22. Ryder

22

"It's good to finally talk to you. Tell you the truth, I thought you were a little too good to be true, and there are so many dating scams out there."

On-screen, Elene didn't flinch at the s-word. Oh, she was good. Damn beautiful too—a shame the inside didn't match the outside. But it was easy to see how a man like Ron Hill had been suckered in.

She tucked a lock of long blonde hair behind her ear. "I've also been disappointed. Men have lied about their age, their height, their marital status…" She didn't mention money. Smooth. "But you are definitely not a disappointment."

Ryder didn't know how much the Prince of Porn's former home was worth, but it had to be eight figures. Marcel called it a house, but it was more of an estate, a compound set in thirty acres on the edge of the city with views of the wilderness beyond. The pool Ryder was sitting beside looked like an oasis, with rocks and palm trees and the all-important waterfall. The lap pool was on the other side of the house.

"Why lie? The truth only comes back to bite you on the ass."

Elene laughed, her voice husky. "That can be pleasurable."

"Lying?" Ryder put on a puzzled expression, playing up Tripp's "dumb rich boy" persona.

"No, being bitten on the ass." Another laugh. "Gently, of course."

"Good to know."

"Is that Snuffles?"

Ryder turned to see a small white fluffy dog walk past.

"Yeah. Hey, Snuffles, c'mere." The dog ignored him and carried on sniffing a patch of grass, probably because his name was Trooper and Ryder was a complete stranger. He was apparently one of Sin's three dogs, although she hadn't shown her face yet. "One word from me, and he does as he pleases. My sister sent him to a trainer, and he behaved for a few weeks, then started acting up again."

"If you train him yourself, you'll build up a better bond."

How did she know that? Elene claimed she didn't have any pets.

"I always figured it would be better to send him to a professional. You're a dog person?"

"When I was young, we had a dog. Maybe someday I'll get another, but my landlord doesn't allow this."

Her apartment looked pretty good, but she'd angled the camera to face away from any windows, much to Mack's irritation. She was monitoring the conversation from Richmond, as was Khatia from Tbilisi. Khatia had already noted that the background was different than any Hill had seen, so presumably Elene had changed her location as well as her name. No doubt she'd paid for the swanky new pad with Luna's money. Ryder wanted to reach through the screen and shake the bitch, but he forced himself to keep the smile.

"Landlords suck, huh?"

"You own your home?"

"This place? Yeah." Thankfully, Casa del Gato had been remodelled extensively after the Prince of Porn left the building. If Elene did happen to be a fan of Star Whores or Charlie's Anals, she wouldn't recognise the property based on its previous life. "Bought it a few years ago, although on days like this, I wish I'd moved to Alaska."

"It's hot there?"

"Heading for a hundred degrees, and it won't cool off till September."

"That's in Fahrenheit, yes?"

"Mid-thirties in Celsius. How's the weather in Georgia?"

She glanced left. "Raining now, but it was hot earlier. Almost thirty degrees."

Mack would be checking the weather forecast. Sure, it was possible Elene could be lying, but why bother over something so trivial?

"Last year, I went to Chile in June. Split the month between Santiago and Patagonia. Patagonia's a great place for taking pictures." According to Mack's file, Tripp was a keen photographer, and he'd even sold a few pictures in an exhibition last year. "Do you travel much?"

"Not so much right now, but I hope to someday. My nephew is sick, so I have to stay near Tbilisi to help my sister."

When she told the story to Ron Hill, it had been her grandma who was sick. Did she even have a sister? She sounded convincing, and if Ryder had been Hill, single and gullible and faced with a sob story and a pretty face, he'd probably have flown to Georgia too. But he wouldn't have stolen Luna's money to do it.

"I hope it's nothing too serious."

Mack spoke through Ryder's hidden earpiece. "If she's telling the truth about the weather, she's not in Tbilisi. She's somewhere on the coast if she's in Georgia at all."

"She definitely has a Georgian accent," Khatia put in.

"The doctors think it's a genetic problem," Elene said. "Misho is getting treatment, but…" She sniffed, and her eyes actually glistened. Damn, she could have made a fortune in Hollywood.

"A genetic problem?" Mack said. "That's too vague to be of any use, if the kid even exists."

Fifty bucks said he didn't.

"It's nice that you're close to your sister," Ryder said to Elene. "You have any other siblings?"

"Only Mariam."

Another name, most likely fake.

"Are your parents nearby to help?"

She shook her head. "My mama passed away, and my father was never around."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I think my dad's in the Caribbean with my stepmom, and my mom's in Paris with her boyfriend."

"They got divorced a long time ago?"

"When Cammie and I were kids."

"That must have hurt. I'm sorry."

"Hey, they're both happier without each other. At least the yelling stopped. Mom chilled out, and some of Dad's girlfriends were fun. There was one, Loretta…" Ryder chuckled. "She was, like, nineteen, and she didn't give a shit if we ate candy and ice cream for dinner, and one time, Cammie ate so many Peanut Butter Cups that she puked on the couch."

"I did not."

Ryder jumped at the voice from stage left and cursed in his head. Fuckin' Marcel. He'd nominated himself as director in this little performance, and apparently, that included casting an admittedly stunning blonde as Ryder's sister.

