Before she could get the first word of her tirade out, the phone rang. She made a dive for it.
“Whew. Saved by the bell,” Ian said, grinning and sipping coffee.
Risa gave him a slicing glance as she spoke into the phone. “Sheridan here.”
“Hi, baby-chick. I’ve got some gold pieces for you that will knock your eyes out.”
“Cherelle! Where are you?”
Ian swiftly crossed the room and turned on the recorder he had installed on her apartment phone.
“Yeah, it’s mama-chick,” Cherelle said. “Glad that Socks didn’t hurt you. That boy has a big ol’ streak of mean in him.”
“You could have told me you were passing around the apartment key.”
“I didn’t give it to him. I must have lost it somewhere. Have the cops picked him up yet?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Shit.”
At the other end of the line, Cherelle bit the inside of her mouth and winced. She was already raw from gnawing on herself. The beers she had drunk took a little of the edge off her cocaine hunger, but not nearly enough. She kept hoping to see a handcuffed Socks on the news channel so she could sell the gold and get the hell out of Vegas.
No such luck.
So she would just have to keep on making her own luck. “Here’s the deal. I’ve got seventeen pieces of gold.”
Risa’s breath hitched. “Even after the six you sold today?”
“I never sold any. Socks must have unloaded Tim’s gold. What an asshole. Bet he didn’t get gas money for them. He sure didn’t get dick for the first four pieces.”
Risa forced herself to unclench the fist she’d made. “You didn’t sell six pieces of gold today?”
“I just told you. Socks did. Or maybe even Tim. I don’t know. His mother isn’t answering her phone, so I don’t know what happened to him. But don’t worry. I kept the best gold for my very own baby-chick.”
“Considering what happens to everyone who touches that gold, I’m not sure you’re doing me any favors.”
“Don’t you want it?” Cherelle asked.
The raw edge to her voice said a lot more than her quick question. Risa heard worry and something darker, a kind of general desperation that was racing on a short track toward a train wreck. Part of Risa wanted to help. The rest of her wanted to scream at her childhood friend for coming back into her life and carelessly ripping it apart.
“I haven’t seen the gold,” Risa said. “How can I tell if I want it?”
“It’s better than anything you have now. Guaran-damn-teed. Your mama-chick wouldn’t lead you wrong, now, would she?”
The wheedling voice reminded Risa of the times Cherelle had coaxed and nudged and dragged her into boosting candy bars from the convenience store. As a child she had bought in to the idea that good friends always helped each other, no matter what. As an adult, the no matter what part began to grate.
She didn’t want to be part of Cherelle’s wreckage.
“How much for the gold?” Risa asked.
Cherelle had spent a lot of time thinking about it. Dreaming about it. Hooking Silverado had been almost as good a high as cocaine. Though nobody else knew it, there was going to be a nice little auction going down. And Cherelle was going to walk away $3 million richer.
“Two million,” Cherelle said. “Cash. Unmarked, used bills. Not too small, not too big. Fifties and hundreds are good. A few twenties are okay. After that, keep the change.”
Risa looked at Dana. “Two million in unmarked twenties, fifties, and hundreds? That’s a lot of cash.”
Dana nodded.
“You’re getting it cheap, baby-chick. From what you told me yourself, it’s worth twice that, easy. Like I said, this is your mama-chick. I wouldn’t do you wrong.”
If the gold was better than what Shane had purchased from Smith-White, $2 million was indeed a good price.
If.
“One million,” Risa said coolly.
“One!” Cherelle’s voice was shrill, jagged. “What the hell are you talking about? It’s worth—”
“It’s worth whatever someone will pay for it,” Risa cut in. “I’ll pay one million cash, in unmarked bills.”
“Gail Silverado will go two,” Cherelle said instantly. “Guess we’ll just have to see who brings the most cash and—”
“Gail Silverado?” Risa said over Cherelle. “What does she have to do with this?”
Dana looked grim.
So did Niall.
“She’s in it for the same thing your boss is,” Cherelle said. “She has money, and she wants the gold.”
Bitterly Risa wondered if Cherelle called Silverado her baby-chick. “Who else?”
“Just you two.”
“Just the two of us, huh?” Risa repeated for the benefit of the people who couldn’t hear Cherelle.
Dana nodded again, accepting the fact that there was competition, but it wasn’t a free-for-all. Yet. She wanted to avoid that almost as much as she wanted to avoid another sting.
“Okay,” Risa said. “But I have to see the gold before I bring any money.”
Niall grinned and blew her a kiss.
“Silverado didn’t put any conditions on it,” Cherelle said.
“She probably plans to screw you out of the cash no matter what the gold is like. I don’t.”
Leaning against the wall, Cherelle laughed, hiccuped, and laughed again. Risa was so easy, it almost wasn’t any fun scamming her. Silverado would have told her to go piss up a $2 million rope, but Risa wouldn’t. She would just believe whatever she was told and show up with buckets of money.
Laughter clawed out of Cherelle’s throat, along with so many tears that she choked.
“That’s my baby-chick,” Cherelle said when she could talk again. “So honest you squeak. You shoulda been a fuckin’ nun, but I guess even God was too much man for you.”
