by Amy Atwell
“Don’t you want to hear about the gems?” her father asked.
“Shower first. I want to enjoy five minutes of feeling charitable toward you before you piss me off again.”
Cosmo nodded, accepting that as a standard emotional bond between them. “Did you, er, meet your Aunt Tatiana?”
Recalling the previous day’s adventures, Iris smiled. “Yeah, she’s pretty cool. Not many women her age would go out in public in a swimsuit.”
“Swimsuit?” He shuddered. “Well, whatever she told you about the gems, remember, she doesn’t know the whole story.”
“No one knows the whole story, so I’m eager to hear it.” No doubt her father would have his own spin to put on it. “Just let me hop in the shower.”
It took her less than ten minutes to shower and put on a clean pair of Bermuda shorts in a Madras plaid, a melon-colored camp shirt and a pair of low-heeled sandals. She didn’t bother with makeup. Frankly, she was hoping she’d get in a lengthy nap this afternoon.
Stopping for a moment, she tilted her head to listen. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet. Hastily, she drew her damp curls into a ponytail. Surely, Cosmo couldn’t have left—not with Foote right outside. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. Just in case, she crept out to the living room.
Cosmo sat quietly on the sofa with Edgar beside him. Honestly, the two of them looked like they were waiting for a bus.
“If that rabbit pees on my furniture, you’re going to have to clean it up,” Iris said.
“Somehow, I think that’s the least of your worries.” The cultured male voice chilled her like a cold draft blowing across the room.
Iris spun to see Turner standing just inside the front door. He looked like an average guy in her sunlit apartment—fortyish, tall, lean, thinning dark hair. The danger lay in his hooded eyes and the curling smile that held as much friendliness as a taunted badger. He wore a polo shirt of blood red—Iris felt her stomach churn at the sight of the large bandage circling his upper arm where Sergei’s knife had pierced him—and dark trousers. Crumpled at his feet lay Officer Foote.
She rushed forward to kneel by the young policeman, regardless of any danger to herself. No wound marred him, not even a bruise anywhere on his head. “What did you do to him?” she said, looking up at Turner.
“Relax, I nailed him with a hypodermic. He never even saw it coming. It’s just an anesthetic. He should sleep for a couple hours.”
“You didn’t kill him?” she asked hopefully.
“I’m not some psychopath, Miss Fortune. I don’t kill people for fun. It’s a job, and I have very specific targets.” He looked from her to her father meaningfully.
Oh God. She and her father were about to be murdered, and the only witness would be an overfed rabbit. Iris steeled herself against the panic that tried to envelop her.
“I’m sure we can work something out,” Cosmo said. “I think I still have something Donovan wants.”
Turner gripped Iris’s upper arm and yanked her to her feet. “I’m betting on that.” He locked his hand around her throat like a manacle, the pressure enough to make her gasp for breath. In case that didn’t frighten her enough, he brought the gun up to her temple. “Where are the real stones, Cosmo? Tell me, or I’ll kill her right here, right now.”
Her father watched her face carefully. He looked so calm, as if he’d faced death a thousand times. “Don’t do anything rash. I gave the stones to Iris, so if you kill her, we may never find them.”
Turner’s grip eased slightly. His face came into view, his dark eyes glittering like a cobra. “Where are they?”
She summoned up all her bravado. “What, like you’re going to spare us if I tell you?”
That grip tightened again, and Iris feared her eyes might bug out of her head. “I can make your death painless and quick, or I can drag it out for hours. Do you really want me to slice your father up so you can watch him slowly bleed to death?”
Bile rose in her throat, but his grip was too tight to allow anything to pass. She clawed at his hand until he eased off enough for her to draw a shallow breath. “They’re on Edgar’s collar,” she managed to croak.
Cosmo hopped up from his seat. “Iris! How did you—?”
She’d surprised him, or maybe he hadn’t wanted her to tell, but it was too late for that. At least Turner’s grip had slackened. “I found where you stashed the alexandrite in my gem drawer with the simulated corundum. I thought I’d be clever and put the stones on Edgar’s collar for safekeeping. I mean, who would think to look there?”
