Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

by Colleen Collins - Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

  “I haven’t been—” a sorrowful expression settled into his face “—kind to Li’l Bit.”

  “Never too late to change,” she said gently. “You and I probably know that better than most people.”

  “Last night, he told me I was his brother, and I—”

  “Don’t,” she said, not wanting him to beat himself up all over again.

  She’d been feeling guilty about her skulking about last night, and had already decided to tell him soon what’d she’d done. Obviously soon had become now.

  “I know about your conversation last night,” she continued, “because I was there.”

  He stared at her for a beat or two, then gave his head a disbelieving shake. “What?”

  “I surveilled you last night.”

  “You...followed me after I left your condo?”

  She nodded.

  “To Li’l Bit’s apartment,” he said, understanding filling his eyes. “Because you didn’t believe my dancing lesson story.” He paused. “Bulky black men’s jacket. Miami Heat baseball cap.”

  “I feel so dumb. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve trusted you enough to tell you about the auction. As it was, you were probably meant to be there, meeting up with Detective Parks and all.” He paused. “We left off where you were telling me that they don’t know whether Dmitri’s involved. Did he ask if you’d seen anything suspicious at the office?”

  “I told him I haven’t, but that I’d seen Ulyana at Bally’s sports book Thursday afternoon, and suggested he interview Ross. By the way, he says he hasn’t told anyone that I’m an insurance investigator because he doesn’t want to jeopardize my safety. I told him I’m investigating the whereabouts of some coins Vanderbilt thinks Dmitri stole, but didn’t mention the heist. That’s between Vanderbilt and the Palazzo.” She paused. “There’s something else. Remember when I said I found something? It was a GPS device attached to my car.”

  His face clouded over. “Dmitri.”

  “That was my first thought, too. But who knows. Maybe it was Oleg, although I’m not sure why he would want to track me.”

  “Or maybe it was Detective Parks.”

  “The thought crossed my mind. I asked him if he knew about the device, but he said no. He seemed genuinely concerned. He offered to trace the registration number on the device, but there isn’t one. I asked if Dmitri had mentioned tracking me, but Parks said they’re not tight and that he knows very little about the day-to-day operations. Apparently, his main ‘dirty cop’ job is to provide Dmitri with information about how many off-duty officers work special events. Altered, of course.”

  Braxton frowned slightly, thinking. “Let’s get you another rental tonight that you can drive without worrying about being identified. You can keep driving the Benz to work and back so whoever’s tracking you doesn’t get suspicious.”

  “Has to be Dmitri. A scary thought, but could be Ulyana, too.”

  “And then there’s Yuri. I think it’s time I pay my old friend a visit.” Braxton straightened. “Here comes the nurse,” he murmured, standing.

  A plump Hispanic woman wearing a smock decorated with frolicking cats strode purposefully toward them. She’d introduced herself earlier as Rosa, asked Braxton some questions about his brother, and promised a report as soon as she knew anything.

  Frances stood next to Braxton, her arm tight around his back, his wrapped around her shoulder, each giving the other strength.

  “Nathan’s condition has stabilized,” Rosa said. “We’ve not yet pinpointed what’s wrong, but the good news is that there’s no cervical fracture and he has feeling in his extremities.”

  “No paralysis, right?” Braxton asked cautiously.

  “That’s right.” Rose smiled, her teeth white in her brown face.

  With a whoop of joy, Braxton grabbed Frances in a fierce embrace and crushed her to him. She held on to him, fighting the lump in her throat, not wanting to make a scene in public, but when she heard Brax’s choked sob, she gave up the fight and let her own tears flow.

  After a few moments, they pulled apart, silently falling back into their side-by-side position, arms wrapped around each other, as naturally as if they’d done it for years.

  “Nathan also shows positive neurological signs,” Rosa continued, “as well as appropriate orientation to time and place.”

  Hugging Frances close to him, Braxton laughed. “‘Appropriate orientation to time and place?’ How’d my brother pull that off?”

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Braxton knocked on the front door of a stylish stucco row house in a Las Vegas suburb. After a minute or two, a dark-haired, heavily made-up woman in her twenties answered the door.

  “How may I help you?” she asked in a thick Russian accent.

  “I’d like to talk to Yuri.”

  “Your name?”

  “Braxton.”

  “Wait here.” She shut the door.

  Moments later, the door opened. Yuri, his face thinner, but with that same funky Nero hair-cut, stood there. He wore a blue jogging suit and gold chains around his neck.

  “Look who’s here,” Yuri said, “Mr. Star Witness for prosecution! Maybe you drop by to see if I have bags packed to go to prison?”

  “I have something of mutual interest to discuss with you,” Braxton answered calmly.

  “Oh, something of interest! Perhaps the knife you stuck in my back?”

  “You want to fight like a couple of old women? Or talk like two men who might be able to help each other. Let me put it another way, Yuri. Yes, I’m the star witness. That means I’m the gatekeeper at the garden of all information in that courtroom. Now, want to invite me inside for a gentlemanly chat?”

