by Amy Atwell
Cory looked from Allie to the bartender. “No luck, huh?”
With a swipe at the bar counter, Mrs. Livingston shook her head. “He left me a phone message Saturday afternoon. Told me he wasn’t dead yet. Haven’t heard from him since.” She licked her top lip. “Can I get you something?”
The fifteen years you owe me.
“Yeah, Cory.” Allie glanced at her watch. “Have some coffee.”
“I just got off work. I don’t want coffee.” She looked at the pink frothy beverage before Allie. “What are you having?”
“Virgin strawberry daiquiri. I’ve got class in two hours.”
“Sounds good. I’ll have one of those.”
Allie smiled. Clasping her drink, she shifted out of her barstool and came down to join Cory. They sat in silence while the blender whirred behind the bar.
When the drink arrived, complete with a tiny yellow parasol, Allie leaned forward. “Mrs. Livingston, this is one of my sisters, Corazon Fortune. Cory, this is—”
“You don’t need to introduce us,” Cory said flatly. “Mrs. Livingston there is my mother.”
***
Acknowledging Mickey’s disappearance and accepting it were two different things. Iris added more hot coffee to her cup while contemplating her next move. Cosmo had been at her store again last night. Had he taken something, or left something? She needed to find out.
Surely she’d be safe at her store? If she kept to the public areas of the hotel and casino and then locked herself inside, she should be fine. It would be a long time before she opened a door without being sure who was outside.
Realizing her sudden insecurity stemmed from the loss of Mickey’s comforting presence, she gave herself a good, hard mental shake. She was fine on her own. Always had been. Always would be. And she shouldn’t be standing around here doing nothing just because she’d flushed some vision of her future down the toilet.
Edgar hopped into the kitchen to eyeball her, his little pink nose twitching.
“Right. First thing, I should find your collar.” She didn’t know how, when or where Cosmo had gotten those gems, but at some point they were going to have to be returned. She could just picture it—armed guards showing up to demand the gems and there she’d be, stuck with a vacant look on her face. Well, I’m sure they’re here somewhere…
“Come on, Eddy, where’d you stash them?” Iris leaned down to rub Edgar’s silky haunches. He hopped from beneath her hand but sat up to nuzzle the pale blue cotton of her yoga pants, making her smile.
She moved slowly from room to room, scanning the floors for the collar. Part of her morning would have to be spent picking up bunny droppings and cleaning that spot near the corn plant where Edgar had peed. But that was a surface annoyance. Her deeper fears multiplied as she completed one circuit of the apartment.
The collar was nowhere in sight.
“Probably underneath something,” she muttered as she drew her hair into a ponytail and banded it. The words did little to reassure her. She lay down on her belly to look under the sofa. Nothing. Two chairs and a small ottoman later, same thing.
Her stomach tightened in knots as the obvious sank in. Pulling herself to her feet, she dashed into the bedroom to look under the bed. Flat carpet greeted her. “God, no.” Tears stung her eyes as she rolled around to sit with her back against the bed, her knees drawn up.
The collar wasn’t just missing. It was gone. And it sure as hell hadn’t walked out of here with David.
“But how could he have known?” she whispered. And then she saw the sunlight pouring in her window. Hell, Edgar must have hopped into a sunbeam—and Mickey had dressed and been out the door in ten seconds flat. He’d been playing her all night. She’d thrown herself at him, and he’d taken her to bed just to win her trust.
Her hands fisted as anger erupted. “That lying, thieving son of a bitch!” She smacked the floor, hoping to forestall the tears. Too late—a flood of them escaped on a sob.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’d only been after the gems. Well, what had ever made her think she could capture the attention of a man like Mickey? She hadn’t even been able to hold her own father’s attention for more than a few days at a time. That’s what had made David so appealing—his attentions weren’t overt, but they also never strayed. Well, not to other women anyway. Just to work, politics, golf…
God, she was such a loser. A ten-million-dollar loser.
