Mona

The living was high and the pickings came easy—till my one wild love became my sweet, slow death.

Clip artist, reamer, pigeon plucker—take your pick. They all spell confidence man. Hell—they all spell me, Joe Marlin. But then, by any other name I’d smell as sweet to bored women on the prowl—rich ladies with their baby blues tight shut and their pocketbooks wide open.

That was my game—devil-may-care conning, fly-by-night living, skipped checks at plush hotels, fleeced suckers wherever I could make a touch, a well developed string of aliases. A great old life—the rolling stone gathering no moss, just the green stuff that counts.

Then I met Mona—and fell like a ton of bricks, like some legendary lover ready to fight demons and dragons. Beautiful, wicked Mona—the girl who gave me a dream of a rose-covered cottage, and straight arrow living—and a nightmare involving the biggest clipping of them all … murder!

Also published as Grifter’s Game.