by Amy Atwell
She sobered. What she’d done was impulsive, selfish, potentially dangerous. God, she’d started telling lies, and now she’d cheated on her fiancé. Her warm glow cooled as she confronted the cold hard facts. She couldn’t trade away her future for a one-night stand—no matter how good it felt. With a final glance at Mickey’s profile, she slipped from the bed and stole to the bathroom for a bracing shower to wake herself.
Thirty minutes later, sensibly dressed in a yoga ensemble of light blue, Iris closed the bedroom door so the coffeemaker’s spitting wouldn’t disturb him. Jealously, she guarded his sleep, allowing him to prepare himself for whatever today held in store. She wasn’t sure what to say to him when he awoke. Of one thing she was certain—whatever the conversation, it was bound to end with Mickey saying goodbye as he walked out. Just like Cosmo always had.
And her standing here, wondering if and when she’d ever see him again. She’d always believed she deserved better than that.
A gentle knock upon her door surprised her, and she padded over to peer through the peephole.
David. All spit-shined for a Monday morning at the office. One look was enough to reel her back with guilt.
Iris drew a breath. She swore to pocket last night as a keepsake and live with the consequences. A single night of passion was one thing, but she needed stability in her future. Hoping to hell she could count on Mickey to lie low, she unbolted the door. “David, what are you—”
He hurried through the doorway, his briefcase clutched in his hands. “Thank heavens you’re safe. I couldn’t reach you at all yesterday, and then last night your phone didn’t seem to ring at all, it just sent me directly to your voice mail.” As an afterthought, he stopped to peck her on the cheek.
“I’m fine, really.”
“Yeah? Why is there a policeman at your door?”
“What?” Iris blinked at him. In the hopes of proving him wrong, she went back to the door and reopened it. Standing a few feet from the threshold was the officer she’d met the night before. “Are you still here?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“Detective Hunter’s orders.”
“Ah, right.” She started to close the door, then peeked back out. “Do you want some coffee or anything—” she squinted to read the name on his uniform, “—Officer Foote?”
“No, ma’am. Not while I’m on duty. But thank you.” More than a uniform, he was young and earnest.
“How long do you intend to stand there?”
“Detective Hunter said he’d be here by eight.”
Apparently she’d get a chance to ask Hunter all her burning questions in thirty minutes. She’d have to warn Mickey before Hunter arrived.
But first she had to deal with David. “Thank you,” she said to the officer before closing the door. Pushing a stray curl from her vision, she turned to David. “Apparently I’m being watched. When Hunter gets here, I’ll ask him why.”
“I’ll tell you why—they’re waiting for your father to turn up. If he contacts you, Iris, you need to turn him in.”
It occurred to her that in David’s mind, it was that simple. The police wanted her father, so she should turn him over. No questions asked. Taking a good hard look at David, she wondered if he ever questioned anything after he’d made up his mind.
Then she wondered why she was questioning it.
Her best rejoinder was a noncommittal grunt. “Would you like some coffee?” Not waiting for a response, she padded past him to the kitchen.
David followed, laying his briefcase on the counter while she poured his coffee into a mug.
She handed it to him without making eye contact. Would he know by looking at her that she’d—? Thank heavens she’d showered.
David was droning on about his golf game. “You should have been there to watch us. Hank got Cubbins to fill in as our fourth, and his handicap is a fifteen. He was all over the place. I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.”
She smiled in his general direction, but he picked up on her preoccupation.
“Are you sure everything is all right?” he asked in a quieter voice.
“Just tired, is all.”
He sipped his coffee, watching her. “Long day at the store yesterday?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I—”
“Good God, what’s that?” David set his coffee down so sharply it splattered over his cuff.
Iris looked wildly around for men with guns but then realized he was pointing at Edgar. The rabbit, all white and fluffy, hopped across her living room. He’d managed to lose his collar some time during the night.
“It’s a rabbit,” he said.
“That’s Edgar. He’s Cosmo’s rabbit from the magic act.”
“Oh, Iris. No.”
David was shaking his head at her as if she were a troublesome child who’d crayoned on the walls. She’d seen that expression before, though never directed at her. Right now, it was irritating as hell.
“Is that why the police officer is here?”
“What?” Now she was totally confused.
“Your father’s here, isn’t he? You promised me you wouldn’t get involved in his escapades. You know how detrimental any legal problems will be to my career, my future as a politician. How could you do to this to me?”
“To you? To you?” Iris had always been so careful to curb her temper around David, but this was too much. “Do you want to know what I did yesterday? I was abducted from my store. I was taken at gunpoint by two men and hidden in an apartment and tied to a chair. I was threatened with bodily harm if I didn’t hand over some mythical jewels. I escaped by sheer determination and with the help of a jewel thief who barely managed to get us out of the building before hired killers came for us.”
Dumbstruck, David stared at her uncharacteristic eruption. Finally, he said, “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my day yesterday, David. But you’re not interested in me, are you? You’re too worried I might be hiding Cosmo somewhere in this apartment and that it will harm your career.” She drew a breath and recklessly jumped off a cliff. “Well, you can relax. I’m not hiding Cosmo. I’m hiding someone else entirely.”
