Skin Game (Subtle Deceptions #3)

Chapter 1 Gabe – Monday Part One

GABE – MONDAY PART ONE

Gabe’s eyes popped open, the popcorn ceiling he loathed glimmering overhead, taunting him. He strained his ears for the sound that had disturbed him. There had been something. Maybe a branch had fallen on the roof.

“I’m never playing cribbage with Elton again,” Gabe muttered to the otherwise empty bedroom.

He didn’t know how the old man managed it, but he cheated. Gabe was almost positive. If Gabe drank these days, he would have blamed the string of losses on too many gin and tonics. But he didn’t drink anymore, and Elton had still managed to Win. Every. Single. Game.

“Cheating bastard.”

The soft light coming in through the blinds informed him it was early morning, around seven or so.

The pitter-patter against the roof said it was raining.

Again. Still? Big shock there. The park was coming awake too.

He heard the bark of a dog and the slam of a car door, probably Bill or one of the other park residents heading off to their gainful employment.

Gabe was currently gainfully unemployed, and semi-retirement had its perks—like sleeping in on a Monday.

Fingers crossed Mondays would continue to improve.

Rolling over, he grabbed his phone from the bedside table and checked the time.

Seven fifteen, so much for sleeping in. Then he heard it again, a soft tap-tap coming from the direction of the living room.

An early morning door-to-door salesperson?

Not likely around this neighborhood. The person would go away eventually. Gabe flopped back onto the bed.

His head had barely hit the pillow when yet another round of knocks started up. Who needed him so desperately? It wasn’t Casey or Elton, both of whom would have texted. Or they would have just let themselves in without waiting for Gabe to come to the door.

“The fuck. Keith, get the fricking door.”

Keith, Gabe’s rescue cat, did not deign to reply. The fluffy orange beast stayed tucked in behind his knees, an anchor. She was purring too. It was probably a crime to move her.

“How do you do it, cat? You normally weigh ten pounds, but when I need to move you, it’s more like fifty.”

Keith just rumbled louder, a hemi engine warming up.

There was another knock, a bit louder but also hesitant, as if whoever was out there was having second thoughts about showing up this early.

“They should be fucking nervous and having third and fourth thoughts too.”

Groaning, Gabe started to pull the other pillow over his head to block out the noise, but it was too late. Even worse, his curiosity was wide fucking awake now too. Additionally, since his car was parked in his assigned spot, whoever was out there had to think he was home.

Maybe the knocker was Casey? He could be oddly formal sometimes. “You have your own key, why are you knocking?” Gabe called out. “I’m not doing anything unseemly. I save that for when you’re here.”

There was no answer. Gabe relaxed a tad; had the phantom knocker gone away? Then he heard another knock.

As if his luck would ever swing that way.

“Really?” Gabe grumbled. Whoever was out there, waiting for him to open the door, it absolutely wasn’t anyone who knew him. “Give me a damn second.”

For fuck’s sake, how often did he lie in bed in the morning doing nothing? Hardly ever. And yet, the one time he decided to revel in his false retirement, somebody showed up on his doorstep.

“Yeah, alright. I’m coming. Give me a fucking sec-minute.”

Grabbing a relatively clean pair of jeans from the top of his dresser, Gabe tugged them on. The anonymous annoyance would just have to deal with the rumpled t-shirt he’d slept in. He looked down at himself.

On second thought.

“This better be fucking worth it. This better fucking be Ed McMahon back from the dead.” Gabe peeled the sleep shirt off and dropped it to the floor, then grabbed the first shirt in his closet off its hanger, a plain black button-up shirt.

Whoever wanted him this fucking early couldn’t claim he hadn’t made some kind of effort. He had tried.

Maybe that was what he should have carved on his gravestone: Here lies Gabriel Karne. He tried.

Staring down at his bare feet, Gabe decided against socks.

His house, his rules. Departing the bedroom, he padded the short distance to his living room area.

He debated for a half second whether to peek outside and see who was so impatient to see him at the ass crack of a Monday morning but decided against it.

The blinds were closed. Fuck it, the effort was too much before coffee.

Live on the wild side and all that.

Unlocking the door, he pushed it open. Cool morning air rushed inside, giving him immediate goose bumps.

A girl—no, Gabe corrected himself, a young woman—hovered on the cement patio that passed as a porch.

