by Amy Atwell
“Oh, come on,” she said with a snort. “Get out of here, or I’m calling the police.”
“Go ahead. Call Hunter. He’s my partner in this operation.” He watched as she straightened things on her desk into neat lines. “I’m an undercover cop, Iris.”
Her breath caught for a second, then she burst out with a bitter laugh. “Of all the lies you’ve told, do you think I’m going to buy that one?”
“It’s the truth. I transferred here from Boston temporarily because they needed an unknown for this job. I’ve been living as Mickey the thief for months, but Hunter’s my contact. He’s taken the gems to have them authenticated.”
Doubt clouded her eyes, but he could tell she didn’t yet believe him.
“Who do you think got me the information on you and your sisters? How do you think I walked out of your apartment past Foote this morning?” Mickey took a tentative step toward her. “Hunter told me you broke up with David.”
She vented an animal growl of frustration as she slipped away from him. “That sadistic son of a bitch let me spill my guts and never told me you were a cop.” She shook her head, sending her hair into disarray.
The wayward curls reminded Mickey of how she’d looked, sleepy-eyed and sated, her head reclining on his shoulder after they’d made love mere hours ago. He swallowed hard at the memory and, worse, how he wanted to repeat it. “Why did you break up with him?”
“What do you care? It has nothing to do with you.”
His hand snaked out to grip her arm. “The hell it doesn’t. The only reason I agreed to no promises was because you were already engaged.”
“Ha! You expect me to believe anything you say now?” She jerked free and smacked his upper arm with enough force to make him wince. “You son of a bitch! Lying, cheating—”
He grabbed her to him and held her close. “I never cheated.”
“What do you call taking the collar?”
“I call that stealing. Not cheating.”
She stared at him, her mouth open in a seductive moue.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered.
Still staring, she whispered back, “What are you going to do about it?”
“This.” He lowered his head and captured her lips.
Mickey’s heart swelled as she melted into him. He twined his arms around her and pulled her closer. His blood stirred as soon as her hips made contact with his. Cupping her bottom, he fed from her lips with an insatiable hunger. He wanted her again with an intensity that still shocked him. Last night, he’d been surprised by how much he wanted a woman, but now he knew it wasn’t just a woman—it was this woman.
She tore her mouth from his and pushed him away. Retreating a few steps, she touched her lips as if ashamed of what they’d done. “It doesn’t matter if you’re a cop or a thief, this isn’t right.” She spoke with dead calm. “You said a guy who loved me would stick around and put up a fight for me.”
Mickey released a heavy breath. Those weren’t the words of a woman who’d planned to disappear. But his relief was short-lived. He’d screwed up royally, though his intentions at the time had been the best. “Honest to God, Iris, I didn’t know that’s what you wanted. You were the one who said no commitments. How was I supposed to know you didn’t mean it?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I meant it.”
Her rejection stung him. “Oh yeah? Then why did you break up with David?”
“For God’s sake, I lied to the man—cheated on him—how was I supposed to marry him? What kind of woman do you think I am?”
Mickey couldn’t help himself—he grinned.
But instead of drawing a responsive smile from her, Iris’s face crumpled. She pursed her lips and sniffed heavily. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t myself last night.”
“I liked who you were.”
“Yeah, I bet you did. That’s why you bolted this morning.”
“And I like who you are, Iris Fortune. That’s why I’m back.”
She shook her head. “It’s no use, Mickey. I’m not the kind of woman who holds a man’s interest, I know that.” With a harsh laugh, she added, “You’re back because it’s your job.”
“That’s not true.” He hesitated to reach for her, fearing another rebuff. Instead, he massaged the knot tensing the back of his neck, searching for the expected headache, but it remained absent. “I’m back because of you, because I wanted to tell you the truth.”
“Maybe you should have thought of that last night. Somewhere around that pretty ‘no secrets from each other in bed’ speech.”
“Seems to me you were keeping ten secrets of your own, tiger.”