Risa’s face tightened. Cherelle sounded drunk or high or both. Certainly her emotions were all over the compass—desperation, anger, wheedling, and now contempt for what her friend was and had been. Risa wanted to point out that the squeaky honest one was living better than the cheesy scammer, but didn’t. The Cherelle she was talking to had little of the childhood friend left in her.
And the adult wasn’t someone Risa wanted to know.
“Where and when?” Risa said.
“Tonight. You look at the gold, and then you hand over the money. That’s the deal. I’m tired of being fucked.”
“Tonight?” Risa looked at Dana. “I don’t know if I can get the money together that quickly.”
Dana looked at Niall.
He nodded. Part of his job was to be sure that Rarities maintained a multimillion-dollar cash pool for just such offbeat buying opportunities. Like Shane’s casino, Rarities had more cash on hand than ninety-nine out of a hundred banks.
“All right. Tonight,” Risa said.
“I’ll call in a couple hours and tell you where. Bring lots of money. We’re gonna have a big ol’ auction, piece by piece.” She laughed high and wild. “Whoever has the most money wins the most prizes.”
“Cherelle—” Risa began, wondering what was going on.
Cherelle kept talking, her voice husky and yet hard as gravel. “Come alone, baby-chick. You bring anyone with you and I go out the back door, and you never see that gold again. Your boss wouldn’t like that.”
“I can’t just drive off into the night alone carrying a trunkful of—”
Risa was talking to herself. With a disgusted sound she slammed the receiver back down.
“You’re not going alone,” Niall and Ian said together.
Risa gave them the kind of look that said she would do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, and they could take it or shove it.
“Rarities is fronting the money,” Niall said, “I say you’re not going in alone.”
“The Golden Fleece will front the money,” Shane said from the doorway. “And Risa won’t go in a
lone.”
Risa spun toward the door just as Shane stepped aside to let a beautiful Eurasian woman inside.
“I think you know everyone here but Risa,” Shane said. “Risa Sheridan, April Joy.”
Risa took one look and knew trouble had arrived. Even if she hadn’t figured it out all by herself, there were the flat lines around Ian’s eyes and mouth to give the game away.
Shane looked even grimmer.
“Hello, April Joy,” Risa said. “Am I pleased to meet you?”
The agent’s lips quirked in a rare, genuine smile. “Probably not, but you might get lucky.”
Ian’s dark laughter told Risa she probably wouldn’t.
Chapter 62
Las Vegas
November 5
Late afternoon
Risa took a few steps toward Shane, then stopped. From his expression, she could have been a stranger. Or invisible. She didn’t know if he was mad at her or mad at the world. Considering April Joy’s presence, probably both.
Even so, Risa’s hands itched to feel the heat and textures of her lover, to reassure herself that he was all right.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she said. “Are you okay?”
He gave her a hooded glance, then held out his hand. When she took it, he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair. She wrapped her arms around him and hung on, just hung on.
“I was so worried about you,” she said softly against his neck. “Why wouldn’t you let me come with you?”
He pulled back and looked at her brilliant, earnest eyes. “You’re going to drive me crazy.”
She blinked. “Because I lose my temper?”
“Because you don’t seem to realize that someone could put a bullet in you and I’d spend the rest of my life wishing it had been me.”
“I don’t want you hurt either.”
“I’m not talking hurt. I’m talking dead.” Shane looked at Dana. “The gold artifacts I ransomed are locked in the casino safe.”
“Hallelujah,” Dana said with a delighted smile. “Ten down and seventeen to go.”
“Seventeen?” Shane said quickly, wondering how much of the one-sided conversation he’d missed while he stood in the doorway. “Who? When? Where?”
“Cherelle,” Risa said. “As for the when and where, we’re waiting to be told.”
“In the meantime,” Niall said to Ian, “get over to the Wildest Dream.”
“There’s only one exit from the private garage,” Shane said. “Gail Silverado drives either a white Mercedes or is driven in a white limo. License plates are on file with my security.”
Niall grinned and said to Ian, “If Silverado gets the call before we do, follow her and guide us in.”
Ian nodded, grabbed a dark jacket from the back of a chair, and brushed past April without even a glance.
She gave him the kind of once-over that suggested he was skid marks on underwear.
“What’s the ante for this game?” Shane asked Niall.
“Two million cash,” Niall said. “Nothing bigger or smaller than a hundred, as far as I’m concerned. Otherwise we’ll have a bugger of a time packing it in something a woman can handle.”
“No problem,” Shane said. “I can take care of it.”
April’s sleek black eyebrows went up. “No wonder the Red Phoenix is slavering to get their hands on Vegas. You run more cash through one casino in one day than a central bank does in a week.”
Niall gave April a narrow look but kept his mouth shut. He fully respected her abilities, which meant that he wanted to have as little to do with her as possible on a professional basis. Riding that tiger was a good way to get eaten.
“I keep a minimum of five million in cash on hand,” Shane said. “Some of the whales don’t like wire transfers, and no one likes checks. The whales who pay cash on the way in get paid in cash on the way out. How they get the money into or out of various countries is their problem. Mine is making sure I have enough cash on the premises to cover whatever action a whale offers.”
