“It’s just my arms,” I told him defensively, crossing them over my chest. “Stress does that to you. I’ve still got enough weight down below.”
He nodded and his face pinched in sympathy. My heart thumped. I knew what followed that look.
“How’s your leg doing?”
I gave him a tight smile. “My leg is fine.”
“And you’re still grifting?”
“Sometimes,” I said, diverting my eyes. Suddenly the pattern on the faux marble countertop was fascinating. “I’ve quit for good though. Had a close call in Cincinnati. Don’t want to do that again.”
Without glancing at him, I knew he was giving me the “a leopard doesn’t change his spots” look.
“What con went wrong?”
I suppressed a smile. “It was just an online dating thing.”
“And...?”
“And, well, it just didn’t go as it normally does.”
“And how does it normally go?”
“Get a bunch of desperate men to fall in love with you. Tell them you’d love to meet them, fuck them, marry them, but you’re stuck in Russia and don’t have the funds to leave the country to do so. Get them to give you the funds. Close down your OK Cupid account. Simple as that.”
I could see him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. “Jesus, Ellie. That’s low.”
“Oh, spare me your sudden display of ethics,” I said with a wave of my hand. “That’s how it works. I don’t go after men who can’t afford it, I’m not that cruel. Most of them are cheating on their wives too, so how about them apples? Besides, it’s not a quick scam. It takes months to build up a fake relationship. But that’s why I usually have six on the go at once. Makes it worth my while.”
He gulped down the rest of his drink in a fit of thirst. “All right, well what happened in Cincinnati?”
It suddenly felt very stuffy in his kitchen. I was tempted to open the window above the sink but I could tell the breeze had picked up and was blowing around dust from the groves.
I started sliding the razor blade charm back and forth along my necklace. “I just picked the wrong guy. And I got sloppy. I thought he was an American, but he wasn’t. He gave me a fake name and that should have set me off. Who says they’re Steven when they’re really Sergei? He also had a lot of money to throw around. Too much. That should have also set me off. He kept sending me gifts to my PO Box in St. Petersburg, really flashy items that I had to pretend I’d gotten, like pearls and diamonds. Really makes me want to take a trip to Russia and empty it out. Anyway, I got the money from him in the end, way more than I normally get and then I disappeared.”
I took a sip of the iced tea and said, “Everything was back to normal for about a week. The money had been wired to my offshore account as usual. Then I got an email from an ex-boyfriend of mine. Said he was in town and would I meet him for a drink. So, I did. Turns out it wasn’t my ex, but Sergei and that big bald bull was pissed. I barely got out of the bar.”
“So what do you think happened?” Uncle Jim looked pained and I couldn’t blame him. I was only twenty-six, far too young to be playing with Ukrainian mobsters.
I shrugged. “The only thing I could think of was him contacting the post office in St. Petersburg about the PO box. I couldn’t remember what name I signed up for the account with. He might have traced me to Cincinnati somehow. I lived with my ex for a couple of months, and I’m guessing he went there under false pretenses, got the email of my ex, and impersonated him. I totally underestimated Sergei. I think he was involved in a bunch of bad things.”
My uncle’s eyes turned hard and flinty. “This ex of yours…is this…”
“No,” I said quickly. “No, this was some guy I met at the rock climbing gym. Jack. It was short and sweet. And what are you getting at?”
He raised his fingers and looked to the side. “Oh, I just heard some things, that’s all.”
“What kind of things? And from who?” Panic was starting to press on my chest. He couldn’t be talking about who I thought he was. I mean, he could not. It was impossible. Oh shit.
“Whose car is that outside?” he asked.
Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
“How do you know about all of this?” I asked, shooting to my feet and sending the bar stool clattering behind me.
“Easy there, Hellie.” He was back to calling me my nickname from high school. It would have been charming had my blood pressure not been through the roof at that moment. Ativan. I had Ativan in the trunk.
“I talked to your parents a few times, you know. More than you have, ” he continued.