by Amy Atwell
Still, it would be better all around if Cosmo coughed up the gems. He’d like to start his new life in Reno without having to dispose of a body. Hell, they’d have to unload the car, and—
A knock at the door interrupted him. Swigging down some more beer, he glanced at Pebbles. The giant was totally engrossed in his television show, probably hadn’t even registered the knock.
Jock set the beer down and approached the door cautiously. The Boss had said he’d call, so who would be at the door? Mickey was in the hospital. Turner was dealing with the other daughter. Cosmo wouldn’t waste his time coming here before delivering the gems, and after delivering them—well, to be honest, the Boss wasn’t going to let the old guy live. Even Cosmo had to know that.
He peered through the apartment’s peephole. At first he didn’t see anything, then he noticed a head of gray hair down near the bottom of his line of vision. A sour wrinkled face tilted up to look at the door.
With a curse, Jock pulled open the door to contemplate the skinny old lady in her wheelchair. “What the hell do you want, Granny?”
Like a striking cobra, she swung her cane at his head. That sour face of hers turned even meaner.
Surprised, Jock still managed to catch the end of the cane with both hands before it inflicted any damage.
She tugged the cane, pulling him slightly off balance. She didn’t have that much strength, was she crazy?
“You’re starting to piss me off.” He gave a good tug on the cane, hoping to pull her out of the chair. But she released her hold and, with his momentum, Jock stumbled backwards and fell on his ass.
He felt more than saw a shadow hop across him, and from the living room, Pebbles’s laughter was cut short. Jock hurriedly sat up, only to find two older men standing just inside his door. They both pointed guns at him. A quick glance over his shoulder showed a third, younger man had Pebbles covered.
Looking back to the doorway, Jock noticed the old lady had climbed out of her chair. She stepped forward and wagged a finger at him. “You’ve pissed me off, too.” She leaned down and pulled his gun from his waistband, only to point it at his privates with a steady hand. “And I’m not your Granny.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Donovan watched the young woman and her rabbit by the pool. It annoyed him that after all the trouble she and her father had caused, Iris Fortune stood out there sipping iced tea as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Did she think he wasn’t serious? She’d learn the truth.
And why the hell hadn’t he heard anything from Turner?
“Your sisters are in luck. The jeweler confirms these are true alexandrite.”
She shaded her eyes from the bright sun to look his way. “I told you they would be.”
“Your father seemed less sure. Why?” This troubled him. He didn’t like feeling troubled.
“Have you released my sisters?”
Donovan contemplated her. She wanted to negotiate. How trite. “No, but let me call now.” He pressed a button on his cell phone and waited. The call connected to his voice mail, but he pretended otherwise. “Jock? Free those two girls. I don’t care how you manage it, just do it.”
He clicked the phone shut. “Satisfied?”
Her return smile was tempered. “Just like that?”
“What, you don’t trust me?” he countered.
She snorted. “Forgive me, but do you think that’s likely under the circumstances?”
He was starting to hate that she wasn’t unnerved by this situation. It was almost as if she knew something. “If you think your father’s going to mount some sort of rescue attempt for you, forget it. You should know by now that Cosmo Fortune doesn’t think of anyone but himself.”
Even this didn’t seem to pierce her self-confidence. Maybe he should have resorted to tying her up, frightening her. But what could she possibly know?
“Actually, I think Cosmo’s gone to rescue my sisters, and that’s as it should be.”
“Martyring yourself now?” Selfless gestures were such a waste.
“If I must. So, your jeweler confirmed the alexandrite with a refractometer?”
“Yes, said the density and refractive index were perfect. He was quite impressed with the specimens, said they were very valuable. Of course, he knows nothing of their historical significance.”
“Neither do you.” Fanning herself, Iris returned to the chair beneath the patio table’s umbrella.
Donovan flexed his hands to release the tension agitated by her smug attitude. “Explain yourself.”
“Did he study the inclusions at all? Under magnification?”
