Lying Eyes

by Amy Atwell

  “What kind of relatives?”

  “An old lady aunt, who I think must have been a hell-raiser in her day, and a boisterous uncle, and wow, you should see cousin Sergei.” Her eyes rolled heavenward and her tension eased a bit at the memory.

  “He’s hot?”

  “He could light ice on fire. And his accent?” Allie sighed. “Lethal.”

  Cory grinned. “Was Iris freaking out?”

  “Totally. Except then I tried to introduce myself and she shushed me up, and the next thing I knew, I was her cousin instead of her sister.” Allie still felt the sting of being disowned. It was humiliating. “I guess her relatives didn’t know about Daddy’s other wives.”

  “That’s no excuse,” Cory said. “God, Iris can be such a bitch.”

  Allie relaxed some more in her chair, prepared to let the whole matter go now that Cory had sided with her.

  Cory was quiet for a few moments. “You didn’t come here to gloat about this morning?”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” She straightened in her seat. “Look, I swear, I never had a clue she was your mom. I mean, I didn’t even know you existed until two days ago. I just went there this morning because I had a feeling…”

  “And?”

  Suddenly self-conscious, Allie shrugged. “I usually only have these premonitions with animals. They’re like images of what will happen. The only person I’ve ever been that connected to is Daddy, but ever since I met you and Iris—”

  “Great, you’re getting some kind of closed captioning on my life.”

  “No, that’s just it. I didn’t go there because I thought I’d see you. I went because I felt sure Daddy would show up there.”

  Cory watched her. “Did you see him?’

  “No. After you left, it felt too weird to stay. I paid up and went to campus.”

  They looked across the table at each other in silence. Finally, Cory licked her lips then asked, “Was she a good babysitter?”

  “Yeah. You know, as babysitters go. Not that I was a baby—I was eight when I met her. It’s just that Daddy had to start traveling more, and he wanted someone to stay at the house with me.”

  Their gazes locked as they both realized their father would have had to spend more time with Cory after her mother left.

  “So, she didn’t try to be a mom to you or anything?”

  Allie snorted. “Now that would be a waste. My mom died when I was two. What do I know about how a mom should be?”

  “But with Papa traveling so much—”

  “He was home a lot when I was little. He always said it was just him and me. He’s the only family I’ve ever known. Oh, sure, there was Aunt Erna when I was a baby. And then there were all sorts of reliable sitters. Even the other moms in the neighborhood looked out for me. But the only family I’ve ever had is Daddy. Don’t you see what having sisters means to me?” Allie reached out her fingers.

  “Don’t.” Cory laid her hands palm down on the table. “I’m not allowed to touch any of the players while I’m working.”

  With a guilty expression, Allie pulled her hands back and clasped them before her.

  A floor supervisor stopped in passing, his suit crisp as newly minted bills. “Everything all right, Miss Fortune?”

  “Yes,” Allie answered, drawing a scowl from her sister. Allie dug in her pockets until she came up with a twenty dollar bill. “Let me try a hand.”

  The supervisor rolled his eyes at such a tiny sum, but Cory quickly turned it into chips. With a shake of his head, the guy walked on to the next table.

  “The curse of the job—it’s not very good for personal conversations. But I think I understand.” Cory’s expression softened, her dark eyes revealing insecurity that Allie could appreciate. “And I’m not mad at you. How could I blame you for—well, it was just awkward this morning. I thought I was prepared to see her, but I wasn’t.”

  With surprise, Allie leaned forward. “You knew she’d be there?”

  Cory dealt a hand. “Oh yeah. I learned she was back in Vegas about ten years ago.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was after five that evening when Foote opened the apartment building’s front door to usher Iris inside. “I could carry that for you.”

  “No, thanks.” Iris juggled the box containing Edgar. “I want your hands free to defend me, just in case.” She’d been jumpy all afternoon, ever since she lost track of Jock and Pebbles.

  And Mickey.

