Running Scared (25 page)

Las Vegas

November 3

Evening

R
ich Morrison’s office
took up half the top floor of the Shamrock’s tall needle of a building. Two stories below, a rooftop swimming pool and garden lured the high rollers and whales who took advantage of the VIP spa. Men from several countries lounged like beached albino sea lions around the glittering turquoise water. Showgirls—minus feathers—served drinks, canapés, and themselves to anyone who was interested.

Rich certainly wasn’t, not even as a voyeur. He was a lot more interested in the conversation he and John Firenze had had a few hours ago. Stolen gold and murder. Thanks to a blind tip, the police had found a pawnbroker called Joey Cline faceup on his workroom floor, along with a lot of merchandise that had made the cops’ eyes bug out.

Then there was the matter of the second man’s blood on the workroom floor. Rich wondered when the cops would tumble to that. If they had already, nothing about it was appearing on the twenty-four-hour news channel.

Rich’s intercom buzzed, cutting across his thoughts. He stabbed the button. “Yes?”

“Ms. Silverado is here for your dinner appointment.”

“Send her in.”

He stood up just as the outer door opened and Gail swept into his spacious office. She looked edible in a pantsuit the color and airiness of meringue. An assistant shut the door behind Gail and vanished like the discreet nonentity he was. A very well paid nonentity. Rich wasn’t stupid or stingy when it came to people who could cause him trouble. He didn’t want them to be bribed by a few hundred dollars waved under their noses.

“Stunning,” Rich said, holding out both hands to Gail. “As always.”

Smiling, she gave him her fingers while they exchanged a cool kiss on the cheek.

“I’d tell you how handsome you are,” she said, pulling back and winking at him, “but you said something about an urgent matter regarding techno-thieves.”

“Apparently someone forgot to warn the Golden Fleece. They hit Tannahill for several big jackpots recently.”

“Gosh, how do you suppose that happened,” Gail said without inflection. “We’ll have to go over the notification protocol again. Can’t have things falling through the cracks, can we?”

Rich’s smile almost reached his eyes. “It’s a shame we’re so much alike, Silver,” he said, calling her by her old nickname. “We would have made a great team. But as it is, we’d—”

“Kill each other before dawn,” she finished. “We’re too smart to go partners. Just like I’m too smart to buy the line about rushing over here to find out about techno-thieves in the Golden Fleece.”

“You want to sweep the office before we talk?”

She shook her head. “You’re not the kind of idiot or egomaniac that records every word for future generations to swoon over. You know that kind of record keeping is like having a loaded gun in your bedside table—chances are better you’ll get shot with your own weapon than you’ll manage to take down a burglar.”

“Or as my mother used to say, once the shit hits the fan, everybody gets dirty.”

Gail laughed. “I could have used a mother like that.” She strolled over and looked down at the pool. “Poor bastards.”

“The whales?”

“The girls. They think they’re going to land a rich one.”

“You did.”

“Several times,” Gail agreed. “But not by serving drinks with my titties hanging out. I used my head more than my body.” She turned back to him. “What’s up?”

“Has anyone approached you with a number of Celtic gold artifacts for sale?”

“No.”

Rich was watching closely. He saw nothing to indicate a lie. “Then Tannahill probably has them by now.”

“Are they hot?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How did he get them?” Gail asked.

“That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

“That’ll make it tough to tie a big red bow on his cock.” She narrowed her cool hazel eyes. “How do you know he has the gold? And don’t bother with the ‘little birdie’ crap. I didn’t come here for a bedtime story.”

“One of the thieves told Firenze.”

“Carl? Why didn’t he—”

“John, not Carl. Otherwise
you
would have called
me
and we’d be holding this conversation in your office, because neither one of us trusts phones worth a damn.”

Her sleek eyebrows raised. “Only a fool expects phone conversations to be private.”

He smiled.

She waited for him to start talking again. As she waited, each breath she took made light shift and shine over the breasts filling out the tailored white silk suit. She could tell he was looking at her and enjoying the view. She also could tell he wasn’t going to do anything about it.

Too bad. Men were so much easier to control once you got hold of their dumb handles.

“As far as I can tell, some small-time stickup artist got lucky,” Rich said. “He scored at least twenty, maybe more, Celtic gold artifacts.”

Gail’s rosy lips pursed in a soundless whistle.

