by Amy Atwell
A tingling at her neck warned her someone had approached from behind. Warm fingers whispered up her bare spine to rest at her nape.
“One of your pins is loose.” The male voice lured her—rich, dark, and promising the same jolt as a good espresso. “Allow me.”
His fingers slid about her neck, past her ears, sending alarms from every nerve ending. Her entire body shivered with heat, a sensation beyond anything she’d experienced before. A pin slid deeper into her hair, but his touch lingered. She liked how it lingered.
Not a good sign.
Stifling the unwanted anticipation, Iris turned to thank the mystery man and send him about his business. Instead, her lower lip slackened as the party crasher withdrew his hand. At close range, his chin and cheeks were chiseled like the local mountains while his nose bent a little to the left, as if he’d broken it once. Dark hair curled slightly around his ears, and a day’s growth of beard carpeted his jaw. The smell of leather and oil and desert dust clung to him.
“Personally, I’d rather see your hair down,” he said.
“It’s an awkward length, tends to look mussed up.” Wait—had she actually responded to such a personal remark?
A slow grin crinkled his blue eyes. “I’ll bet it looks fine mussed up. I bet you do, too.”
What an absurd thing to say—even for a come-on. No good would come from that gleam in his eye, or the way his upper lip curved. “Do we know each other?”
“No need to get frosty on me,” he said, the smile unchanged. “As a matter of fact, your dad introduced us in passing about a month ago.”
Any curiosity about him ended right there. Her gaze darted toward the door. “Cosmo’s not with you, is he?”
“No, ah, I saw him earlier tonight.”
David spoke up over her shoulder. “Iris, is everything all right?”
Iris shot the crasher a glance, daring him to make this situation anything less than perfect. She smiled at David. “Everything’s fine.”
“Friend of yours?” All three tuxedo-clad businessmen had followed David over and, from the tone of his question, the chubby one was hoping for a scene.
“No—” The single word came from Iris and Cosmo’s friend at the same time.
Surprised, Iris paused. She’d rather not mention her father’s name as it tended to ruin her evenings with David. Maybe it was best if this guy explained his connection to Cosmo.
“Not a friend. I’m her cousin, Mickey, and you must be David. Oh, I’ve heard all about you.” He offered his hand.
David shook it, though he didn’t smile. Not that Iris blamed him. He’d only ever met her father, but that was enough to put David off her whole family.
“You’re a Fortune, then?” David asked.
“No, we’re related on her mom’s side. Kincaid’s the last name.”
To her astonishment, Mickey shook hands all around, as if he were one of the social elite shooting the breeze. Except, dressed in his leather and denim, he looked manlier, wilder, hotter. For God’s sake, the man was a chameleon, a con man who could probably fit in anywhere with anyone.
David’s brow wrinkled in uneasiness. “I thought your mother was Russian.”
“She was.” She raised her brows at Mickey.
He had the audacity to wink at her. “Yeah, my mom was her sister, but she ran off with an Irishman. I mean, what are you going to do?”
Before anyone could reply, he took her glass of wine and handed it to David. “Hold this, will ya, Dave? I need to talk to Iris about a little family matter. I’ll bring her back in a sec.”
“What are you doing?” Iris nearly stumbled as he pulled her away from the group.
“Enjoying a few quiet moments without his kind looking down their noses at us.” In a twinkling, he had her on the edge of the dance floor. “Dance with me.”
The orchestra was playing a Sinatra-style ballad while couples swayed in slow and sensuous rhythms. Iris balked. “Don’t you think that’s a little provocative for cousins?”
“Interesting choice of words, because you really don’t want to provoke me tonight.” Mickey hauled her against his chest and folded his arms around her. “Let Dave and his buddies make what they want out of this.”
Iris squirmed, but though his grip didn’t hurt, he also wouldn’t loosen it. Continuing to struggle would only create the dreaded scene she always hoped to avoid.