"They were Butterfinger bars," she said as she bent to look at the screen. "Are you the hot Texan girl?"

"Cammie…" Ryder's groan was genuine. "Don't you have a cliff to go jump off?"

"Not right now."

"Cammie" squashed onto the seat beside Ryder, and for the first time, Elene looked less than composed. Who the fuck was this woman? He had no idea, but he could feel her concealed carry piece digging into his hip.

"I'm from Georgia," Elene said, eyes narrowed.

"Wait, really? Your accent's weird."

"Georgia the country, not Georgia the state," Ryder told her.

"No way! Isn't that on the other side of the world?"

"Yeah. And Jamie was the girl from Texas. We went on one date two months ago, that's all."

"Well, it's a good thing we have a jet." Fake Cammie leaned closer to the screen. "I do need to give you the mandatory warning—if you hurt my brother, I'll kick your ass. Got it?"

Elene swallowed. "I have it."

"Great! So, when are you coming to Vegas? We should go see Cirque de La Lune. It's meant to be spectacular."

"Cammie, please. We're just getting to know each other."

"Sure, I get that, but—" Her phone rang, and when she pulled it out of her purse, Ryder saw Marcel's name on the screen. "Oh, this is Maddy. I have to take it. Talk soon, okay?"

The blonde disappeared in the direction of the house, the dog trotting along behind her, and Ryder took a deep breath. Her appearance had either built credibility or scared Elene off. He hoped to hell it was the former.

"Sorry about that. My sister has no filter. I bet yours is better behaved, right?"

"She's…she's the nicest person I know."

Ron Hill had described Elene as poised and polished and, in hindsight, calculating. She never said anything without thinking it through. But "Cammie" had put her on the back foot. Ryder would put money on the comment about her sister being genuine.

"Is she older or younger? Cammie's a year older than me, which is probably why she has that overprotective streak."

"Mariam's two years younger."

If that was true, then Elene would be the protective one, especially if their mom was out of the picture. But who knew if Mariam was fictional? This job was a mind fuck.

Elene pulled herself together first.

"Tell me more about life in Las Vegas," she said. "Are the casinos truly open all day and all night?"

"They call New York the city that never sleeps, but really that's Vegas. Okay, so some of the stores close, but if you want to get a burrito at four a.m.? No problem."

"You like burritos?" Elene's gaze flicked beyond Ryder to the waterfall. "I thought you'd be more of a… I thought you'd prefer fancier food."

Dammit, rich jackasses went to high-end restaurants, not Taco Bell. Unless you were talking about Emmy Black, who might have been a bitch rather than a jackass, but she had a ton of money, and she was forever sneaking off to the local diner and coming back with cheeseburgers. And fries, and milkshakes, and on one or two occasions when she was particularly stressed, the odour of nicotine clinging to her clothes.

"You might be surprised. After a few beers, there's nothing better than a burrito. You have many Mexican joints in Tbilisi?"

"Several. I ate a burrito once."

"Once? You ate a burrito once?"

Conversation began to flow, and Ryder understood why Hill had grown so enamoured with the woman. If Elene hadn't been a compulsive liar and Ryder hadn't been crazy in love with Luna, he might have wanted more too. She seemed to let her guard down, and he had to fight to keep his up. There was one tricky moment when he forgot the name of Snuffles's predecessor, and so did Mack, it appeared, if her "Dammit" and frantic clicking was a clue. But Marcel stepped in with a glass of water on a tray and a "Will there be anything else, sir?" which gave Mack time to find the answer.

"Yeah, I still miss Jellybean. He was a grumpy little mutt, but when some asshole tried to snatch Cammie's purse, he bit the guy's ankle so bad the cops found him in the emergency room three hours later."

Ryder promised to call Elene again soon, and he also decided to take over the comms from Mack. The story would be easier to remember if he was spinning it himself rather than learning the details from someone else's notes. He never had liked tests.

"Are you staying for lunch?" Marcel asked. "I'm making spanakopita."

"What the fuck is that?"

"It's a Greek pie with spinach and feta."

"I need to get back to Luna."

"Then I'll package you up two portions to go. All you have to do is reheat it in the oven."

"Can't I microwave it?"

Marcel gasped. "No, you cannot. Are you coming back here to speak to that woman again? She had nice decor."

"She probably stole it, and yeah, I'll need to come back. But no more surprises, okay? Who the hell was the blonde?"

"Oh, you mean Barbie?"

"Barbie? Is that her real name?"

"Of course not. I thought we could add a touch of drama, and she's excellent at undercover work, isn't she?"

"I don't like surprises. Why'd you call her Barbie?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Long legs, tiny waist, generous chest… Yeah, it was.

"I guess. Does that mean Sin is a fan of immorality?"

Marcel sputtered a laugh. "S-I-N. It stands for Super Intel Nerd, and she knows a lot about everything, including you, Mr. I-Duct-Taped-the-Basketball-Player-into-a-Porta-Potty-at-Prom."

That incident had happened over a decade ago. How the fuck could Sin have found out about it? The asshole had hit on one of Neve's friends and wouldn't take "no" for an answer, so Ryder and a few buddies had resorted to alternative measures.

"That's really fuckin' creepy."

"It's her job, and also her calling." Marcel patted him on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to pack up while I put together lunch."