by Amy Atwell
“For what?”
“Catching Donovan.”
Mickey chuckled. That only made him cough, which hurt—a lot. “No one told me my ribs were going to stab me every time I breathe,” he muttered.
“They never tell you the truth in these places.” Cosmo slipped out to the hall but returned immediately with a plastic bag, shutting the door behind him. He opened the bag and laid clothes on the foot of the bed. Navy blue pants, socks, dark shoes, cap, and a gray logo-emblazoned polo shirt.
“That’s a uniform for one of those plant people.”
“It’s the perfect disguise for you.” Cosmo looked hopeful as a child.
“If I didn’t hurt like hell, this might be amusing. Hunter’s already on Donovan’s trail. Let the professionals handle this.”
Cosmo stared at him. Despite the false eyelashes, his eyes shone with a fear Mickey had never seen before. “You’ve got to help me. Donovan’s got Iris. He’s got all of them. Once he realizes Turner’s been caught, he’ll kill them.”
He sat up, ignoring the searing pain through his shoulder. “Call the police.”
“I don’t have time to explain all this to the police. They’re not going to storm Donovan’s home without a mile of proof—he’s too powerful.” He scratched at the edge of his wig. “Jock and Pebbles are holding Cory and Allie. I sent Marko to free them.”
Mickey stopped in the act of plucking free the various cords taped to his chest. “You sent a civilian?”
“He and Viktor are industry professionals, of sorts.”
Throwing back the covers, Mickey slid his legs off the bed. Dizziness struck him as he stood, but he’d just have to get over that. Cosmo handed him clothes and, with a final look at the out-cold Turner, Mickey headed into the tiny restroom to get dressed.
He was barely out of the surgical gown when he heard Cosmo assume a raspy falsetto as he spoke to someone.
“He was determined to use the bathroom, so I helped him take those off. I’ll help him back to bed, don’t worry.” There was a pause with some low murmurings. “Good friend of his, been up all night. He’s exhausted, poor thing.”
Willing to play his role, Mickey flushed the toilet and ran some sink water. “I’m going to brush my teeth,” he called through the door.
“It’s all right. She’s gone,” Cosmo replied in his normal tone.
Mickey tugged the shirt over his head, proving his left arm was all but useless. “Cosmo, tell me one thing—do the Romanov gems really exist?”
“Of course they do.”
“Do you know where they are?”
“Not exactly. George Halsted hid them someplace safe before they killed him.”
“You had the Gorseyevs’ lab-grown gems. Why didn’t you give those to Donovan?” Mickey had to lean against the sink while he balanced on one foot to pull on the trousers.
“That was my original plan, but after George disappeared, I knew that giving Donovan what he wanted was a death warrant. The only way to stay alive was to convince him he needed me to get the gems in his hands. So I hid Tatiana’s gems at Iris’s store.”
“And Iris found them and put them on Edgar’s collar.”
“Do you know what she did with the stones that were on Edgar’s collar?”
Mickey froze. “Do not tell me those stones were the Romanov gems.”
“No, they’re just cheap plastic. But George hid notes inside those fake gems telling where he hid the Romanov gems. He and I were going to try to get our money first, then hand the collar over, bu-uh-uh—” A hard thunk rattled the door.
Mostly dressed, Mickey pulled the door open to see Turner had come to and was attacking Cosmo. He had his arms wrapped around the magician as he tried to get a chokehold with his elbow. To his credit, Cosmo fought him off with surprising strength. They blocked the doorway, and Mickey couldn’t get past them to reach the gun that still lay tangled with the blankets on the bed. Nothing for it but to launch into the fight and hope he didn’t rip the hell out of his stitches.
“My pocket,” Cosmo gasped from his reddened face.
Mickey grabbed the billowing lab coat as the two men struggled to and fro and searched it until he got hold of the syringe. He nodded at Cosmo.
“Thigh,” he choked out.
