by Amy Atwell
It was time he spoke to her. She deserved that and much more. If anything happened to him, he wanted her to know the truth.
After another half hour, Ginny, Iris’s young shop assistant, arrived and unlocked the door. She relocked the doors from the inside and disappeared into the back. He waited while the store’s bright lights lit up like the Strip. Ginny returned to prop open the big glass doors.
Still no Iris. Cosmo abandoned his machine and wandered over to the store. His late wife, Irina, had loved this shop more than home. Now, Iris had followed in her footsteps.
He nodded to Ginny when she greeted him in her chirpy voice. Methodically, he walked the entire store, perusing every case, listening for any sound of life from the back room. Within two minutes, his sixth sense told him no one else was here besides him and Ginny.
Iris had disappeared on him.
***
On her day off, the last thing Cory wanted to do was hang out at a casino, especially not the smaller, more claustrophobic ones up on Fremont Street. At least they wouldn’t be overcrowded in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. Even some of the street vendors had chosen not to open up during the hottest part of the day. The neighborhood was pretty empty, except for some tourists who hadn’t figured out the desert’s high heat and low humidity sucked the moisture right out of your body.
Cory looked up at the sign for the Four Queens, its colored light bulb garishness standing out even in the bright afternoon. Papa hadn’t pulled those queens out of her deck yesterday by chance. He’d shown her three, but she knew there was a fourth queen in his world.
A queen she’d hoped never to face again.
With a deep breath, she gripped the brass door handle, prepared to do what she must to help her father.
“Cory!” A shout came from across the street.
She shaded her eyes and turned to see Allie and—what the hell was she doing with Hunter? And why were they here, now? She released her hold on the door with a groan and met them as they crossed the street to her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked them.
“Trying to find Daddy. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Cory clamped her lips shut.
Hunter gave an apologetic nod. “You did tell me yesterday you had reason to believe this would be a good place to look for someone who might know his whereabouts.”
“And did you bring Allie, or did Allie bring you?”
Allie’s face immediately flushed with guilt. “I brought him, okay? I admit it, I told him about you seeing Daddy yesterday.”
Cory bit back a curse as she shot a glance at the detective. To his credit, he looked as uncomfortable as Allie did right now. Tossing her curls back over her shoulder, Cory considered her younger sister again. Apparently, their father hadn’t managed to teach the girl honor.
“Think whatever you want of me, but I want Daddy safe. I’ll use whatever means necessary.”
Cocking her head, Cory raised her brow at her sister before nodding at Hunter. “So he’s just a means to find Papa.”
The detective flushed, and Cory experienced a momentary pang at the thought that maybe he’d developed a thing for Allie. “Not so fun to have the tables turned on you, is it, Detective?”
He squinted through the bright sun at her. “Do you know where your father is, or don’t you?”
“I don’t.” She folded her arms in emphasis.
Hunter folded his arms as if she’d challenged him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you and Iris grew up sharing a bedroom. You’re so much alike it’s scary.”
“Iris!” Allie gasped behind him.
Cory and Hunter both turned, but Allie was rooting in her pants pockets. She finally came up with a cell phone then lifted her head to confront their scrutiny. “I need to call her. I told her I’d pick Edgar up at two.” She stepped into the shade of the building where she could see her phone’s screen better.
This left Cory brewing in the hot sun, still watching Hunter.
And Hunter watching her. “Allie thinks you’re still keeping secrets,” he said, low voiced.
“I’m not going to spill my life to her the first day we meet.” Cory pushed her heavy hair off her neck. “Would you?”
“Fair enough. So what brings you to Fremont Street?”
“Is that a personal or professional question, Detective?” Instinctively, her defenses came up.
“We’ll keep it personal, for now.” He smiled a lazy grin that somehow made his whole demeanor more approachable.
Maybe Allie was on to something, Cory thought.
“Just think of me as a friend of the family.”