Her eyes narrowed into a glare. Before she could reply, a knock at the door interrupted them. “Yes?” Iris called out.
Ginny cracked the door open. “Sorry, Iris, but there are a couple of gentlemen here, and I think they’re speaking Russian. I can’t seem to help them, and I thought—”
“I’ll be right there.” Iris turned to him after Ginny left. “I want that collar back.”
Mickey settled onto her stool. “Go talk to your clients. We can continue this when you’re free.”
“You don’t need to keep an eye on me.”
He raised a brow at her. “You’re still in danger. And I’m still your best protection.”
She glared at him. “Fine. Sit here and talk to Edgar. I may be awhile.”
“I’ll wait,” he said calmly.
She yanked the door open and walked out to the sales floor without another word. From the angry shake of her head as she exited, he was going to have to save her life again to get her to give him another chance.
***
Marko pretended to study the jewelry case as the young woman knocked on the back door. He and Viktor had come into the shop together, their suits implying they were serious customers and not tourists. It had been Marko’s notion not to speak English to the shop girl. He hadn’t bothered to say anything to Viktor—his brother wasn’t much of a talker. He was glad, though, they’d decided not to bring Sergei. If the boy were here, he wouldn’t have resisted chatting the girl up.
The shop girl hurried over to help a young Asian couple. Marko kept his eyes trained on the door to the back, eager to see his cousin’s daughter emerge.
He wasn’t disappointed. Iris Fortune was petite and fine-boned like her mother had been, though her hair was a more fiery russet than he remembered Irina’s being. She wore a tailored suit jacket in a golden shade, with a matching skirt cut above the knee that revealed shapely bare legs in heeled sandals. Marko pursed his lips. In his day, women had always worn stockings. These younger generations were surrendering more and more traditions.
Beyond the first glimpse, he quickly surmised she was irritated with something. She threw a look toward the back office with an angry toss of her head. He tried to make out what was in that room off the sales floor, but the interior was too dark to share its secrets.
Approaching, Iris granted him a businesslike smile, impersonal but welcoming, as befitted a potential client. Clearly, she had no idea who he was. That didn’t surprise him. It would be just like Cosmo not to tell Irina’s daughter about her extended family being in town.
“Good morning,” she said in Russian. “Are you looking for something special today?”
Marko shared a look with his brother. “We’re looking for the daughter of Irina Nikolaevsky. Are you her?”
Her mouth opened in surprise before she gathered her composure. “Yes. I’m Iris Fortune, and Irina was my mother.”
“This is my brother, Viktor Gorseyev. I am Marko.”
“Gorseyev?” The name prompted her to appraise him more fully.
“Your mother was our cousin. We are related.”
“Just what I needed this week, more family,” she muttered in English.
Marko kept his face immobile, though he thought it an odd thing for her to say. He continued to speak in Russian. “We brought
our elderly aunt with us. She wants to meet you.”
Beside him, Viktor cleared his throat and bobbed his head toward that back door. A man had emerged, dark-haired, muscled, with a determined look suggesting no one should mess with him. He wore dark jeans, a black T-shirt and a rather black scowl as he approached.
Marko approved. It didn’t surprise him in the least when the man sidled up next to Iris, though the way she stiffened in response intrigued him.
“What’s up?” the man asked her in English.
“They say they’re cousins of mine from Russia,” she answered quietly before turning back to Marko. “Please, bring your aunt by. I would love to meet her.”
“She is frail, old. We have a suite here at the hotel. If you would come up for an hour—”
Iris shook her head. “I couldn’t leave the shop.”
He touched her hand on the counter. “These could be her final days.” God help him, if Tatiana ever found out he’d suggested that, even as a ruse, she’d give him hell.
The man pulled Marko’s hand away from Iris’s fingers. “The lady said nyet, pal.”
Viktor raised an amused brow, and Marko restrained himself from kicking his brother. Goaded, he dropped all pretense and the Russian language. “And who gave you permission to speak for the lady?”
