Lying Eyes

by Amy Atwell

Really, there was little amusing about passing from one’s prime. They were both nearing sixty and, though Viktor was younger, Marko still felt robust as an ox. Despite losing his hair. Despite the belly that kept getting larger no matter how he cut back on desserts. Despite how life had fallen into a mundane routine.

  All in all, a trip to America might be fun—

  “Marko!” Aunt Tatiana’s voice carried over all the other terminal sounds.

  —except that his aging aunt insisted on making the trip with them. Even now, Viktor’s son Sergei was playing nursemaid to her, wheeling her in that chair. Well, it might be more comfortable than what he was sitting on.

  “Marko!”

  He stumbled to his feet. He should have done so the first time she called. The accepted matriarch of the family since before the Cold War ended, she rarely raised her voice. Though what she expected him to do for her was unclear. “Yes, aunt. What is wrong?”

  “They say our departure will leave late. Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “There are many possible reasons.” And he wasn’t about to list them for her. He made a quick gesture to Viktor to warn him to stay quiet. Fueling her ire while they were stuck in this terminal would be worse than hell.

  Sergei, practically a child still in his late twenties, his blond hair as yet untouched by gray, leaned over his great-aunt. “Are you sure you want to make this trip, Aunt Tatiana? It will take hours to fly to America on this crowded airplane.”

  Marko held his breath. With his ice-blue eyes, young Sergei had a way with women—all women—of any age.

  “Don’t think you can talk me out of this.” Tatiana eyed them all warily.

  Her once-vivid blue eyes were faded now, her skin wrinkled and spotted with age. Though she was diminutive and frail of body, Marko would think twice before crossing her. Apparently, Cosmo hadn’t thought at all.

  “You’ll not be leaving me behind on this, so forget your notions.”

  “Flight 8211 departing for Las Vegas, Nevada, will begin pre-boarding at gate six shortly.” The announcement over the loudspeaker featured a friendly woman’s voice, and Marko gave thanks they’d be on their way soon. He was counting the hours until they landed in the casino-laden American desert.

  “Do you want some water? Maybe one of your little pills?” he asked his aunt.

  Viktor reached into his pocket for the prescription bottle. Even Sergei drew a breath as if he’d approve drugging her with a sleeping pill before they boarded.

  “I do not want my pills,” Tatiana said with asperity. “I want Cosmo Fortune’s head.”

  ***

  “You saw Daddy this afternoon?” Allie asked, hope and joy apparent in her voice.

  Iris couldn’t say anything, but a giddy sort of relief flooded her at the news that, as of a few hours ago, Cosmo was still alive and kicking. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she’d feared she’d never see him again.

  Cory shifted her position on the couch and pushed the heavy curls from her face. “Papa came by the casino. He was disguised so well, even I didn’t recognize him at first.” She proceeded to tell them about the card game with the tourist from South Carolina, and how he’d beaten her best hand of the day with a trio of queens.

  “That’s when I knew without a doubt it was him,” she finished.

  Iris pursed her lips, trying to form the question she wanted to ask without putting Cory on the defensive. “Why didn’t you tell Hunter?”

  Cory glanced at the blonde but then met Iris’s gaze levelly. “He’s my papa, and I believe with all my heart that he didn’t do anything wrong. He said he would wrap things up, and I think he can do that better on his own without the police interfering.”

  “Fair enough,” Iris said.

  Allie leaned forward. “So he turned over three queens to let you know who he was, but did he tell you anything?”

  Cory rose, her elegant hands wringing each other while she strode about the living room. Though petite, she carried herself with regal grace in her khaki shorts and green camp shirt. “He said we were each a queen of our own country, and he loved us all equally. He said fortune had dealt him three lovely queens, and he had to think about us and do what’s right.”

  “That sounds like Daddy,” Allie said.

  Iris remained silent, wishing she felt as confident about Cosmo’s motives.

  “He said a queen is always a strong card.” Cory stopped, her eyes squinting as she tried to recall more. “But three of them together are practically unbeatable. Then he told me I was the queen of spades, that I had the power to bury him.”

