for her keys in her purse'sdepths. "Are any buyers there yet? ... OK, OK, don'tfreak out.... Yes, just take over for now. Put out aplate of cookies and set the music on low. I'll be there infifteen minutes ... I know ... I have every confidence inyou. See you soon."

She hung up.

With car keys finally retrieved, Stephanie pressed theremote button to open her car doors. The car beeped.The headlights flashed. She jogged to the driver's-sidedoor and opened it. As she started to climb inside thevehicle, she had the distinct feeling of being watched.

Stephanie paused to look up, only to find a manstanding twenty feet away from her. He casually leanedagainst the brick front of one of the many shops onMain Street. He was partially hidden by the shadows ofan overhead awning.

He looked like one of many jobless men you wouldfind wandering the streets midday, hanging out in frontof stores because they had little else to do and nowhereelse to go. Except this bored vagrant was a lot more attractivethan the ones she was used to seeing. He alsowas distinct from the other vagrants in town becauseshe had seen him several times today and earlier thisweek.

Stephanie had spotted him when she walked into thenail salon and again as she left, absently waving hernails as they dried. He had been sitting in the driver'sseat of a tired-looking Ford Explorer in the lot acrossthe street from the salon. Though he hadn't said anythingto her or even looked up at her as she walked backto her car, she had the feeling he had been waiting forher.

She had seen him also on Wednesday, strolling alongthe sidewalk while she had been on her date with hernew boyfriend, Isaac. The man had walked past therestaurant's storefront window where she and Isaac hadbeen sitting and enjoying their candlelit dinner. WhenStephanie looked up from her menu and glanced out thewindow, her eyes locked with the stroller's. The mysteryman abruptly broke their mutual gaze and kept walking.He disappeared at the end of the block.

The mystery man had a face that was hard to forget—sensual,hooded dark eyes, a full mouth, and arock-hard chin. He stood at about six feet with a muscularbuild. Today, he was wearing a plain white T-shirtand wrinkled jeans. Though his short hair was neatlytrimmed, he had thick beard stubble on his chin anddark-skinned cheeks.

"Are you following me?" Stephanie called to him,her open house now forgotten.

He blinked in surprise. "What?" He pointed at hischest. "You mean me?"

"Yes, I mean you!" She placed a hand on her hip."Are you following me? Why do I keep seeing youaround?"

He chuckled softly. "Why would I be following you?Lady, I'm just standing here."

He wasn't just standing there. She sensed it.

"Well, this is a small town. Loitering is illegal inChesterton. You could get arrested!"

"It's illegal to stand in front of a building?" Laughterwas in his voice. He slowly shook his head. "We're stillin America, right? Last time I checked, I was well withinmy rights to stand here, honey. Besides, I'm not panhandling.I'm just enjoying the warm sunshine." His facebroke into a charming, dimpled smile that would havemade most women's knees weak. "Is that a crime?"

Stephanie narrowed her eyes at him warily.

She didn't like him or his condescending tone. He wasattractive, but something emanated from him that madeher ... uncomfortable. It made her heartbeat quicken andher palms sweat. She wasn't used to reacting to men thisway. Usually her emotions were firmly in control aroundthem, but they weren't around this guy. She didn't likehim one bit.

"If ... if I catch you standing here when I get back,I'll ... I'll call the cops," she said weakly.

At that, he raised an eyebrow. "You do that," he challenged,casually licking his lips and shoving his hands intohis jean pockets. Defiantly, he slumped against the brickbuilding again.

Stephanie took a deep breath, willing her heart toslow its rapid pace. She climbed into her car and shut thedriver's-side door behind her with a slam. She shifted thecar into drive and pulled off, watching him in herrearview mirror until she reached the end of block. Hewas still standing in front of the building, still leaningunder the shadows of the awning, still looking smug asshe drove to the end of Main Street and made a right.

Finally, she lost sight of him.

"Shit," Keith Hendricks muttered through clenchedteeth as he pushed himself away from the brick buildingonce he saw the taillights of Stephanie Gibbons's BMWdisappear.

"Shit," he uttered again as he strode across the streetto his SUV, pausing to let a Volkswagen Beetle drive by.

Though he had played it cool in front of her, he hadstarted to sweat the instant Stephanie's eyes had shiftedtoward him.