“He and a buddy pawned four of the pieces to Joey Cline.”

“Never heard of him.”

“You wouldn’t. He’s at the bottom of the food chain. You feed at the top.”

“So do you.”

“But I never forget there’s a bottom.” Rich watched his words sink in, saw the faint frown between her big hazel eyes, and congratulated himself for getting under her pampered skin. “Cline turned over the merchandise to J. E. Shapiro.”

“Shapiro. Shapiro . . .” She tilted her head. “That name doesn’t chime either.”

“Another pawnbroker who’s pretty low on the food chain.”

“Then it would be too low to have access to Shane.”

“Probably. That’s why I called you.”

“Sorry to disappoint you. I gave up slumming before I was old enough to drink.”

Rich ignored her. “J. E. Shapiro isn’t answering calls, so for now it’s a dead end. He probably heard about Cline’s murder and—”

“Murder! You didn’t say anything about that.”

He shrugged. “What’s one pawnbroker more or less? Vegas is full of them, like maggots on a carcass.”

“Shit. Murder brings too much heat.”

“Not if we can connect Tannahill to it. Then it would be just the right amount of heat.”

Gail grimaced. “I’m not wild about tagging Shane for a murder he didn’t commit.”

“What makes you think he didn’t commit it?”

“If he whacked somebody, you’d never find the body. That’s one very, very smart man.” She moved closer to the wall of glass and looked out at the sprawling, loud, grasping desert city that had made her fortune. But the world had changed since then. Las Vegas had changed.

She had changed.

Like the world and the city, she was older. A lot older. She didn’t have it in her to start all over again if Wildest Dream stopped being a cash cow. And it would happen. Her profits were declining. Not steeply, but with the slow, steady bleeding that screamed of future disaster when massive remodeling was required to keep the casino/hotel up-to-date. Too many new casinos. Too many mega­entertainment complexes. Not enough tourists to keep everybody fat.

Damn it, Shane. Why couldn’t you see how perfect we would have been together? We could have fucking owned this place.

But Shane couldn’t see.

Rich Morrison could.

Life’s a bitch and then you die.

She turned toward Rich, smiled, and wondered which one of them would survive their partnership.

Las Vegas

November 4

Morning

S
hane stood in
Risa’s office, growing more frustrated by the moment. “The apartment and office are yours for as long as you want them,” he said impatiently. Again. “It was all in the severance package.”

“Haven’t read it.” Risa didn’t look up from the desk she was emptying as rapidly as possible into one of Cherelle’s battered suitcases.

“Then you don’t know that you have a year with full pay and benefits to find a new job.”

“Don’t need it.”

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

The warning in his voice made Risa grateful that her hands were busy. Shane didn’t lose his temper often, but he was closing in on it right now. Part of her was bitterly pleased to know she could upset him that much. The part of her with brains wished she hadn’t fallen asleep at 4:00 a.m. and not awakened until 8:00. Maybe then she could have cleaned out her office before her ex-boss discovered that not only was she leaving her job, as soon as possible she was leaving the casino, the city, and most of all Shane Tannahill.

“Risa.”

The yearning in his voice had her looking up before she knew what she was doing. Then it was too late. The heat and shadows in his green eyes took the ground out from under her feet.

“It’s the only way to protect you,” he said simply.

“Did I ask for protection?”

He hesitated. “No.”

“If the positions were reversed, how would you feel?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, frowned. “I’m a man.”

“I’m a woman. So what? Do you defend yourself with your dick? Zippers at dawn?” Still in her chair, she bent over and went back to cleaning out her files. “I’ve been taking care of myself since first grade.”

“Against a murderer?”

“Bozo? He never left a mark on me.”

“A bottom feeder called Joey Cline was murdered in his pawnshop yesterday.”

Risa stopped stuffing journals into the suitcase. Her head snapped up. “Does he deal in stolen antiquities?”

“Probably.”

“Did he have more gold pieces?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know he was connected to the Druid gold?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Call it baloney and serve it with mayo.” Journals slapped together as she slammed them into the suitcase. “Excuse me, I’m in a hurry. I’m supposed to meet someone at the airport.”

She stood up. Too late she realized that Shane had moved in. He was so close to her now that her mouth was all but tasting the green nylon windbreaker he wore.

“You’re not leaving here without an armed guard,” he said.

“No worries,” Ian Lapstrake said from the doorway. “I caught an early flight.”