“Better and better.” April’s smile wasn’t the kind that comforted small children. “I wonder how Red Phoenix tastes battered and fried.”
“First you have to catch your dinner,” Dana said.
“Tannahill will do it for me.”
Dana gave Shane a speculative glance. “What changed your mind?”
“Nothing. Ms. Joy is counting her fowl dinner before it’s hatched, much less caught, killed, gutted, plucked, and fried.”
“Bleh,” Risa said. “I’ll stick with room service.”
April snickered.
“How did you do it?” Dana asked April.
“Oh, Tannahill is as reasonable as he is handsome,” April said. “But first you have to rub his face in reality to get his attention. After all, he’s a man.”
Risa gave Shane a troubled look.
He kissed her lightly. “She has a search warrant that might let her—”
“Might, hell,” April cut in. “I don’t bluff a professional gambler. The warrant is solid.”
Shane kept talking. “—search Tannahill Inc.’s computers. Being a generous, patriotic soul, I struck a bargain with Uncle.”
“Uh-oh,” Niall said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
Dana wasn’t smiling either. “What?” she asked Shane.
“If Ms. Joy finds evidence that I’m laundering money, I’ll help her set up a sting against the Red Phoenix.”
Dana looked at April. “You’re sure you’re going to find something.”
April just smiled.
“Why?” Dana asked.
“You don’t think he’s doing Red Phoenix laundry?” April said blandly.
“No.”
“Neither do I. But I do think someone is setting him up for a long, hard fall.” She smiled, displaying her white teeth. “When you look at it that way, I’m really doing Tannahill a favor.”
“Who’s setting him up?” Niall asked.
Risa looked at her friend and felt something cold sliding through her gut. She had heard from others that Niall could be a ruthless bastard, but she’d never really believed it.
She did now.
“Do you really want a list of people who would love to hang Golden Boy’s ass higher than Peking duck?” April asked Niall.
“No. I want your best estimate of who it is.”
“Best estimate, the Red Phoenix.” She glanced at Shane with bottomless black eyes. “They have some really fine hackers, trained by none less than Sebastian Merit in his hands-across-the-water mode. How are your firewalls, Golden Boy? They up to the old man’s best efforts?”
Chapter 63
Las Vegas
November 5
Late afternoon
April Joy watched Shane massage his computer. Seven separate screens displayed different parts of the comparisons they were making. An eighth screen kept running score in a complex spreadsheet represented as a three-dimensional graph that kept turning and changing in a hypnotic fashion.
“What program is that?” April pointed to the colorful graph.
Shane didn’t look up from instructing his computers. “Mine.”
“You created it?”
“Yes.”
“Good thing I trust you.” She stretched with the grace and balance of someone who spent at least one hour a day practicing various forms of unarmed combat. “You could wipe evidence and I’d never know it.”
“I could, yes. But I won’t.”
“Why? Doing your patriotic duty?”
His laugh was as hard as his eyes scanning the complex graph. He didn’t like what he was seeing. It was telling him that he really should have spent more hours with his casino data.
“If someone has penetrated the casino accounts, I want to know it,” he said. “Then I’ll find out how they did it. And then . . .”
“You going to kick some ass?”
“I’ll leave that to your deadly feet.”
She smiled.
She hadn’t found many men who were comfortable with her intelligence and her lethal skills. “You sure you’re happy with the sexy curator?”
“I’m working on it.”
“If it bounces, let me know.”
He gave her a quick, sideways glance. “If I have anything to say about it, it won’t bounce.”
“Yeah, I figured that out for myself. Story of my life,” she said, yawning. “The good ones are gone, and the bad ones aren’t good. You have a coffeepot around here?”
“It’s called the telephone. Room service is 01. Have them send enough coffee for two and some food.”
“What kind?”
Shane’s fingers sped over the keyboard, programming in new demands. He pushed back and slid to another computer station. “They know what I like. Get whatever you want for yourself.”
“Sushi,” she said.
“Ask for Norataki. He’s our best Sushi chef.”
April started to answer, then saw she had lost him. He was eyebrow deep in yet another computer program. The graphing screen was undergoing constant transformations that appealed to her as an art form but utterly baffled her as to meaning. For all she knew, he could have been running a connect-the-dots, 3-D sculpture program.
Frowning, she punched in 01 and ordered coffee, food for Shane, and a selection from the sushi chef for herself.
After she replaced the phone, she simply stood and watched Shane work. She’d been told by government computer specialists that Tannahill had been among the top programmer/hackers of his generation, but that he lacked the desire to dedicate himself to it full-time, so he’d likely lost his edge. She wondered if that was true or if Shane just didn’t feel the need to strut his stuff for an admiring audience.
“Shit.”
The soft, hissing word was all Shane said. Then he bent over and keyed in instructions for the special program he’d created to fry hackers if and when he found their tracks in his mainframe.
April wanted to ask what had happened. A look at his face told her to put it on hold. The man was angry, the kind of angry that burned like dry ice.
Running Scared Page 33
