“Have you got them?” a male voice whispered close to Mickey’s ear.
Danger signals sparked like static electricity along his spine, but Mickey didn’t allow himself to flinch. Flinching was a sign of weakness. In this game, every time you showed a weakness, you came one step closer to death.
“Who wants to know?” he said.
“Don’t get cocky with me, you SOB. Come on.”
Mickey turned to watch the man cut a swath through the crowd. This guy was no lackey. He was over fifty, his thinning hair going elegantly gray around the temples. He was medium height, average build, trim for his age, and his stride exuded power, control. Khaki chinos and a dress shirt gave him a casual air, but it was clear he expected to be obeyed.
Puzzling over this, Mickey followed. They worked their way to a driveway where a stretch limo waited. A chauffeur hopped out to open the door for the older man, who climbed in.
More danger signals went off. Even though dozens of witnesses would watch him get into that vehicle, no one would think it odd when it pulled away. And there was no way of knowing what would happen to Mickey once inside. But answers awaited him in there, and he’d risk his life for those answers.
Cosmo reminded himself that Marko Gorseyev was bound to show up in Las Vegas. The question had always been when.
Fortunately, he’d been forewarned of the answer via a brief text message. Honestly, if Houdini had carried a BlackBerry, his wife wouldn’t have needed to hold all those séances to try and contact him after he died.
But what the hell had inspired Marko to bring his brother, his nephew, and his battle-ax aunt along, Cosmo couldn’t pretend to guess.
Still, one always faced the firing squad. Best not to try to escape it.
“Cosmo!” Marko’s boisterous voice rang out across McCarran Airport’s lofty baggage claim area.
Behind him, young Sergei pushed his diminutive great-aunt in her wheelchair. What she lacked in size, she more than made up in lung power. “Cosmo Fortune, where are my gems?”
Cosmo’s eyes shifted around, but no security guards were taking any notice of them. Apparently, if the police believed Cosmo had flown out of the city, it hadn’t occurred to them that he’d be stupid enough to fly back in.
He was beginning to question his own stupidity about now. He’d lost track of the Gorseyev stones, he’d lost track of Edgar, he’d lost track of Iris-how was he supposed to explain all that to his international relatives?
Simple. He’d avoid the topic entirely.
“Marko, you old Russian goat!” Cosmo marched forward to wrap the big man in a welcoming hug, complete with kisses on both cheeks. “So glad you came. All of you.” He nodded to the whole group.
“You are?” Marko asked.
“No need to be suspicious.” He hoped he’d hit the right tone of injured pride. “It’s high time you experienced Las Vegas. Do we need help with the bags?”
Marko craned his neck to watch Viktor bringing up the rear with a pushcart overloaded with luggage. “No, we’re fine. Can you help us find a taxi?”
“All taken care of. And I booked you a suite over at the Bellagio.”
“Not necessary. We found inexpensive rooms at a place called…” He snapped his fingers as if it would help him remember.
“The Stratosphere,” Sergei answered.
“No, no, no.” Cosmo ruffled his hair then tried to smooth it back into place. “You flew all the way here, at least let me pay for your room. The Bellagio is where Iris’s shop is. You’ll want to see it.”
Tatiana slammed a hand down on the armrest of the wheelchair. “I do want to see it. And I want to see Iris. And I want my gemstones back!”
Marko pinched his eyes shut then opened one to peer at Cosmo. “She is tired.”
“Long trip?” Cosmo asked quietly.
“You have no idea.”
“Come on, then. I’ve got a cab waiting outside. Let’s get you to the hotel, and then we can sit and chat all night.” He rested a hand on Marko’s shoulder and guided him toward the exit, trusting the rest of the entourage to follow.
As floor space opened up, Sergei pushed the wheelchair abreast of them. “How did you know to meet us?”
Cosmo pursed his lips and slid a sidelong look at the lad. Misdirection. Nicely done. His relatives would never guess Sergei had text messaged him before they’d boarded the plane in St. Petersburg. He’d always thought the lad was clever. Watching Sergei now, all that blond hair, the almost silver eyes, that air of tragic former Russian nobility about him, Cosmo worried he might have to keep a sharper eye on him.
He had heartbreaker written all over him. Iris was too mature for him. Cory wasn’t likely to be susceptible to his charms. But Allie would see that quiet, downtrodden look Sergei had mastered, and she’d feel the need to save him.
“Yes, how did you know?” Marko echoed.
“I’ve still got connections.” Cosmo waved his hand as if that answered everything. He led them outside to the waiting cab-a minivan that provided enough room for all of them, the pile of luggage, even the wheelchair. Refusing Viktor’s help, the driver loaded the bags in the rear. Cosmo stepped back as Marko and Sergei helped raise Tatiana from the wheelchair and all but lifted her into the van’s middle seat with a good deal of groaning and the occasional muttered curse. Grabbing the wheelchair, Cosmo pushed it along to the driver to load.
When he returned to the wide-open side door, his extended family all sat. Marko and Viktor looked a little crunched in the far back. Sergei had taken the seat closest to the door next to his great-aunt. “We left the seat up front for you,” he said. Then he winked.
“Thanks.” Cosmo gripped the van’s sliding door, his fingers slipping along the edge until they found-and flicked on-the child safety lock. That should slow them all down. He slammed the door shut, then opened the front passenger door. By this time, the cab driver was climbing into his seat.
Like shooting fish in a barrel.
“Why don’t you all go to the hotel and relax for a while. I’ll stop by in the morning.”
“I don’t want to wait until morning. I want my gemstones now,” Tatiana said from her seat.
“Tomorrow,” Cosmo said easily. “I’ll bring Iris by, too.” If he was able to track her down by then. Iris or Tatiana’s jewels, he had to find one of them by tomorrow morning, or he’d be ducking Irina’s relatives the whole time they were in town.
He turned to the driver. “Conduzca a el Bellagio.”
With a nod, the driver cranked the van.
“Cosmo, stop this. Get in.”
“’Til tomorrow then.” Cosmo shut his door and waved as the taxi driver pulled away from the curb. He could see Viktor pulling on the back door of the van, but the child-safety lock wouldn’t allow anyone to open it from the inside.
Whistling the opening notes of “White Room,” Cosmo stepped into the queue to catch a cab for himself. He suspected Marko, Viktor and Tatiana were all yelling at that poor cabbie to turn around. But they’d have to make a complete circuit of the airport, and by that time, Cosmo would be long gone.
Chapter Nine
Mickey sighed at the sight of the limo’s white interior. White leather implied no one intended to shoot him here. At least he had that going for him.
Chilled air blasted his hot skin as he climbed in and sat across from his host. Behind him, the chauffeur closed the car door with a solid thud.
“Do you know who I am, Mr. Kincaid?” his host asked.
“Would you be Mr. Turner?”
The man’s smile showed even rows of white teeth, and the crinkles around his eyes and lips hinted that he was, in general, happier than the average hit man tended to be. “You flatter me,” he said. “I’m Turner’s boss.”
Mickey tensed. So this was the guy who’d ordered the hits. “Pleased to meet you, Mr…” He offered his hand.