“Yeah, I heard, grave misfortune.”
“You had any misfortune down at the field office yet, Agent Duncan?”
“If you’re implying the ring is in the wrong hands, it’s exactly where it needs to be, Mr. Rothchild, until this case is resolved.”
A darkness flickered, very briefly, through Harold’s eyes. Lex felt the tension wind tighter between Jenna and her father as Jenna stirred on the deck chair, eyes now fixed on her father. The hot wind blew a little harder, ruffling fine strands of hair over her beautiful features. And Lex couldn’t help but think of how the ring had actually felt hot in his pocket at dinner, and again the thought of sex with Jenna crawled through his mind.
If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d been under the damn Mayan curse himself, unable to resist the power of her charms in the ring’s presence. He was relieved to have been able to return it to lockup without further incident. Damn stupid move that was.
He glanced at his watch, changing tactics. “We asked you a while back if there was anyone you could think of who might have a motive to harm your daughter, Mr. Rothchild. You gave us a long list of Candace’s boyfriends, exes, married men and the spouses who might have felt cheated by your daughter’s various high-profile love affairs. Has anyone else come to mind since?”
“No,” he said, too quickly. “No one. Apart from that Thomas Smythe.”
“I see you’ve installed quite a bit of additional home security recently.”
“The security measures are past due. Should have done it ages ago.”
“So you haven’t received any more notes threatening the Rothchilds?”
Again, that darkness seemed to shadow Harold’s eyes, and his body stiffened slightly. “What’re you implying? That I’d hide threats from the police? I wouldn’t jeopardize my family that way.”
“Just doing my job.”
“If you were doing your job, Agent Duncan, you’d have found the man who sent the first note. And you’d have located Smythe and questioned him.”
First note. It did imply more than one. Again, Lex filed the information, and again, he ignored the jab over Smythe.
“We have no indication at this point it was even a male who wrote the note,” said Lex, removing his notebook. He flipped it open, jotted down a few notes of his own. He’d get Perez to dig up whatever she could on Harold’s Las Vegas business history from the 1970s onward, looking for ties to Epstein and his mob cartel in particular. He’d also get Perez to check into Harold’s allegations of a fire at his father’s old South American mining headquarters. “You ever had a business partnership with Frank Epstein, Mr. Rothchild?” he asked as he jotted in his book.
Harold said nothing.
Lex looked up, waited.
“What does my personal business have to do with my daughter’s murder or the ring theft?” His voice remained civil but slightly quieter. A small vein had risen along his temple. Lex had angered the notoriously quick-tempered mogul.
“Just covering the bases. I understand you’ve had some history with the old Epstein cartel.”
Silence.
“And that you and Epstein parted on bad terms?”
Harold stood abruptly. “My business is not on the table for discussion. This interview is over.”
“Doesn’t matter what’s on the table, Mr. Rothchild. If there is a vendetta against your family for some reason, bad business blood may be behind it. It could spell motive for murder. Revenge.” Lex paused for effect, cool as trademark granite on the outside. “Wouldn’t be the first time in Las Vegas history, now would it? We all know what kind of secrets were once buried out in that desert. Secrets that people might even to this day kill to keep buried. Epstein had…rather interesting connections.”
Harold’s voice was now dangerously quiet, the controlled expression on his face belied by the small bulging vein, the cords of tension at his neck. “If you’re alluding to a Mafia past, I—”
Jenna sat up suddenly, swiveling her tanned legs over the side of the deck chair. “It was strange that Mercedes Epstein crashed my auction and bid against me like that, Dad.”
Harold Rothchild cast his daughter a withering look.
Jenna met her father’s eyes, a little pulse at her neck beating in pace with her heart, a small droplet of perspiration at the hollow of her throat glimmering in the sunlight.
Now, this was interesting.
Lex watched, still seated, while Harold stood glowering down at his daughter, but neither Jenna nor her father moved. It was then that Lex noticed the shadowy form of Harold’s young trophy wife, Rebecca Lynn Rothchild, standing with a drink in her hand just inside the door of the wet bar, out of Harold’s line of sight. Listening.
