by Cara Summers
CARLO BRANCOTTI sat in his office, looking over the file that Lisa had just handed him. Sun streamed through the open French doors and a breeze from the ocean played with the wind chimes on the patio. When he finished reading Lisa’s report, he glanced up. “So—which one of these would a clever insurance investigator choose to impersonate?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t able to eliminate any of them.”
Carlo studied her for a moment. Lisa was a very cautious woman. He paid her to be just that. “Take an educated guess. If you wanted to trap Carlo Brancotti, which one of these people would you attempt to impersonate?”
She thought for a moment. “I’d choose Steven Bradford. But you don’t pay me for guessing.”
“Why Bradford?”
“I suppose because he’s so squeaky clean. He’s never entered this kind of a market before. Plus, he avoids the press. The only picture I was able to come up with was from his college days. If Interpol wanted to slip someone in, we’d be hard-pressed to see through the disguise.”
It wasn’t Interpol he was worried about. Carlo studied the picture of a thin young man with long, brownish-blond hair. Bradford would be twelve years older now, a man instead of a boy. The body would have filled out, the hairstyle changed.
“Good choice,” he murmured. Then he glanced at the photos of Steven Bradford’s current girlfriend.
She hadn’t been a model long. The one layout that Lisa had come up with featured a tall blonde modeling a bathing suit while playing volleyball. She was wearing sunglasses in each picture. He picked one up and studied it more closely. Steven Bradford was a lucky man. “What about the woman? This…” he paused to find the name, “Calli? The government doesn’t always send a male agent.”
Lisa frowned. “But you won’t invite her to the actual auction. She won’t have access to the diamond.”
True. Still, he wasn’t going to dismiss the possibility that the model known only as Calli wasn’t as harmless as she appeared. He was going to enjoy getting to know her better when she arrived. He picked up the next picture. “What about Armand Genovese?”
“He would be my second choice. He’s wearing a hat and sunglasses in every picture, so we can’t be sure what he looks like either. Also this is his first venture into the black market.”
Now Carlo smiled. “Only because he has other sources for stolen art and jewels. Ones that don’t always require top dollar.”
“True. Which makes it a little surprising for him to contact you. Perhaps because of his methods of acquisition he’s made a deal with the government.”
“Good point.” This was precisely why he paid Lisa McGill a very good salary. She had a razor-sharp mind as well as a knack for computers and research.
For the first time since she’d come into the room, Lisa relaxed slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
Carlo turned his attention to the third photo. When it had been taken, Risa Manwaring had been the toast of Hollywood. That had been at least twenty-five years ago. “And why might a very clever insurance agent choose to impersonate Risa Manwaring?”
“Because once she married that British lord, she shunned the press, so no telling what she looks like now. And as you said yourself, the government doesn’t always send a male agent.”
“True. Good work, Lisa,” Carlo said as he slipped the file into a drawer and locked it.
“Thank you, sir.”
“When Bradford arrives, we’ll put him in the Venetian room. That way we can keep very close tabs on him. Signore Genovese will stay in the Tuscan room, and Ms. Manwaring in the Neopolitan room. Make sure that all three rooms are wired and that the security cameras in the walls are well hidden.”
“I’ll see to it myself, sir.”
When Lisa left the room, Carlo rose from his desk and turned to the painting that hung behind him. After moving it aside, he opened his safe and took out two velvet pouches. One was red and the other was black. After setting them on his desk, he removed a diamond from each pouch, then carried them out through the French doors to his patio. It was early, not yet eight o’clock, but the sun was pouring directly into the courtyard. It shot light into both stones and the facets in each captured that light and seemed to glow from within.
Both were a rare shade of canary-yellow, and only one of them was real—the Ferrante diamond. The other was a very carefully crafted fake. Only a skilled gemologist would be able to tell the difference.
Carlo smiled as he looked down at them. He would use them both to set a trap for “Chance Mitchell.” There was nothing that he enjoyed more than a game of cat and mouse with a worthy opponent.
