Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

“Very good, Ms. Fortune. We’re here to serve you.”

“Thank you.” Great, now she was lying to her security company. Iris closed her phone, grateful David had turned away to watch the orchestra. She thought of calling Cosmo, but no, there was no point in overreacting to some stranger and his version of what Cosmo might be up to. Tomorrow would be soon enough to sort out this whole mess.

No matter how hard she tried, Cosmo always managed to ruin her evenings. Iris let out a breath and touched her hairpins until assured she had it all together.

It had been far too long since he’d had a woman.

Mickey noted the security uniforms around the room then shifted his stance to lean against the oversized column out of their lines of sight.

Naturally, he’d responded to the feel of Iris pulled up against him. Watching her now, that clingy white dress encouraged his imagination to take flight.

She was one stellar creature. A real class act.

And totally off-limits for more than the obvious reasons. As Cosmo’s daughter, he’d never be able to fully trust her. With that red-gold hair and those brandy-colored eyes-not to mention those great natural tits-she’d lure a man into making mistakes.

Mistakes could get a guy killed. Look what happened to Brian.

Look, don’t touch was clearly the way to proceed with Miss Fortune. Then he recalled her scent, musky and exotic with promise, as he’d tasted her ear. Definitely better not to eat, drink or breathe around her, either.

He’d have to watch her, no way around that. Who was calling her at this hour if not Cosmo? The tricky bastard must have given her the goods for safekeeping, though she acted cool as can be about it. No, it was too convenient. Cosmo had stashed a load of stolen gems, and his daughter owned an upscale jewelry store.

Had she fenced the stuff for him? Was that Cosmo’s angle? Stiff the bosses and try to sell the stones and make a real killing? He was about to learn all about killing firsthand.

Mickey flagged down a passing waiter and pressed a twenty into the guy’s hand with a few whispered directions. His gaze returned to the stoic David, lost in conversation with more tuxes. The guy was an idiot. Beside him, Iris waited, elegant and regal in her patience. A woman like her wouldn’t wait forever-not patiently, anyway. A woman like her demanded promises, grand gestures, sacrifices.

He shook off the pointless memories as the waiter approached Iris and handed her a glass of red wine. Mickey didn’t know anything about wines, but he could tell she didn’t like that white stuff. He’d asked the waiter for something big, bold and red.

Her body tensed at this unexpected gift, then her gaze followed the waiter’s hand as he gestured in Mickey’s direction.

Mickey blew her a kiss.

Stupid. But he could very well be dead before dawn, so what more could he lose?

The rising August sun clearing the purple mountains already promised plenty of heat, but Robert Donovan never let a little sweat stop him from doing anything, and eighteen holes of golf wasn’t exactly a hardship. He studied this morning’s opponent. A member of his corporate board, Jack Vados wasn’t a visionary but he was astute with money and a potential future CFO.

His company, the Donovan Group, owned numerous hotels and gaming properties all over Las Vegas, though it barely had a toehold on the Strip, which was already crowded with iconic resorts. Without a household-name casino, his company was considered a minor player by the bigger corporations in the industry. But that was about to change. Donovan was poised to expand their global holdings, and the increased income would allow him to buy a true flagship property here.

On the fifth green he broached the topic. “The contracts for the Moscow purchase should be ready Monday morning. We’ll have the cash flow to minimize financing, right?”

“We can wire the cash in a heartbeat.” Vados lined up his shot. “But are you sure about this?”

Donovan bit back the sharp retort he would have issued in the boardroom. He always liked to play nice in public.

Vados putted and birdied the hole to the sound of chirping and the rustle of palm leaves in the warm dry breeze.

“Do you have a problem with this deal?”

Vados’s grin melted. “Not a problem, but it’s a risky venture. To buy all those abandoned Moscow casino properties now that Russia’s moved all the gambling outside the city doesn’t make sense to me. Are you sure you’re going to be able to get the zoning reversed?”

Donovan hated to be questioned on any day, but on a Saturday on the golf course in front of a couple of frat-boy caddies, it really pissed him off. Still, he kept his voice steady. “The closing of all those casinos works in our favor. Imagine it-we buy up those other resorts, and when the Russian government allows gaming back into Moscow, we’ll be sitting in the heart of a Las Vegas-style gambling center.”

“But who says they’re going to change the zoning?” Jack uncapped a water bottle. “I don’t think it’s wise to expand our holdings when so many things could go wrong.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Donovan said flatly. He’d been quietly working on this deal for years-ever since the Russian government started legislating to close the Moscow casinos and gather them into four rural gambling zones. The land purchase on Monday would double the size of his Moscow casino, even if he did have to keep it closed for now. Every other gaming corporation was running gun-shy from Moscow, but not Donovan.

Not since he’d learned the Russian government wanted to purchase some special gems that had a cultural significance to their history. But the gems belonged to a rumored leader of the Russian mafia, and the government wouldn’t negotiate with him. Donovan had no such compunction, not when he saw such an opportunity. He’d bought the gems for the very reasonable investment of ten million dollars, and now all he had to do was donate them to the Ministry of Culture in Russia to receive their endless gratitude.

Oh yes, this under-the-table deal would ensure his Moscow casino would be zoned to reopen. He would be the only game in town. Literally.

His caddy held up a vibrating cell phone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Donovan. You said you wanted calls from Mr. Turner.”

Donovan took the phone and walked to the edge of the green for a little privacy. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir.” Turner sounded hesitant.

Already he didn’t like where this call was headed. “Did you get them?”

“Kincaid picked up Cosmo last night, but no one’s seen either of them since. I still don’t have the-”

“Dammit!” Donovan yanked off his cap and craned his neck to the side until the vertebrae cracked. “Cosmo Fortune is a dead man, you understand?” he whispered vehemently into the phone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me know when you get word from Kincaid. If he’s screwed this up, I want him gone, too.” He didn’t wait for a reply but disconnected the call and tossed the phone back to his caddy. Replacing his cap, he stalked back to the ball and proceeded to line up his putt.

The sun on his shoulders soothed away some of the tension, and he concentrated on the ball, the hole, the ball, the hole, the ball-until his other problems faded away.

He sank his putt, keeping the score tied. “We’re moving on this deal on Monday.”

Vados laughed. “I wish I had your steel cojones, Robert. Frankly, I’d feel better if we had some sort of insurance on this deal.”

Donovan’s inner rage tasted of bile. He’d bought a goddamn insurance policy-spent ten million dollars on it-and Cosmo Fortune had run off with it.