David eyed her warily. “I think maybe you’ve had enough caffeine this morning.”
“Enough that I’m finally waking up.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Remember my cousin Mickey? Well, what if I told you he’s not my cousin. He’s my lover. And he spent last night here, with me. In bed. What do you say to that?”
“I’d say you’re being ridiculous.” He straightened his tie, letting her know he found her whole tirade distasteful.
Where the hell was Mickey? Him and his a-guy-that’ll-fight-for-you routine? Iris wasn’t sure which man she was angrier with, but it was time to drive her point home. Stalking past David, she marched to the bedroom and flung open the door.
To find an empty, pristine room. Her bed was made, the blinds were open to the rising sun, all clothing was picked up and put away. She darted for the bathroom, but it, too, was empty. She turned to find David standing in the bedroom doorway.
“Are you through with this little game, Iris? It’s most unbecoming.”
Mickey had vanished like a shadow before an oncoming storm. Well, what had she expected? She’d been the one to say no promises, no regrets. Thank God he’d missed her embarrassing tirade.
David straightened his cuffs with a hefty sigh. “I apologize for falsely accusing you of harboring your fugitive father, but I don’t see why you felt the need to go to such extremes to shame me. I’ve got to go to work now, but I’ll come by tonight. I think this bears more discussion.” He turned to leave.
“David, wait.” She hurried to him. “I’m sorry. The truth is, I’m not the woman you think I am, and I can’t go on pretending this will work.” She tugged the engagement ring from her left hand and pressed it into his. “I can’t marry you.”
He looked down at the diamond before his gaze ret
urned to her. “We can talk about this tonight. You’re not yourself right now.”
Iris laughed. “That’s just it. I am myself, maybe for the first time in months—years!”
“But we had our future all mapped out. This was what we both wanted.”
She thought of Mickey. The closest they’d come to a future plan was promising not to keep secrets from each other in bed.
“No, it’s what you wanted, and God, how I tried to fit myself into your plan. But I won’t cut myself off from my family. And you know Cosmo—you can’t afford to have him be a part of your public life. Well, I won’t allow anyone to dictate to me and tell me my father can’t be a part of my life.”
His brow furrowed, David pocketed the ring. “I thought you were as fed up with his antics as anyone. You said you wanted to put distance between you and him.”
“I said it. I even believed it. But I never meant it.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” He peered down at her with all that earnestness that was bound to get him elected. “Because you’re not making any sense this morning.”
“No, I suppose not.” She took his hand once more. “You’re a good person and, frankly, you deserve someone better than me. You’ve got an ideal partner all picked out, now you just have to go find her.”
David’s face flushed and he pulled away. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Iris. I’ll be at the office if you change your mind.”
She stifled the urge to beat her head against the nearest wall. But this, she realized, was David’s biggest flaw yet greatest virtue—he thought only with his practical mind and never his heart. “I wish you well, David.”
“Goodbye, then.” He stopped to retrieve his briefcase, then quietly let himself out the door, leaving Iris alone.
She hung her head, overwhelmed by this change of course she’d just made in her life. It frightened and exhilarated her. Slowly, she walked back to the bedroom. “Mickey?”
There was no answer.
Not that she’d expected him to be hiding in the closet or beneath her bed. She checked both places, just to be sure. He’d pulled a vanishing act, as simple and effective as any Cosmo had ever managed in his life.
David deserved a better woman than one who would cheat on him with a man she barely knew. And she’d gotten what she deserved—a guy who gave her the best sex she’d ever had, then disappeared without a word or a promise.
***
Traffic—if you could call three cars, a cab and a garbage truck that—was light. Cory fed the parking meter while she absorbed the near silence of a Monday morning in downtown. The strident beeping of a truck in reverse quickly shattered the moment, but that just reassured her that though the Fremont Street district might look like a ghost town at this hour, it just needed a few hours to refresh and rejuvenate.
Yesterday afternoon had been a total washout for her. Once Allie discovered she couldn’t find Iris, she’d convinced Hunter he should be worried. Cory got swept along with the two of them as they went to search Lying Eyes, but the only thing out of place there was what looked like a small cat litter box.
Man, the way Allie reacted to that, you’d think she could picture someone holding a gun to that rabbit’s head. It was bad enough she was spouting off that she feared Iris had been abducted, but the look on Hunter’s face was what had finally scared Cory.
He’d looked like he thought Allie might be right.
Cory had stuck with them until she had to leave for work. Around one in the morning, Allie had left a message on her cell that Iris and Edgar were both safe at home. While she was glad Iris was okay, Cory was still irritated that her own search had been delayed.
She entered the lobby of the Golden Gate Hotel, its small dark interior a throwback to an earlier era. The clerk nodded sleepily to her as she passed through into the casino area. Like many of the casinos up here, the low ceilings gave a sense of cavelike safety and tranquility. Fewer lights and bells, smaller spaces, darker colors than their Strip counterparts, these casinos tended to attract the locals.
Cory had met plenty of them during her two years working this area. Most new dealers took years to work their way into a job at the big casinos. She’d been lucky Papa had a few connections. That, and she was damn good at her job.
