“Hands on?” She opened the folder again to see Ivanov’s face staring out at her. She supposed with his looks, money, and royal connections, many women would love to be all “hands on” with him, but she didn’t. She’d already had a taste of the Ivanovs, and it had soured her impression of the family, and of him.
“What exactly did you have in mind, sir?”
Roberts grasped another folder, slapped a thumb drive on it, and pushed it in her direction. “Ivanov sent over quite a lot of information. I had another agent review it and I have no doubt that there is money laundering going on. It’s normally not in our jurisdiction, but combined with the possible kidnapping, it’s been decided we’ll keep the case.”
Kathleen set aside the thumb drive and did a quick flip through the information as well as the notes provided by the other agent. It was clear someone was moving large sums of cash and also funneling some of it to accounts in the Cayman Islands. All the data pointed to money laundering going on at the casino.
“It definitely looks like something we should investigate. If there’s a missing woman, there’s a strong possibility she’s connected to this somehow,” she said.
“That’s why I want you undercover in the casino as a new member of the Russian Nights security staff. That should make it easier for you to walk around and see what’s happening.”
“Twenty-four--seven?”
“Twenty-four--seven. Ivanov is providing accommodations for you. We’ll select additional personnel to assist you. In the meantime, I’ll get others working on the missing hostess and have them report to you.”
Kathleen again flipped through the folder, considering her boss’s request. She normally didn’t do undercover, although she prided herself on being prepared for any situation. Not to mention that money laundering in the casinos fed a number of criminal enterprises as well as terrorist activities. Some of the 9/11 hijackers had been in Vegas before the attack, probably to collect the monies necessary for their sick plans.
Then there was Alexander Ivanov himself. She took out the glossy photograph and stared at his perfect face. She could almost see the silver spoon in his hand and women trailing after him for a taste of what he offered. But nearly four years in the FBI had taught her that people like Prince Alexander thought themselves above the law. Whatever his rationale for calling them in, she’d ferret out the truth—and make sure no one got hurt. Not like two years ago.
She closed the file. “When do I start?”
“I’ll call the prince and tell him to expect you by noon.”
She nodded, but added, “I’ve had some phone contact with a police officer in the area as part of other investigations--Detective Peter Roman. He may have more on what’s happening, as well as on Ivanov. I’ll check in with him first if you don’t mind. We’ll need the locals to help us with the arrests anyway.”
“It’s your case, Special Agent. Whatever you think is appropriate.”
Chapter Two
The sound of saws and construction reached Kathleen’s ears as she drove along the street on her way to the Russian Nights casino. Even after so many months, parts of the city were still being rebuilt, but bigger and better from what she could see. Pride filled her at the resiliency of the American people and New Jerseyans in particular. In minutes she had parked in the area of the boardwalk that had already been rebuilt, where she was supposed to meet her local law enforcement contact.
Atlantic City Police Detective Peter Roman looked nothing like a run-of-the-mill cop, Kathleen thought as she caught a glimpse of him as he lounged against the boardwalk railing, munching from a bag filled with peanuts. Even the rumpled off-the-rack navy blue suit could not detract from looks which could grace an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. Shaggy brown hair framed chiseled features and eyes an intriguing shade of gold-green. His body was lean, tall, and from what she could see beneath his suit jacket, very nicely muscled.
She walked toward him, the smell of fresh wood filling her senses. She hadn’t taken more than a step or two when his cop’s eyes shifted from his perusal of the gleaming new boardwalk area to her. A slow smile spread across his face and he held out his hand as she approached.
“Special Agent Martinez, I presume.”
She dipped her head and shook his hand. “Detective Roman.”
He gave a come-with-me gesture with his head, and they started a slow stroll along the boardwalk, his gaze continuously scouring the area. “I appreciate you meeting me down here.”
“Are you on a stakeout?” she asked and looked around, vigilant for anything out of the ordinary.
He shook his head and offered her the bag of nuts. Candied ones, she noted, but declined his offer.
“No, thanks. So are you looking for someone?”
“Just keeping my fingers on the pulse of what’s happening. It’s been a challenge with all the building and the changes going on,” he answered, his tone droll as he shook out some nuts and popped them into his mouth.
Kathleen smiled and jerked her chin toward an older couple being brushed past by a young man. “You mean like that pickpocket over there?”
“Damn, good catch.” The detective hurried toward the youth as he walked away, but some internal sense must have registered. The thief looked back, saw them, and shot off at a run.
“Stop! Police,” Roman called out, but the youth only increased his pace and started tossing things in their way. Such as an older woman, whom Peter ran around and she hurdled over, gaining a foot or two on the thief. And a pushcart that banged painfully into her hip and made her stumble for a moment before she recovered.
Luck was on their side as a family in one of the rented surreys, unaware of the chase, veered in front of their suspect, knocking him off balance.
Roman used the opportunity to throw himself forward and tackle the suspect to the ground. He had one arm restrained and his knee pushed deep into the suspect’s back when Kathleen arrived next to them. With a quick pull, Roman secured both wrists with a cable tie and warned the suspect, “Don’t move, or I’ll add resisting arrest to the charges.”
