by Amy Atwell
His first call was long past due, and he kept his message brief. “If you receive word of my death, it’s a bit premature.”
He thought about calling his daughters, but decided Cory would get them word he was safe. For now. Squaring his shoulders, he dialed an international call.
“Cosmo? What is happening?” As always, Marko’s accent was heavy and guttural. It was pre-dawn in St. Petersburg, but he’d answered on the first ring.
“Nothing to worry about.” Mostly. “I may be out of touch for a few days, but I’m home in Las Vegas.”
“Aunt Tatiana was furious to find you’d left the country with those gemstones,” Marko said. “You know they’re an heirloom. If you lose them, she will hunt you down and kill you.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme these days.” In the periphery of his vision, Cosmo caught sight of two police officers. His eyes followed their progress down the terminal without him ever turning his head. “I only need the stones for a few days. I’ll check in again then and make arrangements to return the, er, merchandise to its rightful owner.”
“See that you do. And Cosmo? Call if you need help.”
“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to involve you.”
“Nonsense. You are, how you say—family.” Marko’s tone was decidedly gruff.
Damn, Cosmo had always doubted the bastard really cared. He hung up and dialed his last call. Three digits.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
“I want to speak to Detective Justin Hunter of the LVMPD.”
“Sir, this number is for emergencies only.”
“Ma’am, I’m a fugitive wanted in connection with a homicide. If it makes you feel better, someone is trying to kill me, but let me speak to Hunter.”
“Please hold, sir.”
Already they were recording the conversation and tracing his phone number for location.
“Cosmo? Where are you?” Hunter panted into the phone, as if he’d run to get the call. Good.
“You already know I’m at McCarran.”
“Don’t try to leave town—”
“I’ll do what I have to do to save my hide. You wanted an insider, you got your information, now I want you to repeal the APB.”
“It’s for your own safety, Cosmo. We just wanted to question you, we know you didn’t kill the guy in your car.”
Cosmo felt a pang. He was up against some serious people, people who treated others’ lives as one more marketable commodity. “Was it anyone I knew?” he asked.
“You tell me. We identified him as George Halsted.”
“Poor bastard.” Halsted had flown to Russia with him. He was the jeweler who’d verified the authenticity of the gems they’d purchased. Cosmo had tried to warn George that certain death awaited them when they returned to Vegas, but George wouldn’t listen. Donovan’s hired gun had killed the jeweler and left him in Cosmo’s car as a message. Or had the plan been for Mickey to kill him at the same time?
Mickey had asked for the gems. That meant Turner didn’t have them. And that meant Turner hadn’t left George alive long enough to ask where they were. George would have talked faster than a New Yorker on crack and spilled his guts. Sadly, he probably had done that last part, just not willingly.
“How did Halsted fit into it?” Hunter asked.
“He was a jeweler and a fence.” And a sometime friend.
“Do you still have the jewels, Cosmo?”
He glanced at his watch, knowing it would be only one to two more minutes before he had police swarming this terminal. “They’re safely stowed. Don’t let anything happen to me, or you’ll never find them.”
“Jeez, we’re the ones trying to help you, Cosmo. As long as you have those gems, you’re a walking target. Turn yourself in and let us put you in protective custody.”
“Not yet. You want to capture Turner and whoever’s hired him, and I’m the only one who can do it. Gotta fly!” He hung up the phone and walked calmly through the gate lounge before taking a seat on the other side of the waiting area just as five uniformed cops arrived. As they examined the phones and questioned the people nearby, Cosmo melted into the queue of people debarking and heading toward baggage claim.
***
Iris sought the sanctuary of her high-rise apartment, desperate for a few hours in an environment that was all her own. As she pulled into the parking garage, she gave thanks her business provided well for her. She didn’t need to count on anyone for anything. She earned a comfortable living, made her own decisions—she’d been on her own since her mom died. At twenty, she’d inherited Lying Eyes and its clientele, so she quit college and threw herself into designing jewelry and running the store. She’d never regretted the decision.
Cosmo had encouraged her to strike out on her own, and now she understood why. He’d had two other daughters still in high school. She wondered why he’d never told her about the others but thought she knew—she hadn’t been much of a daughter to Cosmo, so why would he think she’d do any better as a sister?
Carrying her purse and the dreaded packet of papers, she sauntered through the hot garage to the elevators, conscious that she wanted something, someone. As much as she’d needed to get away, she didn’t really want to be alone. Already she was wondering if Cosmo had been a better father to those other two women than to her. Had she been that big a disappointment that he went out and fathered two other children?
The elevator provided welcome air conditioning to cool her skin if not her nerves as she rode to the eighteenth floor. She was scheduled to meet David in an hour and, for once, she wasn’t looking forward to it. Two sisters and Cosmo’s bigamy weren’t going to ignite anything but disappointment in his eyes. She wanted to be the model wife for him, and here she was about to saddle him with more problems. She had to pull herself together so they could discuss how this affected their future together. Right now, she could barely think, much less talk, about it. She was the emotional equivalent of gum—chewed to a sloppy mess then spit onto the sidewalk without a second thought.