The Golden Gate’s casino was practically empty, so Cory passed on through to exit the Fremont Street entrance. From here, it was a short walk down to the Four Queens. This time, she’d run her quarry to ground.
She steeled herself. She’d avoided answers for so many years, she wasn’t sure she wanted them anymore.
***
Justin sipped his tea as he entered Iris Fortune’s apartment building on Monday morning. He was hoping today would hold fewer screwy surprises for him, but that hope got shot to hell when the elevator opened to reveal Mickey inside.
Cool as could be, Mickey walked past him without a glance.
Justin didn’t miss the telltale bruising on Mickey’s temple, or the grim cast to his unshaven jaw. He’d gotten into some sort of trouble last night. As much as Justin wanted to follow him and get answers, it was too public. If anyone recognized Mickey talking to a cop, both of them could be toast.
He breathed deeply and regularly while he rode up to the eighteenth floor. It wasn’t his place to judge, nor to control. Since Mickey was putting his life on the line for this case, who could blame him for grasping a little passion? If Justin were fifteen years younger, he might do the same thing.
The memory of Allie’s creamy skin and big tawny eyes made him curse under his breath. That was never going to happen—she probably thought of him as a kindly old uncle. She trusted him, for crying out loud.
The elevator doors opened and Justin found himself staring at a businessman who looked vaguely familiar.
“Excuse me,” the guy said.
They passed each other, but it wasn’t until after the elevator doors closed that Justin realized the man was David Grantham.
Well, well, well. Iris Fortune must have had an interesting morning.
Foote was still standing by her door.
“Any activity here last night?” Hunter sipped his tea.
“Kincaid spent the night with her.” Foote delivered the news deadpan, though questions hung all over the hallway. He was the only uniformed cop who knew Mickey’s true identity. They’d had to bring Foote in on the secret when the young cop hauled Mickey’s ass into jail one night.
Hunter continued to drink his tea, silence being a loud and clear order to drop the subject. Hooking a thumb toward the elevator, he asked, “What about the other guy I just saw?”
“He arrived maybe ten minutes ago. Wouldn’t give his name.”
“I know him. He find Kincaid with her?”
“Near as I can tell, Kincaid snuck out.” Foote struggled to dampen a smile.
“I’ll bet,” Hunter said drily. Obviously, Mickey was rubbing off on this kid, and not in a good way.
Foote cleared his throat. “I heard her voice raised, but not the businessman’s. He was dead quiet when he left.”
“Okay, you’ve got four hours, then I need you at her store at the Bellagio.”
“Yes, sir,” the kid said eagerly. “Do I need to file any kind of report?”
“No. In fact, forget everything you saw and heard.”
***
Cory strolled through the Four Queens’ equally empty casino. Papa wouldn’t be playing poker at this hour, but she checked the poker room anyway. A single dealer looking in need of a cup of coffee before he fell asleep from sheer boredom was the sole occupant of the playing area.
Knots formed in Cory’s stomach. Papa had never cut her off so completely before. He probably had no idea how this terrified her—or maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he’d sought her out on Saturday, so she could see for herself that he was safe. He wouldn’t just disappear without a word, not like—
Hell, she was avoiding the inevitable. Papa had one more woman besides his daughters in his
life. A woman he loved and trusted. A woman who would help him, no matter the danger.
A woman only Cory knew about.
Not that she was supposed to know. Oh no, that was obvious.
Cory coursed the empty roulette wheels and craps tables, working her way deeper into the casino. Toward the back was a bar, also empty at this hour, save for some skinny girl wearing a UNLV hoodie. She was practically curled into a ball in her barstool, talking to the bartender. Poor girl had probably been here all night spilling her woes to whoever would listen.
But it was the bartender who held Cory’s attention. A woman in her early fifties, Latina, with dark hair pulled back and coiled into a bun. Few wrinkles marred her face, but her body had gotten heavier with years, giving her a matronly roundness. Her cheekbones were high and angular, her nose thin and straight. Her eyes were the color of roasted coffee beans, and she always smelled faintly of rosewater.
At least, that’s how Cory remembered her. But it had been a long time. Fifteen years. Only concern for Papa would drive Cory to speak to this woman now.
She approached the bar with the same confidence she’d face a firing squad. At her sides, her hands were tightened into fists.
The bartender looked up as she approached, and Cory watched the older woman’s eyes widen in disbelief, shock, horror.
Yeah, happy Monday morning to you, too.
“Cory,” the woman breathed.
Down the bar, the skinny woman’s head turned. “Cory? It is you. I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
Shit, it was Allie again. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Like a turtle coming out of its shell, Allie pushed the hood back to reveal her blond hair pulled into a long braid. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I drove up here to visit with Mrs. Livingston.”
Cory glanced at the bartender, who had the grace to blush.
“Pouring out your troubles to a barmaid, Allie?” On closer inspection, Allie’s face looked hollow and pale with fatigue, her eyes red-rimmed as if she’d been crying.
“Oh, it’s not like that. Mrs. Livingston was one of my sitters while I was growing up. I thought Daddy might have left a message with her.”