He scowled at this new ploy. What was she driving at? “Why would that be necessary? They’re top-quality gems. They’re cut to the size and shape Cosmo described to me. They must be the Romanov alexandrite.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? It’s just that my father’s known for fooling people. He’s even fooled me once or twice.”
Of course, she was grasping at straws, trying to give him a reason to keep her alive. Being a jeweler, she wanted him to think she knew more than she did about those stones.
Through slitted eyes, Donovan watched as Iris petted that fat rabbit.
Cosmo had already led him on quite a chase for these gems and put him days behind schedule. That two-bit magician didn’t have any more tricks up his sleeve.
Did he?
“Watch her!” With a curse, Donovan returned inside to call the jeweler and ask about inclusions.
***
Mickey reminded himself never to let Cosmo drive again. At least deathly fear had wiped the last traces of anesthesia from his body. Even the nausea had abated by the time they pulled up to a gatehouse guarding an exclusive golf community.
“Are you sure he brought her here?” Mickey asked as they waited behind another car.
“Too sure of himself not to. Besides, his housekeeper called me. She’s an old—er, friend.”
Why didn’t this surprise him? “Isn’t Donovan afraid the neighbors will see something?”
Cosmo threw him a sidelong glance. “Are you kidding? His villa has six bedrooms, sits on three acres and backs up against the seventh hole of the course, which is a par four. He keeps five trained Dobermans to guard the place, so don’t wander out into the yard. Now, keep quiet while I talk our way in here.” Cosmo checked his lipstick in the rearview mirror.
Five minutes later, Mickey hauled himself out of the red Trans Am, relying mostly on his right arm. He was still marveling at Cosmo’s ability to bullshit his way past that guard at the gatehouse. He was beginning to develop a healthy respect for the magician’s sheer nerve. He suspected Iris had inherited more of that than she gave herself credit for.
“Have you been here before?” he asked as they climbed the steps to the front door. He moved more slowly than normal, willing the pain away with silent curses.
Cosmo looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, a few times. Back when Donovan was feeling charitable toward me. Before I knew he’d ordered anyone killed.”
“Why’d you go after him?”
“I didn’t. I was after the Romanov gems. I just didn’t have my own ten million to buy them.”
Make that a healthy respect for his balls. Cheat Donovan by giving him the highest quality copies of the Romanov gems, but keep the originals for himself. He wondered if Cosmo had had any idea what he was getting into.
Cosmo rang the bell. When the housekeeper answered, her brown eyes widened at his getup, but she recovered quickly and kissed the magician’s cheek. Old friend, my ass, Mickey thought. Cosmo spoke fluent Spanish to her. Mickey didn’t speak much Spanish, but he spoke eyes, and even though Cosmo was still sporting his drag makeup—though he’d finally ditched the wig, thank God—the middle-aged housekeeper was definitely making eyes.
“Betina, this is my son, Michael,” Cosmo said in English. He pointed at Mickey. “Hijo.”
She eyed them both with reservation but finally allowed
them into a soaring entryway and ushered them to a dim living room. Here she said something to Cosmo and left them.
“What did you tell her?” Mickey tiptoed back to the entryway to see if he could hear anyone else in the house.
“That I’m here to see Donovan, and you drove me because my car’s been impounded.”
“What if Donovan knows you don’t have a son?”
Cosmo fisted his hands on his hips. “You know, up until a few days ago, no one seemed to know I had three daughters. Can’t I conjure up a son if I want one?”
Mickey spread his fingers in the air in silent surrender. “I just want to make it out of here alive.”
“We only have to keep him occupied until Hunter shows up to arrest him, right?” Cosmo pointed to the patio doors. “Iris is outside. Let’s go see how she is, but keep it low key.”
Mickey’s heart rate increased at the sight of her. She was unharmed. In fact, she had Edgar on her lap, and she looked to be enjoying a warm afternoon by the pool.
He followed the magician out to the patio but balked when he spied two burly Polynesian males in suits. Great. They looked about as friendly as orangutans—make that constipated orangutans. He ran his hand along the waistband of his trousers, checking his bandages and making sure Turner’s gun remained hidden.
