Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

“No need to explain.” He pecked her on the cheek. “I’ll call you tonight.” Turning on Mickey, he offered a hand like the consummate politician he was. “You’re not staying another night, are you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t. Really,” Mickey lied as he shook hands. Smooth didn’t even begin to describe him.

She walked David to the front door, where he stopped to take her hands. “Everything all right?” he asked.

She nodded, afraid to find any words.

He squeezed her fingers. “We really need to figure out what to do about your family. They can’t keep showing up like this, Iris.” Without acknowledging her guest, he left.

Iris clicked the door shut behind him, her pulse lowering to a level below complete coronary.

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Mickey said behind her.

She spun to face him. He was still wearing the damned towel. “David is a gentleman. He’s honest and fair, and he trusts me and-”

Mickey laughed, none too kindly. “He doesn’t trust you. He was scared to death of me. The guy’s not willing to fight for you, tiger. What does that say about him?”

“He doesn’t need to fight for me. I would never leave him.”

“Oh ho, talk about lying eyes.” His blue eyes sparkled at her. “First off, that man needs to fight to keep you from every lying, cheating, no-good grifter like me who would try to steal you. And you? You sell yourself short. David just dissed you.”

A bark of laughter erupted from her. “What-was he supposed to pummel you with his fists? He thinks you’re my cousin.”

“Either you’re deluded, or he’s an idiot.” Mickey strode toward her. “He was afraid to take me on, a naked unarmed man. Believe me, if I found you with a naked man, armed or otherwise, I’d toss the guy out on his ass, and then-” he pulled her into a clinch, nothing separating them but her flimsy bathrobe and his wet towel.

Iris drew in a shocked breath, her heart thundering, but couldn’t tear her gaze from his.

His eyes traveled over her face, pausing briefly on her lips, caressing her hair, and finally locking once more with her eyes. “And then, I’d take you to bed and spend the next twenty-four hours reminding you why you’d never want to leave it for another’s.”

Her whole body warmed at his words. Without a doubt, all she had to do was pull his lips down to hers, and that’s exactly how they’d spend the next twenty-four hours.

Iris mentally shook herself. This was precisely what she’d been fighting against for years, these urges to surrender to wild temptations without thought to the consequences. But life was full of consequences, and she needed stability, calm, dependability. Needed? No, craved.

She pushed away from Mickey. “I love David.”

Mickey’s jaw stiffened. “Stop lying to him, Iris. Better yet, stop lying to yourself.”

“How dare you accuse me of lying!”

“As the saying goes, ‘Your lips may say no, no, but there’s yes, yes in your eyes.’”

“Stay out of my personal life.” She shouldered past him, desperate to wrap her hands around another cup of coffee. Anything to prevent her fingers from burrowing into his damp hair.

Mickey grabbed her upper arm. “I’m all over your personal life. Do you want to see Cosmo alive again or not? Cuz I could do without another trip to the morgue.”

Iris stilled, her jaw slack. “What?”

“Whoever masterminded this theft has been killing off everyone in the pipeline.”

“Yeah?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you still alive?”

He threw her one of those devilish smiles. “I’m not part of the pipeline. I’m more of an errand boy.”

“Errands as in delivering things?”

“More like dispatching things.”

That irritated-and frightened-her enough to walk away from him toward the kitchen. “Did you really hold Cosmo at gunpoint and threaten to kill him?” She turned to see his eyes had widened. Hell, he’d done it. Disappointment crashed upon her.

Mickey followed her so slowly it amounted to a creep. “When did you talk to him?”

“Who?”

“Come off it.” His syllables were clipped and flippant, a far cry from the purring sensuality that normally poured out of him. “Cosmo-no one else was there.”

“Edgar was there.” Iris raised her brows at him.

“Yeah, like you’re getting the four-one-one from a rabbit. For the record, threatening and killing are two very different things. I never intended to kill Cosmo.” He refilled his coffee cup before stalking back out of the kitchen. “I’m going to get dressed.”

About time. But she didn’t say it out loud. She stood alone and waited, the air-conditioned tile chilling her bare feet until she pulled her bathrobe more closely around her. She hated this feeling of being strong, completely independent, self-reliant to a fault. It was so solitary, so final. But she wasn’t about to look to a man like Mickey to help her out.

After a minute he returned, mostly dressed, though his fly was still unzipped as he buttoned his shirt.

“Mickey, I’m not cut out for espionage. I hate lies and secrets. I’ve got it bad enough with Cosmo, I don’t need to look for more trouble. I think you should find someone else to help you track down your missing gems.”

Mickey’s fingers stopped buttoning, leaving his shirt open from his ribcage up, revealing that broad muscled chest that made her mouth salivate, her eyes want to weep, and her inhibitions start to pack their bags.

But life wasn’t about fantasies. It was real. Concrete. She intended to stay grounded, not fly off on some fool’s errand that could potentially derail her carefully mapped-out future. She wanted reliable David, so sane and sensible. Someone she could count on, someone who understood her and looked out for her interests. Someone safe. Mickey might be more colorful, more passionate, but how could she expect anything but heartache from a man who practically brandished a sign proclaiming My Middle Name Is Danger.

He’d fallen silent. She stole a glance, expecting to see him brooding in that moody way of his.

He’d cast all artifice aside. Before her stood a man who appraised her with the most open, honest clarity in his blue eyes. Finally, he frowned. “I’m sorry you want out, Iris, because that’s impossible. Like it or not, you’re integral to this deal. You have the answers.”

“To what?” she asked in exasperation.

“That’s the trick. We have to find the right questions.” He tugged some folded papers from his back pocket. “Last night I didn’t know what kind of gems had been stolen, but after talking with you, I was able to check with some sources-”

“What sources?”

“I can’t tell you, but trust me, these people know their business. We don’t mean Cosmo any harm-in fact, we hope to help him. But he didn’t give us much information. Did you know he’d flown to Russia?”

“Cosmo? To Russia?” Iris’s heart listed and sank.

“Moscow and St. Petersburg. He met with a man named Konstantin Vanislav, who’s well connected with the Russian mafia. Ever heard of him?”

She shook her head, unable to speak. Apparently, she knew even less about Cosmo than she’d feared.

Mickey unfolded the papers and held them out to her. “Tell me what that is.”

Gingerly, she accepted them. The top one showed a badly photocopied color picture of what appeared to be a crown. Beneath it was a sketch of the same crown with handwritten notations scribbled upon it.

The handwriting was Cosmo’s.

She turned back to the picture. A royal crown, cast in gold, lay on a blue velvet pillow. Built to fit a man’s head, the intricate spires rose in filigreed elegance. Around the base, jewels encrusted the brim. The copy only showed them as a dark blood red, so she referred to her father’s notes, while her stomach rolled uneasily.