Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

It was Hunter. Mickey stepped out of the line of foot traffic and put the phone to his ear. “This better be important.”

“Allie Fortune thinks Iris and Edgar have disappeared.”

This stopped him in his tracks. “Disappeared? Why would she think that?”

“Allie was supposed to pick up Edgar this afternoon, but now there’s no sign of Iris. She’s not at Lying Eyes, she’s not at her apartment, she hasn’t answered her cell or returned any message.”

Mickey bit back another curse. He’d been so sure he’d read Iris right, but had she fooled him? Even now, was she skipping town with the real alexandrite? “Wait, you said Edgar’s missing, too?”

“Yeah. Is Edgar important?”

It took Mickey a moment to figure out Hunter wasn’t talking to him. Allie must still be with him.

Why would Iris take that carnivorous rabbit with her? Unless she was meeting up with Cosmo. She didn’t have a soft spot for the bunny, but the magician did.

“You there?” Hunter asked. “Did she say anything to you?”

“No. Look, I have to get back to work here, you know?”

“Fine. We’ll try to track her down. Check in later.”

“As soon as I can.” Mickey snapped the phone shut. Dammit! He’d been taken in by a common grifter and his sirenlike daughter. And here he was holding stones she’d given him, counting on them to buy him time. What if Iris didn’t want him to have any time? What if she’d set him up?

Another of his telltale headaches whispered at the back of his neck, but he did his best to ignore it as he withdrew the velvet pouch from his pocket. He looked around at the bustling tourists, all eager to get out of the late afternoon sun. No one was paying any attention to him as he opened the bag and drew one stone out.

It was green. It wasn’t a pure green, but rather a muddy olive green. But it sure as hell wasn’t red like when he’d put the stones in the bag back at Iris’s shop. The color change was more pronounced in the daylight than under the fluorescent light of the bathroom.

Maybe this would work to buy him some time. Enough that he could now find Cosmo and Iris. And when he did, he’d hand them both over to the authorities. No looking back.

Mickey dropped the stone back into the bag and cinched it tight before pocketing it. Moving back into the flow of tourists, he trudged another block until he stood mashed in like a sardine with sweaty bodies. Swimsuit tops, loud T-shirts, billed caps, yard-long tiki drinks. God love people on vacation. They’d all stopped to watch a pirate ship and a crew of scantily dressed sirens stage a mock battle in a small lagoon near the sidewalk.

Like so much of the free public entertainment along the Strip, the show was designed to lure people into this casino. Stop, watch the show, come in, cool off, use a bathroom, drop a dollar in a slot machine, buy a drink… In an interior with no windows, no clocks, one could lose all concept of time. Inside the casinos, Vegas was a never-ending party. For some, it was heaven. For others, pure hell.

Mickey scanned the faces in the crowd, searching for a likely contact. Turner’s lackeys all shared a similar vacuous look-smarter than Pebbles but not as conniving as Jock. They’d obviously learned to obey orders and never ask questions. But no one here fit that description.

The disjointed murmuring of the crowd rolled into a cheer as a pirate appeared on the tall mast near the traditional skull-and-crossbones flag. Cameras flashed and whirred as all eyes turned to the unfolding battle.

“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?”