Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

by Colleen Collins - Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

  She hadn’t detected Braxton at any time during her drive over, or on this walk inside. He was keeping his word to stay out of sight, but she knew he was out there, watching her, protecting her. She still felt those familiar preshow jitters, but for the first time, she didn’t feel as alone.

  She’d finished her homework days ago, told Dmitri it would take her exactly 268 seconds, or 4.46 minutes, to walk through the entrance of the Palazzo, turn immediately right into the Luminary Lounge, which housed the Legendary Gems exhibit, steal the Helena Diamond necklace, and leave by a side door and climb into the Audi that would be waiting for her. She’d practiced this walk several times, and run the number past Oleg who thought 252 was more accurate.

  Although precision was critical in a jewelry heist, it didn’t matter today. She could take 4.46 minutes or ten. Palazzo security would ensure she stole the replica necklace without a hitch.

  A red-coated doorman smiled as he opened a door for her.

  Two hundred and sixty-eight seconds and counting.

  * * *

  MOMENTS LATER, SHE pulled her invitation to the Legendary Gems exhibit from her pocket and handed it to a fiftyish man wearing a purple shirt buttoned high with a bolo tie. Behind him stood a much younger man with a buzz cut, his massive shoulders evident beneath his Palazzo security guard blazer. His eyes met hers for a flickering second before he continued scanning the area.

  The strategically placed lights and shiny acrylic cases filled with jewels gave the room a shimmering, otherworldly quality. She caught a whiff of vanilla. Like other high-end hotels on the Strip, the Palazzo infused the air with subliminal scents that supposedly influenced people’s moods.

  She’d studied the layout of this exhibit in such detail, she could be blindfolded and know exactly where to go. As she strolled casually toward the case containing the Helena Diamond necklace, two beefy Palazzo security guards focused their attention elsewhere.

  She paused at the case and looked down at the Helena necklace, momentarily awestruck by its glittering beauty, reminding her how dazzling costume jewelry could be. Leaning forward, she angled her shoulder, her right hand lifting the lock as her left plucked the necklace.

  A few moments later, Frances strolled out of the exhibit, across the marble floor, and out through a side door. As she stepped outside, a breeze swept past, carrying scents of the Mojave desert. The beige Audi sat at the curb, its motor running.

  The day had been sweet and perfect.

  She willed it to remain that way as she faced her toughest challenge, just minutes away.

  * * *

  BRAXTON WAS SITTING in a chair in the Mandalay Bay hotel-casino lobby, his baseball cap pulled low, pretending to read a newspaper, when he saw Frances, a vision in her sandy-colored outfit and blond hair, stroll into the room. He took a deep breath, imagining he could smell the citrusy scent of her shampoo, taste the salty sweetness of her skin, hear that husky voice.

  He felt his heart twist. I don’t want to lose you.

  Couldn’t think about any of that now.

  He stood and checked the screen of his smartphone before slipping it into his shirt pocket. After leaving Morgan-LeRoy this morning, he’d changed into some clothes he’d picked up at at a discount store the other night—brown cargo pants, dark blue hoodie, lace-up sneakers. Boring, badly matched clothes to look as un-Braxton-like as possible.

  As Frances crossed the lobby, he jogged to the elevators.

  Minutes later he stepped out onto the tenth floor, and headed down the hall to a fake ficus tree, bushy with green plastic leaves, and retrieved the wireless camera he’d hidden earlier, its lens pointed at three room doors—the middle one being Dmitri’s.

  Frances had texted him the room number earlier this morning with the understanding that he wasn’t to come up to the floor. He’d agreed because there were supposed to be two Vanderbilt investigators and a video tech in the adjacent room. He’d placed the camera up here, with a feed to his smartphone, to see if Dmitri allowed anyone other than Oleg or Ulyana inside. Oleg had arrived a few minutes ago, and Frances was on her way. As a safety precaution, they’d spaced their arrivals to not be seen together.

  A twentysomething couple was staying in one of the neighboring rooms. A ponytailed, nerdy-looking kid, carrying two equipment bags, had entered the room on the other side at nine-thirty. That had to be the video tech.

  The reason Braxton had come up to the tenth floor was because the two Vanderbilt investigators, who were supposed to join the nerdy tech kid, hadn’t showed. Which meant Frances was up here on her own.

  Maybe Vanderbilt could abandon her, but he never could.

  If the investigators showed up, he’d tell the truth—that he knew she was up here without protection, so he stepped in.

  He didn’t know much about the video tech except that Frances mentioned he was a film student Vanderbilt hired occasionally for surveillance jobs.

  Stuffing the wireless camera into one of his cargo-pants pockets, he headed to the video-kid’s room and rapped on the door.

  “Who is it?” asked a voice from the other side.

  He stared at the peephole. “Just got called to come in,” he said confidentially.

  He heard a lock click. The door opened.

  “Thought there’d be two of you,” the kid said, heading briskly to a camera-tripod setup. “Show’s starting any minute. My name’s Lou.”