  Foote looked at her in that earnest way he had. “Are you sure you saw those kidnappers there? I mean, you’ve been under a lot of stress.” He shut his mouth when she glared at him.

  Hell, yeah, she’d been under some stress. Her father had gone missing three nights ago, she had new sisters, new cousins, ten stones from a family heirloom riding around on Edgar’s neck, she’d broken her engagement, been kidnapped—and her kidnappers were still stalking her.

  “I saw them,” she said crisply as they exited the elevator.

  Foote took her keys from her and let them into the apartment. “Will you wait here while I check it out?”

  She nodded. Her nervousness was worse, and seeing Edgar’s ears at straight-up alert wasn’t helping. Foote made a circuit through the dining room and kitchen, then down the hall to the bedroom.

  A male voice shouting “Freeze!” sent her heart leaping into her throat. Her eyelids slammed shut, and she stifled the scream that rose at the thought of anyone’s blood being spilled in her home.

  When no gunshot cracked the silence, she sneaked an eyelid open. Foote didn’t have his gun aimed at anyone—he didn’t even have a gun in his hand. His hands were both reaching for the ceiling as he faced someone within the bedroom.

  “You got me that time,” Foote said in a calm tone. He dropped his arms to his sides.

  “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” Mickey’s voice, full of irritation, carried from the bedroom. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you.”

  Iris’s momentary relief at knowing he was safe was quickly routed by outrage that he’d broken into her apartment again and used it as a flophouse. Damn, why had she wasted even a minute worrying about him this afternoon!

  Foote gave her a nod as he strode past. “I’ll wait outside.” He shut the front door with a soft click.

  She dragged a hand through her loose curls. They must look like a disaster after the day she’d had. Mickey showed no sign of coming out of the bedroom, so she set the box on the floor and pulled Edgar from it. Deciding she could use some moral support, she carried the rabbit with her to confront her unwanted guest.

  He lay on her bed, fully dressed, massaging his eyes with one hand.

  “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “I don’t know why you’re surprised. Didn’t Hunter give you my message that I’d be lying low this afternoon?” He sat up, revealing his gun resting next to the pillow.

  “He called Allie and she told me, but why would I assume you meant here?” In fact, she’d figured he’d wanted some time and space away from her. After all, what did he need her for? She didn’t have the gems, she didn’t know where her father was. There was no reason for him to continue to feign interest in her.

  “Where else would I go?”

  The ingenuousness of his question gave her pause. “Don’t you live somewhere?”

  “Yeah, I do, whenever there’s not a killer staking out the place.”

  Embarrassed, she realized she hadn’t considered that. She retreated to the living room, unsure what to do next.

  Mickey followed, scrubbing his jaw. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and now he looked as scruffy and wild as he had that first time she’d seen him at the fundraiser. Even then, she’d suspected he was dangerous—she just hadn’t known the danger would be to her heart.

  “Mind if I make some coffee?” He didn’t wait for an answer—not that he ever did—before he trod past her into the kitchen.

  She tightened her hold on Edgar until the rabbit squirmed. “
Oh, sorry, Eddy,” she whispered. She released him onto the carpet and watched him hobble-hop to the coffee table where he blinked at her a couple times. The collar around his neck reminded her that nothing over the past few days was turning out to be what she thought it was.

  No matter how much she wanted those stones to be the Romanov alexandrite, they weren’t. And no matter how much she wanted Mickey to have feelings for her, he wouldn’t.

  He was a cop on a case. If it weren’t for the gems and her crazy father, Mickey wouldn’t have spared her a second glance. He might swear to protect her, but that was all part of his job. And when the job was over? Well, people didn’t stick around for her—not even her own father. She’d be a fool to forget that.

  Resolved, she stormed the kitchen doorway, intent on taking immediate control of the situation. “Look, I don’t care whether you’re a thief or a cop, but you can’t keep breaking in here. You’ve invaded my home, my family, my privacy—”

  The sadness in his blue eyes stopped her momentum. “Iris, I know I hurt you when I disappeared this morning, but this is important. This is your life we’re talking about.”

