Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

Cosmo pursed his lips and slid a sidelong look at the lad. Misdirection. Nicely done. His relatives would never guess Sergei had text messaged him before they’d boarded the plane in St. Petersburg. He’d always thought the lad was clever. Watching Sergei now, all that blond hair, the almost silver eyes, that air of tragic former Russian nobility about him, Cosmo worried he might have to keep a sharper eye on him.

He had heartbreaker written all over him. Iris was too mature for him. Cory wasn’t likely to be susceptible to his charms. But Allie would see that quiet, downtrodden look Sergei had mastered, and she’d feel the need to save him.

“Yes, how did you know?” Marko echoed.

“I’ve still got connections.” Cosmo waved his hand as if that answered everything. He led them outside to the waiting cab-a minivan that provided enough room for all of them, the pile of luggage, even the wheelchair. Refusing Viktor’s help, the driver loaded the bags in the rear. Cosmo stepped back as Marko and Sergei helped raise Tatiana from the wheelchair and all but lifted her into the van’s middle seat with a good deal of groaning and the occasional muttered curse. Grabbing the wheelchair, Cosmo pushed it along to the driver to load.

When he returned to the wide-open side door, his extended family all sat. Marko and Viktor looked a little crunched in the far back. Sergei had taken the seat closest to the door next to his great-aunt. “We left the seat up front for you,” he said. Then he winked.

“Thanks.” Cosmo gripped the van’s sliding door, his fingers slipping along the edge until they found-and flicked on-the child safety lock. That should slow them all down. He slammed the door shut, then opened the front passenger door. By this time, the cab driver was climbing into his seat.

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

“Why don’t you all go to the hotel and relax for a while. I’ll stop by in the morning.”

“I don’t want to wait until morning. I want my gemstones now,” Tatiana said from her seat.

“Tomorrow,” Cosmo said easily. “I’ll bring Iris by, too.” If he was able to track her down by then. Iris or Tatiana’s jewels, he had to find one of them by tomorrow morning, or he’d be ducking Irina’s relatives the whole time they were in town.

He turned to the driver. “Conduzca a el Bellagio.”

With a nod, the driver cranked the van.

“Cosmo, stop this. Get in.”

“’Til tomorrow then.” Cosmo shut his door and waved as the taxi driver pulled away from the curb. He could see Viktor pulling on the back door of the van, but the child-safety lock wouldn’t allow anyone to open it from the inside.

Whistling the opening notes of “White Room,” Cosmo stepped into the queue to catch a cab for himself. He suspected Marko, Viktor and Tatiana were all yelling at that poor cabbie to turn around. But they’d have to make a complete circuit of the airport, and by that time, Cosmo would be long gone.

Mickey sighed at the sight of the limo’s white interior. White leather implied no one intended to shoot him here. At least he had that going for him.

Chilled air blasted his hot skin as he climbed in and sat across from his host. Behind him, the chauffeur closed the car door with a solid thud.

“Do you know who I am, Mr. Kincaid?” his host asked.

“Would you be Mr. Turner?”

The man’s smile showed even rows of white teeth, and the crinkles around his eyes and lips hinted that he was, in general, happier than the average hit man tended to be. “You flatter me,” he said. “I’m Turner’s boss.”

Mickey tensed. So this was the guy who’d ordered the hits. “Pleased to meet you, Mr…” He offered his hand.

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.”