The Con Artist (completed)

Part 2

10k words

"Fuck..." Harry groaned when you walked out the door.

He fucked up. Majorly. He could have totally just blown his cover. Blown the case. You were on to something and you got freaked out and left in a rush.

He couldn't figure out what you'd suddenly realized. Or what happened even. He pulled on his briefs and checked his wallet that was sitting on the side table. He checked his luggage and picked up his pants from the floor, reaching into his pocket and found his money clip there with all the cash he'd put in it. You hadn't taken a single thing.

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face before collapsing back onto his bed.

Being a detective for 3 years had been a decent gig. Harry didn't have many breaks but he was onto you and if he could finally catch you it would be big for his career. Not only would he be putting a violent criminal (not violent in the traditional sense) away, you were gorgeous. You were sure to make headlines once caught. It would boost Harry's name and his chops because he knew he'd be named lead detective on the case in any article written about you.

Your offense was bad. You'd tricked a lot of men into bringing you into their homes, drugged them, and then stole from them. That is called infliction of bodily harm to commit a felony. You were facing some serious accusations given how many times you'd done it (of the ones that were reported). You could be put in prison for life. Multiple decades at a minimum.

Harry was meant to only go to the Warwick, not get noticed, follow you with your victim back to his place, and then catch you in the act, bringing you down once and for all. All he needed was the last piece of evidence, the actual proof that you were guilty of the crimes that he thought you were.

But that's not what happened at all. When Harry approached you in Liberty Park after following you from the café where you bought a latte and a pastry he realized you were even prettier in close proximity. His fucking knees nearly buckled when he heard your pretty voice and saw the way you smiled at him. The way you very subtly flirted with him. But he may or may not have been subtly flirting with you as well. He couldn't help it. In normal circumstances, he'd be pursuing you hard and begging for a date. But you were a wanted criminal. And he was a detective.

And so when he followed you from your apartment complex to the Warwick he had full intentions to go through with his original plan. Despite the hot little silky dress you were wearing. He tried not to imagine peeling it off your body and wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling your nipples into his mouth. He tried. He really did.

But then when he saw you making eyes with a man across from you he realized he didn't want to see you leaving with anyone. He wanted you to leave with him. Your short dress rode up your thigh when you sat and crossed your leg and Harry was suddenly making his way across the room to you without a second thought. His primal side took over and he wanted you. He was going to have you. This was not his normal attitude when it came to work.

Stupid man, Harry thought to himself.

Before he left his room, he put on a nice suit, casual, not too fancy, but nice enough to get into any club around. And he also only needed to flash his badge and he'd be let in anywhere. He knew you'd be on the prowl for your next victim and that you'd likely go to a club to pick one.

He tidied up the room and when he reached into his luggage he felt the box of condoms. He put them in an easily accessible spot just in case. Even though he was on assignment undercover, he could still have some fun. He could potentially pick someone up that evening if you didn't wind up picking a victim. He just didn't expect that it would be you he brought back to his room. That had been a big mistake on his part. Huge mistake. It was bad. The whole case could be down the drain because he couldn't keep it in his pants.