Family was precisely what she was already having too many problems with. “I was planning to meet someone, but if you and Allie are going to rope me into some crazy matinee quest for Cosmo—”
Hunter seemed to have stopped listening but looked past her to the Four Queens entrance. “I thought you said Cosmo met his poker playing buddies at the Golden Gate.”
“He does, but he’s much more likely to meet them at three in the morning than at three in the afternoon.” Cory became conscious of perspiration beading on her forehead as Hunter’s narrowed gaze honed in on her.
“So is he sleeping here?”
Her patience snapped. “Why won’t you believe me? I don’t know where Papa is. Why don’t you go ask Iris? You say there are jewels involved. She’s the jeweler.” Cory raked her loose curls back with a frustrated growl.
Allie stepped back to them. “We could ask Iris, except…”
“Except what?” Cory snapped.
Allie pursed her lips as if she really didn’t want to tell either of them. “Except I can’t get a hold of her. You don’t suppose anything’s wrong, do you?”
***
Mickey moved with the throng of tourists walking along the Strip toward the afternoon’s first pirate show at Treasure Island. He hated these kinds of drops, but as the errand boy, he didn’t get a say in how he delivered the goods. He’d hand over the imitation stones then tail whoever made the pickup from him. He hoped to track down the mastermind of this theft, a man now ordering the deaths of everyone involved.
His phone vibrated in his jeans pocket. Cursing under his breath, he checked the number.
It was Hunter. Mickey stepped out of the line of foot traffic and put the phone to his ear. “This better be important.”
“Allie Fortune thinks Iris and Edgar have disappeared.”
This stopped him in his tracks. “Disappeared? Why would she think that?”
“Allie was supposed to pick up Edgar this afternoon, but now there’s no sign of Iris. She’s not at Lying Eyes, she’s not at her apartment, she hasn’t answered her cell or returned any message.”
Mickey bit back another curse. He’d been so sure he’d read Iris right, but had she fooled him? Even now, was she skipping town with the real alexandrite? “Wait, you said Edgar’s missing, too?”
“Yeah. Is Edgar important?”
It took Mickey a moment to figure out Hunter wasn’t talking to him. Allie must still be with him.
Why would Iris take that carnivorous rabbit with her? Unless she was meeting up with Cosmo. She didn’t have a soft spot for the bunny, but the magician did.
“You there?” Hunter asked. “Did she say anything to you?”
“No. Look, I have to get back to work here, you know?”
“Fine. We’ll try to track her down. Check in later.”
“As soon as I can.” Mickey snapped the phone shut. Dammit! He’d been taken in by a common grifter and his sirenlike daughter. And here he was holding stones she’d given him, counting on them to buy him time. What if Iris didn’t want him to have any time? What if she’d set him up?
Another of his telltale headaches whispered at the back of his neck, but he did his best to ignore it as he withdrew the velvet pouch from his pocket. He looked around at the bustling tourists, all eager to get out of the late afternoon sun. No one was p
aying any attention to him as he opened the bag and drew one stone out.
It was green. It wasn’t a pure green, but rather a muddy olive green. But it sure as hell wasn’t red like when he’d put the stones in the bag back at Iris’s shop. The color change was more pronounced in the daylight than under the fluorescent light of the bathroom.
Maybe this would work to buy him some time. Enough that he could now find Cosmo and Iris. And when he did, he’d hand them both over to the authorities. No looking back.
Mickey dropped the stone back into the bag and cinched it tight before pocketing it. Moving back into the flow of tourists, he trudged another block until he stood mashed in like a sardine with sweaty bodies. Swimsuit tops, loud T-shirts, billed caps, yard-long tiki drinks. God love people on vacation. They’d all stopped to watch a pirate ship and a crew of scantily dressed sirens stage a mock battle in a small lagoon near the sidewalk.
Like so much of the free public entertainment along the Strip, the show was designed to lure people into this casino. Stop, watch the show, come in, cool off, use a bathroom, drop a dollar in a slot machine, buy a drink… In an interior with no windows, no clocks, one could lose all concept of time. Inside the casinos, Vegas was a never-ending party. For some, it was heaven. For others, pure hell.