Turner made a grab at him with one hand, but not before Mickey sank the syringe into the hit man’s thigh. Within seconds, his struggles grew erratic, his hold lessened and, finally, he folded to the floor.
Cosmo dragged the body into the bathroom then straightened his wig in the mirror. “He’ll be out at least two hours. You ready?”
Mickey glanced at Turner, but realized they’d lose thirty minutes answering questions if someone came in and found him. He pushed the door shut.
“Ready.” He’d have Hunter pick up the hit man. They’d need his testimony to convict Donovan. Mickey’s immediate concern was to find Iris.
Because if Donovan had her in his clutches, she was bound to wind up dead. Mickey had promised to keep her safe, and this time, he wasn’t going to fail her.
***
Iris remained silent in the back of the town car during the ride from her apartment, but as they pulled up to a gated villa at an exclusive golf community, her jaw dropped open.
“You brought me to your home?” she asked when she regained her voice.
Beside her, Donovan’s lip curled in an unfriendly smile. “I have unrivaled privacy here. And it seemed the most expedient, considering the day’s…activities.”
That subdued her until she recognized it was his intention. Slowly, she pulled herself together. Edgar rested quietly on her lap, the collar still around his neck. With the tinted windows blocking out the sun’s rays, the gems nearly matched the color of his red eyes as he blinked at her. We’re in this together, she thought. Donovan might intend to kill her, but she could still fight him.
She just had to figure out how.
The car eased to a stop, and Donovan climbed out first. Coming around, he opened her door and helped her overcome the extra twenty pounds of rabbit as she gained her feet. He ushered her into the Spanish-style villa where her low-heeled sandals clicked on the Travertine marble floor.
A curving staircase soared to the second floor, and the entryway ceiling had to be three stories up. The foyer alone told her Donovan was a man of exceptional taste, wealth, power—why would a man like that resort to killing people?
Glancing his way, she guessed the real answer was because he could. He liked to be in control. Hell, she could have warned him that hiring Cosmo would prove to be a mistake.
“Let’s take your little friend out back.” Donovan led the way across a family room that equaled the floor space of her store and through a wide bank of sliding glass doors. The patio featured a swimming pool large and lush enough to accommodate three hundred of his closest friends—assuming he had that many.
Apparently, he had two friends, who were standing at the far end of the pool. Young and heavyset, they looked like they hailed from the South Pacific, but their suits and dour expressions suggested an island where there’d never been any partying. No, they wouldn’t be any help to her.
She set Edgar down, but Donovan stopped her.
“Uh-uh. First, let’s have the collar. I wouldn’t want our little friend to get away.”
Right. She removed the collar and handed it to him. In the sunlight, the gems now glinted with the green of very dark, muted emeralds.
Edgar hopped to the edge of the pool but decided against the smell of chlorine. Blinking a few times and swiveling his ears, he retreated to the patio table’s shade.
“You might want to keep an eye on him, make sure he doesn’t leave the patio,” Donovan said. “The Dobermans would find him very tasty.”
If she hadn’t loathed him before, she did now. “Do you plan to authenticate that?”
“I do. I’m expecting a jeweler any minute who’s bringing his refractometer. Don’t think you’ll be able to pass off chemica
lly treated copies this time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t try that trick twice.” She pulled out a rattan chair and sat. “What you’ve got there are definitely alexandrites.”
“They’re more than that. They’re the future.”
Iris’s brows knit. That made no sense—even if they were the Romanov gems he thought they were. “I would have thought you’d say they’re history, a prize of rich cultural heritage.”
Donovan stared at the collar in his hand, studying the gems one by one. “Oh, they’re that, too. That’s what makes them so valuable.”
Well, we’ll see about that. “Why did you buy them?”
“Do you know how I got where I am? I seek unique opportunities. I see things other men miss. I’m willing to risk capital when others play it safe.”
She rested a forearm on the table. Did he see himself as some diabolical villain who was going to tell her his life story? “It was a simple question.”