A brisk knock at her front door drove her to her feet. The clock said just after eight, so that must be Hunter. Good. She strode to the door thinking she could use him and the whole LVMPD about now.
“I want you to hunt him down and arrest his ass,” she said as soon as she opened the door. The words came out louder than she intended, reverberating down the empty hallway.
Hunter froze, his cup of tea steaming just below his lip. “Would you care to clarify whose ass you mean?”
She swallowed her frustration—barely. “Get in here. It’s bad enough you’ve had me under surveillance. I don’t need all my neighbors learning about my life.”
He scanned her living room. “Pretty busy here this morning?”
Damn him.
“For the record, you weren’t under surveillance. I thought you might need protection.”
“How ironic. Apparently, I did.”
Hunter was immediately alert. “From whom? Grantham?”
“No. Michael Kincaid. Ever heard of him?”
He scratched the back of his head while he thought about it. “I think Allie mentioned he was your cousin.” For a cop, he sure sounded evasive, but then he probably didn’t want her prying into how much time he was spending with her sister.
“He says he’s my cousin, but he’s not.” She expelled a bitter laugh.
“What is he?” Hunter asked.
Iris tossed up her arms and took a turn around the living room. “He’s working with these people who’ve been looking for Cosmo. He’s a lying thief and con man and possibly a killer.”
“Friendly little guy, isn’t he?”
She spun around at Hunter’s glibness to find him hunkered down, letting Edgar sniff his tea. The rabbit reared up on his hind legs, his nose twitching like—
—like her body had under Mickey’s fingers last night. Iris buried her face in her hands.
“You were saying about Michael Kincaid?”
She started, afraid he’d somehow read her mind. When she looked over, Hunter had risen and was watching her.
He laid his tea on a side table and pulled a notepad from his jacket. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Iris sighed. “Let me get some coffee.” Her pants swished around her ankles as she led him into the kitchen.
As succinctly as she could, she recapped her experiences with Mickey over the past few days. This included how he’d broken into her home, her store, how she’d been abducted by men claiming to be his friends, and how he’d rescued her—though she now suspected that might have been set up to earn her trust. She sidestepped mentioning any overt body contact between them.
“Did you sleep with him?” Hunter asked. She bet he’d use the same tone if he were asking whether she’d lost her wallet.
Iris unclenched her jaw. “Yes.” How much had Officer Foote heard from the hallway last night? If she’d known he was still there, she would have been quieter. Well, she would have tried anyway.
“And the other man who came here this morning?”
“David Grantham. He stopped by on his way to work this morning.”
“Your fiancé, right?”
She licked her lips. “Ah, no. Not anymore. My former fiancé.”
His eyes narrowed to scrutinize her. “He broke it off with you?”
“No, thank you very much, I broke it off with him.” She set her cup down with a clatter. “Not that I think it falls into your professional jurisdiction to ask.”
“Sorry, you’re right. It’s just that I know you’ve had an emotional weekend.”<
br />
“Hey, I’m down one crackpot father and up two pretty younger sisters. Most people would say I’ve been dealt a better hand.”
He adjusted his tie. “I’m sorry.”
She hated that she could see he was. Tears stung her eyes again. “Forget it. What else do you need to know?”
“I think that will do it.” Hunter scooted his chair back and rose. “You realize now you should have turned those gems in to the police as soon as you discovered them, right?”
“Thanks. Next time, you give me my father, and I’ll give you the gems.”
“I thought you didn’t refer to him as your father?”
Iris eyed Hunter, wondering if she could be arrested for telling a cop to go to hell. “Go to hell.” Testing the theory made her feel better.
Hunter cracked a smile. Oddly enough, it looked genuine and…nice. “We’ll do what we can to pick up this Jock and Pebbles and, er, Mickey Kincaid, of course. Meanwhile, I want you to be very aware of your surroundings. I’ve asked Officer Foote to be at your store by noon. I assume you’ll want to go there today.”