  A few minutes later, they sat in the living room filled with antique furniture. On a side table sat a copper samovar and old black-and-white family photos, which Braxton guessed to be Russian ancestors. A large flat-screen TV filled one wall. Yuri’s cologne nearly overpowered the smell of boiling cabbage wafting in from the kitchen.

  Braxton sat on a faux leather couch.

  “Mr. Star Witness Gatekeeper,” Yuri said, sitting in a high-backed chair opposite him, “let me hear about mutual interest.”

  “A friend of mine found a GPS device attached to her car. Know anything about this?”

  “Oh, sure,” Yuri said sarcastically. He pulled up the cuff on his jogging pant, revealing a heavy black ankle monitor. “As you see, I leave house often to do fun things.”

  “Your friends don’t have ankle monitors.”

  Yuri barked a laugh. “Not smart for defendant in big government federal case to ask friends to hang GPS on cars.” He frowned. “Why you think I have problem with this friend?”

  “This friend is close to Dmitri.”

  “Dmitri.” Yuri muttered something in Russian. “He steal gold from dead people’s teeth! I feel sorry for your friend.”

  “Dmitri doesn’t seem to like you much, either.”

  “How you know? He your new friend?”

  Same old Yuri. Baiting, testing. Braxton used to find it irritating, but now it was almost amusing. To his surprise, he felt sorry for Yuri, too. Maybe because he knew how it felt to live so high, then fall so far.

  But pity was all Yuri would ever get from him.

  “Rumor is he’s keeping an eye on you,” Braxton said.

  “On me?” Yuri snorted his disgust. “I should keep an eye on him. GPS his...” He smiled, then turned serious. “I tell you why Dmitri not like me. When I go to prison, he wants my businesses on the street.”

  That was news to Braxton. He figured Dmitri would be leaving Vegas soon, not staying to take over petty street crime, loan sharking, and protection rackets. On the other hand, those would provide a steady, tax-
free income stream.

  A thought hit him. Yuri had ears on every street in the Russian community. Maybe somebody knew something about those coins Frances was looking for.

  “Have you heard of anyone holding old coins for Dmitri?”

  Yuri looked interested. “Why you want to know?”

  “Let’s just say...if I had that information, I’d get Dmitri out of the country and away from your turf.” Not that he had any idea how he’d do it...yet.

  “Ah, Braxton,” Yuri said with a sly smile, “I have something you want. You have something I want. Let’s talk.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  SHORTLY BEFORE 7:00 A.M. on Saturday, March 1, Braxton quietly let himself into the Morgan LeRoy office, heading past his desk to the hallway leading to Val and Drake’s apartment. Halfway down the hall sat their metal equipment cabinet—not the most convenient place for it, but there hadn’t been room elsewhere in the offices.

  After unlocking the cabinet doors, he began carefully sifting through the items on the middle shelf, trying to remember where he’d stashed the miniature wireless camera.

  “What’s up, bro?”

  Startled, Braxton dropped a pack of batteries onto the wood floor.

  “Damn it, Drake,” he whispered, picking it up. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

  After setting the batteries back on the shelf, he turned to his brother, dressed in a plaid flannel robe, holding a bag of ground coffee, his face crumpled and sleepy.

  “We ran out of coffee, had to get some from the office kitchen,” Drake said groggily. “That’s the denim jacket Dad gave you, right?”

  “Yeah. Found it in the back of the closet. Feels good wearing it again—makes me think of him.”

  “Sometimes hard to believe....”

  “That he’s gone,” Braxton finished.

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “So,” Drake said, “whatcha looking for?”

  “That miniature wireless camera. The one shaped like an eyeball.”

  “Third shelf. Left side.” He yawned. “I know because I put it there a few days ago. Batteries should be good—probably wanna check, though.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No prob.”

  Over the past few weeks he and Drake had been getting along better, helped by Braxton never mentioning Frances, of course. After Val and Grams had clued Dorothy in on Drake’s objection to Frances, no one else in the family had mentioned her either.

  It also helped that Frances and Braxton had been keeping a low profile since the night of the auction, never meeting outside of their walks to her car and a few projects he’d worked with her for Vanderbilt. One being their research of court records on Ulyana and Dmitri that produced nothing. Another their visit one afternoon with Yuri, where she provided the Russian photos of the missing Greek coins.

  Today everything was coming to a head with the heist—a mock heist, of course, as Vanderbilt had swapped the real Helena necklace with a replica, known only to Palazzo security who would conveniently not see Frances steal it.

  Afterward Frances would meet Dmitri in a room at the Mandalay Bay Hotel. On camera, she was going to speak with, and coax, Dmitri to admit his role in the heist, while handing off the replica in exchange for the brooch and cash he’d promised. In the next room a tech would be taking video of the exchange along with two Vanderbilt investigators trained in protection.

  Braxton wanted to be nearby in case she needed help, but Frances had refused. If one of the investigators reported seeing him, Charlie would be furious that he’d worked solo after all the warnings. But Braxton persisted, promising he’d stay at a distance, and insisting that he’d never be able to live with himself if something happened to her because he hadn’t been there to protect her.