“Who indeed?” If anything, this information made her father more nervous. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead, and he stroked his goatee. Clearly, he didn’t want Tatiana’s synthetic alexandrite going to Donovan.
“Is she telling the truth, old man?”
“Well, yes, if she says so.” Cosmo swiped his brow. “I haven’t seen the real gems in days.” He threw her a look.
Iris had no idea what that look meant.
Turner didn’t trust it. “No guarantees, huh? Not that I expected any from you.”
Cosmo gathered Edgar into his arms. “Tell you what, Turner, let her go. Take me and the rabbit.”
“No. I’ll tell you what, Fortune. I’ll take you, your daughter and that collar. We’ll test those stones, and if they’re the genuine article, then we’re all squared away.”
“You’ll let her go?” Cosmo asked, clearly suspicious.
“No, but I’ll let your other two daughters go.”
Iris stiffened. Twisting to see his face, she came nose to nose again with that gun barrel.
“My other two daughters?” Cosmo’s voice had grown weak.
This only strengthened her resolve. “You bastard, if you hurt them—”
Turner tugged her close, the chill of the metal gun pressed against the pulse in her throat. “Relax, princess. Jock and Pebbles have them safe and sound. Do everything we say, and they won’t need to die.”
Grimly, she nodded.
He turned to her father. “Now, bring the rabbit. Let’s go.” Turner’s voice reverberated in her ear as he continued to hold her close. “And don’t try anything funny.”
“Me?” Cosmo blinked innocently. Too innocently. She knew that look.
Adrenaline rushed as she considered he might have a plan. He’d escaped Mickey and those two thugs more than once.
Turner marched them through her building’s lobby. Hidden beneath her blouse, his gun pressed against the small of her back. It was laughably easy for him to abduct them. Iris thought about putting up a struggle, but Turner’s granite expression didn’t encourage her to think she would survive the attempt. Cosmo followed with Edgar, subdued by her danger.
A black town car awaited them at the end of the driveway. “Get in,” Turner ordered.
Iris ducked her head and found Robert Donovan sitting inside. He slid over to make room for her and her father. With a last look around for any miraculous rescue, she climbed in. Behind her, Turner stowed his gun in his waistband and grabbed Cosmo’s arm.
Leaning into the car, Turner said to his boss, “The jewels are on the rabbit’s collar.”
Donovan looked sideways at Iris. “Clever.”
Outside there was a flurry of activity. Cosmo stuffed Edgar into Turner’s arms. Caught by surprise, the hit man juggled the rabbit while Edgar kicked and pawed at him. Meanwhile, Cosmo took off back up the sidewalk.
“Cosmo, come back here!” Turner yelled.
“Gotta run!” Cosmo’s reply floated back to her.
Edgar managed to squirm loose from his captor and slipped to the ground. Turner reached for his gun, his eyes trained on where Cosmo had disappeared around the corner of the building. Iris lunged toward him, but Donovan’s hand snaked out to grab her arm.
“No, you fool!” he ordered Turner. “Get that rabbit. We can’t let those gems get away.”
Turner dropped to the ground to search under the car. Terror clogged Iris’s throat as she
waited for the single gunshot that would signal the end of Edgar’s life.
“Come on, Edgar,” she whispered, praying for the rabbit’s escape.
As if she’d called him, Edgar suddenly appeared near Turner’s feet. In three jumps, he hopped across the man’s back and into the town car to land on her lap. She clutched him tightly, tears stinging her eyes.
Turner rose up on his hands and knees, his angry gaze boring into her as he rubbed grit from his chin with the back of his hand.
Donovan chuckled. “A well-trained rabbit, though he’s only prolonged the inevitable.” He turned to watch Turner stand and wipe off his clothes. “Find Cosmo and take care of him. And be sure Kincaid’s out of the picture.”
“What about the woman?”
“I’ll hold on to her until you get back.”
Turner’s glittering eyes made her an unwanted promise to see her later. He turned to Donovan. “I’ll look in on Jock and Pebbles, too.”