She hoped he had no knowledge of Cosmo’s visits to her store, but she had to admit Foote’s presence would be welcome. “Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll wait downstairs until you’re ready to go over.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.”
“You don’t have a car here, do you?” He raised a knowing brow at her, and all her good feeling toward him evaporated. “No rush. Take your time.”
After Hunter left, Iris leaned against the door, drained. At least she didn’t feel like crying anymore. That took too much energy.
Edgar hobbled over to sniff at her bare toes.
“You are a sweetie, aren’t you?” She kneeled down and gathered the monster rabbit into her arms. “What do you say, Edgar? How did we get into this big a mess?” His whiskers tickled as he nuzzled a tear from her cheek.
Iris wished Allie were here to interpret. That alone probably meant she was losing it.
An hour later she arrived at the store with Edgar loaded into a duffel bag. Ginny grinned and babbled about how scary it had been when Iris’s sister kept calling and then came to search for her. When Iris unveiled Edgar and set him loose in the back room, Ginny forgot all about yesterday in lieu of her delight over the furry bunny.
Iris left the two of them playing while she looked around her workbench, eager to search before Foote arrived. Nothing was out of place. Still, Cosmo had been here last night. Why? The stones.
Unerringly, she went to drawer thirty-three and unlocked it. Pulling out the tray of fake alexandrite, she rifled through the stones, but they all looked the same. The small box was still there, and she opened it to check inside.
A folded paper lay on the white foam. Perplexed, Iris unfolded the paper. It was blank but for a single oversized question mark.
Iris stared at it, her own question just as big. “Cosmo, where are you?”
Chapter Twelve
“Corazon.” The name left her mother’s lips in a reverent whisper. In the dim light of the casino bar, tears dotted the cocoa eyes, but Cory couldn’t respond to the heartfelt emotion.
Her own heart was still encased in bitterness, too raw to ignore. This woman had betrayed her, abandoned her.
Cory had never understood why. What had she done that was awful enough to drive her own mother away? At least she knew part of why Mama had never come back—she’d found a better daughter in Allie. Golden, blonde, sweet, loving. Not temperamental and demanding like Cory. Allie was the model daughter.
She turned, bracing herself for Allie to say something happy. But Allie sat watching her, her brow knit with empathy. “Do you want me to leave so you can talk to your mom?”
“No, stay. I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.”
Allie reached a tentative hand across the bar’s surface and patted her fingers. “Sure you do. You just need to find the words.”
Cory closed her eyes. She’d never been that great with words.
“Talk to me, Cory,” her mother said.
“No.” Cory pushed back her drink. “I don’t think I will. I got what I came for. If you don’t know where Papa is, then we have nothing further to discuss.” She rose, pulled a wallet from her purse and dug for a bill to settle her tab.
Finding a twenty-five dollar casino chip, she slid it across the bar. “There’s a quarter. That should cover my drink, don’t you think?”
“Drink’s on the house.”
“Keep it as a tip.” Cory shouldered her bag.
Her mother raised a hand, and for a second it looked like she might reach out, but she let it slip to her side again. “You know where to find me,” she said.
Cory turned away without a word. Her mother had always known where to find her. She just hadn’t bothered.
***
In the shadows of the Four Queens casino, Cosmo emptied ashtrays into a rolling trash can. He wore a blue janitorial jumpsuit and a vacant expression. He didn’t have to fake the yawns. He felt like he’d been on the run for days.
He watched from behind a slot machine as Cory hurried from the bar, straight through the casino. He tracked her toward the muted light filtering through the tinted doors.
Distress emanated from her as she stumbled along her path. He wanted to stop her, to wrap her in a hug, but it would be foolish to reveal himself here. He’d do his daughters no good by winding up dead.
Wouldn’t do much for him, either.
Allie left a few minutes later, her hood up, her head bent, as if she just wanted to hide.
As casually as possible, Cosmo maneuvered his rolling garbage can toward the back of the casino. There wasn’t anyone else around, so he tilted up the bill of his hat to contemplate the woman behind the bar.