He frisked the young man’s clothing and pulled out not one, but four wallets he had lifted. “Been busy, I see.”
“I want a lawyer,” the young man said, a regular in the system to know his rights without them being read. But Roman recited them anyway, then called in for a black and white to take him away.
As they stood there, waiting for the police car, with tourists milling around them to see what was happening, Kathleen said in a low voice that only he could hear, “I understand you’re familiar with Alexander Ivanov?”
“I am. I have personal reasons for keeping my eyes and ears open for what’s happening there.”
The sharp chirps of a siren and flashing lights from the side street off the boardwalk signaled the arrival of the uniformed police officers. They hurried over from their car and Peter gave them instructions on what to do. Once he was done, they resumed their stroll along the new section of boardwalk. Peter stopped to buy another bag of nuts to replace the ones he’d lost during the chase.
She pressed on with her earlier questioning about the prince. “Based on your information, do you think Ivanov’s clean?”
With a determined nod, he confirmed it. “Ivanov keeps a close eye on everything that’s happening and I have no doubt that everything he does is legal. But it’s a big place. Huge, actually. Something may be going on without his knowledge.”
“Are there any other missing women in the area?”
Roman nodded. “We had a serial killer a year or so back we still haven’t caught, but nothing to say he’s at work again. His targets were low level prostitutes.”
“And who cares about them, right?”
“I care,” he said and tapped at his chest. “I care, and I won’t stop until he’s caught.” His determination rang true.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“A few missing younger women. Could be runaways. We’ve been trying
to track them down. Are you worried about anything in particular?”
“Money laundering can be connected to a number of illegal activities, but given the missing women you just mentioned, I’m concerned about a possible white slavery ring.”
“One of my colleagues is working the missing women angle. I’ll talk to him and send you what we have.”
“I’d appreciate that.” She reached into her suit jacket pocket and handed Roman her business card. He glanced at it and slipped it into his pocket.
She left him strolling down the boardwalk and hurried back to her car. Ivanov had been expecting her at noon, but she was running a little late. The prince probably didn’t appreciate being kept waiting, but he would soon discover that she wasn’t someone who kowtowed to the rich and famous.
He was going to have to prove to her what kind of man he was in order to earn her trust and respect.
…
Alexander paced before the floor to ceiling windows in his office and stared down at the activity on the boardwalk. Pedestrians scurried from casino to casino and the hole-in-wall tourist and food shops tucked in between. Others sat on benches at the boardwalk’s edge, soaking in an unusually strong early spring sun. Braver souls had laid out towels on the once again pristine gap of beach that stretched as far as he could see. In the days and weeks after the hurricane, litter had been strewn all along the sands and what little had remained of the boardwalk.
He smiled as he saw that miles away, the rebuilding of the last bit of boardwalk was almost done. In a few other areas, fresh construction continued, bringing hope as well as needed jobs, homes and businesses.
While he always enjoyed the sights at all hours of the day, he had better things to do right now. He shot another glance at his gold Philippe Patek watch.
Twenty minutes late. Twenty minutes of doing nothing while he waited. He wasn’t a man used to doing nothing. It was why months earlier he had rolled up his sleeves and gotten to work helping others when the need had arisen during the storm.
His phone buzzed. He whirled from the windows and strode to his desk. With a sharp jab of the button, he answered. “Yes, Tabitha.”
“Special Agent Martinez is here for you.”
“Finally. Please send her in.”
Arms akimbo, he braced himself for her entry. Although involving the authorities was the right thing to do, he still wasn’t totally comfortable with the decision. Call it a byproduct of his family history with authoritarian regimes, as well as concern for the casino’s reputation. His family could not afford any negative publicity or possible issues with the Gaming Commission.
Nothing, however, prepared him for her arrival.
Full of urgent energy, she barreled through the door. Her long-legged stride carried her to his desk in short order.
Tall and lean, her tailored black suit hid none of her curves and showed off the tone in her incredibly long legs. Dark chestnut hair gleamed with reddish highlights and hung to her shoulders in fringed layers. It was slightly disheveled and one side of her bright white shirt was pulled out of her pants slightly, as if she’d been in some kind of altercation. The rumpled look didn’t work for him. He generally surrounded himself with people who took great care with their appearance.
The deep hue of her hair contrasted with the creamy tones of her face and eyes that were a kaleidoscope of hazel, blue, and green shards. Downturned corners marred full lips which might be quite amazing if she smiled.
She brusquely stuck out a hand with well-kept, but unpolished, nails. Her palm was warm and smooth as he shook her hand. Her fingers were elegant, her grip powerful. It wasn’t hard for him to picture those strong fingers moving against his body.
Because he needed a distraction from the sudden flare of desire she roused, he pulled his hand from hers and jammed it on his hip again. “I was expecting you nearly half an hour ago.”
…
Kathleen would not apologize for her tardiness, so she got right to the point. “I understand you have a missing hostess and concerns about some possible money laundering.”