Rebecca Lynn caught Lex looking and moved quickly back into the cool shadows of the house.
Even more interesting.
Unfortunately this little domestic interplay was going to force Lex into further contact with Jenna. She looked to be a possible weak link in the family facade right now. A chink into which he was going to need to force his crowbar and leverage open. Just as Quinn wanted him to.
Lex already knew there’d been no love lost between Rebecca Lynn and Candace, who’d been close in age to Harold’s newest wife. The LVMPD had looked closely at Rebecca Lynn as a possible person of interest in Candace’s homicide because of it, but had uncovered nothing but a latent hostility. Lex wondered how well Jenna got on with her daddy’s latest Mrs. Rothchild.
And by the look in Jenna eyes, not all was peaches between her and her daddy, right now, either.
Lex got to his feet, pocketing his notebook. “Thank you for your time, Jenna, Mr. Rothchild. I’ll show myself out.”
Harold moved in front of him, swift as a predatory mountain lion in spite of his age. He motioned with his hand, and Clive appeared as if from nowhere. “Actually, Agent Duncan, Clive will show you the door.” He dismissed Lex with a curt nod of his silver head.
But as Lex entered the house, Harold called out behind him. “And you can forget pug-nosed mafiosos, Agent Duncan. Las Vegas cleaned up its mob act a long time ago, in case you hadn’t noticed. The new Vegas has risen.”
Yeah, right on top of dirty old mob money, thought Lex as Clive shut the massive front door behind him. The ghosts and secrets were buried in the same foundations.
Same snakes, different skin.
He was going to get Perez right onto checking with the FBI’s economic crimes division in New York to see what they were digging up on Epstein. Might find more than one skeleton. More than one closet.
And he was beginning to think one of them might just belong to Harold Rothchild.
* * *
“You do know where The Tears of the Quetzal came from.” Jenna glared at her father. “I swear I can tell by the way you answered Agent Duncan.”
“I told you, Jenna, I can’t say where it comes from.”
“Can’t, or won’t? What’s the deal with that rock, Dad? What’re you trying to hide from me? And why?”
He checked his watch. “Are you going to be home for dinner, sweetheart? We can chat then. I’ve got a conference call coming in at—”
“Don’t brush me off. Not this time. You were the one who asked me to get involved in this.”
“Jenna, sweetheart—”
“That’s always it, isn’t it—Jenna, sweetheart. Your sweet little Jenna Jayne, your youngest daughter who hero-worships her daddy and will do anything for him. Including seduce the cop on his case. Yet you won’t treat me like an equal, like a damn adult, like you treat and talk to every other member of this godforsaken family!”
“Jenna!”
She stalked off on her heels, Napoleon scuttling after her.
“Jenna! Get back here! Where in hell is all this coming from all of a sudden?” He muttered a curse as she slammed the patio door shut behind her.
Jenna cinched her pool robe tightly across her waist as she stalked across the hall tiles and swung open the front door
. She ran over the shimmering-hot driveway, reaching Lex’s black SUV just as he was about to pull off. Banging on his driver’s side window, she made a motion for him to open the window. A blast of cool air-conditioned air hit her face as he did. Jenna leaned forward into his window, the respite from heat welcome.
She’d set out to tempt and fluster him at the pool in retaliation for last night. And it had been working. But after listening to her dad, Jenna was feeling oddly vulnerable. Lex was right. While her auction stunt had started out as a stupid lark in her mind, it was no longer a game. And her dad wasn’t being totally honest with her. Jenna was worried that even she was starting to look like a suspect to Lex. And if Lex ever found out that she had been at Candace’s apartment—
Lex regarded her warily through the window, his green eyes crackling with suppressed fire, and suddenly Jenna was thrown right back to thoughts of the ring, the mysterious tones of burning green trapped inside the stone, and she clean lost her train of thought.
“What is it, Jenna?”