Mickey scanned the faces in the crowd, searching for a likely contact. Turner’s lackeys all shared a similar vacuous look—smarter than Pebbles but not as conniving as Jock. They’d obviously learned to obey orders and never ask questions. But no one here fit that description.
The disjointed murmuring of the crowd rolled into a cheer as a pirate appeared on the tall mast near the traditional skull-and-crossbones flag. Cameras flashed and whirred as all eyes turned to the unfolding battle.
“Have you got them?” a male voice whispered close to Mickey’s ear.
Danger signals sparked like static electricity along his spine, but Mickey didn’t allow himself to flinch. Flinching was a sign of weakness. In this game, every time you showed a weakness, you came one step closer to death.
“Who wants to know?” he said.
“Don’t get cocky with me, you SOB. Come on.”
Mickey turned to watch the man cut a swath through the crowd. This guy was no lackey. He was over fifty, his thinning hair going elegantly gray around the temples. He was medium height, average build, trim for his age, and his stride exuded power, control. Khaki chinos and a dress shirt gave him a casual air, but it was clear he expected to be obeyed.
Puzzling over this, Mickey followed. They worked their way to a driveway where a stretch limo waited. A chauffeur hopped out to open the door for the older man, who climbed in.
More danger signals went off. Even though dozens of witnesses would watch him get into that vehicle, no one would think it odd when it pulled away. And there was no way of knowing what would happen to Mickey once inside. But answers awaited him in there, and he’d risk his life for those answers.
***
Cosmo reminded himself that Marko Gorseyev was bound to show up in Las Vegas. The question had always been when.
Fortunately, he’d been forewarned of the answer via a brief text message. Honestly, if Houdini had carried a BlackBerry, his wife wouldn’t have needed to hold all those séances to try and contact him after he died.
But what the hell had inspired Marko to bring his brother, his nephew, and his battle-ax aunt along, Cosmo couldn’t pretend to guess.
Still, one always faced the firing squad. Best not to try to escape it.
“Cosmo!” Marko’s boisterous voice rang out across McCarran Airport’s lofty baggage claim area.
Behind him, young Sergei pushed his diminutive great-aunt in her wheelchair. What she lacked in size, she more than made up in lung power. “Cosmo Fortune, where are my gems?”
Cosmo’s eyes shifted around, but no security guards were taking any notice of them. Apparently, if the police believed Cosmo had flown out of the city, it hadn’t occurred to them that he’d be stupid enough to fly back in.
He was beginning to question his own stupidity about now. He’d lost track of the Gorseyev stones, he’d lost track of Edgar, he’d lost track of Iris—how was he supposed to explain all that to his international relatives?
Simple. He’d avoid the topic entirely.
“Marko, you old Russian goat!” Cosmo marched forward to wrap the big man in a welcoming hug, complete with kisses on both cheeks. “So glad you came. All of you.” He nodded to the whole group.
“You are?” Marko asked.
“No need to be suspicious.” He hoped he’d hit the right tone of injured pride. “It’s high time you experienced Las Vegas. Do we need help with the bags?”
Marko craned his neck to watch Viktor bringing up the rear with a pushcart overloaded with luggage. “No, we’re fine. Can you help us find a taxi?”
“All taken care of. And I booked you a suite over at the Bellagio.”
“Not necessary. We found inexpensive rooms at a place called…” He snapped his fingers as if it would help him remember.
“The Stratosphere,” Sergei answered.
“No, no, no.” Cosmo ruffled his hair then tried to smooth it back into place. “You flew all the way here, at least let me pay for your room. The Bellagio is where Iris’s shop is. You’ll want to see it.”
Tatiana slammed a hand down on the armrest of the wheelchair. “I do want to see it. And I want to see Iris. And I want my gemstones back!”
Marko pinched his eyes shut then opened one to peer at Cosmo. “She is tired.”