“Good idea.”
Turner closed the door and strode off in Cosmo’s wake.
As the town car pulled away, Iris twisted to stare out the back window, saying a final farewell to her father. She was grateful she’d been given that last conversation with him, a chance to understand him a bit better. He said he’d always be there for her when she needed him, but she prayed he would stay far away this time. Cory and Allie needed his help now.
She pulled Edgar close, foolishly feeling sorry the poor rabbit had gotten caught up in this whole mess. She never doubted her own death. Once Donovan discovered these gems were merely synthetic copies of the historic alexandrite they sought, she’d be nothing but a very big liability.
***
Marko and Viktor sat in companionable silence at the suite’s dining table enjoying coffee and pastries. Marko strained an ear for his aunt. She should be awake by midmorning.
Viktor sensed his unrest and followed the tilt of his head. “Sergei surrendered to pressure. He’s giving her a backrub.”
Enlightened, Marko returned to his coffee. “What would you like to do today?”
His brother shrugged.
Sadly, Marko had to agree. For all the—as the Americans said—hype, he’d found Las Vegas to be nothing more than any other large city with lots of business conducted, lots of tourists visiting, and lots of traffic. Granted, there were fine restaurants and unparalleled entertainers all on this Strip.
Still, it all left him a little flat. Somehow, he’d expected more. “Perhaps we should all see a show tonight.”
Viktor raised beleaguered eyes, as if the thought of finding a show their aunt and they could equally enjoy was too difficult a task to undertake.
“Maybe the pool today. Do you think it will be too hot for her?” Marko sipped his coffee.
His brother took a bite from his danish. Setting it down, he brushed powdered sugar from his upper lip as he chewed. “Rent her a cabana.”
An excellent suggestion, but the telephone rang before he could tell Viktor so. Heaving himself up from the table, Marko answered the phone on the desk.
“Marko?” The voice on the other end was nearly breathless in its rush to speak.
Cosmo. “Such a surprise to hear from you. You never answer your phone.”
“Marko, listen to me. I need your help.”
The stress in Cosmo’s voice caught Marko by surprise. “I’m listening.”
“I’m in some trouble, rather big trouble. Someone has kidnapped my daughters.”
“Iris?”
“Iris…and my other two daughters.”
Marko blinked. Waving to Viktor, he motioned for him to pick up the telephone extension.
“I can’t explain it all. I’m going to try and get Iris now. But the other girls are being held in the downtown district. I need you to get them free.”
Marko drew a breath. “This is a large order to ask when you have lied and cheated us. Why should we risk ourselves to help you?”
“Please. They’re Iris’s half sisters, and if I screw this up, they’re going to be killed.”
Across the living room, Viktor stood and laid his phone back in the cradle with a nod. He strode to Tatiana’s bedroom and knocked on the door.
“Very well,” Marko said into the phone. If his brother agreed this was worth doing, he would do it. “I’ll need whatever details you have.” Quickly, he gathered a pen and transcribed the address and instructions Cosmo dictated. “Are you sure about all of this?”
“No, so be careful. And if they’re not there, call me right away.”
“Of course. Will you be working alone?”
“I’m taking Mickey with me.”
“Good.” He had long since abandoned the dramatic flair of working alone, but one could never tell with Cosmo. And Mickey struck him as a worthy ally. “Beregi zdorovie.”
“You take care yourself,” Cosmo said gruffly. “And Marko, thank you.”
Marko hung up the phone and tore off the sheet of paper containing his scribbled notes. Already, adrenaline was coursing through him, rejuvenating his limbs and making him stand taller. When he turned, he found Viktor had routed Sergei and Aunt Tatiana from the adjoining room. The three of them waited expectantly.
“What is it we must do?” Tatiana asked from her wheelchair.
“Viktor and I must run an errand for Cosmo. Sergei will stay here with you.” With a heavy frown at his nephew, he made it clear this was a command.
Tatiana beat the floor once with the tip of her cane. “The hell you say.”
Not that he’d expected her to accept being left behind willingly. “Aunt Tatiana, we must work fast, and it could be very dangerous.”
