by Amy Atwell
Donovan agreed with the idea on all accounts save one. Vados was the one currently laid up with the flu. Like hell Donovan wanted anyone thinking something trivial like a virus could stop him. And to prove he was feeling just fine, thank you, he’d offered to take the sellers out to lunch in lieu of today’s meeting—his treat. He even let them pick the restaurant.
They’d immediately chosen the most expensive lunch restaurant in their highest-priced property. The SOBs couldn’t wait to stick it to him and make him pay for food they could have gotten free for themselves. Drawing a cleansing breath, he tried to shake it off. They’d merely asserted their temporary dominance in this situation. Soon he’d catch up with Cosmo Fortune and get his gems. A day—two, tops. Then he’d sign the contracts, make his quiet but all-important donation to the Russian government, and these assholes would be crying in their soup while he sat in the penthouse of the largest casino in Moscow. The only casino. His casino.
A shame he couldn’t bury Cosmo in the foundation.
People milled about the lobby, many of them tourists staring at that damn glass flower ceiling. Yeah, he got it, it was artsy, beautiful—get over it, already. A camera flash blinded him for a moment and raised his blood pressure. He tried to focus on the main doors that led to the valet area, but too many people crowded his view. In no mood to wait for some bellhop to call for his limo, Donovan pulled out his cell phone, but the grating noise of hundreds of people chattering made him seek a quieter spot.
The Bellagio’s conservatory beckoned. Just off the lobby, the glass-roofed plaza sported themed gardens with fountains. It might be equally crowded, but the open-air space would allow sound to dissipate.
“Mommy, no-o-o-o,” a little boy wailed as his mother dragged him by the elbow past Donovan. “I want to go back and find the bunny!”
Donovan shuddered at the ear-piercing note the boy sobbed in a last-ditch attempt to get his wishes.
The mother must have been deaf to it, for all she did was roll her eyes. “Those people are crazy. There’s no bunny in those gardens.” With that, she hauled him toward the door.
Listening to another wail, Donovan retreated toward the conservatory. It had to be quieter there.
The garden was quiet, except for some people craning their necks and trying to point cameras. Donovan shouldered his way through the crowd, though it made his skin crawl to be surrounded so closely. With an effort, he broke through the front line of bystanders. Here, he lodged himself against the rail surrounding the largest of the three gardens and elbowed enough room to call his driver. When he finished, he realized the crowd had grown thicker. What the hell was the big attraction about some flowers planted beneath a glass dome?
Sparing a minute, he studied the gardens around him. Topiary animals of green ivy danced upon carpets exploding with brightly colored flowers—blood red, caution yellow and white so pure it made his eyes ache. Someone should have gotten fired for even suggesting they waste potential restaurant, lounge or casino space on this sappy terrarium.
“I see him!” On the far side of the gardens, a woman shrieked for all to hear. “He’s over here!”
The crowd surged forward, pushing Donovan before it like the tide tossing a surfer onto the beach. He saw nothing worthy of captivating such a crowd until he heard a jubilant shout of “I found him!”
Seeking the source, he spied a young blonde woman in the garden leaning around a topiary of a bear. She was lithe and lovely, and why she was creeping through the flowers like a deer eluded him. Her soft lips moved in words he couldn’t hear. Donovan scanned the garden until he found a man, tall, muscled, equally blond, but so pale he couldn’t possibly be a Vegas native. The two were converging on what he finally recognized as a large white rabbit nibbling leaves off a shrub.
Donovan smirked. How he wished he could see the looks on his lunch guests’ faces when they learned that some crazy tourists were trampling a few thousand dollars’ worth of potted plants. It was such a ludicrous sight, Donovan almost missed the danger to his left.
“Can you catch him?” called out a petite redhead in another part of the garden. Behind her, looking toward the blonde, Mickey Kincaid was wading through flowers.
Donovan’s eyes narrowed. Turner had told him of Kincaid’s escape last night. What the hell was he doing cavorting in the conservatory with…was that Fortune’s daughter?