He was getting sloppy. He had decided to get out ofhis car and walk near her office to try to get a bettervantage point, to see if her boyfriend, Isaac, was goingto meet her here today. But Keith hadn't counted on hernoticing him standing there. More importantly, she hadnoticed and recognized him from the other occasions thathe thought he had been discreetly tailing her and Isaac. Ithad been a mistake, a rookie mistake that wasn't worthyof the four years he had spent as a private investigator.

"You messin' up, boy," he said to himself as heopened his car door, climbed inside, and plopped on theleather seat. He shut the door behind him and insertedhis key into the ignition.

But he had to admit he was out of practice. This washis first real case in months.

He had been eager to accept this one, to sink his teethinto something meaty. He had been tired of the busywork that had filled his days for the past few months.Stokowski and Hendricks Private Investigators hadbeen going through a bit of a dry spell lately. With theexception of this con artist case, they had been doingnothing but process serving for months, delivering summonsesand subpoenas. When Keith left the ATF to startthe PI business with retired cop and family friend MikeStokowski four years ago, process serving wasn't exactlythe exciting work he had had in mind. He hadhoped things would pick up soon. Now they finallywere, but this case had been complicated.

He had finally located Reggie Butler also known asTony Walker now known as Isaac Beardan. The con artistand Casanova had left a trail of heartbreak and severalempty bank accounts along the Eastern Seaboard. Eachtime Isaac moved on to his next con, he changed hisname, his look slightly, and his story. It made him ahard guy to find.

One of the most recent victims from which Isaac hadstolen thirty thousand dollars worth of jewelry hadhired Stokowski and Hendricks PI to track him down.Keith had traced the smooth-talking bastard here, to thesmall town of Chesterton. Keith still wasn't sure thoughif Isaac worked alone on his cons. He didn't know whatrole his girlfriend, Stephanie Gibbons, played in it—ifany. Hell, maybe Isaac had selected her as his next victim.

"Don't worry about her," a voice in Keith's headurged as he pulled onto the roadway. "You finished yourpart of the case. You found him. You've got photos ...documentation. The police can track him down now andpress charges. That's all that matters."

But was that all that mattered? Should he warn thenew girlfriend about Isaac?

An image of her suddenly came to mind: her prettycinnamon-hued face; the limber legs like a seasoneddancer that were on full display underneath her flowing,pleated skirt; and her full red glossy lips. He rememberedthe stubborn glare she had given him too, tryingher best to intimidate him, but failing miserably.

"If you tell her the truth, she'll tell Isaac," a voice inhis head warned. "It'll put him on the run again. Theauthorities will never be able to track him down."

Keith frowned as he started the drive back to hishotel. It was true. Isaac would know he had been foundand only move on to the next place and start a new con.No, Keith couldn't tell her the truth about Isaac. He hadworked too hard on the case to throw it all away now.

"Maybe she'll figure out he's full of shit by herself,"Keith murmured as he gazed out the car's windshield.

But he knew that wasn't likely. Isaac was well practicedat this game. He was a champion player. Keithdoubted Stephanie Gibbons would be any different thanany of the other saps Isaac had swindled.

CHAPTER 2

"Open your eyes," Isaac whispered into her ear, makingStephanie's hair flutter along her temple, sendingchills of anticipation up her spine.

"But I'm afraid to look, Isaac! Can't you just tell mewhat it is?"

"Trust me, baby. You'll like this surprise," he assuredwarmly. "Open them."

Stephanie held her hands over her eyes, feeling like akid on Christmas morning, scared to discover that theCabbage Patch doll or the Barbie doll palace she hadasked Santa to bring her wasn't waiting for her underthe Christmas tree.

It had been a long day. The open house had gonewell, but she still hadn't been able to forget about thestalker guy from earlier. His face kept haunting her,making her feel off her game as she showed the three-thousand-square-footcolonial to buyers and other realestate agents, as she tried to turn on the charm. Stephaniehad been looking forward to her date with Isaac to helpher finally forget about the stalker, but Isaac had shownup an hour late for today's date, which was out of characterfor him. He assured her that there was a good reasonfor his tardiness, and that "good reason" happenedto be waiting for her outside her home. He instantly hadpiqued her interest.

