Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

by Colleen Collins - Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance)

  “I accept your offer,” Dima said quickly under his breath.

  “Thought you would,” Braxton murmured, smiling at the detective and several officers as they entered the room.

  * * *

  FRANCES LEANED HER head back on the headrest and closed her eyes as Charlie drove his car down East Warm Springs Road. The outside temp had dropped to the fifties, so he’d cranked up the heat inside the Porsche, sharpening its scents of leather and wood. Since she’d left the Palazzo nearly an hour ago, gray clouds had rolled in, masking the sun.

  And to think she’d hoped this would be a perfectly sweet day.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling sick to her stomach at the mess she’d created, at what her future held.

  As soon as she’d gotten into Charlie’s car, she’d admitted to telling Braxton the room number at the Mandalay, explained she’d mistakenly thought he’d keep his distance as a backup, and took full responsibility for the disaster. Her boss had asked a few questions, said they’d go over details later.

  “Maybe there’s hope,” Charlie said, loosening the knot of his purple silk tie that matched the pocket square in his cashmere sport coat.

  Tears welled up, blurring her vision. “Hope for what?” she asked, her voice breaking. “That maybe the five years in prison will fly by, instead of crawling along, second-by-regretful second?”

  “Damn,” he muttered, staring ahead at the road. “I just remembered the battery’s dead on my phone, and I need to make a call. Got yours handy?”

  She tugged it out of her pants pocket and gave it to him.

  He lowered his window, tossed the phone outside.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “Here’s your hope,” he said as the window rolled back up. “Instead of going to prison, come live a life of luxury with me.”

  Was he cracking under the pressure? Thinking he’d hide her in that posh Tuscan-style home of his?

  “Charlie, it’s been a bad day....” As though bad could even begin to describe what had happened. Catastrophic was more like it.

  “That necklace is the real one, Frances. I didn’t do the swap this morning.”

  For a moment she just stared ahead at the dotted lines in the road, unable to breathe. With trembling fingers she touched the outside of her jacket, felt the bulge of the necklace.

  “I stole...the real Helena Diamond?”

  “Yes! And the security staff helped you! Now we’re driving to that airstrip you told me about—thank you for that—where a private plane will whisk us away to Dallas. From there, we’ll hop a flight to Brussels where a fence will give me twelve million for the necklace. Within a week, the gold will be melted, the diamond cut into stones, each with its own diamond certificate, and they’ll be distributed to diamond merchants in Tokyo, New York and Paris.”

  “You’re willing to destroy the Helena Diamond?” She wished she’d believed Braxton, but everything had been happening so fast, and his claim of seeing the hearts sounded so ridiculous.

  “Destroy? It’ll live on dozens of ring fingers for years to come, as will we on that twelve million, sipping champagne on the Riviera...or wherever else we choose to live.”

  “We?”

  “I’ve always found you attractive, Frances.”

  He was so egocentric, it probably hadn’t crossed his mind she might not feel the same way.

  Charlie’s financial problems had to be much worse than she’d realized. From years working at Vanderbilt, he’d have the means to locate a fence, and he’d likely promised a substantial I.O.U. to some pilot with a private plane to help him make a great escape.

  The Porsche turned onto the same side road she and Braxton had traveled the night they conducted the surveillance at the airstrip.

  “You cancelled those two Vanderbilt investigators who were supposed to be in the next room,” she murmured.

  “We didn’t need any cowboys wearing white hats around.”

  But one had been there anyway. “You didn’t know Braxton would charge in like that, though. I might have given the necklace to Dmitri.”

  “I wasn’t worried about that. Had a backup plan called Smith & Wesson.” He patted his cashmere jacket. “I knew where Dmitri’s limo was parked at the hotel, planned to meet him there for a chat.”

  Probably knew where it was parked because he’d attached a GPS device to it, the way he’d done to her Benz.

  At first she’d wanted to think that this was all a bad dream, that she’d wake up and it would all be over.

  Now she knew this nightmare was for real.

  * * *

  A COLD BREEZE skittered past as Braxton and Detective Parks walked out the front doors of the Mandalay Bay.

  “Storm’s coming in,” Parks said.

  Two police units were parked at the curb. Several officers were putting Dmitri, his hands cuffed behind his back, into the back seat of one unit.

  “He’s already lawyered up,” Parks said. “Big surprise there. By the way, we’re closing in on Ulyana’s afternoon visits to casinos. All signs point to her working alone. Now that surprised me.”

  Braxton’s phone rang. He checked the caller ID. Drake.

  “One moment,” he said, taking the call.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Drake said. “Just checked those motion detectors out at the airstrip...blue skies, no clouds. Impossible. Somebody’s playing a game.”

  Drake looked up at the heavy, dark clouds rolling in. “Like put images of the same landscape in front of the lenses?”

  “Exactly. Where’s Dmitri?”