Kincaid seemed to hear his thoughts and speared him with a stare. “You!” He pushed past Iris Fortune, nearly knocking her off balance.
“What the—?” She barely remained on her feet.
With a singleness of purpose Donovan could appreciate, Kincaid came after him. But Donovan had a good lead to start, and he pushed his way through the crowd to get to the exit. He didn’t pause when he cleared the conservatory but dashed through the lobby for the front doors.
A security guard near the concierge desk recognized him. “Mr. Donovan?”
He slowed. “There’s a man back there who threatened me. I’m afraid he’ll cause trouble.”
“No trouble, sir.” The guard scanned the crowded lobby. Already, he was talking into the radio headset wired to his ear.
Kincaid emerged a moment later, a bit wild-eyed, and pointed at Donovan. “Stop him.”
“Leave this to me, sir,” the guard said, stepping forward.
“With pleasure.” Without a backward glance, Donovan strolled out the front door and climbed into his waiting limousine, where he called Turner to tell him where he could find his next hit.
***
Mickey couldn’t believe his luck at seeing the Boss in the Bellagio’s conservatory. Dressed in a well-cut gray suit, lavender shirt and purple power tie, the guy looked like the consummate businessman. So much so, it took Mickey’s brain a few moments to identify who he was. “You!”
His quarry had already recognized him and retreated into the crowd like a fish swimming upstream. Mickey trampled flowers and nearly knocked Iris off her feet to give chase. “Hunter!” he shouted, hoping his partner would have enough sense to follow.
He lost the Boss in the crowd and wasted too much time when his feet slid to a stop on the polished tile of the Bellagio’s lobby, awash as it was with more people. His fingers itched to draw his gun, but he didn’t dare. He just wanted to capture one man, not start a shooting spree. Besides, if he brandished a gun in a hotel lobby with all these innocent bystanders, no cop or security guard would hesitate to drop him.
From behind him, he heard Hunter grunt as he shouldered past someone. “What did you see?”
“Not what, who. The Boss is here.” Mickey shook his head in frustration as they walked through the lobby slowly. “I think I lost him.”
“Are you sure you’re not seeing things?”
“No.” Mickey’s eyes trained on the back of a gray suit talking to a black suit near the far end of the hotel’s front desk. “Stop him!” He charged forward, his eyes intent on the Boss as he exited through the front door.
Before he reached the entrance, Mickey was tackled by two bruisers. About the time he was kissing the tile floor, he realized the black suits were Bellagio security. Shit, Hunter was probably laughing his ass off. Mickey’s unique—and low profile—perspective didn’t allow him to see whether Hunter continued the chase.
Didn’t take the guys on his back ten seconds to find his gun, and that earned him an extra cuff across the head. When they wrestled him to his feet, Mickey saw Hunter, badge in hand, speaking with another black suit who appeared to be in charge near the concierge desk. A crowd had formed a knot in the lobby. Great, he’d become more of a curiosity than Edgar running amok in the garden. Hopefully, Iris and Allie had caught the rabbit.
Hunter approached. With a nod to his two captors, he said, “I’ll take him from here, gentleman. Thank you.” He pulled out handcuffs, and Mickey resigned himself to playing his role until they left the building. He shut his mouth and tried to give the general impression of sulkiness and being pissed off. Neither w
as a stretch—it did piss him off that the Boss had gotten away.
Hunter conjured up a plastic bag and collected Mickey’s gun in it before he ushered Mickey out the giant revolving door to the busy valet area. “My car’s this way.” He pushed Mickey ahead of him.
“Easy,” Mickey muttered. A white stretch limo caught his eye and he stopped, making Hunter stumble into him.
“What?” his partner asked testily.
Mickey pointed with his head in the limo’s direction. “That’s him, pulling out into traffic. Get his license plate.”
“I don’t need his plates. I already know who he is.” They watched the limo drive away then Hunter nudged him toward an illegally parked Sentra. “Get in.”