Shane spun around with a lethal quickness that startled Risa. What shocked her even more was the gun that had appeared in his fist.

Ian smiled and held his hands in plain sight. “Hey, Shane. Long time no see.”

“You sneak up on me again and you won’t see anything for a long time, period.” The gun disappeared beneath Shane’s windbreaker. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting Rarities Unlimited’s newest employee,” Ian said.

“Who?” Shane asked.

Ian glanced at Risa. “Didn’t tell him, did you?”

“You’ve heard of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’?” Risa said. “He didn’t, and I didn’t.”

“Beautiful,” Ian said, watching the other man warily. No wonder Dana had been smiling when she gave him the assignment. Shane was looking mean and territorial, and Risa was mad enough to slip a knife into a man where it would do the most good. “You’ll both be happy to know that, despite Risa’s sexy mouth and never-quits body, I don’t date fellow employees.”

“I’m devastated,” Risa said indifferently. “Especially considering your great shoulders and trust-me smile.”

Ian snickered.

She went back to packing journals.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t throw your great shoulders and trust-me smile out of my casino,” Shane said to Ian.

“Simple. Until I find out what the hell is going on, Risa is safer here than she will be anywhere else except headquarters in L.A.”

“So take her to L.A.”

“In case it has escaped your notice,” Risa said without looking up, “I’m not a package to be picked up and dropped off when the whim takes you. I’m an adult fully capable of taking care of herself.”

“Works for me,” Ian said easily. “I’m going to have my hands full finding the rest of the Druid gold for Dana.”

“I’ll find it for her,” Shane said.

“Not alone, you won’t,” Ian said. “Or do you think Risa’s childhood friend will take one look at you, swoon, and spill all the golden secrets on your manly chest?”

“Money makes a lot of people talk. I have a lot of money.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Ian looked at Risa. “Do you have your friend’s address in Sedona?”

“No.”

“Telephone number?”

“No.”

“License plate?”

“No.”

“Make and model of car?”

“No.”

“Whoopee. I always did like a challenge.” Ian reached into his denim jacket, pulled out the communications unit that Rarities gave to all high-level employees, and keyed in a number on the cell phone. “Research? Lapstrake. You have anything on Cherelle Faulkner yet?”

“We’ve only been working on it a little more than a day, and—”

“You’ve had it for a day?” Ian shot a look at Shane.

“—we already sent a brief to Tannahill on Sheridan and Faulkner, as you would know if you ever checked your e-mail.”

The last words were said in a rising tone. Ian’s refusal to waste time on bureaucratic junk like e-mails was legend at Rarities. It was just like Dana and Niall to let him find out for himself.

More interesting yet was the fact that Shane had ordered an investigation of Risa along with Cherelle Faulkner. Ian wondered if Risa knew. It would explain why she was so furious with her boss. Ex-boss. Come to think of it, getting fired was enough reason to steam her.

“So give me the good parts,” Ian said into the phone.

“Sheridan was easy,” the voice on the unit continued. “She fills out forms with real information. The Faulkner woman lives on the edge where bureaucrats don’t go. She hasn’t changed her driver’s license, home address, or car registration since Johnson Creek, Arkansas.”

“Most recent being?”

“Tannahill has it. That’s where you are now, isn’t it? Vegas?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I don’t know if he feels like sharing.”

“Shit. Why not?” Shane said, understanding the half of the conversation he hadn’t heard. “You can have both profiles, Risa’s and Cherelle’s.”

Then he waited for the explosion when Risa put two and two together and discovered he had put in a recent request for a complete Rarities background on Cherelle.

And on Risa.

The narrowing of her eyes and the flattening of her lush mouth told him that she’d made the connection very quickly. If she’d only been mad, he could have accepted it. But there had been a flash of raw hurt in her brilliant blue eyes before she lowered her head and resumed emptying out the bottom drawer of her office files.

He went and sat on his heels in front of her. “In my place what would you have done?” he asked quietly. “Someone from your childhood appears, someone who isn’t anything like you, someone you don’t want me to know about. Someone, in fact, that you hide from me.”

Risa tilted back her head, furious with him but most of all furious with herself for the tears burning her eyes, her throat. “So you sicced Rarities on her. On me.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Risa—”

She made a sharp gesture with her hand to stop his words. “Never mind. Why should you trust me? I didn’t trust you enough to tell you who Cherelle was because she was where I came from, where I could have stayed, where she . . .” Risa swallowed and fought against the tears that wanted to fall.