God, for the life of her she couldn’t recall what she was going to say. Her head started to pound crazily, some magic in his eyes possessing her. And all she could think of was making a connection with him, seeking some reassurance from him that she’d see him again. “I…I know you don’t approve of me, or my family, Lex. But…will you give me a second chance?”
His brow cocked up, confusion marring his rugged features. “That’s why you came out here?”
She inhaled. “Let’s just say I’d like to start over.”
“There’s nothing to start over, Jenna.” He paused. “Is there?”
She swallowed, feeling compelled along this course now like a speeding car just waiting to hit the wrong hairpin bend. “Look, last night was not your thing, and neither was I. You made that pretty clear. But what is your thing, Lex. What makes you tick?”
A ghost of a smile toyed with the corners of his mouth. “You really don’t like to lose, do you, Ms. Rothchild?”
She smiled. “Not if I can help it.”
He studied her for several beats. “I tell you what. I’ll show you my thing.”
She flushed.
His hint of a smile cut suddenly into a wicked grin that made her heart do a slow tumble through her chest. It was the first time he’d actually smiled at her, and the effect was devastating. It totally blanked Jenna’s mind of anything other than thoughts of being with him. Up close. Very close.
“I’ll pick you up here tomorrow at noon.”
“Where are we going?”
“That’s when I’ll show you what ‘my thing’ is.” He put his vehicle in gear.
“But I’m working tomorrow.”
He shrugged. “Too bad.” He put his vehicle into drive. “It might’ve been fun.”
“Wait!” She clasped her hands over the window edge of his door. “Okay…okay, I’ll be here. Noon.”
“Don’t be late. I won’t wait. Oh, and do me a favor, leave little old Groucho Marx behind, will you.” He shot a look at Napoleon. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
* * *
Lex wheeled out of the estate gate wondering what he’d just let himself in for. He’d come up this driveway intent on keeping away from Jenna Jayne Rothchild. Now he was leaving, having made a date with her.
She’s a tool. She handed herself to us on a silver platter with bonus cash to spare. You use that tool…
Yeah—but right now Lex felt that “tool” was somehow using him.
But in spite of that thought, as he neared the outskirts of town and drove down Lake Mead Boulevard toward the FBI building, he found himself grinning again.
Then he chuckled out loud at the thought of what he was going to show Jenna tomorrow. He was going to take princess out of her comfort zone, and he sure was going to enjoy seeing her as a fish out of water for a change. He’d purposefully not told her to dress real casual, either. That in itself was going to be entertaining—seeing her on his turf in those crazy whatever-inch heels.
A man needed every edge he could get.
Lex slowed his vehicle as he approached the guard hut at the FBI parking compound, realizing with mild surprise that Jenna’s sense of fun, her sense of game, had actually infected him.
In spite of his caseload, in spite of everything else, he was feeling just a little lighter in his heart.
* * *
Jenna watched his SUV disappearing down the drive and ran her hands through her hair.
“Damn, what just happened here, Naps?” She stooped to pick up the one thing she trusted most in her world, and carried him inside. “Guess you better stay home and guard the fort for me tomorrow, because it looks like I have a real date with Agent Lex, and he doesn’t want to share me.”
She stopped suddenly, glanced up, thinking she’d caught a movement in one of the upstairs windows.
The drapes stirred. Then nothing.
Jenna frowned. Must be the air-conditioning, she thought. But as she started towards the stairs leading up to the front porch, Jenna caught a sudden glimpse of Rebecca Lynn ducking away from the window.
Jenna stilled and stared up at the window, a fusion of anger and disquiet rustling through her. Daddy’s obnoxious little trophy wife was spying on her again.
Why?
The idea unsettled Jenna more than she cared to admit.
She climbed the stairs and let herself back inside. Despite her rush at being invited out by Lex, a cool sense of foreboding whispered through her.
CHAPTER 5
When they entered a rough neighborhood of housing projects, Jenna finally capitulated and asked, “Where are we going?”