Cosmo went out into the sunlight, ignoring the bruisers as he went to Iris. Mickey couldn’t help notice the way her face lit up at the sight of her father. It hit him broadside—her bright smile conveyed sunshine and happiness and complete confidence. She had faith in her father.
“You came for me,” she said to him.
Cosmo stopped to stare at her. “Of course I did.”
Iris laughed as she went to hug him. “You know, for once I believed in you—and you came through.”
“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m wearing makeup?”
“No. I’m sure you have a good reason.” She tried to smooth his wild silver hair, but that appeared to be a lost cause. Instead she touched his jaw, which now lacked the trademark goatee. “Were you able to save Cory and Allie?”
“I sent help to them.”
She nodded, accepting his assurance. “What do we do now?”
“We bide our time. I promise you, more help is coming here, too.”
Uh oh. Beyond Iris and her father, the guards were talking to each other. Spying a line of potted shrubs along the fence, Mickey pulled his cap lower to hide his eyes and went to inspect the…soil. He dug a thumb downward.
“Who are you,” said a heavy male voice behind him.
Mickey drilled his thumb into the soil again. Without looking up, he said, “Plant care. Semiannual soil testing.”
“You leave now.”
Mickey snorted. Oh yeah, that tricky Mickey persona was coming back to him fast. “I wish. No, I gotta check all these plants.”
“Not today.” This time the guy laid a beefy paw on his shoulder. What he wouldn’t give to sic Pebbles on this guy about now. “Come back another time.”
Mickey put his hands in the air. “Fine, I’ll leave. But there’s no rescheduling. We’re booked. I won’t be back for six months, and these plants—” he waved a hand down the line of potted shrubs, trees, plants, whatever the hell they were, “—could all be dead by then. But hey, it’s your million, right?” He wiped his hands together to dust all the soil from his palms.
The two guards made eye contact. The beefy one at his shoulder nodded. “Finish up. Fast.”
“You got it.” Mickey moved onto the next pot. He didn’t dare look back at Iris, unsure whether she’d recognized him yet or not. He heard the patio door slide open and quickly shifted his position so he could keep an eye on everything.
Donovan stepped into the sunlight. The man clearly thought of himself as a king—divine right, master of his domain. He spared a glance in Mickey’s direction then trained his focus on Cosmo. “You surprise me.”
The magician hunkered down to coax Edgar from beneath the patio table. “What, that I showed up so fast?
“That you showed up at all.”
Cosmo smirked. “I would have been here quicker, but I had to deal with Turner.”
This put Donovan on edge. “You lie.”
“I never lie.” He stood, cradling the overfed rabbit in his arms. “Turner won’t be coming. So you’re on your own.”
Mickey watched, an ache in his heart, as Donovan made a purposeful line toward Iris. This woman, who’d wanted none of this kind of life, had been thrust into the middle of it against her wishes. She was little more than a pawn now. Still, what would Donovan do? The man might hire killers, but he wasn’t a killer himself.
Donovan stepped close to Iris then lashed out and grabbed her suddenly. In one smooth movement, he had a gun at her temple.
Mickey reacted in an instinctive lunge, drawing his weapon, though the silencer made it unbalanced.
“Hold it, Kincaid!” Donovan shouted.
Cosmo gasped. “Everybody just stop! Don’t kill Mickey. He’s hidden the real gems.”
Terror drained Iris’s face as she recognized him.
Mickey held his position, his aim. “Hurt her, Donovan, and you’re a dead man.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Kincaid.” He shifted his stance so Iris blocked most of his body. “I’d prefer not to hurt anyone here poolside. Bloodstains will destroy the resale value.”
Mickey stole a quick glance at the guards. Their guns were trained on him, but neither looked eager to fire without specific orders. “How’d you know it was me?”
Donovan’s body remained rigidly behind Iris. “Did you think I wouldn’t know something was up the moment Betina told me Cosmo arrived with his son? How lame is that?”
Mickey looked to Cosmo.
“Sorry,” the magician said. “Frankly, I didn’t know he owned a gun.”