  “He risked coming to you when he knew you might turn him in,” Iris said.

  Cory’s dark eyes held a haunted look when she gazed at the others. “I let him get away with cheating at my table. I mean, he had to have cheated to get those three queens, and I didn’t turn him in. I never thought I’d let someone cheat.”

  “You did the right thing,” Allie said. “These are very special circumstances.”

  “It made one thing clear to me—Papa’s more important to me than my career.”

  Iris felt a sting of jealousy at the words. She wanted to be able to say them, wanted to believe them. But Cosmo had always been more committed to his magic career than to her, so for years she’d made her own career more important than him. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t trusted her.

  Allie cleared her throat. “Which queen was I?”

  Cory’s demeanor softened. “You’re the queen of hearts. He said you have blond hair and a heart of gold—and he’s right.”

  Allie smiled. She looked across at Iris. “You must be the queen of diamonds. It only makes sense with the jewelry store.”

  “More than that,” Cory said, approaching Iris. “He said you’re the keeper of the gems.”

  Iris furrowed her brow as she tried to make sense of that.

  “Anything you’d care to share with the class, sis?” Cory asked.

  Iris locked eyes with the brunette, still unwilling to be railroaded.

  Allie interrupted their stalemate. “Iris, do you have a pet?”

  The question was so far out in left field, it wasn’t even in the park. Then Iris remembered Cosmo’s rabbit and scrambled out of her chair. “Hell, that poor rabbit is still in the box.” She shouldered past Cory to get to the box and open it.

  Edgar blinked up at her, or maybe it was the sudden brightness. His front paws burrowed at the corner of the box, scratching at it until the other women came over to peer inside.

  “Edgar!” Allie heaved the monster rabbit from the box to cuddle him close. “You poor thing. What are you doing in that dark box?”

  Edgar nuzzled her face with nose a-twitch before swiveling his ears, and then his head, to consider the others in the room.

  “These are my sisters, Edgar.” Allie scratched him gently between his long ears.

  He looked up at her and blinked his red eyes.

  “Did you know that already?” Allie paused to contemplate the rabbit, her brows knit, her head tilted, almost as if she were listening.

  A shiver ran up Iris’s spine, and she shared a look with Cory. Definitely, the brunette agreed that there was something odd about Allie.

  “You knew Daddy had more than one family, didn’t you?” Allie looked at Iris. “Well, I like that. Edgar knew about us.”

  From the blonde’s other side, Cory stepped toward her. “Allie? Are you talking to the rabbit?”

  Iris snorted. A little snuggly with the bunny was cute, but this was going too far. Sure hadn’t taken long to discover that at least one of these so-called sisters was potentially certifiable.

  Allie drew a breath and turned with a frown to the brunette. “I know it sounds silly, but I have this…telepathy with animals.”

  “It doesn’t sound silly,” Cory said.

  “Yes, it does,” Iris countered.

  Cory glared at her. “Your problem is you don’t believe in anything.”

  “I don’t h
ave a problem. If you believe her, why don’t you ask ol’ Edgar there when and where was the last time he saw Cosmo?”

  The brunette opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a stinging retort, but Allie shushed her.

  Adjusting the rabbit so she could look into his eyes, the blonde looked like a fairy princess, some magical being able to communicate with woodland creatures.

  “Oh, please,” Iris said.

  She was immediately silenced with the simplicity of Allie’s quirked eyebrow before the young woman again made eye contact with Edgar. She held him up in the air so he could look down upon her. His nose twitched, and his jaw nibbled invisible grass. It almost looked like he was talking.

  “Edgar was with Daddy right before he disappeared.” Allie lowered the rabbit back into the box. “Someone threatened them.”

  “Who?” Cory asked.

  Allie looked into the box for a few seconds. “Tall, dark, strong. Wait, are you sure?” She shook her head, still looking down at the rabbit. “No, it’s not that I don’t believe you.”