  Accusing him of guilt-tripping her, which he agreed he’d done and quite well, too, Frances finally agreed.

  “Found it.” He retrieved the small round camera and transmitter.

  “Started work on that monster Scrabble board yet?” Drake asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “If you need help, let me know.” With a yawn, he ambled down the hall to the back apartment.

  As Braxton put new batteries into the eyeball camera, he heard the adjoining door shut.

  A few minutes later, he sat at his desk in the front office, double-checking the camera’s wireless connection when his cell rang.

  “Braxton Morgan,” he answered.

  “Yuri. I find slugs. It was Kodak moment. Exactly like Kodak.”

  Slugs. Coins.

  Kodak. Had to be the digital pictures of the coins Frances showed him that day.

  Yuri had always spoken cryptically in phone calls, a precaution in case the line was tapped, which challenged Braxton to figure about odd acronyms and strange references.

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Braxton...” He pronounced the name as if it had twenty r’s. “When Yuri say he sure, he sure! You know that.”

  Actually, he did. Yuri could be a sleazy, lying, back-stabbing thug, but when he said he was sure of something, he was really sure.

  “Listen, I tell friend to take Kodak and send to me,” Yuri continued, “then I send to you. Then you sure, too.”

  “Okay. When’re you sending this pic—Kodak, Yuri?”

  “When I get proof candy man leave U.S., I give directions to slugs.”

  Candy man. Russian Confections. Dmitri.

  He’d been mulling over an idea that might scare Candy Man into leaving the country, but Braxton needed to find the right time and place. But first, he needed photographic proof the coins were in Vegas.

  “Send me those Kodaks, Yuri, and I’ll do the rest.” He paused. “Does Dmitri—” shit “—Candy Man have family here?”

  “Have never heard of such person name. Goodbye.”

  Yuri ended the call.

  Braxton realized he’d slipped, but he’d never excelled at these cryptic conversations.

  As Braxton slipped his phone back into his pocket, Drake walked into the waiting room, holding a steaming mug, his gaze blacker than the coffee it held.

  “What the hell are you doing talking to Yuri?” Drake growled. “Just can’t stay away from the criminal element, can you?”

  “Drake, chill. This has to do with a case.”

  “Asking Yuri to send you photos...and you’ll do the rest? What kind of case is that? It makes me sick that you’re in with him again.”

  “Give me some credit, man.”

  “I give you credit for every dark moment of your past with him. Want to destroy my agency? Bring Yuri into the picture. What photos is he sending you?” He took a hit of coffee.

  “Some coins. Has to do with the Vanderbilt case. There’s a link between Dmitri and Yuri and some antique coins, and Yuri’s helping me follow the thread, and that’s the truth, so help me God.”

  Drake frowned. “You’re risking our agency working with Frances—because of her, you’re getting thick with Yuri again. I warned you she’s gonna drag you down, and she is.”

  “I’m not getting thick with—”

  “You’re too ga-ga to save yourself,” Drake interrupted, “so I’ll help you. Do you want your family...or Frances? ’Cause you can’t have both. If you choose her, I’ll be the first one to close the door. And I’ll make sure Uncle Felon Groupie never has contact with my son, either.”

  “Drake, for God’s sake—”

  “You can
take that threat to the bank, Brax.”

  When Drake drew the line, it didn’t budge. Hell, Braxton could be hardheaded, too. After a few uncomfortably silent moments, Braxton said quietly, “Drake, you’re my brother. Of all the family we have left...” That thought got to him. He swallowed, hard. “I probably love you the most. But sometimes, you can’t see beyond the surface. You’re forgetting that Mom, Grams, and even Val like Frances. Mom, especially.”

  Drake shook his head, a steely look in his eyes. “I’ve gone down this road with you before, Brax. Remember how you insisted Yuri wasn’t a bad influence? And look how far down he took you. Get real—Frances is still serving out a criminal sentence. She’s still honing her jewel thief craft, too, in that job as an insurance investigator. I only see what’s on the surface? Well, bro, I see bad news written all over this. As your life topples, you’ll lose all of us, one by one, just as you did before. Your choice.”

  Drake walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy as he headed down the hallway. The door shut with a slam.

  For a few moments, Braxton sat there, stunned, wanting to shake off the insanity of that exchange, even while knowing how real it was. Years ago, when he’d first hooked up with Yuri, Drake had tried to talk sense to Braxton, convince him he was making a mistake. But Braxton wouldn’t listen, and for that he eventually lost his family.

  I love Frances. He’d felt it, but now he actually put it into words.

  But the thought of losing his family again was almost more than he could bear.

  He gritted his teeth and shoved the wireless camera into his pocket.

  * * *

  AT ONE O’CLOCK on Saturday afternoon, Frances, wearing a new cream-colored Marc Jacobs pants outfit with taupe Gucci pumps, walked across the tiled entranceway toward the ornate glass doors of the Palazzo, one of the most luxurious casino-resorts in the world. Potted palms swayed in the breeze. Small clusters of well-dressed people stood around, chattering.