Too bad that he would have to end the game for good this time.
7
BY THE TIME Natalie arrived at the Blue Pepper, second thoughts were attacking with a vengeance. Not that the “Rachel Cade” part of her was having any. No, it was good old Natalie who’d called her sisters for an emergency meeting. She’d told Chance she had to talk to her “cousins” and inform them of her change in plans.
The restaurant was crowded. And the number of patrons, more than the quick glance she gave her watch, told her that she was running more than half an hour late. And she was never late. At least Natalie wasn’t ever late. Plus, she was exhausted. Both conditions, she blamed completely on Chance Mitchell.
During a long, grueling day of cramming, shopping and packing, she’d discovered a whole new side to the man—one that made her think of Simon LaGree. Not in a million years would she have suspected that the laid-back man she’d known as Chance Mitchell would turn into such a taskmaster.
The run in Rock Creek Park and the workout had just been the beginning. When she’d passed those little tests, he’d dragged her back to his room at the Meridian to study. He hadn’t been satisfied until she’d known everything there was to know about Carlo Brancotti.
He’d even quizzed her. Of course, she’d passed. She prided herself on her sharp memory.
Brancotti wasn’t the only name he’d ever used. There were at least half a dozen other aliases, and the man hadn’t limited his dealings to art and jewels. Over the years, he’d trafficked in just about every black market commodity he could lay his hands on, including drugs and arms. Brancotti’s trademark as a jewel thief was leaving a high quality fake jewel in place of the real one, and usually by the time the theft was discovered the trail was cold.
By the end of the cramming session, the cop part of her had known that she hadn’t made a mistake in agreeing to Chance’s proposition.
It was the feminine part of her that was having second thoughts. Pushing past the crowd clustered around the hostess station, she scanned the restaurant and spotted her sisters seated at a small table on the upper level. They were looking in her direction, but when she waved, they didn’t seem to see her.
Of course, they were looking for Rachel Cade. And she wasn’t Rachel anymore. Thanks to Chance Mitchell, she’d been transformed into “Calli,” a wannabe supermodel who’d been cohabiting with software billionaire Steven Bradford for the past six months.
“Welcome to the Blue Pepper.”
Natalie glanced down to see that Rad had suddenly appeared in her path. “Hi.” Though she smiled at him, he didn’t grab her hands or kiss the air near her cheeks. The disguise must be working with him, too. But then he wasn’t looking at her face. His eyes were riveted on the skinny tank top she was wearing.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my.” He pressed a hand to his heart as he stepped back to run his eyes down her. “Oh my, oh my, oh my.”
Several people turned to stare, and Natalie glanced down, praying that everything about the skimpy outfit she was wearing was still in place. Both the pink shorts and top were cut high, leaving plenty of leg and stomach bare. She tugged the edge of the shorts down a bit, hoping there wasn’t anything showing that might get her ticketed for indecent exposure.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. You are perfection! The hair, the shoes. And that col
or is soooooo you!” Rad clapped his hands together. “I have a friend who should be wearing this color. I’ve told her over and over to think pink.”
As Rad began to circle her, she caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrored columns that flanked the bar.
She had to hand it to Chance. It was the perfect outfit for her new alter ego. The hair, the earrings that fell to just above her shoulders, even the ankle-breaking sandals suited “Calli” to a T, and the whole package together sent out a promise of hot, steamy sex.
Rad had completed his circle, and he was facing her now. “Love the hair! Where did you get that cut?”
Beginning to enjoy herself, Natalie tucked a curl behind her ear as she leaned down to whisper. “Arturo at the Meridian.”
“He is an artist!”
“Thanks. I’m looking for the Gibbs sisters.”
“Wonderful! Then you’ll get to meet my friend, Detective Natalie. She’s not here yet,” he said as he began to cut a path through the crowd for her. “You must tell her about Arturo.”