  “Allie?” Iris was definitely starting to worry.

  “Fine.” Allie tilted her head to consider the other women. “I have this clear vision of Mickey holding a gun. He threatened to kill them both. Daddy got away. Edgar didn’t.”

  Iris’s stomach tightened as she recalled dancing in Mickey’s strong arms. Your dad stiffed me tonight. For all his suave moves, the thief was a dangerous unknown. He’d brought her the rabbit, asked for her advice, offered to help Cosmo—was it only because he had unfinished business with her father?

  Cory’s brown eyes, so similar to her own, had softened. “Iris, tell us what’s going on. Who is he?”

  “He’s not your cousin,” Allie added. “I don’t need Edgar to tell me that.”

  She drew a steadying breath. These women were still strangers to her, but she couldn’t deny that they all shared a common link. “He’s a jewel thief. Cosmo was involved in moving ten million in stolen gems, but he disappeared. Now no one knows where to find the stones—or Cosmo.”

  ***

  Mickey paced outside the Clark County morgue, his head pounding, insides churning. He paused to check out the edifice against the garish lights. Not an imposing structure. Certainly nothing to freak out about. If it weren’t for—

  “Fuck it,” he muttered. He rooted for his cell phone and pressed the familiar speed dial digits. Standing in the cool nighttime desert air, he waited.

  “Hello?” The familiar voice eased his aching head.

  “Hiya, Mom.”

  “Michael! How are you? You’re not home yet, are you?”

  “No, I’m still on loan.”

  “And I hope the people of Chicago know they can’t keep you.”

  His conscience gave a twinge. But his captains—both in Boston and Las Vegas—had agreed it was best if no one, including his family, knew where he was. “I’ll be home as soon as this is all over.” Another twinge. He doubted he’d ever return to Boston. The city, the force, his job, his family—none of it was the same with Brian gone.

  Mickey stared at the morgue building, dark and impersonal, cold as death in the night. It had been snowing the night he had to identify Brian’s bullet-riddled body.

  His mom drew a breath in her recitation of family events as if she’d just realized his silence. “You’re missing your brother, aren’t you.”

  “I miss all of you, Mom.”

  “Yeah, but we’re all here waiting for you.”

  But not Brian. She didn’t have to say it. “How’s Suze?” he asked.

  “She’s getting by. Her business is doing real well. I’m glad for her—it keeps her mind occupied.”

  He rubbed his eyes. “Less bitter now?”

  “Her husband was murdered. I think she’s entitled to a little bitterness.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we all are.”

  “Here, talk to your father.” The words became muffled as his mom handed over the phone.

  Shit. He always either pissed her off or made her cry. One of the many reasons he’d decided it was time to get out of town.

  “Michael, good to hear from you!” As always, Dad was boisterous. Sheesh, it had to be midnight back home.

  “Hey, Pops. Is she okay?”

  Dad didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “She doesn’t sleep well. We stay up and watch the late night shows. What?” His voice intensified. “He’s asking me how you’re doing. Of course you’re not falling apart, but look at you, now you need a tissue. I’m telling you, son, this woman can cry buckets.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to set her off.”

  “Not your fault. I mean, she’s still marking off the anniversaries.”

  “We all are.”

  “You doing all right out there?”

  “I’m fine. Give Mom my love, and both of you try to get some sleep.” Mickey turned to see a man approaching him. “I’ve got to go now. Take care.”

  “Call when you can.”

  “Yeah.” Mickey snapped his phone shut and closed his eyes for a few moments. Just long enough to picture his burly father, king of the Kincaid clan, a career cop who still picked up shifts as the elementary crossing guard. His mom, rounded and softened with the years of motherhood, stoic in her loss, passionate in her grief. Suze, his brother’s angry widow, still simmering with bitterness at the violent death of her young husband.

  He hadn’t known how to help any of them through their grief. He still didn’t know.

  “You going to stand here all night?”

  Mickey opened one eye to contemplate Justin Hunter, his local contact and partner in this crazy undercover operation. The guy had to be ten years his senior, tended to go by the book, maybe wasn’t the most imaginative, but he redeemed himself by being reliable as hell.