“But—”
“Inside,” Hunter ordered.
Mickey folded his legs and let Hunter guide his head as he lowered himself into the backseat. He waited for Hunter to get in and turn the engine to life. “Are you going to tell me?”
Hunter turned to consider him, his jaw set in an uncompromising line. “That guy you chased down doesn’t have any priors, so that’s why you couldn’t find a picture of him in our system. That’s Robert Donovan.” He raised his brows and waited.
Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “Where do I know that name from?”
“Maybe the business section of the newspaper or the evening news. He owns half a dozen casinos in town. Are you sure that’s your Boss?”
“Positive.”
Hunter sighed.
“Bring him in for questioning.”
“Just like that?” Hunter shook his head. “Donovan has the kind of lawyers who’d have a field day destroying my career for even showing up on his doorstep. We’ve got nothing concrete to link him to these crimes. The DA won’t go near him until we do.”
“I know he’s behind all this.”
“Knowing’s not enough. You have to be able to prove it. Seriously, what’s a guy like this going to do with ten million in Russian gems? What could mythical alexandrite possibly do for him that he couldn’t do for himself with his own money?”
Mickey remained silent. He didn’t know the answer, but he suspected Cosmo Fortune did.
Chapter Fifteen
Iris climbed out of the sea of yellow flowers onto the tiled walkway only to be jostled by the crowd. How Mickey had plowed through them she had no clue, nor did she understand why he’d taken off like a madman.
To hell with him. All he cared about was his case. She didn’t need his help to catch Edgar.
Pushing through the crowd, she came to the other planted area. Apparently, Edgar had disappeared below the surface of the flora, because Allie was kneeling in the flowers, skimming the red and white blooms with her hand. It had taken her and her sixth sense less than a minute to conclude Edgar would head for these over-the-top gardens. Iris had to admit she was developing a healthy respect for her sister’s instincts.
A few feet to Allie’s right, Sergei bent over at the waist as he also sought the rabbit. Someone should probably warn him that half the women—and probably more than a few men—were salivating over the sight of his cute little ass in those taut chinos.
As Iris removed her heels, a tubby little man appeared at her side, his face flushed. His brown shorts and khaki shirt were grimy with dirt. If that hadn’t given him away as a Bellagio gardener, the pith helmet that shaded his ruddy face from the bright sun filtering through the glass roof did.
That and the trowel he pointed in Allie’s general direction. “Hey, young lady, you can’t be in there!” His voice shook with repressed energy.
Iris wrote him off as any kind of threat. Minding her skirt, she stepped over the low railing.
“You, you, you—stop!” The gardener jabbed the air with his index finger.
“Relax. We just need to catch our rabbit.”
“Rabbit! In the garden? No, no, no!” His free hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. “We’ll call animal control.”
“This will only take a minute.” She started to pull away, but his fingers dug deeper into her arm. Her patience snapped. “Look, buddy, I’ve had a lousy weekend, so you really don’t want to mess with me today. Now let go of my arm before I take that trowel and stick it up your—”
He dropped his grip. “Security!” He fought his way through the standing crowd. “Someone call security!”
Iris cursed under her breath. Just what she needed. Feeling her way with bare toes, she waded through the thick flowers. “Come on, Eddy, where are you?” she muttered. She’d like the rabbit in her hands before they were all arrested for trespassing or flower-tromping or whatever.
She stopped long enough to touch Sergei’s back. When he straightened, she said, “Bend with your knees.” She bounced a little on her toes to reinforce the idea.
He started to bounce with her. “Hip hop?”
Iris smiled at the sheer absurdity of the moment. “No, bend at the knees, not the waist.” She tried to mime both actions, but had to hold her skirt in place to bend forward even slightly. Hell, didn’t they teach guys anything?
Sergei’s pale eyes lit with understanding. He craned his neck to look over his shoulder at the crowd.
Iris imagined a collective sigh rippling through the young women. Sergei would be lucky if he weren’t mobbed like a rock star when they finished here. Already someone was approaching the low fence and, with a sigh of resignation, Iris recognized the return of the gardener.