“About time you showed up,” she said to him. No surprise lit her eyes at seeing him—no happiness, either. Those eyes showed nothing but resignation, as if to say, “Oh God, you found me again.”
Cosmo scratched his chin, suddenly at a loss for words.
“A little late to the party, but you’re welcome to clean up the remains of those two virgin strawberry daiquiris.”
“Coffee.”
She considered him, that hard look around her eyes softening some. “You don’t need coffee. You need about three days’ sleep.”
He leaned on the bar and smiled slowly. “It’s good to see you, Roxana.”
“Yeah?” She leaned into him for just a moment before she remembered. Quickly, she straightened, stepped back and tugged her black vest down in a neat, controlled gesture. “Well, don’t do me any more favors.”
“I might die any day.” He looked up at the ceiling.
“I doubt your soul will head in that direction.”
He snapped his gaze to her. “You’re angry—”
“Of course I’m angry!” She gripped the bar, her knuckles turning white. Her vehement whisper came out as a hiss. “Who the hell is Iris?”
Cosmo paused. He’d somehow lost track that Roxana knew about Allie, but he’d never told her about Iris. “What’s one more?”
“What’s—?” She vented a growl. “It’s—it’s double bigamy!”
“Technically, it’s trigamy.”
“Goddamn you, Cosmo Fortune—”
He placed a finger to his lips.
“I repeat, who’s Iris?” Again, her voice dropped to a teakettle hiss.
“She’s my eldest.”
“So, we got married, then you went off for your gig with that Russian circus, and while you were over there, you conceived a child and got married again?” She placed both hands palm down on the bar, her shuddering breath the only evidence of how hard she was working to restrain herself from violence. “This isn’t the time or place for this.”
“Roxana, I can see why you’d be upset, but I need you. Iris is in danger, and Cory feels betrayed, and Allie—well, Allie wants to help so much she could get hurt. What do I d
o about them?”
She studied him for a few moments, her eyes narrowed as if she were dissecting him and trying to figure out what was inside.
Cosmo fingered his collar, uncomfortable with what she might discover.
“Have you considered telling them the truth?” she asked at last. “Assuming you even know what that is anymore.”
The truth. He scratched his ear. Well, it was certainly a unique approach. “You’re right. You see? I need you, Roxana. The girls need you. We’ve got to find a way to fix this, because I want you in my life again.”
“You know that can’t be.”
“I know no such thing. You’re my wife. Given the opportunity, why wouldn’t I move heaven and earth to regain you?”
“Flattery.” She cleared the daiquiri glasses from the bar. “I was one of your wives. Go find another woman.”
“I’ve tried, but there’s no magic, no spark. Help me, Roxana. I miss you. I need you.”
She contemplated him with a sad smile. “Oh, Cosmo. Roxana Fortune is supposed to be dead. Living with you again could kill all of us.”
***
Mickey’s eyes roamed the late morning crowd at the sidewalk cafe beneath the shadow of a replica Eiffel Tower—one half size of the original. Everything looked normal, but in Vegas, that was a far cry from back home. Here, normal included killers, madcap magicians, stolen Russian gems, carnivorous rabbits and a russet-haired siren who’d had him completely fooled.
He spied Hunter seated at the far corner table, as far back from the street as possible. Sipping tea, he was half-hidden by an open newspaper. It was the perfect meeting spot, so public, no one would ever guess to seek them here. Mickey pulled up a chair. From here, they had a clear view across Las Vegas Boulevard to the Bellagio’s small lake where fountains erupted into a spectacle every evening. In the late morning heat, the lake stood quiet.
Hunter laid down the daily paper he’d been reading. “Took you long enough.” He waved to a waiter.
“I needed to go through some photos. I finally met him.”
Hunter pursed his lips as the waiter arrived with a cup of coffee and a baguette.
Mickey remained silent until the waiter walked out of earshot. “The top guy. He had a limo waiting on me for the drop last night.”