The back of Shane’s fingers caressed her cheek once, lightly. “I was wrong. Your past isn’t any of my business. All that matters to me is where you are now. Unless I had badly misjudged you because I wanted you so much, Cherelle didn’t belong in your ‘now.’ That’s why I called in Rarities. I didn’t trust myself. And that’s a first.”

He stood and met Ian’s dark, wryly sympathetic glance. “Unless research has something new, the data is in my office,” Shane said.

“Anything since you sent the files to Tannahill?” Ian said into the cell phone. “Right. If and when you do, we want it yesterday. Yeah, same to you, sweetheart.”

He switched off and put the communicator back on his belt. The supple leather straps of a shoulder holster gleamed briefly, then vanished beneath the denim jacket again.

“So Rarities flew you in,” Shane said, seeing the harness.

“The longer Dana looked at your Druid gold, the more she wanted to find the rest of it. She said there was something both otherworldly and all too real about the art.”

“Did you bring my four pieces with you?” Shane asked.

“You requested them, the lab wept and screamed, and I brought them. It would have been easier if you’d stuck with pictures for show-and-tell and questioning strangers.”

Shane didn’t accept the opening to explain why he had insisted the gold be returned.

Risa did. “Pictures don’t have the same . . . feeling.”

If Ian noticed that her voice was unusually husky, he didn’t comment. “That’s exactly what Shane said to Dana.”

She glanced quickly at Shane, then away. Being reminded of how much they thought alike wasn’t what she needed right now. “Where are they?” she asked Ian.

“With security downstairs. I refused to open the locks on the box, and they refused to let me upstairs until I did.”

“How far did the Rarities lab get with them?” Shane asked.

“Dana put everything in your Rarities computer file. Said you could bloody well hack your way into it.”

“My pleasure.”

Ian shook his head. “One of these days you’re going to push Niall too far.”

“Not if I can help it,” Shane said. “He’s got more than a decade on me, and he hasn’t slowed down a bit.”

“You still work out with him?”

Shane smiled ruefully. “Every chance he gets. He just loves thumping on me.”

“And here I thought he liked coming to Vegas to gamble.” Ian laughed. “Getting thrashed on a semiregular basis will do you good.”

“That’s what Niall says.”

Beneath black, lowered eyelashes, Ian glanced at Risa. Her eyes no longer looked on the brink of overflowing. Her hands were steady as they shuffled journals into the suitcase. But then her hands had been steady when she was fighting tears.

“According to Dana,” Ian said to Risa, “our first priority is finding Cherelle Faulkner, because we’re assuming she has the rest of the gold.”

Risa nodded.

Shane didn’t. “Our first priority is Risa’s safety.”

Ian’s smile was all teeth. “Look, you don’t like my orders, yell at Dana. In the meantime get the hell out of my way.”

“No.”

Ian sighed. It had been worth a try. “Niall said you would jump salty. So here’s the fallback position. You work with me. That way Risa will be twice as safe.”

Shane nodded. “The first thing you and I need to do is rattle William Covington’s cage. According to the written provenance, he’s the one who supposedly bought the gold pieces from a descendant of the original finder.”

“What about me?” Risa asked with false calm.

“You stay here,” Shane said.

“Because it’s safe?”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit. I was attacked here, remember? I’d be better off somewhere else. With two charming and manly bodyguards by my side, for instance. Lacking that, I’ll settle for you and Ian Lapstrake.”

Ian snickered.

Shane started to argue.

“Get over it,” Ian advised, turning toward the door.

“That sounds like Dana,” Shane retorted.

“Straight from her mouth to your ear.” Ian smiled and winked at Risa. “Damn, but I love seeing Shane tangled up like a mere mortal. Does my peon’s heart good.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Shane said to Risa.

“Get over it.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m the one who just remembered the name of the motel Cherelle was staying in.”

“What is it?” Shane and Ian said together.

“I’ll drive you there” was her only answer.

Shane started to object, saw both the determination and the shadows in Risa’s beautiful eyes, and shut up.

“It gets easier with practice,” Ian said quietly as they followed Risa out of the room.

“Says who?” Shane muttered.

“Niall. And if he can learn, anyone can.”