  “Handcuffed in the backseat of a cop car. The sting fell apart, though, and the necklace is...”

  An uneasiness rocked his gut. “We need to get to that airstrip.”

  * * *

  SCREAMING SIRENS PUNCTURED the quiet. Frances pulled down the visor and looked in the mirror. A police car, its red lights spinning, barreled down the dirt road toward the airstrip. How had they known to come here?

  Her eyes shifted to her reflection, saw the mottled red scar making its appearance. She felt the familiar anxiety at the thought of being exposed, but tamped it down as best she could. Her scar was a small matter compared to the shit storm that was about to take place.

  “We’re not doing anything illegal,” Charlie said evenly, “just sitting in a car. We’ll say you lost your phone, thought maybe you’d dropped it at the airstrip.”

  Always the lawyer, he was already piecing together his argument.

  She watched the police car, dust billowing in its wake, screech to a stop on Charlie’s side of the Porsche. Detective Parks got out, his hand on his holster as he strode toward them. A surge of wind pummeled the windows.

  “Put your hands on the dashboard,” Charlie said evenly as he put his on the steering wheel.

  As she did, a crack of lightning split the sky. In the flash, she caught a face starting grimly at her from inside the police car.

  Braxton.

  Her heart froze.

  More sirens in the distance. Parks kept walking toward Charlie’s door. “Get out of the car slowly,” he said loudly.

  Just as Charlie pressed a button and the door locks clicked open, Frances heard the muffled drone of an engine. A small white plane flew low toward them from the north.

  Watching it, Charlie slowly opened his door with one hand, his other slipping inside his jacket.

  Surreally aware of every ticking second, and seeing how easy it would be for Charlie to pull his gun, Frances eyed the path of his hand disappearing into his coat. With a surge of energy she fell against him, her right hand reaching inside his jacket, touching cold metal.

  Yells. Sirens.

  Time sped up as Frances and Charlie tumbled out the open car door, their bodies t
angled, the two of them grappling for the gun. The instant she met his fevered, intense eyes, she heard a door slam and the crack of a pistol shot.

  Hands grabbed Charlie’s cashmere jacket, jerked him to his feet. Braxton, his jaw clenched with fury, slammed his fist into Charlie’s face. Charlie toppled backward, the gun flying through the air.

  Several police officers ran over, and one of them handcuffed Charlie. Braxton gently lifted her to her feet.

  “Frances,” he rasped, looking deeply into her eyes, “are you all right?”

  “I’m okay,” she said shakily, glancing at Charlie being led away by two officers, then back into Braxton’s worried eyes. She was vaguely aware of an old pickup truck lurching to a stop next to one of the police cars.

  Braxton shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe you tried to get his gun....”

  “I thought he might shoot you.” She glanced around. “I heard the gun go off....”

  “The bullet missed all of us—blew out the detective’s tire, though.”

  Thunder growled in the distance as Frances looked into Braxton’s shiny gray eyes, overwhelmed with gratitude they were both standing here, safe, alive. But when his gaze shifted to her cheek, she tensed, started to raise her hand to cover it, but then paused.

  “It happened when I was fourteen,” she whispered. “I was practicing a magic trick with fire—”

  “That’s the past,” he said, cutting her off, his eyes boring into hers. “Frances, you’re a beautiful woman, inside and out.”

  He pressed a kiss against her cheek, her deepest secret, before moving his lips to her ear.

  She closed her eyes, letting the illusion fall away, finally freeing the woman inside—the one who yearned to live and love without pretense—rise to the surface.

  Opening her eyes, she smiled at him. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve got something else nice to say. You’ll be bringing those fifth-century Greek coins back to Vanderbilt in a few days.”

  There was a story behind this, one they’d share later. She smiled up at him, her heart brimming with love.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered in a throaty whisper.

  “Any time,” he murmured, leaning forward.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” a male voice broke in.

  Drake, hunched inside his corduroy jacket, stood nearby, looking sheepish.

  “Nice timing, bro,” Braxton muttered.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” Drake said, looking around before his eyes wandered back to Frances’s. “Just, uh, wanted to say that Parks told me what you did...trying to get the gun.... You could’ve died saving my brother’s life.” He blinked, hard. “Frances, I’m sorry for how I’ve...”

  “It’s all right,” she said gently.

  He nodded solemnly, then turned to his brother. “Sorry, Brax, for saying...”

  “Water under the bridge,” he said. “As long as there’s never an ultimatum between us again.”

  “Deal,” Drake agreed. “One more thing. They finalized the money raised at the auction and Li’l Bit won the Shelby. He wants to give it to his brother...meaning you, Brax.”

  Brax shook his head. “Let’s give it to Grams as a wedding gift. I don’t think I’m a Mustang guy anymore. My fast-living days are behind me.”