  She tilted her head at the obvious stress in his tone. “My life as in—?”

  “As in your life.” More awake now, he paced the kitchen tile with the deliberateness of a caged cougar. “The guy behind this whole thing is Robert Donovan. Ever heard of him?”

  She choked out an incredulous laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of him. He donated to David’s campaign. Last Christmas he bought some jewelry from my shop. The man owns properties all over Vegas.”

  He looked her squarely in the eye. “He wants you dead.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “Donovan was there this afternoon. I tried to catch him, but security took me down.” He pulled a cup from the cupboard then turned back, his brow furrowed. “Does your father have any connection with him?”

  “Cosmo and Robert Donovan? That would be—” A memory struck her with enough clarity to make her reel back. “Oh, my God. When Donovan bought the bracelet and earrings from my store, he asked about Cosmo.”

  “What do you mean, asked about him?”

  “Cosmo once worked in one of Donovan’s casinos. He headlined one of the smaller stages, maybe a decade ago. So Donovan asked what he was up to, where he was working.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  Iris swallowed. “I told him Cosmo was between gigs—that’s pretty normal for him these days. And Donovan said to tell Cosmo to contact him if he wanted a job.”

  Their eyes met, and her stomach churned at the thought that she’d been somehow responsible for setting her father on a dangerous path. “You think he’s behind this whole thing? Why didn’t you tell me this right away?”

  “I’m not used to keeping witnesses on my cases informed of my every movement.” He turned away to pour coffee into his cup. From his interrogation and now his preoccupied tone, he’d made another of those chameleon changes, and right now he was one-hundred-percent cop.

  “Is that all I am? A witness on this case?” At least now she understood.

  “No!” His eyes focused on her again. “No,” he repeated, more softly.

  “Then what am I?” Suddenly, she had a desperate need to know. “Am I a suspect? A partner in crime? A friend? A lover? Are you here because I’m some duty you think you need to fulfill?”

  “Now stop it!” His eyes glittered as if she’d awakened some angry beast. He rubbed the back of his neck with tense fingers. “Right now you’re being a pain in the ass.”

  She refused to back down. “It’s a simple enough question. I think it deserves an answer.”

  He stared at her, intimidating as hell.

  Still, she waited.

  “You’re important to me. I don’t know how else to define it.”

  Crossing her arms, she leaned a hip against the kitchen counter. “And were you thinking that this morning when you left?”

  “I made a mistake, okay? What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t want anything—”

  “Oh, come off it. All women want things. Promises, grand gestures, sacrifices.”

  She watched him for a moment while umbrage festered in her gut. Whoever had sparked that outburst, it hadn’t been her. “Look, I didn’t ask for any of this. You broke into my home and asked for my help. I gave it. Since then, I’ve been abducted, accused, threatened and stalked.”

  “Hey, I saved your life.”

  “Yeah? And you’d probably be dead now if it weren’t for me.” She expelled a breath as she tried to quell the roiling emotions within her. Carefully, she sought words to tell him what she could barely explain to herself. “I’ve only known you a few days, but you’ve changed everything I know, everything I am. And yet, I don’t know a thing about you.”

  “So, what do you want?” he asked quietly.

  “I want you to talk to me, Mickey. Just tell me something about who you are.”

  “I’m a cop.”

  “Not what you are.” A tiny snort escaped her. “Who you are.”

  He shook his head, clearly at a loss. “Give me a place to start.”

  Iris was reminded that when he’d faced death the previous night, he’d called home. “Tell me about your mom.”

  He studied her as if he hoped to uncover some secret meaning behind her request. Finally, he must have accepted its simplicity, because his lips curved into an easy, open smile that stripped him of all the artifice he generally practiced. “Mom’s the best. She bakes cherry cobbler and she cries at old movies—especially Westerns with John Wayne.” His head gave a small shake as he raised his coffee cup to his lips.

  Apparently he didn’t agree with his mom’s taste in movies.