“Fine. What’s this family matter you wanted to discuss?” She followed his steps, or rather the gentle swaying of his hips.
His grip relaxed. “Your dad stiffed me tonight.”
“Stiffed you?”
“Ran off on me. We’ve been negotiating a little business, and he disappeared tonight without delivering.”
Iris closed her eyes. Cosmo and his crazy schemes. It was a miracle he stayed out of jail. “What’s he into this time? Counterfeit casino chips? He lift someone’s wallet?”
“Try ten million in jewels.”
“Ten mi—” Her eyes flew open, and she choked out a laugh. “He’s not stupid.”
“No, he’s very clever, isn’t he?” He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Just like you—successful fiancé, successful business—what are you hiding?”
Ripples of electricity shot through her. She stiffened in his arms, making him back off. “I’m not hiding anything.”
“No?” He raised a skeptical brow. “Then when you talk to Cosmo, tell him his friend Mickey is waiting. I’ll try to help him.”
Iris considered him. Mickey didn’t look like the kind of guy who waited around for others. “You’ll help him?”
“Yeah.” The eye contact, the easy smile, the relaxed posture while he held her—they all added up to honesty.
She wasn’t deceived. Mickey Kincaid was good, maybe even better than Cosmo, but she sure didn’t trust him.
“Mind if I cut in?” David stood on the dance floor with two security guards. All the other couples had stopped dancing.
“Sure,” Mickey replied easily. “I’ve got to run anyway.”
“That’s probably best,” David said.
Iris looked into Mickey’s eyes. He still held her so close she could feel the heat rise off the planes of his solid chest.
“Give Uncle Cosmo my message, will ya, Rissie? And call me if you need me.”
It took a moment for her to register that he’d used Cosmo’s pet name for her. “Do I have your latest number?”
Mickey leaned down to her ear again, and this time his moist lips nibbled her earlobe.
Her brain must have shut down, because she didn’t stop him.
“You won’t need it. I’ll be watching you,” he whispered.
He released her abruptly, pulled off by the security guards. Already, they were escorting him from the ballroom, from the hotel, probably from the Strip.
“Iris, what was that all about?” Despite any irritation David might feel, he escorted her from the dance floor and handed her a fresh glass of wine.
“He was looking for Cosmo.” She sipped the chilled wine to cool herself. Damn. Chardonnay, again. Determined to salvage the evening, she smiled, back in control.
And then her cell phone chirped from within her tiny handbag.
“Now what?” Forcing a smile, David took her glass. “I ask for one night with you, and I get a circus.”
She pulled the phone from her bag and silenced the ringer. “Sorry.” Normally she’d put it on vibrate, but there was no way to wear the phone with this clingy dress.
“If it’s your father, don’t answer it.”
Puzzled by the number on the little screen, she shook her head. “It’s my security company for the shop.” She flipped the phone open and covered her other ear to block out the party noise. “Iris Fortune.”
“Ms. Fortune, this is Belinda with SecureLink Systems. We need to verify that you entered your premises after hours.”
“What happened?”
“Your pass code was entered into the security
system to shut off the alarm at eleven-fifteen. The system was reset at eleven-twenty. Was that you?”
Iris blinked. The only other person who knew her pass code was Cosmo. He’d gone into her store tonight, but why? And how did Mickey fit into it all? “Yes, Belinda, that was me.”
“You know you’re supposed to call the data desk and tell them when you make an after-hours entry.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I was in a hurry. I appreciate you following up with me.”
“Very good, Ms. Fortune. We’re here to serve you.”
“Thank you.” Great, now she was lying to her security company. Iris closed her phone, grateful David had turned away to watch the orchestra. She thought of calling Cosmo, but no, there was no point in overreacting to some stranger and his version of what Cosmo might be up to. Tomorrow would be soon enough to sort out this whole mess.
No matter how hard she tried, Cosmo always managed to ruin her evenings. Iris let out a breath and touched her hairpins until assured she had it all together.
***
It had been far too long since he’d had a woman.