Foolish to react this way. It wasn’t like Cosmo had just abandoned her. He’d been doing it her whole life. “I really need to harden my heart,” she muttered as she let herself into her apartment.
“And here I was hoping to soften you up with a little gift.”
The voice from her living room, decidedly masculine and somehow familiar, scared her flat against the door. Someone had broken into her home. Heart pounding, she drew two steadying breaths while a dangerous curiosity battled with the natural temptation to flee. Curiosity finally won.
Iris peered around the corner and her pulse hopscotched again at the sight of Mickey. His dress shirt and jeans, both in black, made a bold contrast against the soft desert colors she’d chosen for her furniture, carpet and walls.
She dropped her purse and the papers onto the little table near the door. “Do you think it was wise to come here?” Thank heavens she sounded level-headed, not giddy with the potential chaos of having Mickey Kincaid anywhere near her.
“Like you’ve never caused a man to act foolishly,” he practically purred. He appeared completely relaxed as he reclined against the sage-green pillows of her overstuffed sofa. His lips curved into a knowing smile. She remembered how those lips had nuzzled her ear last night, and she wondered how they’d taste.
No. No. And no. Iris tugged off her gray suit jacket, then regretted the choice when his hooded eyes narrowed even further on her black lace camisole. She couldn’t tell whether he was giving off pheromones or she was, but the room was thick with desire.
This man was dangerous, in all the wrong ways. But then, David had never looked at her with that open hunger that promised a banquet if shared.
Somewhere in the back of her endorphin-fogged brain, a synapse fired to tell her Mickey was exactly the person she needed right now. Giving herself a mental shake, she tossed her jacket on a chair. “The best gift you can give me is leaving.”
“Not a ch
ance.” He rose, sending a tremor through her.
Not fear, no, was that…anticipation? God, she needed to get a grip. “What do you want?”
“Answers.” He stopped and nudged a box on the floor with his foot. “But aren’t you going to open your present?”
Despite her better judgment, she stepped forward, curious.
Mickey chuckled. “It won’t bite you. At least I hope not.”
Warily, she unfolded the top of the box. “It’s Edgar. Why do you have him?”
“Cosmo left him with me last night before he took off. I thought I’d bring him to you.”
“To me?” Her laugh sounded brittle, even to her. “What am I supposed to do with him?”
Mickey refolded the box lid, as if he feared the inquisitive rabbit would leap out and attack him. “It’s your dad’s pet. I figured you’d want to take care of him.”
“Well, you figured wrong. Let one of my dad’s other daughters take care of him.” She ran a hand through her hair, but that only further loosened her French knot.
“Ah, so now you know.”
Her hands stilled. “What, you mean you knew? Did Cosmo tell you?”
He hunched his shoulders as if embarrassed he’d revealed so much. “No, but in my business it pays to know everything you can about everyone around you. I’ve got sources as good as any the police have.”
Dandy. Cosmo hadn’t even bothered to hide his bigamy well. Anyone with a suspicious nature could have learned the truth years ago. Obviously, she hadn’t been suspicious enough.
Agitated, she plucked the pins from her hair and finger-combed it as best she could while she walked to the dining room. The mirror over the breakfront confirmed that she’d made a mess of her shoulder-length curls. She’d have to fix it before she saw David later.
Mickey trailed behind her. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, prayerlike.
Her gaze swept up to catch his reflection. That hunger in his eyes had transformed to a longing that was more than carnal, but even as she glimpsed it, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and looked away.
Maybe she’d imagined it.
“Where’s your boyfriend this evening?”
“My fiancé works. I’m meeting him later.”
“Works on the weekend, huh? Fool.”
“And your lifestyle is so much better?” She raised a brow at him.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” He grinned wolfishly. “Even if I worked hard all day, I’d make damn sure to get back home to you as quick as I could. If David could see you like that and still remember what he does for a living, well, I’m just saying…” He shrugged.
Her body warmed to his words as well as the appreciative gleam in his eye. David, with all his pretty speeches, had never heated her blood and shut down her brain the way this guy did. It was sheer animal magnetism, and that was bad.
Even though she liked it.
Iris slipped out of her high heels and walked back to the living room. “What is it you want, Mr. Kincaid?”
Mickey watched the sway of her hips. Oh, yeah, he wanted a lot of things from Iris Fortune, only that wasn’t in the cards. He gave a soft lazy laugh as he followed her. “There’s no rush, is there? Aren’t you going to offer me a drink or something?” When she turned to glare at him, he winked at her.
She froze for a moment then thawed with a chuckle. “Why not? The bar is over there. Make yourself a drink, make yourself at home for that matter.” With a wave she seemed to forget about him and sank onto the sofa, her legs curled beneath her. He mixed two gin and tonics while she removed her pearl bracelets, rings and earrings, and dumped them on the coffee table.
Stepping behind the sofa, he handed her both drinks as she reached up to undo the clasp of her necklace. “Hold these and let me do that for you.”