  “She works hard, loves fiercely, empathizes with everyone in her community. She volunteers down at the church—says it’s her duty, but she really likes knowing what’s going on with everyone in the congregation—and she sings contralto in the choir. She taught me to care about people, to defend my honor and that of those who deserved it.”

  Mickey studied her over his cup. “Seems to me you now know who my mother is. I don’t know how much I told you about me.”

  “A lot,” she whispered past the tightness in her throat. He spoke of his mother with a reverence that illustrated how deeply he loved her.

  “What about your mother?”

  “Oh, you know all about me and my life.” She stared down at her feet.

  “I had a three-page document with facts and dates. Tell me about her.” When she hesitated, his eyes gleamed with a hint of their typical wariness. “What, isn’t this a two-way street?”

  Iris sighed, but after some thought, she complied. “She was an artist with incredible talent. She loved history and cultures and travel, and she could see beauty in simple rocks and metals. She knew how to tell a story.”

  “She died in a car accident?”

  Iris nodded. Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked to clear them. When that didn’t work, she brushed at them.

  Mickey set his cup down and came to her. Cupping her jaw gently, he tilted her face toward him. His blue eyes reflected her pain, her loss. “Tell me about it.”

  “Not much to tell. Heavy rain moved in. There was a pileup on the interstate, a couple trucks, a bunch of cars. It wasn’t her fault, it was just an accident. Four people died.”

  “How did you get the news?”

  “Cosmo told me. There wasn’t anything we could do. She was just gone. It was so sudden. So final.”

  “It’s hard to lose someone unexpectedly,” Mickey said softly. He kissed the top of her head, then drew a heavy breath.

  Iris gave a little self-conscious shrug. “It was a long time ago. I still miss her, but that freezing pain has ebbed.” She gripped Mickey’s hand, as if he could hold her from sinking into the memories of her loss.

  His fingers tightened on hers until she was sure he’d cut off the blood flow. “It steals
your breath for a while, doesn’t it?”

  Belatedly, she realized he was thinking about his brother. “How long ago did your brother—?”

  “Six months.”

  She waited, unwilling to press him for details, knowing the pain might still be too raw.

  Mickey gathered her close to rest his cheek against the top of her head. “He was my kid brother, two years younger than me. Growing up, he wanted to do everything I did. He followed me through Little League, varsity football and the police academy. Brian hadn’t even hit his twenty-eighth birthday. He’d been married less than two years. He wanted to be just like me, and it got him killed.”

  Iris pulled away far enough to study his face. “You don’t really believe that’s true.”

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. “The irony is he wasn’t even on duty that night. Went down to the corner store after dinner. There was some kid trying to hold up the joint, and he had the clerk at gunpoint. Brian tried to talk the kid down, almost had him, when another guy shot him in the back.”

  Mickey stared dully into space. “He never even saw it coming. Thought he was dealing with one kid when there was a whole gang involved.”

  A tear slid down Iris’s face. From Mickey’s story, his brother’s death had been a tragedy in every sense.

  Mickey focused on her once more, his own cheeks damp. “I buried myself in work to escape remembering that Brian’s gone. Every time I remembered, it reminded me I couldn’t feel anymore. Iris, I don’t know that I can even name what this is when I’m with you. I can’t trust it enough to make promises—”

  Iris laid her forefinger against his lips to shush him. “What is it with you and promises? Why can’t there just be us, right here, right now?”

  “In the moment.” He kissed her finger and smiled. “Is that what you want?”

  “I’ll tell you what I want.” She twined her arms around his strength, vine to his tree. “I want you, like this, feeling whatever it is you feel for me. Because whatever it is, it’s enough for now.” She stretched up on her toes to kiss him.

  The coffee on his lips and tongue tasted dark and bitter but refreshing as she hungrily explored his mouth, drawing a guttural purr from him. With a shadow of a smile, she trailed kisses across his stubbly chin and throat until she reached his delicate ear. Pulling him to her, she nibbled his earlobe while her hands massaged his nape and her fingers furrowed into his hair.