The man looked down his nose at Mickey’s hand in midair. “You can call me boss.”
“Right.” He let his hand drop.
“Let’s see the stones.”
Mickey withdrew the pouch and handed it over without a word.
The Boss opened it, an eager glint lighting his pale eyes. Withdrawing a gem, he considered its dark red color, turning the stone over and over in his hand. He rolled down the limo’s tinted window and held the gem up to the evening’s remaining sunshine.
Mickey held his breath.
As if by magic, the gem turned olive green.
“I understand you traded a rabbit for these gems.” The Boss rolled the remaining stones out of the pouch onto a tray on his lap.
“That’s right. Of course, there’s no way for me to know if they’re real or not. That’s what I was given.”
“By Fortune’s daughter?”
Mickey shifted uneasily. Just how much did this guy know about Iris? Still it wasn’t much of a leap from Cosmo to his costume jeweler daughter. She might be just as guilty as her dad in this whole disappearance thing, but Mickey still felt a need to protect her.
“Yeah, Iris Fortune gave them to me. She said she got them from her father. That’s what Cosmo told me, too.”
“Before you…dealt with him.”
The words were said with such cold calculation, it made Mickey’s skin crawl. This guy didn’t think of people as people. They were nothing more than assets and liabilities on a balance sheet that tallied up to ten million.
Mickey crossed his ankle onto his knee, spreading himself out to take up more of the space. “Yeah, well, Cosmo was becoming a royal pain in the ass.”
The Boss pursed his lips, but his eyes crinkled around the corners. “We’re agreed on that, Mr. Kincaid. I appreciate you taking care of him.”
“Whatever Turner tells me to do.”
“Good, because his daughter is our…guest right now, and we’re not sure what to do with her quite yet. We may need you to deal with her.”
Each word struck him like a blow. Iris hadn’t left. She’d been taken. With an effort, he continued playing his role. Petty thug Mickey Kincaid was his best cover at this point. “I could do that. You know, if you need.”
“Not sure yet. I’ll have to see whether these are real or not.”
“That’ll take you, what, a day or two?” Mickey asked. The words were nonchalant, but his insides were heaving. Hell, if he’d thought they’d grab her, he wouldn’t be here making the drop.
The Boss chuckled. “More like an hour or two, tops. I have a jeweler waiting to appraise these now. You see, I believe in hedging all my bets.”
“That’s a good idea in this town.”
“Isn’t it. Good day, Mr. Kincaid.”
On cue, the car door opened. “Have a great evening, Boss.” Mickey stepped out, no fuss, no rush. The pirate show was culminating in a crescendo of cannon fire, the mast of the ship breaking in half.
Behind him, the limo pulled away, the sound swallowed by the cheers of the crowd. Mickey turned to look after it as it turned south on Las Vegas Boulevard. There wasn’t any way to get its license plate without being obvious.
Obvious could get a guy killed.
He strolled back into the crowd, keeping one eye on the limo until it pulled completely out of sight. Dammit-he knew involving a woman in this deal would shoot it all to hell. Now he had less than two hours to find where one of Turner’s lackeys had stashed Iris. That whisper of a headache began to pound, but Mickey forced it from his thoughts by sheer will.
Turner had a network of at least half a dozen guys like Mickey-errand boys who did all sorts of tasks from the mundane to the murderous. Well-paid loners who, if they screwed up, were expendable.
Then it hit him that Hunter had said Edgar was missing, too. A sarcastic laugh escaped as Mickey shook his head. There were only two guys on Turner’s payroll stupid enough to kidnap a rabbit.
Mickey whipped out his cell phone and waited impatiently for his call to connect. “I think I know where Iris is, and I’m going after her.”
“Do you need help?” Hunter asked in a low voice.
Mickey considered the offer. After all, Iris’s safety was paramount. “No. This situation is best played quickly and alone. But keep an eye on Cosmo’s other daughters. If someone went after Iris, they might send someone after the other two.”
“Will do. Be careful.”
Mickey stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Be careful. He’d said those words to Brian each time his little brother had gone on duty. A talisman that hadn’t protected him in the end.
Guilt stuck him like a spitted pig. His gut instinct had been to keep Iris by his side at all times. The problem? It was harder and harder to tell where protective gut instinct ended and lust began.
But it was his fault she was now in danger, just as it was now his responsibility to get her away from Jock and Pebbles before anyone discovered the jewels were fake.
With a soft curse he vowed he’d get another chance at arresting the Boss. People had died thoughtless, senseless deaths. The Boss might be polite and businesslike, but he was as cold-hearted as any shooter on drugs, without any concern about killing a man-or a woman.
He wouldn’t risk leaving Iris in this villain’s clutches.
Life was full of hard choices, but for Mickey, this one was easy.
Donovan strode the length of the boardroom again while the gemologist peered through his refractometer. In the corner, Turner leaned against the wall and contemplated his nails. The sun had set, leaving only an indigo mass as a backdrop outside the windows.
The gemologist pushed his chair away from the table. “What you have here are top-quality examples of tinted corundum.”
“I didn’t ask for a diagnosis,” Donovan snapped. “Are they, or are they not, alexandrite?”
“They are not.”
Donovan turned away to place tense hands on the windowsill.
Turner rose from his chair. “Thank you for your time,” he said to the gemologist as he ushered the man out the door.
“You’re welcome, but-oh, I forgot my-” The man hurried back to the oversized table in the middle of the room and fetched his glasses. “Take heart. These might not be authentic alexandrite, but they’re top-quality imitations. I’d say they date back to the 1920s-antiques in their own respect. This size, this clarity, they’re probably worth a thousand dollars apiece.”
Donovan said nothing.
“Well, good night then, gentlemen.” The gemologist scooted out the door Turner held open for him.
When the door clicked shut, Donovan turned to find Turner watching him like a trained dog awaiting his master’s orders. Turner was the only solid player in this whole scheme. Everyone else had let him down, screwed up or tried to cheat him.
Donovan strode over to the refractometer and picked up the single gem lying beside it. He held it in his hand, staring at the blood red color, while frustration boiled within him.
“Dammit!” In one quick eruption, he whipped the small stone across the room. It hit with a thwack and fell to the floor, leaving a pockmark in the wall. “Ten thousand dollars, and I spent ten million. Someone’s going to pay for this.”
Turner came forward, not the least intimidated by the outburst. “George Halsted’s already paid, and so has Cosmo Fortune.”
“Do you really think those two flew all the way to Russia and accepted these? Halsted was smarter than that.”
“True. So, you think the real alexandrite is somewhere here in Las Vegas?”
“I’m sure of it,” Donovan said emphatically. “The question is who pulled the switch.”
Turner perched a hip on the table. “Cosmo’s the one who wouldn’t hand them over. And his daughter’s the one who gave these to Kincaid.”
“Do you think Kincaid knew what these really were?”
Turner shrugged. “Even if he did, he didn’t have ten thousand to buy them from somewhere. Someone who knew gems had to be involved to get this quality.”