She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with a clarity he hadn’t seen in months, maybe years. Already, color was blooming in her cheeks at the very thought of an adventure. “Finally, we are to have some fun here, yes?”
Marko had to admire her grit. Gaining a silent nod of assent from Viktor, he surrendered the notion of leaving her behind—she’d only make his life hell afterward. In fact, now that he thought of it, she might prove very useful.
Chapter Twenty
Mickey lay in the white room covered with white sheets. He’d long since turned off the television, preferring to let the various beeps and whirs of the monitors fill the silence.
He still felt oddly numb, and while he wished he could blame it on residual anesthetic, he didn’t think that was likely. She was gone, and with her, he’d lost sensation. The bleakness had returned, worse this time.
Just his luck that he’d chosen a woman whose history made it impossible for her to accept his profession. Still, he gave her credit—she hadn’t asked him to give it up. Instead she’d blamed her own shortcomings, and she’d walked away.
Mickey didn’t believe Iris had any shortcomings.
If he could have stood up—hell, if he could have thought properly, he never would have let her walk away.
He still wanted her.
He raised his chin to stare at the white ceiling. So, where did that leave him? Lying here, thinking of Iris, thinking that winning her meant giving up the very core of who he was.
Had Suze understood that about Brian?
A sound at the door made him close his eyes. God help him, if another nurse tried to take his temperature or make him swallow another pill, he was going to squeeze that IV bag until his veins burst and put himself out of his misery.
“You’re making this all too easy, Kincaid.”
Mickey’s eyes opened at the sound of Turner’s condescending voice.
Turner stood over the bed like an angel of death. “Once again, you failed to kill your target. Let me show you how it’s done.”
Like a strobe effect, one second Mickey was staring into Turner’s cobra eyes, and the next he was fighting off a choking grip on his throat. Frantically, his brain sought options while his hands came up to fend off the attack. He’d lost track of the call button, Hunter had left the building, and—dammit!—he co
uldn’t drag enough air into his aching lungs to yell for help. He couldn’t even grunt.
He was going to be murdered if he didn’t pull it together.
From the corner of his flagging vision, he thought he spied a nurse enter the room. Only she didn’t seem to think anything odd about the man murdering him. She saw the death-fight happening at his bed, but instead of screaming for help, she calmly walked forward, her shoes barely squeaking on the linoleum.
And then she beaned Turner on the head with some piece of metal that knocked him completely senseless. As Turner’s body slumped across Mickey’s chest, the nurse—her odd long metal weapon in her hand—winked at him.
What the hell? He reached for his call button.
“Don’t.” The nurse shook her head, a serious look in her eyes. She checked Turner to be sure he was really out cold, then laid her weapon on the bedside table.
From her heavy jowls, she was old enough to be his mother. Mickey tried to be generous, but even on those terms she was frumpy. Beneath her lab coat, her boobs swayed heavily as she moved to his bedside. She wore too much makeup. Who told her the false eyelashes and blue eye shadow or that garish red lipstick—
Crap.
“Cosmo?” Mickey whispered.
“Shhh.”
“What are you doing here?” He swallowed. “Besides saving my life?”
“Busting you out.”
“Oh.” The answer was so matter-of-fact, Mickey wondered if the shyster had been drinking. Not even Cosmo was crazy enough to breeze in here in drag, knock out a killer and try to kidnap him from his recovery bed. The magician looked rather tired, but the lipstick and rouge lit up his face like neon. And then Mickey realized what was so different.
“You shaved off your beard.”
“I had to. I’ve got to save Iris.” Cosmo silenced any rebuttal with a raised finger to his lips. He dragged the chair over and pulled Turner’s prone form into it, then searched their nemesis. From a pant pocket Cosmo withdrew a capped syringe. “Good ol’ Turner. Always carries a spare.” The trickster pocketed the syringe in his lab coat.
“What is that?”
“Sedative. Turner keeps it on hand for people he needs out of the way but not out of the way.” He turned up a gun equipped with a silencer, which he tossed on the bed. “You may need this.”