Finding a twenty-five dollar casino chip, she slid it across the bar. “There’s a quarter. That should cover my drink, don’t you think?”
“Drink’s on the house.”
“Keep it as a tip.” Cory shouldered her bag.
Her mother raised a hand, and for a second it looked like she might reach out, but she let it slip to her side again. “You know where to find me,” she said.
Cory turned away without a word. Her mother had always known where to find her. She just hadn’t bothered.
In the shadows of the Four Queens casino, Cosmo emptied ashtrays into a rolling trash can. He wore a blue janitorial jumpsuit and a vacant expression. He didn’t have to fake the yawns. He felt like he’d been on the run for days.
He watched from behind a slot machine as Cory hurried from the bar, straight through the casino. He tracked her toward the muted light filtering through the tinted doors.
Distress emanated from her as she stumbled along her path. He wanted to stop her, to wrap her in a hug, but it would be foolish to reveal himself here. He’d do his daughters no good by winding up dead.
Wouldn’t do much for him, either.
Allie left a few minutes later, her hood up, her head bent, as if she just wanted to hide.
As casually as possible, Cosmo maneuvered his rolling garbage can toward the back of the casino. There wasn’t anyone else around, so he tilted up the bill of his hat to contemplate the woman behind the bar.
“About time you showed up,” she said to him. No surprise lit her eyes at seeing him-no happiness, either. Those eyes showed nothing but resignation, as if to say, “Oh God, you found me again.”
Cosmo scratched his chin, suddenly at a loss for words.
“A little late to the party, but you’re welcome to clean up the remains of those two virgin strawberry daiquiris.”
“Coffee.”
She considered him, that hard look around her eyes softening some. “You don’t need coffee. You need about three days’ sleep.”
He leaned on the bar and smiled slowly. “It’s good to see you, Roxana.”
“Yeah?” She leaned into him for just a moment before she remembered. Quickly, she straightened, stepped back and tugged her black vest down in a neat, controlled gesture. “Well, don’t do me any more favors.”
“I might die any day.” He looked up at the ceiling.
“I doubt your soul will head in that direction.”
He snapped his gaze to her. “You’re angry-”
“Of course I’m angry!” She gripped the bar, her knuckles turning white. Her vehement whisper came out as a hiss. “Who the hell is Iris?”
Cosmo paused. He’d somehow lost track that Roxana knew about Allie, but he’d never told her about Iris. “What’s one more?”
“What’s-?” She vented a growl. “It’s-it’s double bigamy!”
“Technically, it’s trigamy.”
“Goddamn you, Cosmo Fortune-”
He placed a finger to his lips.
“I repeat, who’s Iris?” Again, her voice dropped to a teakettle hiss.
“She’s my eldest.”
“So, we got married, then you went off for your gig with that Russian circus, and while you were over there, you conceived a child and got married again?” She placed both hands palm down on the bar, her shuddering breath the only evidence of how hard she was working to restrain herself from violence. “This isn’t the time or place for this.”
“Roxana, I can see why you’d be upset, but I need you. Iris is in danger, and Cory feels betrayed, and Allie-well, Allie wants to help so much she could get hurt. What do I do about them?”
She studied him for a few moments, her eyes narrowed as if she were dissecting him and trying to figure out what was inside.
Cosmo fingered his collar, uncomfortable with what she might discover.
“Have you considered telling them the truth?” she asked at last. “Assuming you even know what that is anymore.”
The truth. He scratched his ear. Well, it was certainly a unique approach. “You’re right. You see? I need you, Roxana. The girls need you. We’ve got to find a way to fix this, because I want you in my life again.”
“You know that can’t be.”
“I know no such thing. You’re my wife. Given the opportunity, why wouldn’t I move heaven and earth to regain you?”
“Flattery.” She cleared the daiquiri glasses from the bar. “I was one of your wives. Go find another woman.”
“I’ve tried, but there’s no magic, no spark. Help me, Roxana. I miss you. I need you.”
She contemplated him with a sad smile. “Oh, Cosmo. Roxana Fortune is supposed to be dead. Living with you again could kill all of us.”
Mickey’s eyes roamed the late morning crowd at the sidewalk cafe beneath the shadow of a replica Eiffel Tower-one half size of the original. Everything looked normal, but in Vegas, that was a far cry from back home. Here, normal included killers, madcap magicians, stolen Russian gems, carnivorous rabbits and a russet-haired siren who’d had him completely fooled.
He spied Hunter seated at the far corner table, as far back from the street as possible. Sipping tea, he was half-hidden by an open newspaper. It was the perfect meeting spot, so public, no one would ever guess to seek them here. Mickey pulled up a chair. From here, they had a clear view across Las Vegas Boulevard to the Bellagio’s small lake where fountains erupted into a spectacle every evening. In the late morning heat, the lake stood quiet.
Hunter laid down the daily paper he’d been reading. “Took you long enough.” He waved to a waiter.
“I needed to go through some photos. I finally met him.”
Hunter pursed his lips as the waiter arrived with a cup of coffee and a baguette.
Mickey remained silent until the waiter walked out of earshot. “The top guy. He had a limo waiting on me for the drop last night.”
“Did you ID him?”
Mickey shook his head in frustration. “He didn’t match any of the photos. I feel like I’ve seen his face before, but I can’t place him. Another city, another job, I don’t know. I got Millie to do a composite sketch. It’s all over the APBs now.”
“And it took you over twelve hours to get us that info?” Hunter contemplated him over his cup of tea.
“I was a little tied up.” Mickey raised his brows. “Literally.”
Hunter’s lip curled into a semblance of a smile. “Yeah. I liked that part of Iris’s story this morning.”
“She told you?”
“Sure, she told me all about Mickey Kincaid. Lover, liar, con man, thief. Where are they?”
Mickey tugged Edgar’s collar from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the white tablecloth. In the daylight, the gems were green. Not that olive green like the simulated copies he’d delivered yesterday. These were really green.
Hunter was nonplussed. “They look like fake emeralds.”
“Yeah? You got your flashlight on you?”
Hunter extracted a Pocket Mag while Mickey tented the newspaper to create some shade. When the flashlight beam hit the first stone, it turned red.
“Holy shit.” The beam wavered as the two men made eye contact beneath the newspaper tent. “You think these are what they’re all after?”
“Iris says they’re easily worth ten million. Men have killed for less.” Mickey refolded the paper and laid it atop the collar, hiding it from view. “You’ll need to take that into the lab and have it tested. If they’re real, Iris should be arrested as an accessory to grand theft.”
Hunter raised his brow. “Yeah? Theft from whom?”
“I’m more interested in for whom.” Mickey leaned back in his chair, frustrated as hell with the day so far. He’d spent the night with a woman he’d been fantasizing about for days, only to discover this morning that she’d been keeping secrets from him. Ten secrets, to be exact. He’d wanted to squeeze her for the truth, but then her fiancé showed up.