  “Yeah, just me. I’m Braxton.” He crossed to a desk where a monitor displayed a video image of the room next door. Oleg sat on a couch, thumbing his smartphone. Dmitri sat in a chair, yammering in Russian on his cell. A bottle of vodka, shot glasses and a fruit basket sat on the coffee table.

  Braxton looked at the slim video wire snaking from the camera into the wall. “You...drilled a hole through the wall?”

  Lou glanced at Braxton as though he’d just fallen to Earth. “Of course.” He looked back at the screen. “Did it while Dmitri was in the bathroom. The pinhole camera blends into the patterned wallpaper.”

  Braxton glanced at the open equipment bag on the floor, surprised at the stash of tools in it. From where he sat, he saw a small sledgehammer, hand saw, some wrenches.

  Lou saw him looking, turned back to his screen. “Never know when you’ll need something on one of these jobs. Used that sledgehammer once to bash down a door so I could escape....”

  The kid tensed. “She’s here.”

  Braxton watched the monitor as Frances entered the room, as cool and confident as the first time he’d met her. Dmitri ended his call and stood, smiled broadly as she pulled the glittering necklace from an inside jacket pocket and handed it to him.

  Turning serious, Dmitri held the necklace against his chest. “Vso khorosho, chto khorosho konchayetsya. All’s well that ends well. Oleg, my friend, pour the vodka!”

  Dmitri crossed back to his chair, next to which was a small table that was clearly visible on the monitor, although hidden from view to the others in the room. With great care, he laid the necklace on the table.

  After that, the three of them stood in the center of the room while Dmitri gave a toast in Russian. The men downed their shots; Frances sipped hers.

  Setting down her shot glass, she gestured to the necklace and announced, “Dmitri, your long months of planning to steal the Helena Diamond necklace from the Legendary Gems exhibit has paid off. I’m honored to have worked with such an accomplished jewel thief as yourself.”

  Braxton watched Dmitr
i puff up, basking in the praise. Agree with her. Give Vanderbilt the evidence it needs to put you behind bars.

  But instead Dmitri waved off the compliment like a coy schoolgirl. “More vodka, my friends?”

  As Oleg refilled the shot glasses, Frances turned to Dmitri.

  “Tell me,” she said, “is it your genius, ability to build a team of experts or superior knowledge of gems that makes you the James Bond of jewel thieves?”

  Do it, Dmitri. Confess.

  “Ah, Frances,” he said, admiring the necklace, “it is you who are a genius. You completed the task in exactly 268 seconds, just as you calculated.”

  Braxton thought he saw something within the replica. “Zoom in on the diamond.”

  “Gotta keep the Russian in the frame—”

  “Do it. I’m ordering you.”

  As the camera closed in, Braxton saw two perfectly symmetrical hearts etched within the diamond. It’s not a myth. The image really exists.

  The realization slammed through him. Frances had handed off the real Helena Diamond necklace, worth twenty million dollars, to Dmitri. If he walked out of that room with it, the necklace would probably never be seen again.

  Vanderbilt would blame Frances. Suspect her of knowing it was the real necklace and double-crossing Vanderbilt. And a sting meant to put Dmitri behind bars would snare Frances instead.

  Braxton surged to his feet. “I have to stop this.”

  “Stop what?” The kid asked.

  Adrenaline coursed through him. Couldn’t waste time calling security—by the time they got here, it’d be too late.

  “I need to get into that room,” he said, “but the door’s locked.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  The sledgehammer. He yanked it out of the bag, and headed to the door with it.

  “Are you crazy?” the kid yelled.

  “Probably,” he muttered.

  Within seconds he was standing outside Dmitri’s door, holding the sledgehammer like a bat, focusing on the spot next to the door handle he needed to hit.

  He swung with all his strength.

  Crack!

  Yelling. A scream.

  His hit had ripped the lock from the door. Tossing the sledgehammer aside, Braxton slammed his shoulder against the door, which flew open and crashed against the wall.

  * * *

  FRANCES SCREAMED AGAIN as the door smashed open and a guy wearing a baggy hoodie and cargo pants stormed into the room. His baseball cap was pulled low, shielding his eyes.

  Oleg raced past the intruder and out the door.

  Shaking, her pulse thundering in her ears, she wanted desperately to follow Oleg, escape this madman, but she was frozen, couldn’t move.

  But Dmitri wasn’t. As he started toward the small table, the intruder grabbed one of his arms and flipped it behind him. Dmitri yelled out in pain as he fell to his knees, immobilized.

  Panting for breath, Frances looked up.

  Still holding Dmitri’s arm, the guy flipped up the bill of his cap with his free hand.

  Braxton.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she rasped.

  He nudged his chin toward the necklace on the table. “It’s the real one, Frances. That kid zoomed the camera in on the diamond, and I saw those etched hearts.”

  She stared at him with horror. “Are you crazy?”

  “Probably,” he muttered, “but I know for a fact that the image has been cut deep inside the diamond—which proves its authenticity. I had to stop Dmitri from leaving with that necklace.” With his free hand, he pulled out his cell, thumbed the pad, held the phone to his ear.