  “Grams said you’d try that,” Drake continued, “and to tell you...let me get this right...owning a dream is different than living an old lifestyle. And that if you give it to her, she’ll just give it right back. Okay, I’m done playing messenger. See you at the house? Mom’s making her famous meat loaf for dinner. Invited the family over.”

  Braxton glanced at Frances. “We, uh, had a date for March second that’s pushed up a day....”

  She nodded her agreement.

  Drake gave a salute to Frances. “See you next family dinner, then.”

  As he walked away, Detective Parks walked up. “Frances, you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Still have that necklace, right?”

  “Yes.” She pulled it out of her inside jacket pocket. Even in the hazy gray light, the diamond sparkled. And something else...

  She held it closer, caught the shimmering outline of two identical hearts.

  “Amazing,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” Braxton said, looking at it. “The hearts are outlined in red, notice that?”

  She nodded. “Each one is so perfectly shaped.”

  “What hearts?” The detective squinted hard at the diamond.

  Frances and Braxton looked at each other and shared a smile.

  “Excuse me, Detective,” Braxton murmured, handing him the necklace.

  He pulled Frances into his arms, and she closed her eyes, savoring their first kiss.

  The first of many they were destined to share.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A SINCLAIR HOMECOMING by Kimberly Van Meter.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  IF INSOMNIA WAS the devil’s handmaiden then Wade Sinclair was her bitch most nights.

  Like tonight.

  He rolled to his side, refusing to look at the red numbers glowing from his digital alarm clock because he didn’t want to know how much sleep he wasn’t getting. Five a.m. came early when operating on very little sleep.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and tried meditating but his mind was too unruly to cooperate.

  Each time he came close to drifting to sleep, his baby sister’s face popped into his mental theater, and sleep fled like a deer with a cougar on its tail.

  Simone—pretty, charming, too smart for her britches—dead.

  It’s been eight years, he wanted to groan as if trying to negotiate with whatever demon prevented his eyes from closing and his mind from resting. How much longer was he supposed to carry this burden of unending grief and guilt?

  He rolled to his feet and walked to the window to stare out across the forested land of the Yosemite National Park. But instead of California pines, he saw Alaskan hemlock and spruce, native to the Kenai mountains of his homeland. He saw the deep snow that had blanketed the ground and made the terrain hard to traverse. He saw his sister’s body trundled into the body bag as they carried her away.

  This was Trace’s fault. If his brother hadn’t kept bugging him about coming home, he wouldn’t have been reminded daily of that awful day. No witnesses saw Simone climb into the car with her killer that night. No witnesses ever came forward to lend any clues.

  And her killer continued to walk free.

  Maybe that was what kept him awake at night.

  No justice.

  No closure.

  And not even moving away to California had changed that.

  His last conversation with Trace was too fresh in his mind to ignore, and he felt like a royal shit for being so curt with his younger brother, but he couldn’t drop everything in his life just to play mediator between his siblings and his parents. Just because he was the oldest didn’t mean he had the answers to every problem.

  “It’s bad, man,” Trace had said emphatically. “I didn’t want to believe it but Mom is going to die in that house if we don’
t do something. And Dad...he’s in total denial and too stoned half the time to be of any help.”

  “I can appreciate that but I have responsibilities here that preclude me from hopping a plane anytime my family demands it,” he replied, giving more attention to an environmental impact survey than to what his brother was saying. “I’m sure it’ll blow over if you give it time.”

  “Stop giving me your practiced administrator rhetoric and start acting as if you actually give a damn,” Trace said. “The house has been condemned. They wouldn’t do that if it weren’t necessary.”

  “What do you mean condemned? Surely, that’s an overreaction to the situation,” he said, frowning. How bad could it be? His mother had never been a terribly neat and tidy person but she’d never been an abject slob. Their home had been lived in, but never dirty. “On whose authority?”

  “Adult Protective Services. And they’re not going to let her back in until it’s been resolved to their satisfaction.”

  He exhaled a breath of irritation. “So where is she staying now?”

  “With a friend. But she keeps sneaking back to the house when no one is looking. Miranda has caught her there twice already. She’s acting like a kid who won’t take no for an answer. I’m worried about her mental health and that’s not an exaggeration. I can’t believe it, but Mom’s a hoarder.”

  Maybe he could pencil in a day or two to fly over there...but even as the thought crossed his mind, he had to immediately cross it out. “We’ll just have to trust the authorities to handle the situation. They’re far more equipped to deal with someone in her situation than us.”

  “I can’t believe it.” His brother’s incredulous tone made Wade shift in discomfort. There was no misunderstanding Trace’s disgust in his lack of action. “You’re willing to completely let our family twist in the wind because it’s too inconvenient to come home? Screw you, Wade. They’re your parents, too. Miranda’s been trying to handle this situation because neither of us held up our end but that’s done. We need you home. Now. And I don’t give a shit about your fancy admin job. Find a way. You’ve got to have personal leave available to you. Use it.”