Mickey noted the security uniforms around the room then shifted his stance to lean against the oversized column out of their lines of sight.
Naturally, he’d responded to the feel of Iris pulled up against him. Watching her now, that clingy white dress encouraged his imagination to take flight.
She was one stellar creature. A real class act.
And totally off-limits for more than the obvious reasons. As Cosmo’s daughter, he’d never be able to fully trust her. With that red-gold hair and those brandy-colored eyes—not to mention those great natural tits—she’d lure a man into making mistakes.
Mistakes could get a guy killed. Look what happened to Brian.
Look, don’t touch was clearly the way to proceed with Miss Fortune. Then he recalled her scent, musky and exotic with promise, as he’d tasted her ear. Definitely better not to eat, drink or breathe around her, either.
He’d have to watch her, no way around that. Who was calling her at this hour if not Cosmo? The tricky bastard must have given her the goods for safekeeping, though she acted cool as can be about it. No, it was too convenient. Cosmo had stashed a load of stolen gems, and his daughter owned an upscale jewelry store.
Had she fenced the stuff for him? Was that Cosmo’s angle? Stiff the bosses and try to sell the stones and make a real killing? He was about to learn all about killing firsthand.
Mickey flagged down a passing waiter and pressed a twenty into the guy’s hand with a few whispered directions. His gaze returned to the stoic David, lost in conversation with more tuxes. The guy was an idiot. Beside him, Iris waited, elegant and regal in her patience. A woman like her wouldn’t wait forever—not patiently, anyway. A woman like her demanded promises, grand gestures, sacrifices.
He shook off the pointless memories as the waiter approached Iris and handed her a glass of red wine. Mickey didn’t know anything about wines, but he could tell she didn’t like that white stuff. He’d asked the waiter for something big, bold and red.
Her body tensed at this unexpected gift, then her gaze followed the waiter’s hand as he gestured in Mickey’s direction.
Mickey blew her a kiss.
Stupid. But he could very well be dead before dawn, so what more could he lose?
Chapter Two
The rising August sun clearing the purple mountains already promised plenty of heat, but Robert Donovan never let a little sweat stop him from doing anything, and eighteen holes of golf wasn’t exactly a hardship. He studied this morning’s opponent. A member of his corporate board, Jack Vados wasn’t a visionary but he was astute with money and a potential future CFO.
His company, the Donovan Group, owned numerous hotels and gaming properties all over Las Vegas, though it barely had a toehold on the Strip, which was already crowded with iconic resorts. Without a household-name casino, his company was considered a minor player by the bigger corporations in the industry. But that was about to change. Donovan was poised to expand their global holdings, and the increased income would allow him to buy a true flagship property here.
On the fifth green he broached the topic. “The contracts for the Moscow purchase should be ready Monday morning. We’ll have the cash flow to minimize financing, right?”
“We can wire the cash in a heartbeat.” Vados lined up his shot. “But are you sure about this?”
Donovan bit back the sharp retort he would have issued in the boardroom. He always liked to play nice in public.
Vados putted and birdied the hole to the sound of chirping and the rustle of palm leaves in the warm dry breeze.
“Do you have a problem with this deal?”
Vados’s grin melted. “Not a problem, but it’s a risky venture. To buy all those abandoned Moscow casino properties now that Russia’s moved all the gambling outside the city doesn’t make sense to me. Are you sure you’re going to be able to get the zoning reversed?”
Donovan hated to be questioned on any day, but on a Saturday on the golf course in front of a couple of frat-boy caddies, it really pissed him off. Still, he kept his voice steady. “The closing of all those casinos works in our favor. Imagine it—we buy up those other resorts, and when the Russian government allows gaming back into Moscow, we’ll be sitting in the heart of a Las Vegas-style gambling center.”
“But who says they’re going to change the zoning?” Jack uncapped a water bottle. “I don’t think it’s wise to expand our holdings when so many things could go wrong.”