  “It’s not your first time in a morgue, is it?” Hunter asked as they entered the building.

  “Hardly.” He breathed in the sterility of the interior and forced down the bile that rose in his throat. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he recognized the racing of his heart from the many nightmares he’d had since collecting Brian’s body from the morgue in Boston.

  This was the six-month anniversary.

  He’d been closer to his brother than anyone else on earth. Whoever said “It’s better to have loved and lost…” didn’t know shit. Mickey hadn’t just lost Brian, his brother had been wrenched from their lives by a drug addict, a guy so hyped on heroin he might actually get away with appealing the murder charge. Unfair didn’t even begin to cover it. Not only would Mickey have protected his brother, he would have given his life instead. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for his brother.

  He proved that when he survived making the final arrangements without going insane.

  “Hey, are you all right, Mick?” Hunter’s hushed tone still expressed concern.

  “I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Mickey had joined this case for one reason—to capture the people responsible for murdering an international real estate attorney, a Russian translator, and now a jeweler. The murders were all linked by the definitive style of Sam Turner, a known hired gun who was as elusive as a cat at a dog show—and just as dangerous if cornered. There were maybe three people who could boast being able to recognize Turner. The guy had a knack for staying hidden until right before he killed you. And Turner never missed.

  Cosmo had drawn a lucky card when Turner went after the jeweler. Mickey had received his orders by telephone—deal with Cosmo. Everyone involved seemed to view the magician as an unimportant player, someone to let the second-string practice on. Only, now that Halsted was dead, and the gems were still missing, it was obvious that Cosmo had risen to number one on their hit parade—with a bullet.

  Mickey wanted to protect Cosmo. The guy might be a pain in the ass, but he didn’t deserve to die for his bad choices or petty crimes. He wanted to end Turner’s career. The creep had done enough damage in
this town. But there was still one major unknown—who had hired him? Mickey didn’t want just the hired gun, he wanted the guy literally calling the shots.

  ***

  With the push of a button, the tinted window of the town car lowered. Outside, the air had cooled rapidly with the setting sun, the day’s stifling heat giving way to the night’s comfortable warmth.

  Robert Donovan allowed neither temperature nor time of day to hinder him or his plans. He’d built an empire in this town by adhering to his goals. Nothing and no one was going to stop this deal for him.

  Least of all some two-bit has-been like Cosmo Fortune. Christ, the magician was practically a doddering fool.

  He never would have hired the weak grifter except for two things—Cosmo had contacts and knowledge. No telling how he did it, but Cosmo knew men of power amongst the Russian mafia, and he knew all the mythology surrounding the Romanovs’ alexandrite necklace. Not only that, but he spoke fluent Russian.

  So much for needing that interpreter who’d started to ask too many questions.

  A face leaned down to peer in the window. Jock shielded his eyes from the parking lot lights to try to see inside the vehicle.

  “Back off.” Donovan preferred not to be recognized.

  “Sorry, sir.” Jock took two giant steps backward and slammed against the beefy wall of Pebbles’s chest. The giant didn’t flinch.

  “Where’s Mickey?”

  “He’s working on recovering the gems. Says he’ll have them by tomorrow night.”

  “What about Fortune?”

  “Mickey offed him,” Jock said with a weasel’s grin.

  Pebbles nodded with force. “Stuffed him in his car trunk. He’s dumping the body tonight.”

  “Good.” Mickey was relatively new to his staff, but despite an irritating habit of thinking for himself, the young man showed promise. “Did he give any indication where the gems are?”

  “No,” Jock said while Pebbles scratched his head.

  “He was going to trade the bunny for the stones. Too bad. I wanted the bunny.”

  Donovan’s gaze locked with the smaller man’s, who glanced quickly sideways as if he fantasized about slapping the big lug but feared retaliation.

  Jock straightened his tie and cleared his throat. “Cosmo’s rabbit from the act.”