He pursed his lips, then relaxed and laughed. “Of course. Life is short.”
Bastard.
“These gems mean a great deal to the Russian government, though not enough to negotiate with the Russian mafia. I’ve played middleman. I bought the stones—”
“With your own money?”
“With my company’s money, yes. It’s an investment. Once I have the gems, I’ll give them to Russia’s Ministry of Culture for posterity.”
Iris was still lost. “And I’m sure they’ll appreciate it. But that leaves you ten million short. Don’t tell me you did it as a good deed.”
This did make him laugh. “I already make plenty of charitable contributions. No, there have been sweeping changes in Russia’s gaming regulations. The largest change is that they closed all the Moscow casinos. However, plenty of gamblers are begging them to reopen.”
“So, you trade the Romanov gems to the Russian government for some sort of guarantee?”
“Exactly. They promise to return my gaming license for my Moscow casino and grant me the exclusive right to reopen. In fact, I’m about to purchase a tract of Moscow property from the Bellagio owners that will enable me to double my casino’s size.”
“A ten-million-dollar bribe.”
“A business negotiation.”
“If it’s strictly business, why kill people?”
“I bought those gems from people with known criminal links.” His eyes glittered in the reflected sunlight from the pool. “As the CEO of my corporation, I must answer to my investors and the SEC. Both frown on conducting business with criminals.”
She read the hostility in his voice. Donovan was a man who didn’t like answering to anyone. “And why involve Cosmo?”
“I have your father to thank for the original inspiration. He told me the story of the Romanov alexandrite years ago—said it was a myth. When I learned that the Russian Minister of Culture came from the family that manufactured the Romanov necklace, I asked Cosmo to help me track down the gems.”
Oh lord… “Let me guess. Minister Gorseyev.”
His eyes narrowed on her.
Iris shrugged. “Any historical research will turn up information on the Gorseyev family being jewelers to the czars.”
He let it go, for which she was grateful. Now was not a good time for him to find out she and Cosmo were related to the Gorseyevs.
The doors behind him slid open, and a short woman with dark hair, round cheeks and a round middle beckoned Donovan inside. A housekeeper of some sort, Iris surmised.
“If you’ll excuse me, Miss Fortune. I believe the jeweler has arrived.”
“Are you planning to kill him, too?”
He chuckled. “I’ve asked him here to tell me what type of gems I’ve recently found from a relative’s belongings. I don’t think he’ll prove dangerous with that tiny scrap of information. Now, if you’ll wait here, I’ll return shortly.” With a nod to the two guards, he walked toward the house. At the patio doors, he stopped. “I’ll have Betina bring you some iced tea. She speaks very little English, and she’s devoted to me.”
Iris got the message. Don’t look to the housekeeper as a possible ally. No, she knew she was on her own.
Betina brought her a glass of iced tea on a tray, along with lemon wedges and a variety of sweeteners. First class service. The housekeeper left everything on the table and, sparing a glance at the two guards, retreated back into the house.
Iris peered under the table to find Edgar dozing in the shade. Well, if the rabbit could take their situation philosophically, so could she—for the moment, anyway. Let Donovan authenticate those gems. Let him have a few minutes of believing he’d achieved his desires before she started to undermine his certitude.
She sipped iced tea while she considered her options. They were few and not very appealing. At least she had the consolation of knowing Donovan was bound to get caught. Hunter was already on his trail—he only needed proof. And Cosmo had the knowledge to put him away.
So her father had stolen Tatiana’s gems with the intention of handing them off to Donovan and leaving the casino owner to trade them back to the Gorseyev family. Which meant, in a way, Cosmo hadn’t stolen them, but merely borrowed them. Iris rolled her eyes. She should probably worry that she was starting to think like her father. Obviously, the Gorseyevs would know to test the gems more fully, and they would discover they’d been given their own gems back. So much for Donovan’s guarantee of the biggest casino in Moscow.