She raised her brows at him as he climbed into the garden and picked his way toward her. “What, no security available?”
“They’ll be here in a minute.” He lowered his voice. “They’re dealing with some crazy guy in the lobby.”
Iris gave thanks that a crazy guy in the lobby trumped a loose bunny in the garden.
“Don’t move. I see him.” To their left, Allie spoke just loud enough for them to hear her over the crowd noise.
“Where?” Iris asked.
“He’s near Sergei’s left foot.”
Sergei immediately dunked his hands below the flowers. “Oww!” He pulled his hands back and examined his right thumb.
Startled, the gardener looked around as if sharks and not a rabbit might be below the surface of the flowers. “What happened?”
In less than five hops, Edgar took refuge beneath the bear topiary behind Allie.
“You scared him,” Allie said, hands on her hips.
Sergei shook his hand in the air. “He bit me. Bad rabbit.”
“He bit you?” The gardener whipped on a pair of leather gloves. “Is he dangerous? Has he had his shots?”
“Let me see.” Iris grabbed Sergei’s hand. “It’s barely a scratch.”
Edgar popped up from a bed of bright red flowers, his ears swiveling around like a periscope before he submerged again.
“Stay there,” Allie said. “I’ll get Edgar.” She slowly turned and eased her way closer to the topiary.
The gardener waded through the flowers after her. “No, let me. I’ve got gloves.”
Iris decided she’d let Allie charm the guy if she could. She glanced back at the walkway, gauging how much time they had before armed guards dragged them out of here. With a gasp, she recognized Jock and Pebbles in the second row of the crowd.
Jock saluted her and granted her a snide wink that flashed his gold tooth.
Wildly, Iris searched the crowd for either Mickey or Hunter, cursing that she’d left Officer Foote back at the store with Ginny. Near panic, she grabbed Sergei’s arm in a death grip.
“What?” He turned and caught her eye.
“There are two men out there who are after me.” She swallowed. “They’ve kidnapped me once. They want to kill me.” Even to her own ears, she sounded like a lunatic.
Sergei scanned the crowd as if helping women with death threats was an everyday occurrence. “You want me to take care of them?”
Oddly, that wasn’t her concern. With Sergei watching them, her assailants bided their time in the crowd. “No. What
ever happens to me, keep Allie safe.” Thank heavens she’d left the collar back at the store.
“She said she’s your sister.” He raised his brows in an unasked question.
Damn. Iris doubted her mother’s relatives knew a thing about Cosmo’s multiple marriages. “Don’t say anything to your family, will you?”
“It is a secret?”
Iris’s eyes closed in frustration then fluttered open again. “I think Cosmo should explain it to Aunt Tatiana. Agreed?”
He winked at her. “Agreed.”
Great, he probably liked playing at international espionage.
“You’re not helping.” From behind them, Allie’s limp reprimand gained their attention.
The gardener was using his arm as a scythe to search for Edgar. The poor rabbit was probably terrified at this point. Allie, her patience nearing an end, had that militant look on her face like she might kick the guy’s ass.
“I’ve got him!” The gardener pounced headlong into a batch of white flowers.
Allie craned her neck to see, but the gardener came up empty-handed. She pointed to his right. “He’s gone back toward the topiary again.”
The gardener chugged forward on all fours, only his pith helmet and brown hips visible as he burrowed into taller foliage. He gave a shout of what sounded like success and came up with Edgar.
The rabbit took exception to the large leather gloves and squirmed to free himself. As the guy tried to get a better hold, Edgar kicked his big back legs until he shot off the gardener’s chest like a cannonball. With a thunk, the rabbit bounced off the bear topiary and disappeared back into the greenery below.
The giant ivy bear teetered. Iris held her breath, sure the structure would right itself. But then the gardener lunged after Edgar, so intent on the rabbit that he knocked into the topiary with his pith helmet. The bear swayed back, then forth, then tipped in slow motion.