Both Iris and her male friend became more alert. “You speak English?” Iris asked.
“Call security,” the man said.
“That would be a mistake.” Marko straightened his tie. “We mean you no harm. I swear I’m here because Irina was my cousin. And now Aunt Tatiana is upstairs, and she wants to meet you.”
“Tatiana?” Iris said in a small voice. Her pale brown eyes widened in what appeared to be awe. Apparently, she’d heard tales of Tatiana.
“Iris, you don’t know this guy. This could all be a ploy. Call security and have their passports verified.”
“You may do so,” Marko said. “But I think you will regret calling extra attention to us or why we are here. We followed your father after he visited us in St. Petersburg.”
“Cosmo visited you?” the man asked. He didn’t seem surprised that Cosmo had flown to Russia.
Viktor chose that moment to intervene. “It is best that we speak some place more private. Cosmo Fortune has taken something of great value from our aunt. We’ve come to reclaim it.”
Iris exchanged a look with her protector who in turn looked across the counter at Marko and his brother.
“I’m coming with her.”
***
Iris hated to admit she was grateful to have Mickey accompany her up the elevator as she faced another unknown. A cop. God, what had she done? She stole a quick glance at him. Weren’t there rules or something that prevented him from sleeping with witnesses or suspects or whatever she was? Her face warmed with the memory of how she’d thrown herself at him. Well, the first time. The second time, he’d definitely been the seducer.
God help her, it didn’t matter whether he was a thief or a cop. Either way, she liked him. She liked herself with him. Which was poetic justice, because with their track record, they didn’t have any future. With determination, she pushed Mickey Kincaid out of her thoughts.
Instead she contemplated the two mostly silent men who swore they were her relatives. Both in their late fifties with broad chests, Marko had a ruddy complexion while Viktor was pale as snow. First sisters, now cousins. But she couldn’t blame Cosmo for this lack of contact with her Russian relatives. Her mom must have made that choice—or at least agreed to it.
For the first time, it occurred to her that though her mother had always been present, she’d held herself at a cool distance. Cosmo, for all his disappearing acts, had praised her schoolwork and encouraged her creative endeavors. He would engage completely in her adolescent life for the few days he stuck around, then he’d be off on another adventure, leaving no clue as to where he’d gone.
No wonder she had trouble adjusting to the notion of all these new relatives appearing so suddenly in her life. How long were any of them going to stick around?
She followed the Gorseyev brothers into the Bellagio’s grandest suite. The expansive living room with its blue carpet and cherry furniture ended in large windows that framed the glorious view of the Strip.
Seated on a floral chintz sofa, Tatiana Gorseyev held court in her pink bouclé suit and high-collared white blouse. Iris doubted the woman was even five feet tall, and she was thin enough that an eagle could probably carry her off and feed her to its young.
“Come here, child, let me look at you. I won’t bite.”
Stepping forward, Iris was forcibly reminded of Red Riding Hood’s grandmother, a woman who looked passive and frail as she beckoned one forward, but was really a wolf in disguise. Upon closer inspection, Tatiana exuded a powerful presence undisguised by age, wrinkles or the heavy scent of roses.
Iris leaned down so her aunt could kiss one cheek and then the other.
Tatiana’s cool fingers lingered on her face. “So like your mother, I would have recognized you anywhere. Forgive me for not coming to see you sooner.”
“That’s all right. I didn’t even know—” She’d been about to say “you were alive,” but in truth, she’d thought her mother’s aunt simply didn’t care about her American-born great-niece.
Tatiana let the unfinished sentence hang as she trained a faded but hawkish eye on Mickey. “And who are you?”
“Michael Kincaid.”
She gave him a single approving nod before lifting a brow at Iris. “Your father said you were engaged.”
“Oh, I, er, that is—”
“No need to blush, my dear. You’ve chosen well for yourself. Young and virile.” She looked to Mickey again. “Cosmo said you were a lawyer or a politician or something.”