He rocked back on his heels and a momentary flicker of annoyance showed on his face before he schooled his emotions. He tucked the papers into a file and then laid it before her. Gesturing to it with a negligent flip of his hand, he met her gaze full on once more, his features hard and unyielding. Cold as a Siberian winter.
“We’ve put together some information which I assume your boss has shared with you. I hope to have more for you later. My chief of security will be joining us shortly to get you settled.”
Despite his tone and attitude, it was hard for Kathleen to ignore that he was an incredibly handsome man. The pictures and clippings in her file had not done him justice.
Ivanov stood at least six foot two with broad shoulders that strained the expensive fabric of his designer suit. His well-muscled upper body flowed into lean hips and powerful legs.
She dragged her attention back to his face. The muscles in his chiseled jaw clenched with annoyance. It was hard to tell if he had full lips from the angry slash of his mouth. High cheekbones served to highlight winter blue eyes with an exotic tilt. Or maybe his eyes only seemed clear as the sky due to the midnight hair ruthlessly styled into place.
Two gorgeous men in one day, and just her luck they were both connected to her investigation. But while Detective Roman still possessed a hint of boyishness in his features, Alexander was a man with a capital M. Her flare of attraction to him was disturbing on several levels.
First, there was the whole prince thing. She was nowhere in his league, and had never pictured herself as a princess. Add to that the fact that he was a possible suspect and it would be professionally unethical for any involvement. Finally, he had the blood of that dead woman on his hands. Because of all those things, she had to keep her unnerving attraction to him from distracting her.
“There’s no need for a room in the hotel,” she said, and watched the crystalline blue of his eyes chill to an icy frost.
“When my senior security people are on duty, they have accommodations here due to their long work hours. It’s for your convenience and comfort, not mine, I assure you.”
You had to pick your battles and since it seemed this was one she would not win, she nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
Before she could continue, his administrative assistant notified him that Chief of Security Reynolds had arrived.
“Please send him in.” The “please” did little to change the command in his tone, but Kathleen gave him props for at least making the effort.
She did a partial pivot toward the door and the older man who entered. She guessed him to be in his late fifties and definitely either former military or law enforcement, judging from his bearing and the precise manner in which he approached.
“Jim Reynolds,” he said, and shot out his hand.
Kathleen shook it, noting the work-roughened callous on his palm. “Special Agent Kathleen Martinez.”
Alexander acknowledged his chief with a warm smile that evaporated his earlier frostiness. “I was just advising Ms. Martinez—”
“That’s Special Agent Martinez,” she reminded him.
With a condescending nod, he corrected himself. “Jim, please show Special Agent Martinez around. Let her get the lay of the land. I’d like to reconvene at six for a more detailed briefing and then dinner.”
“I can do dinner on my own, thanks,” she said, annoyed by his presumptuousness.
“I insist, Special Agent. It will allow us to get to know each other better,” he replied, although judging from the look on his face, he was no more pleased by the prospect than she was.
“Friday night dinners are kind of a tradition around here. I think you’ll enjoy it,” his security chief advised, sensing the ongoing clash of wills and trying to ease the tension.
“Let’s see how things go during your briefing. I may need to provide my initial report in person to my Assistant Director in Charge,” she explained,
and fired a glance at Ivanov.
The chill in his demeanor returned and icy anger had taken hold, as well. “Then I suggest you get going.”
She bit back a retort to his dismissal. She did not usually have a problem with authority, but his superior attitude was really stirring awake her rebellious streak. She reminded herself there was possibly a woman’s life at stake. Because of that, she wouldn’t delay any longer.
Chapter Three
Although she always wore sensible shoes, Kathleen’s feet were still aching by the time Ivanov’s security chief had given her that “lay of the land” as Ivanov had called it. A very vast and complex land, she realized during the course of their walk. Russian Nights was a massive operation. The lower levels of the building housed the staff areas, storage, and security. Above them were five floors reserved for entertainment, dining, and gambling. The first floor held a food court and a coffee shop for the more pedestrian gamblers. A number of retail shops, mostly for tourists, filled the space on the rest of the main level. The next floor held the hotel lobby and more shops, mostly designer ones for the wealthier clientèle. The rest of this floor, as well as the three above it, were geared almost exclusively toward gambling, with an assortment of electronic gaming machines and tables. The only break from that was on the fourth floor where a nightclub and restaurant were located. At each and every floor, everything seemed to run efficiently and seamlessly. Add to that the additional fifteen or more stories for the hotel complex and managing offices, and it was clear Prince Alexander had built himself quite a little empire to rule in Atlantic City.
“This is a huge undertaking,” she said as they walked toward Jim’s office so he could report on their investigations so far.
“The boss man himself dreamed it all and battled his father every inch of the way, from what I understand. The hurricane almost stole the dream, but the prince was not about to surrender to Fate,” Jim explained as they entered the security department. The room was packed with state-of-the-art monitoring equipment manned by at least two dozen or more employees.
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