Cosmo must have backpedaled his plan when he learned Aunt Tatiana was on his trail. But why did he have it in for Donovan? And what, if anything, had Cosmo purchased with the ten million sent to that Russian mafia leader?
She scanned the patio, weighing potential escape scenarios. None of them were good, and she’d never make it with Edgar. If only she could use what she knew to help her get out of here. Adrenaline buzzed within her, making her fingers drum against the glass while she tried to wrestle her disjointed thoughts into a clear picture of how this whole scheme had played up to now. It briefly flashed through her mind that Mickey probably loved this aspect of his job—the rush, the danger. She had to admit, she got a kick out of knowing information Donovan didn’t.
God, she really was her father’s daughter.
Cosmo. She shook her head. He’d taken off at the first opportunity, leaving her in Donovan’s clutches. Yet, this time she felt certain her father was out there doing something for his other daughters—like saving their lives—and that he’d somehow make it back here before it was too late.
He’d always been there when she really needed him. Today would be a hell of a day to screw up a perfect record.
***
Jock opened a beer and congratulated himself. This abduction had gone off without a hitch, and they were home free. He still wasn’t sure what all went down last night, but Turner wasn’t calling the shots anymore. Jock took a swig from the long-neck bottle. Good riddance. That turd had made his life miserable the past couple of weeks.
Now he was taking orders directly from the Boss, the top dog. Let Mickey get a load of him now—oh, sorry, Mick ol’ pal, wound up in the hospital, didn’t you? Jock grinned.
Pebbles laughed out loud. Christ, he was watching those TV Land sitcoms again. That shit hadn’t been funny forty years ago, and it was even more stupid now. Pebbles laughed again, and Jock drank more beer, grateful he didn’t have to entertain his partner.
He wandered to the bedroom door and looked in on their “guests.” He wasn’t taking any chances this time. The two women were tied up good and tight. He still didn’t know how Mickey and Iris had managed to escape.
“You want some beer?” He held up his bottle.
The brunette scowled at him. “No, but for the eighth time, some water and a bathroom break would be nice.”
“Sorry.” She should be grateful he’d taken their gags off. Instead, she’d spent the past hour whining about how much coffee she drank last night.
The blonde turned her huge brown eyes his way. “Co
uld you close the blinds some? That sunlight is giving me a headache. Please?”
Jock wasn’t impervious to her plea. She treated him with proper respect. He walked over and lowered the blind on the window.
“Allie, ask him if we can go to the bathroom,” the brunette said.
“Didn’t you go at the hospital?”
“I thought I was going straight home.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as her eyes followed him.
Jock stalked past them. “Shut up, or I’ll put your gags back on.”
“Could you at least turn that television off? Those stupid shows are making me crazy.”
“Get over it. It’s only another hour or so anyway.” He left the bedroom but pushed the door open so he could monitor them.
“Well, now, isn’t he just Prince Charming?” The brunette’s acid tone carried to him.
The other woman was much more philosophic. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“Yeah, but how’s it going to end?”
“It’s going to be all right. I just have one of those feelings.”
Jock swigged down some more beer. Yeah, all over soon. He couldn’t wait to release these women, collect his cash and then he and Pebbles were leaving town. Yep, he was tired of being a small fish in a big pond. Time to move someplace where they could get the respect they deserved. They already had the car packed for the trip to Reno.
Everything better go as planned. Cosmo had to hand over those gems this time, or there’d be hell to pay. Nervously, he played his tongue across his upper teeth. If Cosmo screwed this up, Jock and Pebbles were supposed to kill these women. Not that he’d told Pebbles that. You could never tell when Pebbles would get a bug up his butt about something.
But…killing people. Jock blew out a breath as that reality sank in. He’d never done that. Hadn’t ever seriously thought about it. He knew other people did it. He didn’t mind running into a dead body, but to actually pull the trigger? And those two women, fresh, young, pretty… Well, the blonde, anyway. If he had to kill them, he’d kill that bitchy brunette first.