“I work in law, yes.” Mickey glanced down at his boots.
Iris stared. Had Mickey just avoided lying? He, who crafted stories with the agility of the devil’s own silver tongue, had he just told her great-aunt something that sounded like the truth? Not the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but that was for the best. Hi, Aunt Tatiana, so nice to meet you after all these years, and no, this isn’t my fiancé, this is the man I slept with last night before I broke up with my stable, sensible, reliable, dull fiancé.
No, that wasn’t going to play well with her new relatives. They’d think she was no better than her alley cat father. While that might be true, it was also demeaning.
So, while Mickey hadn’t lied, he’d left a general impression that he was her fiancé, but she’d let that slide. For now.
“Marko,” Tatiana barked. “Order a tea tray with cakes.”
“Don’t you think you should have lunch first? Maybe a sandwich?”
“I don’t want a sandwich!” She pounded her cane on the floor. “I want tea and cakes.”
Marko cast an apologetic glance at Iris. “The time change and jet lag has made her more irritable than normal.”
“I am never irritable. I’m hungry, and I want tea and cakes.”
Viktor quietly lifted a telephone handset to make the call.
“Aunt Tatiana, maybe you should lie down and rest until the tea arrives,” Marko suggested.
“Don’t be an ass. I’m not some imbecile who must sleep every five minutes. Iris needs to understand the legacy. Fetch the necklace.”
This time, Marko looked over at Mickey. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”
Tatiana’s voice lowered in volume, but her intensity commanded the room. “Do not question me.”
“Yes, aunt.” He fled into one of the adjoining bedrooms.
Tatiana patted the cushion beside her. “Sit with me, Iris. Please, both of you, sit.”
Mickey perched on a stool at the wet bar, a position that gave him a vantage point to watch the suite’s door as well as the window and both bedrooms. While he appeared relaxed, Iris knew he was poised for action.
She sat next to Tatiana. “Your nephews claim Cosmo t
ook something from you. What was it?”
The old lady nodded but held off speaking while Marko hurried back with something in his hands. She pointed to the small table before them, and he laid out an ornate necklace, taking time to spread the thin metal chains into their intricate pattern.
Iris leaned forward to study it. The luster of twenty-four-carat gold spilled out in a filigreed web of late Victorian design.
“May I?” she asked her aunt. When she received a nod, Iris lifted the necklace with great care to study the spots dotted with platinum. Indeed, they were settings, but the necklace was void of gemstones.
“Do you know what this is?” Tatiana asked.
Iris counted the fittings for ten stones, her heart pounding. “Is this the Romanov necklace?”
The old woman smiled. “Your mother told you the tale.”
“Oh, yes. Such a lovely and sad story.”
“When Czar Nicholas decided to have his crown dismantled, and the rare alexandrite stones fashioned into a gift for his wife, he commissioned the premier jeweler in all of Russia to design the necklace. That was my great-grandfather, Vladimir Gorseyev.”
“Is this a copy?”
“No, that is the original.”
From his perch, Mickey cleared his throat. “But I thought the necklace was dismantled during the revolution, and the stones dispersed to the crown heads of Europe.”
“They were.” Tatiana nodded with approval to Iris. “You told him.”
Iris made eye contact with Mickey and felt a blush warm her cheeks. “Yeah, well it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Tatiana wrapped both hands around the top of the cane to help her sit up straight. “The Empress Alexandra sent the stones to her distant relatives for safekeeping, but the necklace itself she returned to the Gorseyev family like a skeleton without flesh. We hid it through the revolution and years of communism, though we still hope one day it will take its place in a museum, a tribute to the devoted wife and mother who was murdered with her children in the midst of such political upheaval.”
Iris had always thought of the Romanov gems as a myth, the story a fairy-tale adventure, but her great-aunt’s words painted a tragic tale of a woman’s attempt to save some part of her family’s history even when she couldn’t save herself or her children. The gems were not merely a historical curiosity, a valuable artifact, but a deep cultural legacy.