She had a hood pulled up over her head and she was trying to appear confident, but unease lurked in the back of her gaze.

“Gabriel Karne?” she said before he could ask what she wanted.

“Yes, that’s me. Gabriel Karne. What can I do for you?” He ran a hand through his rumpled hair in an attempt to make it look like he cared about bedhead. Wait, did he care? No, he didn’t. Gabe dropped his hand.

The woman was likely in her twenties, Gabe estimated as he took in her appearance. The first half of them. Her dark brown hair was cut short, into what Heidi would’ve called a pixie, and she had light brown eyes. And she’d known his name, so she wasn’t lost.

This stranger had discovered Gabe’s new-to-him home address. He’d only put the change into the post office a couple of weeks ago, but it wasn’t a state secret, was it? Nevertheless, if something wasn’t rotten, it was approaching its pull-date. His Spidey sense was pinging hard.

“Um.” She jabbed a pale hand toward him. “Good morning.”

Gabriel considered not shaking it.

It never hurts to be polite, Chance. At least until you find out what they want.

Reluctantly, he took it and found her palm sweaty. She was nervous. Another reason to shake a hand was that you could learn a lot about a person from their grip—or their sweaty palms.

“You don’t know me. My name is, uh, Juliet.

Juliet Carter.” She jammed both of her hands back inside the pockets of her light blue Columbia parka.

That was some purebred Pacific Northwest outerwear.

“It’s cold out here. Do you mind if I come in for a moment?

I won’t take up much of your time. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. ”

Gabriel looked over her shoulder out into the damp world of Smitty’s RV Park.

He was going out on a limb and assuming the crappy dark blue Ford Focus parked next to the Honda was hers.

Across the road, Bill Floyd was rolling his trash and recycling containers out.

Spring mist lingered in a few of the lowest spots, only inches above the ground, like a floating blanket.

Someone’s dog barked.

He returned his attention to the young woman. She was watching him warily, her pupils huge, and one booted foot kept shifting back and forth.

Gabe figured he might as well learn what it was.

Turning around, he led the way inside. “Welcome to my abode, such as it is. Make yourself comfortable, just not too comfortable.” Gabe pulled the door shut, making sure the latch caught.

The visitor didn’t sit; instead, she stood awkwardly in the center of the living room. A shoulder bag Gabe hadn’t seen before was now tugged around to the front of her body.

“Coffee?” Whatever she was here for, Gabe needed a strong cup of coffee regardless.

“Um, no. Thanks for offering though.” She was looking around now, taking in the smallish room. There wasn’t a lot, and he made a note to take a little road trip to the Thrift Shop in Cooper Springs for something to hang on the walls, maybe stop at the pub, talk to the chatty owner.

Moving over to the counter that split the living room off from the kitchen, Gabe pressed the power switch on his espresso machine, pleased as always when the little red power light lit up.

“Why don’t you tell me who you are and why you’re here while I make a drink for myself?”

He pretended to be focused on the machine and coffee beans while watching the young woman out of the corner of his eye. If she was trying to play it cool, it wasn’t working. She was twitchy, squeezing and releasing the top of her purse thing. If her name was really Juliet, then his was Sylvester.

A grifter by any other name is still a grifter, Chance. You’ve got yourself a baby scammer.

Juliet dropped her gaze and looked down at her bag. She’d come to a decision. She fiddled with a clasp, unzipping it, keeping her dark head bent while she rummaged for something inside the deep pocket.

“You don’t have a gun or anything in there? Because that would not make my day.”

“What? No.” She looked back up at him, brandishing a sheaf of papers she held in her hand. “I have this to show you. It’s paperwork.”

“I’m not a big fan of paperwork.” Gabe set his special demitasse cup underneath the magic caffeine spout. Soon, he’d have caffeine coursing through his bloodstream. He had the feeling he was going to need it this morning.

Paperwork and letters were closely related in his mind.

The word paperwork made Gabe feel slightly dizzy.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was a pitch of some kind.

When she finished, he’d gently usher the young woman out the door and erase her from his memory.

Then he’d get ready for the rest of his day.

“You’re my father,” Juliet announced, the sheaf of papers rustling as her hand shook.

Staring back at her, Gabe blinked several times, his espresso forgotten as he repeated the girl’s words inside his head.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? Maybe you could repeat that?” He was proud of himself for not laughing. This was not the sales pitch he’d imagined.