She leaned back to consider him, her brandy-colored eyes fringed with dark lashes lifted in surprise. Soft curls, the golden red of an angel, fell back to reveal a mile of ivory throat tapering to nearly bare shoulders. His gaze roamed over her breasts, which curved into the lace confines of that sexy little camisole that did nothing to hide her erect nipples.
An erection of his own responded. Great, but now was not the time. He needed information from her, not a night in her bed. Although…
He teased them both by sliding his fingers along her clavicle and up her throat to her nape, while his other hand bunched her hair to one side, the silky texture a welcome torture. Leaning close, he breathed against her ear and smiled when she visibly shuddered. Finally, he undid the catch on her necklace and released one end to let it slip into the valley between her breasts. His gaze locked with hers, he slowly withdrew it, the pearls gliding against her soft skin.
Noticing her closed eyelids, he leaned close. “I’m available any time you need help undressing,” he whispered.
Her eyes shot open to consider him speculatively. Mickey held his breath—time itself seemed to stop. Finally, Iris offered his glass to him. When he took it, she turned her palm over to receive the pearl necklace. He laid it in her hand.
“Sit down, Mr. Kincaid. You want something, and whatever it is means more to you than sex.”
“Am I that obvious?” He rubbed his temple and sat on the opposite end of the sofa. “I must be slipping.”
“Don’t play me. Last night you told me Cosmo stole ten million dollars in gems.” She sipped her drink. “How do you know that?”
“The people I work for hired him to pick up the goods, only Cosmo never delivered. I don’t know if he’s trying to sell the gems or if he’s trying to get my employers to pay him a higher fee. Either way, he could wind up dead—like the guy in his car.”
“You know about that?”
“He’s the jeweler who authenticated the gems. I think your dad was looking for easy money, but he doesn’t know the type of people he’s up against.”
Iris pushed back her riotous curls. “Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. But I need to find him before anyone else does.”
“Let me guess—he’s put your ass on the line, too.”
“He’s got all our asses on the line.”
Iris choked on her drink. “All? What have I got to do with this?”
“These people will use you and your sisters to get to Cosmo.”
Her eyes darkened at the mention of her sisters, and Mickey remembered that she’d only learned of them this morning. He knew all too well what it was like to have your life yanked out from under you. Sympathy stalled his next words in his throat, but the role he had to play here doggedly forced them out. “So don’t be some kind of sap for your old man. What kind of gems are they?”
“You’re asking me? How should I know?”
He regarded the outrage in her raised brows and the negative slant to her lips. Was it possible Cosmo hadn’t asked her to copy them?
“You don’t think he asked me to copy stolen gems?” She laughed in that broken way of hers that meant she wasn’t amused. “Not that Cosmo includes me in any of his little schemes, but even if he did, I’d sure as hell recognize something that valuable and know he was up to no good.”
“And you’d refuse to help him do something illegal?”
“I don’t break the law.”
Mickey nodded at her emphatic idealism. “Even if breaking the law could save your father’s life?”
She rose swiftly, barely setting her drink on the coffee table. All but visibly twitching, she stood a few feet away with her back to him. “What is it you want from me?”
“You haven’t answered my question—”
She spun on him, her brandy-colored eyes blazing. “Cosmo’s lied to me, cheated on my mother and now you’re telling me he’s stolen. A man like that doesn’t deserve filial duty, he deserves what he gets. Now, what do you want?”
She’d still avoided the question, but he’d allow it. The non-answer was answer enough for him. He held her drink out, until she slowly stepped forward and accepted it as s
he sat. She donned that controlled façade of hers while she sipped, ice tinkling like a wind chime before a storm.
He wished he could tell her the truth about his ruse. But then, she hadn’t been very forthcoming with Hunter. He frowned. Telling her he was a cop might not get him anywhere, and it would be a stupid risk to give her that kind of ammunition.
Best to play it out as Mickey the hood. “I need to know what I’m dealing with, searching for. What does ten million dollars in gems look like?”
She snorted. “It could look like anything, depending on what type of gem. The problem is you’re talking about a lot of stones for that kind of money.”
Mickey massaged the back of his neck, where the first trace of a headache always started. “No, the package was something Cosmo could easily carry and conceal. Wouldn’t diamonds be worth that much?”
Iris leaned over, showing a length of supple spine, as she rooted on a shelf beneath the coffee table’s glass top. Her hands tugged an oversized book into view, and she flipped through the pages, before laying it on the table before them.
Mickey liked that she sat much closer to him now that her attention was captured by their topic. The headache receded, and he leaned forward to peruse the book.
“In today’s market, diamonds are more plentiful, therefore, their price isn’t as high. Now, there are still special finds, large uncut stones that could fetch that sort of price, but there’s been no publicity of a find like that for years. The largest diamonds mostly belong to Britain’s royal family and are held in state at the Tower of London.”
Her pink manicured nail traced from photo to photo as she named them. “There’s the Koh-i-Noor that belonged to the Queen Mother, and the Cullinan Two found in the Imperial State Crown. The Cullinan One, or First Star of Africa, in the royal scepter is the second-largest cut diamond in the world. Its estimated value is around four hundred million dollars.”
“How big is it?”
“It’s 530 carats.”
“Say it so I can understand it.”