She was accustomed to men bringing her gifts—perfume,diamond bracelets, and the occasional Birkin bag—butnot one that required her to step out of her front door.Stephanie just hoped she wouldn't be disappointed. Sheand Isaac had been dating for less than two months.They were still in that period when "complete honesty"was a dirty word. If the surprise turned out to be lackluster,she'd have to pretend amazement. She didn'twant to hurt his feelings. After all, the very resourcefuland very rich financial planner Isaac Beardan could beher next husband.

"If you play your cards right," her mother's warningvoice whispered in her head.

Since her four daughters were old enough to wearlipstick and panty hose, Stephanie's mother, YolandaGibbons, had taught them that their goal in life was tosniff out a rich man and snag him when the opportunitycame along. Stephanie planned to do that with Isaac,but she had to be cautious.

"Open your eyes," Isaac ordered again as they stoodon the curb.

Behind her palms, Stephanie practiced her amazedexpression one last time. She slowly lowered her handsto her sides. Her eyelashes fluttered open.

Isaac rubbed her slender brown shoulders andgrinned. "Well? What do you think?"

She wouldn't have to put on an award-winning performancethis time.

Parked along the curb was a glistening cherry redSL550 Mercedes-Benz two-seater roadster with a tanleather interior and sparkling rims. Stephanie instantlyhopped off the sidewalk and ran toward it.

"Isaac," she gushed, "she's beautiful!"

"You like it?"

"I don't like her. I love her!" she corrected.

Anything that stunning had to be a "her." Stephanielovingly ran her fingers over the car door and laid herhand on the buttery-smooth leather head cushion.

"When did you get her?"

"I've had it for months back at my place in SouthCarolina, under a tarp in my garage," he said casually,pushing back his suit jacket and shoving his hands intohis pockets. "I finally had it delivered today."

"Well, she's gorgeous," Stephanie whispered, oglingthe car again.

She briefly envisioned herself in the passenger seatwith the wind blowing through her hair as Isaac drovedown I-495.

I have to take a ride in this bad girl—immediately,she thought.

"And you're gorgeous too." He then dangled hisSmartKey. "... Which is why I'm giving the car to you; agorgeous car for a gorgeous lady."

Stephanie had been leaning over to look more closelyat the dashboard buttons and video screen. When hesaid those words, she snapped up her head so fast shealmost got whiplash. She blinked in shock and pushedher long locks out of her eyes, spitting hair out of hermouth.

"You're ... You're giving the car to me? Really?"

He nodded and jingled the key, holding it out to her.

"Oh, Isaac, baaaaaby!" She ran toward him andleaped into his arms. Stephanie looped a hand aroundhis neck and gave him a searing hot kiss while ever sogently tugging the car key out of his hand.

Isaac eagerly kissed her back, cupping his hand at thebase of her neck and tilting back her head. His otherhand then slid from her waist to her ass. He squeezedthe cheeks then gripped them firmly. He parted her lipswith his tongue.

Stephanie suddenly pulled her mouth away andshooed his hands from her rear end. No need to put on adisplay for the neighbors. Most of the old biddies in herneighborhood could document her every move anyway.

She tugged him toward her house. If they were goingto do this, she wanted to do it in the privacy of her ownbedroom.

"Come with me," she said saucily as she led him upthe concrete walk to her front door, making sure to puta little shimmy in her walk as she did so.

"But I thought I was taking you out to dinner?" Hehopped slightly to dodge the spray of water comingfrom the sprinkler system on her pristine lawn.

"There's been a change of plans," Stephanie whisperedseductively, putting her key in her front door. Sheclosed the door behind him and led him down a darkenedhallway to her bedroom. When they entered, sheshoved Isaac back onto her bed. She then slowly loweredthe zipper on the side of her dress before tuggingthe straps off her shoulders.

"Is somebody about to be my bad girl?" Isaac askedhuskily, taking off his suit jacket then his gray tie.

"Your naughty girl, baby!" she assured.

He squirmed excitedly as she opened her night-tabledrawer and pulled out the fur-lined handcuffs. Shetwirled them around her index finger and grinned.

Sex wasn't about enjoyment for Stephanie or for mostGibbons women. Again, it was about putting on a performance.Like a stripper walking the stage, she knew whatto do to "make it rain," how to get a man's blood pumping.Her pleasure wasn't important. What was more importantwas to become his fantasy, to leave himtrembling in the beginning, and satiated in the end. Atleast Isaac didn't have any weird kinks that she had towork around. He liked handcuffs, the occasional blindfold,and ice cubes. She could handle that.