“Nothing will go wrong,” Donovan said flatly. He’d been quietly working on this deal for years—ever since the Russian government started legislating to close the Moscow casinos and gather them into four rural gambling zones. The land purchase on Monday would double the size of his Moscow casino, even if he did have to keep it closed for now. Every other gaming corporation was running gun-shy from Moscow, but not Donovan.
Not since he’d learned the Russian government wanted to purchase some special gems that had a cultural significance to their history. But the gems belonged to a rumored leader of the Russian mafia, and the government wouldn’t negotiate with him. Donovan had no such compunction, not when he saw such an opportunity. He’d bought the gems for the very reasonable investment of ten million dollars, and now all he had to do was donate them to the Ministry of Culture in Russia to receive their endless gratitude.
Oh yes, this under-the-table deal would ensure his Moscow casino would be zoned to reopen. He would be the only game in town. Literally.
His caddy held up a vibrating cell phone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan. You said you wanted calls from Mr. Turner.”
Donovan took the phone and walked to the edge of the green for a little privacy. “Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you, sir.” Turner sounded hesitant.
Already he didn’t like where this call was headed. “Did you get them?”
“Kincaid picked up Cosmo last night, but no one’s seen either of them since. I still don’t have the—”
“Dammit!” Donovan yanked off his cap and craned his neck to the side until the vertebrae cracked. “Cosmo Fortune is a dead man, you understand?” he whispered vehemently into the phone.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let me know when you get word from Kincaid. If he’s screwed this up, I want him gone, too.” He didn’t wait for a reply but disconnected the call and tossed the phone back to his caddy. Replacing his cap, he stalked back to the ball and proceeded to line up his putt.
The sun on his shoulders soothed away some of the tension, and he concentrated on the ball, the hole, the ball, the hole, the ball—until his other problems faded away.
He sank his putt, keeping the score tied. “We’re moving on this deal on Monday.”
Vados laughed. “I wish I had your steel cojones, Robert. Frankly, I’d feel better if we had some sort of insurance on this deal.”
Donovan’s inner rage tasted of bile. He’d boug
ht a goddamn insurance policy—spent ten million dollars on it—and Cosmo Fortune had run off with it.
Well, Cosmo was about to learn what George Halsted already knew—dead men couldn’t run far.
***
His coworkers might deem it an affectation, but Justin Hunter knew the herbal tea kept him calm, focused, and had already stopped his ulcers from tearing his stomach to shreds. Just because he’d topped forty didn’t mean he had to face heartburn and gastrointestinal distress. Hell, he’d had enough of that with his last partner, a man who’d finally admitted maybe he needed to see a doctor about his flatulence.
Maybe was right. Patrolling with him had meant all windows rolled down despite heat, cold, wind, dust, rain—Vegas had them all.
Justin took another sip of his mint tea, enjoying the clean, wholesome taste. So few things in this city were simple and straightforward like peppermint leaves. It almost shut out the cacophony of slot machines in the casino behind him. Almost.
He leaned against the glass doors of the jewelry shop and pondered the copper-haired beauty inside. She had a wholesome look about her, even as she pointedly ignored his presence. The tailored gray suit hugged her trim shape with clean lines while her hair was sleeked back from her face and twisted and pinned neatly at the back. One tidy little package, and he already suspected she’d be as cool and refined as the icelike gems sparkling in every glass case.
A practical, businesslike gal, his own counterpart in silk and lace, she positioned a glittering necklace on a display. He blew the steam clear of his drink, admiring her efficient precision. Lace might be too frilly for her, maybe she was more of a leather kind of person.
Man, the guys at the station were right—he needed to get out more.
Another sip of tea fortified him enough to rap on the glass, and his training helped keep the smile from his face when she glared at him. He had no trouble reading her lips as she mouthed her response.
“We open at ten.”
Cushy hours. Too bad he worked a job that stayed open twenty-four/seven. He rapped again before fishing inside his jacket for his badge while she marched toward the door.