“Always study your adversary,” Donovan replied with a twisted grin. “Now, Kincaid, drop your weapon. You wouldn’t want to risk harming your little lady friend here.”
Mickey’s eyes sought Iris. Don’t give up on me yet, tiger.
***
Iris looked across at Mickey. Shoot him! Don’t worry about me—save Cosmo. Save yourself. Held in Donovan’s sweaty grip, she knew she would willingly forfeit her life if she could gain the freedom of these two men she loved.
But even as she willed him to shoot, Mickey’s gun clattered to the concrete. She looked from it back to his clear blue eyes. He gave her his swashbuckling grin, as if to promise her he would still save them all.
She was so going to kill Mickey Kincaid.
Assuming they both survived today.
Donovan kept a tight hold on her as he issued more orders. “Kick the gun toward me. Good. Now, go stand over there with Cosmo. You men, keep them covered.”
Iris twisted in his grasp, but only succeeded in having him tighten his grip and bring the muzzle of his gun to rest against her cheek where she could see it. Honest to God, she’d never seen a gun in her life before—why had she been staring down so many barrels in the past couple of days?
“So you want me to believe that now Kincaid has taken and hidden the real gems.” Donovan spoke as if he were in a business meeting, and Cosmo nothing more than a colleague. “Well, my jeweler tells me what I have are real alexandrite, but Iris tells me I should check the inclusions of the stones. What do you all know that I don’t?”
“We know you don’t have the Romanov alexandrite, that’s for sure,” Cosmo said.
Donovan’s hold on her tightened, as if she were personally responsible for him being ripped off at this last minute. “If these aren’t the Romanov gems, where are they?” he asked Mickey.
Mickey shrugged and looked to Cosmo.
Her father’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know where they are. You should have thought of that before you ordered Turner to kill George Halsted.”
Behind her, she felt the rush of breath as Donovan fumed in her ear. “I don’t believe you. These ston
es are too perfect. If they’re not the Romanov gems, where did you get them?”
Iris’s heart swelled as she watched Cosmo’s face light up at the question. “They’re lab-grown synthetics of the highest quality. I got them from my wife’s Russian relatives—the Gorseyev family. Cultural Minister Alexei Gorseyev is my cousin by marriage.”
“You lie!”
Cosmo looked heavenward while he stroked Edgar’s back. “You know, it really pays to study your adversary.”
Donovan growled in frustration. “That’s it. You’ve ruined my plans for the last time, Fortune!”
Iris watched in horror as Donovan’s arm straightened to aim his gun at her father, who was clutching Edgar to his chest. She had to do something. With one hefty tug, she pulled free from his hold and elbowed him in the ribs with all her might. From the corner of her eye, she saw a dark flash of movement as Mickey launched himself between Donovan and her father.
“No!” The gunshot reverberated in her ears, the acrid smell of powder filling her nostrils. She prayed she’d been able to spoil Donovan’s aim. He teetered with the impact from her elbow, and Iris broke free.
“Iris, get down!” she heard Mickey shout. Her body folded to the ground without conscious thought.
Another shot rang out, though the sound was muffled. Behind her, Donovan’s cry of pain bled into a loud splash. Water droplets spattered her.
She reopened her eyes, terrified of what she would see. Her father was still standing, Edgar burrowed into the crook of his elbow. Mickey lay stretched out on the ground, his gun now aimed at the two guards who both stood with their arms in the air. Glancing sideways, she realized Donovan had fallen into the pool.
“Mickey, it’s okay.” Cosmo set Edgar down on the concrete. “The boys here are Betina’s sons. They won’t hurt us. I’m their godfather.”
“They have guns,” Mickey said. Even so, his weapon slipped from his flexed fingers.
Gaining her feet, Iris hurried to him as he rolled over to reveal a red stain blooming on his shirt. Not again. “Lie still. You’re shot.” She kneeled down to lace her fingers with his.
Mickey tried to push up on an elbow. “No, I just pulled my stitches. I’ll be fine.” His blue eyes met hers and their gazes held.