Natalie recalled that Chance had slipped Arturo an enormously large tip to layer her hair and pile on the products until it looked like she’d just got out of bed with a man. But she hadn’t gotten a chance to see if she could achieve the look naturally by doing just that. Chance, the taskmaster, hadn’t made a move on her since she’d agreed to work with him on the Brancotti job.
There hadn’t been much time, of course. Still, the change in him had started her thinking. Had he gotten his fill of Rachel Cade in one night just as he seemed to have gotten his fill of Natalie?
Would the same fate await Calli?
As they reached the stairs, she shot a quick look over her shoulder and caught her reflection again in the mirror. Calli might have something to say about that. Rachel definitely would. Perhaps the two women would have to tag-team him. A quick laugh bubbled up at the direction her thoughts had taken. On her own, she would never have come up with that idea. She was beginning to enjoy the different persons she was discovering within herself.
Rad stopped at the top of the short flight of stairs and pointed in the direction of her sisters. Pushing all thoughts of Chance out of her mind, Natalie made her way to the table.
“Do you mind if I join you?” she asked.
“Sorry,” Sierra said, glancing up at her.
“We’re waiting for our sister,” Rory explained.
“She won’t mind,” Natalie said as she settled herself in the empty chair.
“Now, wait just a minute,” Rory began. “You can’t just…”
“Wait.” Sierra cut off her sister by squeezing her hand. In the space of five beats, Natalie saw the recognition seep into her youngest sister’s eyes.
Three seconds later, Rory said, “Who in the hell are you supposed to be?”
“The name is Calli, and I’m a wannabe supermodel.”
“Okay,” Rory said, intrigued now. “I can buy that. The question is why?”
Natalie sighed and signaled a waiter. “It’s a long story, and I need a drink.”
“What’ll it be, ladies?”
“A martini, dry with an olive,” Natalie said.
“Make that three,” Rory said not taking her eyes off of Natalie. “And we’ll have the appetizer sampler.” The moment the waiter hurried off, she said, “Whatever the story is, I vote you wear that outfit every time we come here. We’ve never gotten service this fast before.”
“What I want to know is what happened to our dear cousin Rachel?” Sierra asked. “Didn’t the disguise work?”
“Oh, it worked. Maybe too well.” Then Natalie leaned forward and told them everything, pausing only when the waiter served their drinks. Once she’d finished, Rory drained the last of her martini and said, “You were getting bored with your job. This man has offered you the kind of assignment you’ve always secretly dreamed of having. On top of all that, you’re attracted to him. What’s the problem?”
Natalie shifted her gaze from Rory to Sierra.
Sierra shook her head. “Don’t look at me. I think Rory summed the situation up nicely. Unless you don’t think you can pull it off.”
Natalie shook her head. “The job isn’t the problem. I can do it. It’s Chance. He’s the problem.”
“So?” Sierra asked. “Is he going to be any less of a problem if you change your mind and tell him Rachel doesn’t want to turn herself into Calli and fly to Florida tomorrow?”
Natalie thought for a minute. “No, but…”
“You’ll only regret it if you let this opportunity slip by,” Sierra said.
“And you won’t just be saying goodbye to the job. You’ll be kissing off the guy, too,” Rory pointed out. “Are you ready to do that yet?”
Natalie sipped her martini, then set her glass down. That was the real problem. She wasn’t ready to cut Chance adrift. Not yet.
“I thought spending another night with him would get him out of my system,” she said.
“That’s one of the problems with our society,” Sierra said. “We want quick fixes, and sometimes that’s just not possible.”
Narrowing her eyes, Natalie glanced from to Sierra to Rory. “I wanted the two of you to talk some sense into me.”
Rory shot her a bland look. “I thought that’s exactly what we were doing.”
“We think you ought to go,” Sierra said.
Natalie ran her finger around the rim of the martini she’d hardly touched. “I should probably tell him that I’m Natalie.”
“Why? It’s Rachel he invited along,” Sierra pointed out.
Rory grinned at her. “Do you really want to go back to being Natalie yet?”