“Long trip?” Cosmo asked quietly.
“You have no idea.”
“Come on, then. I’ve got a cab waiting outside. Let’s get you to the hotel, and then we can sit and chat all night.” He rested a hand on Marko’s shoulder and guided him toward the exit, trusting the rest of the entourage to follow.
As floor space opened up, Sergei pushed the wheelchair abreast of them. “How did you know to meet us?”
Cosmo pursed his lips and slid a sidelong look at the lad. Misdirection. Nicely done. His relatives would never guess Sergei had text messaged him before they’d boarded the plane in St. Petersburg. He’d always thought the lad was clever. Watching Sergei now, all that blond hair, the almost silver eyes, that air of tragic former Russian nobility about him, Cosmo worried he might have to keep a sharper eye on him.
He had heartbreaker written all over him. Iris was too mature for him. Cory wasn’t likely to be susceptible to his charms. But Allie would see that quiet, downtrodden look Sergei had mastered, and she’d feel the need to save him.
“Yes, how did you know?” Marko echoed.
“I’ve still got connections.” Cosmo waved his hand as if that answered everything. He led them outside to the waiting cab—a minivan that provided enough room for all of them, the pile of luggage, even the wheelchair. Refusing Viktor’s help, the driver loaded the bags in the rear. Cosmo stepped back as Marko and Sergei helped raise Tatiana from the wheelchair and all but lifted her into the van’s middle seat with a good deal of groaning and the occasional muttered curse. Grabbing the wheelchair, Cosmo pushed it along to the driver to load.
When he returned to the wide-open side door, his extended family all sat. Marko and Viktor looked a little crunched in the far back. Sergei had taken the seat closest to the door next to his great-aunt. “We left the seat up front for you,” he said. Then he winked.
“Thanks.” Cosmo gripped the van’s sliding door, his fingers slipping along the edge until they found—and flicked on—the child safety lock. That should slow them all down. He slammed the door shut, then opened the front passenger door. By this time, the cab driver was climbing into his seat.
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
“Why don’t you all go to the hotel and relax for a while. I’ll stop by in the morning.”
“I don’t want to wait until morning. I want my gemstones now,” Tatiana said from her seat.
“Tomorrow,” Cosmo
said easily. “I’ll bring Iris by, too.” If he was able to track her down by then. Iris or Tatiana’s jewels, he had to find one of them by tomorrow morning, or he’d be ducking Irina’s relatives the whole time they were in town.
He turned to the driver. “Conduzca a el Bellagio.”
With a nod, the driver cranked the van.
“Cosmo, stop this. Get in.”
“’Til tomorrow then.” Cosmo shut his door and waved as the taxi driver pulled away from the curb. He could see Viktor pulling on the back door of the van, but the child-safety lock wouldn’t allow anyone to open it from the inside.
Whistling the opening notes of “White Room,” Cosmo stepped into the queue to catch a cab for himself. He suspected Marko, Viktor and Tatiana were all yelling at that poor cabbie to turn around. But they’d have to make a complete circuit of the airport, and by that time, Cosmo would be long gone.
Chapter Nine
Mickey sighed at the sight of the limo’s white interior. White leather implied no one intended to shoot him here. At least he had that going for him.
Chilled air blasted his hot skin as he climbed in and sat across from his host. Behind him, the chauffeur closed the car door with a solid thud.
“Do you know who I am, Mr. Kincaid?” his host asked.
“Would you be Mr. Turner?”
The man’s smile showed even rows of white teeth, and the crinkles around his eyes and lips hinted that he was, in general, happier than the average hit man tended to be. “You flatter me,” he said. “I’m Turner’s boss.”
Mickey tensed. So this was the guy who’d ordered the hits. “Pleased to meet you, Mr.…” He offered his hand.
The man looked down his nose at Mickey’s hand in midair. “You can call me boss.”
“Right.” He let his hand drop.
“Let’s see the stones.”
Mickey withdrew the pouch and handed it over without a word.