  She couldn’t believe this was happening. “It’s a replica, Braxton. I told you that.”

  “What?” Dmitri shrieked.

  “Detective Parks, this is Braxton Morgan. I’m here at the Mandalay Bay, holding our friend Dmitri Romanov. We’re in room...”

  Frances couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Don’t involve the police, Brax!”

  He ignored her, continued talking to Parks, told him that there was a sting being conducted by Vanderbilt, that Oleg was on the run. Dmitri, hearing the word “sting,” muttered darkly in Russian.

  Frances tuned both of them out, couldn’t stand to hear more. Deeply angered, she cursed herself for letting Braxton talk her into letting him protect her today.

  As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, she said, “You’ve ruined my life.”

  His eyes widened with surprise. “No, I saved it.”

  “How? By barging into the middle of the sting and blowing it?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I told you what would happen if you slipped up—and you just did. Big time. But I’m the one who will pay.”

  An overwhelming sense of despair rose like a tsunami wave, hovering, dark and ominous.

  Pressing the tips of her fingers on her lips for a moment, she tried to pull herself together...eased in a shallow breath, slowly let it out, easing in another....

  After weeks of struggle, and hope, and opening her heart to the point where it ached with joy, to the point where she finally let go and dared to chase dreams of a life that could be...perfect.

  And this was where she chased them to, where her folly had reached its conclusion.

  “Frances, if I hadn’t come in here—”

  “I wouldn’t be going to prison. Vanderbilt is holding me responsible for your actions, remember? That night in the Jeep at the airstrip, I told you that if you messed up this case, Vanderbilt would fire me, which means the court will revoke my suspended sentence, which means...”

  Her heart hammered in her chest and her breaths seared her throat. The one thing she feared most—going to prison—Braxton had made happen.

  Her phone beeped with a text message. It was from Charlie.

  Parks called. My car’s out front.

  What a mess. The singing detective had contacted her boss, no doubt giving him the stunning news. Now Charlie would need to scramble, work damage control over this catastrophe, every second of it captured on video, and he’d need to debrief her ASAP.

  “I have to go.” She crossed to the table, picked up the replica necklace and slipped it into her jacket pocket.

  “Frances,” Braxton said, “I love you.”

  She looked at him, her heart turning inside out. Despite her anger and hurt, she longed for him even now.

  Memories of their almost-kisses—pressed against the warehouse doors, holding each other that night at his house, cuddling in the Jeep on surveillance—hurtled across her mind. The time he’d buttoned her in his trench coat, ensuring she was safe and warm. The times they’d been silly, teasing each other, making each other laugh.

  The night Captain Brax Morgan stood on the stage, promising to be there for her.

  She’d remember everything. Always.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks as she walked quickly out of the room.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SECONDS AFTER SHE LEFT, Lou ran in, breathing hard, an equipment bag in each hand. “Hotel security...probably here...any minute.” He frowned. “What’s that smell?”

  “His cologne,” Braxton said, tightening his grip on Dmitri’s arm. “You got a close-up of the diamond on video, right?”

  He nodded. “Didn’t see...any hearts, though.... Gotta go.”

  Braxton listened to the thumpity thump of the kid’s hasty retreat down the hall, wondering how he could
’ve missed them. Must’ve been too busy working that camera, didn’t look closely.

  “Tough-guy Braxton saw hearts in the replica diamond?” Dmitri barked a mean laugh. “Love is blind.”

  “Shut up.”

  But the worry took hold. Within the lights and dark planes of the complex-cut diamond, had his eyes played tricks? Imagined the hearts? Because if the necklace had really been the replica...

  A chilling tremor crawled up his neck.

  Then the one person whose life he wanted to protect above all else, he had instead destroyed. Frances would pay dearly for his blunder with her freedom.

  And to think that Drake had said she’d bring Braxton down. His brother had been so wrong about her...wrong to give Braxton an ultimatum, too, because there could never be a choice. He loved Frances, and whatever it took to unravel this disaster, to clear her name, to save her, he’d do it.

  “Impressive how you single-handedly destroyed a sting,” Dmitri continued. “Seems love is blind and stupid.”

  “And you’re so smart? You lost the Helena Diamond necklace.”

  “But I was brilliant planning that heist,” Dmitri snapped, “and after I’m free, which will be soon because the authorities can’t hold me without proof, I’ll plan another one.”

  Braxton heard the rumble of footsteps down the hall. “Speaking of plans,” he said between this teeth, “I’m turning over our investigation notes to the U.S. Immigration authorities, which will result in your immediate, permanent expulsion from the U.S. But I have an offer for you, Dima. Immigration will never see those notes if you leave Nevada and never return.”

  Dmitri snorted a laugh. “I’ll tell my lawyers those notes are lies.”

  “You can also tell them my phone recorder app’s been running this entire time, and I have your confession you planned this heist.”

  He snarled a curse in Russian.

  “Braxton Morgan,” a voice called out from the shattered doorway, “it’s Detective Parks. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, come on in,” he yelled back.