“No.” She wasn’t ready to give up being Rachel Cade yet. “But I’ve never tried to be two people at once before.”
Rory rolled her eyes. “You can’t have forgotten that Halloween when you were Wonder Woman and you kept slipping away from us so you could reappear and terrorize us as Jason from Friday the Thirteenth. You did it three times before we figured out it was just you.”
Natalie laughed. “I had forgotten that. Still, this is a little different.”
“Do you still want Chance Mitchell?” Sierra asked.
“Yes, but…”
“That’s Natalie talking,” Sierra pointed out. “How does Rachel feel about it?”
Natalie grimaced. “She’s the one who said ‘yes.’”
“What about Calli?” Rory asked.
“She’s got her bags packed.”
“There you go,” Rory said. “Two to one—they’ve outvoted you.”
Sierra reached over to take her hand. “Calli and Rachel are parts of you. Maybe it’s time you trusted them.”
Grinning, Rory lifted her glass in a toast. “To quote Harry, ‘trust in your talents.’”
Sierra smiled and raised her glass. “‘Risk anything it takes.’”
CHANCE STRODE into the bedroom and checked the suitcases for the third time since Natalie had left. The designer name luggage looked well used. Brancotti would notice that. He was a man who noticed everything. Not even a small detail would escape him. And new luggage would give rise to questions.
That had been the reason that he’d urged Natalie to pack some of Rachel’s clothes as well as the new things they’d purchased for “Calli.” He’d insisted on stopping by Natalie’s place where “Rachel” was staying so she could collect her belongings. Flipping open the top of one of the smaller pieces, Chance fingered a lace camisole in a shade of icy pink. He’d often wondered what Detective Natalie Gibbs had worn beneath those tailored suits. In his mind, he’d pictured the stereotypical black lace, but for some odd reason, he found the pale pastel shade even more alluring. Of course, he’d known that Natalie had her vulnerable side. What he hadn’t known was that it would appeal to him just as much as her strength did.
When he caught himself reaching for Rachel’s cosmetic bag, he stopped himself. He’d already checked it and assured himself that it contained a
mix of new and old makeup—just as any woman’s would. The only question he wanted in Brancotti’s mind was how much Steven Bradford would pay for the Ferrante—the diamond that had already caused the death of a fellow agent.
For a moment, he let himself think of Venetia Gaston, the woman who’d been his partner during his last encounter with the man who now called himself Carlo Brancotti. For two years, he’d blamed himself for Venetia’s death. He’d set up the meet, and it should have gone smoothly. Carlo was to bring the diamond he’d just stolen and Venetia was to turn over the money. Then Interpol would move in. But Venetia had never reached the spot where the exchange was to take place. Carlo had intercepted her somehow. When they’d found her body, the money had been gone, and she’d had a fake diamond in her purse.
Chance firmly pushed the image of Venetia out of his mind. Dwelling on a past mistake was not going to help him now. He drew his thoughts back to the present and lifted a skinny little tank top that he’d had “Calli” model for him earlier in the day. This time he wasn’t taking any chances. He was going to face his old nemesis himself, and he was taking someone in with him that Brancotti would have no way of knowing. Chance’s lips curved slightly. How could Brancotti know that the sexy woman known as Calli was also a tough cop who was equally adept at handling a gun and opening safes?
Chance dropped the tank top and closed the suitcase. The suite had suddenly seemed empty when she’d walked out. Her request to meet with her “cousins” had surprised him, but it had made sense. Of course, she would want to let her sisters know that she was leaving town. But what if she had second thoughts? How could he handle them if he wasn’t there?
Turning, he strode back into the living room of the suite. He’d just have to handle them when she got back. He wasn’t going to Florida without Natalie Gibbs. The file he’d shown her that afternoon was still spread out on the coffee table. He doubted she was aware of it, but when she worked she was all police detective. The intensity of her concentration and the strength of her endurance—both were qualities he’d come to admire throughout the long and grueling day he’d put her through.