“Right here,” Lex said, turning into the parking lot of a school. He drove around the back of the building, came to a stop on a slab of cracked pavement under a lifeless tree, and killed the engine.
Jenna stared at Lex, then out the window.
A few banged-up old beaters were parked in the lot up against a chain-link fence in serious need of repair. Beyond the broken fence, on a field of drought-dry grass, a group of male teens, most of them built rough and tough, save for one real skinny guy, were running and tossing a football to each other under a scorching desert sun.
“The field is rutted, irrigation shot to hell,” Lex said, opening his SUV door. “And a couple of the kids have to bus a fair way to get out here, but they do come. Twice a week.” He came around to her door and opened it for her.
“Coming?”
A wave of sauna-like heat body-slammed into Jenna, clean sucking breath from her lungs, making her skin instantly damp. The white-hot glare of the midday sun was ferocious. She put on her massive designer shades. “You mean they come all the way out to this dead piece of field in this area of the city because of you?”
“Because of what we have built—a team. A sense of purpose. A friendship outside of their sometimes harsh lives. Those guys out there relate to each other, Jenna. They’ve all been through a similar thing—loss of family. Or they never really had one to begin with.”
“So this is your volunteer job?”
“Not a job—” he began to walk towards a gate in the fence, his sports bag in hand “—I do it for love.” He called back over his shoulder, “Coming?”
Jenna hesitated, loathe to leave the air-conditioned SUV. “So this is your ‘thing’?” she called after him.
He stopped, turned to face her—rugged, tall, hair glinting in the hot sun. His rock-hard thighs were tanned, dusky, his calves powerful. In his shorts and workout gear, Jenna could see he was built just as rough and tough as any one of those young adult males out on the scorched field. He literally telegraphed physical prowess. Confidence. Leadership. And already his skin was sheened by a glow of perspiration. He looked even better than he had up on the stage that night. Bigger. Sexier. Real.
And way more at home.
“Yeah, Jenna. This is my thing. So? You gonna come meet the guys, watch us do some drills? Or d’you want to sit in the SUV?”
She stared at the dry field beyond the ugly fence, taking in the sandy patches among dead grass, the football posts. “It must be like 106 degrees out there, Lex,” she said, pushing her thick fall of hair back from her face. “Why?”
“Why is it hot?”
“No, I mean, why do you coach at this time of year, this time of day? It’s almost July. Midday. It’s insane. People die exercising in weather like this.”
A smirk played over his mouth as he raked his eyes slowly and purposefully over her short, tight skirt, her very high heels, the way her halter top was already wet with sweat under her breasts. “Can’t stand the heat, sweetheart?”
Irritation flared. “Oh, please. I’m serious. People really do die in stuff like this.”
“This is the only time we can get access to a field free of charge. No one uses these grounds at this time of day or on weekends. We take what we can get.”
She thought of her quarter million donation. Of how it could help. Of why Lex had actually subjected himself to strutting on stage. While it had been a mercenary ploy on her part to help her father get his hands back on his precious ring, Lex had done it for those guys out there under the scorching sun on a burned-out field. His orphans.
He’d done it for love.
And she felt a little spurt of affection and of purpose. She—Jenna Rothchild—could actually help make a difference. A real difference.
To these lives.
To his.
She slammed the SUV door closed behind her, started toward him, careful not to catch her heels on the cracked concrete. “I still can’t believe anyone actually physically exerts themselves in this heat,” she muttered.
Lex grinned, and took her hand. As he did, a sharp jolt of energy whipped up her arm and slammed into her chest. Shocked, Jenna stopped dead, stared at him. And she could see in his unshaded eyes that he’d felt it, too. Again, thoughts of The Tears of the Quetzal shimmered eerily into her mind as she stared into his green eyes. She felt shaken. And oh so out of place.
He glanced away sharply, equally rattled, and he started to lead her around the fence, making for a stand of metal risers along the perimeter of the field. Jenna stumbled after him, her sharp heels sinking deeply, awkwardly into bone-dry sand.
A Game of Deception Page 7
