Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

“Allie?” Iris was definitely starting to worry.

“Fine.” Allie tilted her head to consider the other women. “I have this clear vision of Mickey holding a gun. He threatened to kill them both. Daddy got away. Edgar didn’t.”

Iris’s stomach tightened as she recalled dancing in Mickey’s strong arms. Your dad stiffed me tonight. For all his suave moves, the thief was a dangerous unknown. He’d brought her the rabbit, asked for her advice, offered to help Cosmo-was it only because he had unfinished business with her father?

Cory’s brown eyes, so similar to her own, had softened. “Iris, tell us what’s going on. Who is he?”

“He’s not your cousin,” Allie added. “I don’t need Edgar to tell me that.”

She drew a steadying breath. These women were still strangers to her, but she couldn’t deny that they all shared a common link. “He’s a jewel thief. Cosmo was involved in moving ten million in stolen gems, but he disappeared. Now no one knows where to find the stones-or Cosmo.”

Mickey paced outside the Clark County morgue, his head pounding, insides churning. He paused to check out the edifice against the garish lights. Not an imposing structure. Certainly nothing to freak out about. If it weren’t for-

“Fuck it,” he muttered. He rooted for his cell phone and pressed the familiar speed dial digits. Standing in the cool nighttime desert air, he waited.

“Hello?” The familiar voice eased his aching head.

“Hiya, Mom.”

“Michael! How are you? You’re not home yet, are you?”

“No, I’m still on loan.”

“And I hope the people of Chicago know they can’t keep you.”

His conscience gave a twinge. But his captains-both in Boston and Las Vegas-had agreed it was best if no one, including his family, knew where he was. “I’ll be home as soon as this is all over.” Another twinge. He doubted he’d ever return to Boston. The city, the force, his job, his family-none of it was the same with Brian gone.

Mickey stared at the morgue building, dark and impersonal, cold as death in the night. It had been snowing the night he had to identify Brian’s bullet-riddled body.

His mom drew a breath in her recitation of family events as if she’d just realized his silence. “You’re missing your brother, aren’t you.”

“I miss all of you, Mom.”

“Yeah, but we’re all here waiting for you.”

But not Brian. She didn’t have to say it. “How’s Suze?” he asked.

“She’s getting by. Her business is doing real well. I’m glad for her-it keeps her mind occupied.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Less bitter now?”

“Her husband was murdered. I think she’s entitled to a little bitterness.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we all are.”

“Here, talk to your father.” The words became muffled as his mom handed over the phone.

Shit. He always either pissed her off or made her cry. One of the many reasons he’d decided it was time to get out of town.

“Michael, good to hear from you!” As always, Dad was boisterous. Sheesh, it had to be midnight back home.

“Hey, Pops. Is she okay?”

Dad didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “She doesn’t sleep well. We stay up and watch the late night shows. What?” His voice intensified. “He’s asking me how you’re doing. Of course you’re not falling apart, but look at you, now you need a tissue. I’m telling you, son, this woman can cry buckets.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to set her off.”

“Not your fault. I mean, she’s still marking off the anniversaries.”

“We all are.”

“You doing all right out there?”

“I’m fine. Give Mom my love, and both of you try to get some sleep.” Mickey turned to see a man approaching him. “I’ve got to go now. Take care.”

“Call when you can.”

“Yeah.” Mickey snapped his phone shut and closed his eyes for a few moments. Just long enough to picture his burly father, king of the Kincaid clan, a career cop who still picked up shifts as the elementary crossing guard. His mom, rounded and softened with the years of motherhood, stoic in her loss, passionate in her grief. Suze, his brother’s angry widow, still simmering with bitterness at the violent death of her young husband.

He hadn’t known how to help any of them through their grief. He still didn’t know.

“You going to stand here all night?”

Mickey opened one eye to contemplate Justin Hunter, his local contact and partner in this crazy undercover operation. The guy had to be ten years his senior, tended to go by the book, maybe wasn’t the most imaginative, but he redeemed himself by being reliable as hell.

“It’s not your first time in a morgue, is it?” Hunter asked as they entered the building.

“Hardly.” He breathed in the sterility of the interior and forced down the bile that rose in his throat. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he recognized the racing of his heart from the many nightmares he’d had since collecting Brian’s body from the morgue in Boston.

This was the six-month anniversary.

He’d been closer to his brother than anyone else on earth. Whoever said “It’s better to have loved and lost…” didn’t know shit. Mickey hadn’t just lost Brian, his brother had been wrenched from their lives by a drug addict, a guy so hyped on heroin he might actually get away with appealing the murder charge. Unfair didn’t even begin to cover it. Not only would Mickey have protected his brother, he would have given his life instead. There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for his brother.

He proved that when he survived making the final arrangements without going insane.

“Hey, are you all right, Mick?” Hunter’s hushed tone still expressed concern.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get this over with.”

Mickey had joined this case for one reason-to capture the people responsible for murdering an international real estate attorney, a Russian translator, and now a jeweler. The murders were all linked by the definitive style of Sam Turner, a known hired gun who was as elusive as a cat at a dog show-and just as dangerous if cornered. There were maybe three people who could boast being able to recognize Turner. The guy had a knack for staying hidden until right before he killed you. And Turner never missed.

Cosmo had drawn a lucky card when Turner went after the jeweler. Mickey had received his orders by telephone-deal with Cosmo. Everyone involved seemed to view the magician as an unimportant player, someone to let the second-string practice on. Only, now that Halsted was dead, and the gems were still missing, it was obvious that Cosmo had risen to number one on their hit parade-with a bullet.

Mickey wanted to protect Cosmo. The guy might be a pain in the ass, but he didn’t deserve to die for his bad choices or petty crimes. He wanted to end Turner’s career. The creep had done enough damage in this town. But there was still one major unknown-who had hired him? Mickey didn’t want just the hired gun, he wanted the guy literally calling the shots.

With the push of a button, the tinted window of the town car lowered. Outside, the air had cooled rapidly with the setting sun, the day’s stifling heat giving way to the night’s comfortable warmth.

Robert Donovan allowed neither temperature nor time of day to hinder him or his plans. He’d built an empire in this town by adhering to his goals. Nothing and no one was going to stop this deal for him.

Least of all some two-bit has-been like Cosmo Fortune. Christ, the magician was practically a doddering fool.

He never would have hired the weak grifter except for two things-Cosmo had contacts and knowledge. No telling how he did it, but Cosmo knew men of power amongst the Russian mafia, and he knew all the mythology surrounding the Romanovs’ alexandrite necklace. Not only that, but he spoke fluent Russian.