Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

No matter how much she wanted those stones to be the Romanov alexandrite, they weren’t. And no matter how much she wanted Mickey to have feelings for her, he wouldn’t.

He was a cop on a case. If it weren’t for the gems and her crazy father, Mickey wouldn’t have spared her a second glance. He might swear to protect her, but that was all part of his job. And when the job was over? Well, people didn’t stick around for her-not even her own father. She’d be a fool to forget that.

Resolved, she stormed the kitchen doorway, intent on taking immediate control of the situation. “Look, I don’t care whether you’re a thief or a cop, but you can’t keep breaking in here. You’ve invaded my home, my family, my privacy-”

The sadness in his blue eyes stopped her momentum. “Iris, I know I hurt you when I disappeared this morning, but this is important. This is your life we’re talking about.”

She tilted her head at the obvious stress in his tone. “My life as in-?”

“As in your life.” More awake now, he paced the kitchen tile with the deliberateness of a caged cougar. “The guy behind this whole thing is Robert Donovan. Ever heard of him?”

She choked out an incredulous laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of him. He donated to David’s campaign. Last Christmas he bought some jewelry from my shop. The man owns properties all over Vegas.”

He looked her squarely in the eye. “He wants you dead.”

She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“Donovan was there this afternoon. I tried to catch him, but security took me down.” He pulled a cup from the cupboard then turned back, his brow furrowed. “Does your father have any connection with him?”

“Cosmo and Robert Donovan? That would be-” A memory struck her with enough clarity to make her reel back. “Oh, my God. When Donovan bought the bracelet and earrings from my store, he asked about Cosmo.”

“What do you mean, asked about him?”

“Cosmo once worked in one of Donovan’s casinos. He headlined one of the smaller stages, maybe a decade ago. So Donovan asked what he was up to, where he was working.”

“What did you tell him?”

Iris swallowed. “I told him Cosmo was between gigs-that’s pretty normal for him these days. And Donovan said to tell Cosmo to contact him if he wanted a job.”

Their eyes met, and her stomach churned at the thought that she’d been somehow responsible for setting her father on a dangerous path. “You think he’s behind this whole thing? Why didn’t you tell me this right away?”

“I’m not used to keeping witnesses on my cases informed of my every movement.” He turned away to pour coffee into his cup. From his interrogation and now his preoccupied tone, he’d made another of those chameleon changes, and right now he was one-hundred-percent cop.

“Is that all I am? A witness on this case?” At least now she understood.

“No!” His eyes focused on her again. “No,” he repeated, more softly.

“Then what am I?” Suddenly, she had a desperate need to know. “Am I a suspect? A partner in crime? A friend? A lover? Are you here because I’m some duty you think you need to fulfill?”

“Now stop it!” His eyes glittered as if she’d awakened some angry beast. He rubbed the back of his neck with tense fingers. “Right now you’re being a pain in the ass.”

She refused to back down. “It’s a simple enough question. I think it deserves an answer.”

He stared at her, intimidating as hell.

Still, she waited.

“You’re important to me. I don’t know how else to define it.”

Crossing her arms, she leaned a hip against the kitchen counter. “And were you thinking that this morning when you left?”

“I made a mistake, okay? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything-”

“Oh, come off it. All women want things. Promises, grand gestures, sacrifices.”

She watched him for a moment while umbrage festered in her gut. Whoever had sparked that outburst, it hadn’t been her. “Look, I didn’t ask for any of this. You broke into my home and asked for my help. I gave it. Since then, I’ve been abducted, accused, threatened and stalked.”

“Hey, I saved your life.”

“Yeah? And you’d probably be dead now if it weren’t for me.” She expelled a breath as she tried to quell the roiling emotions within her. Carefully, she sought words to tell him what she could barely explain to herself. “I’ve only known you a few days, but you’ve changed everything I know, everything I am. And yet, I don’t know a thing about you.”

“So, what do you want?” he asked quietly.

“I want you to talk to me, Mickey. Just tell me something about who you are.”

“I’m a cop.”

“Not what you are.” A tiny snort escaped her. “Who you are.”

He shook his head, clearly at a loss. “Give me a place to start.”

Iris was reminded that when he’d faced death the previous night, he’d called home. “Tell me about your mom.”

He studied her as if he hoped to uncover some secret meaning behind her request. Finally, he must have accepted its simplicity, because his lips curved into an easy, open smile that stripped him of all the artifice he generally practiced. “Mom’s the best. She bakes cherry cobbler and she cries at old movies-especially Westerns with John Wayne.” His head gave a small shake as he raised his coffee cup to his lips.

Apparently he didn’t agree with his mom’s taste in movies.

“She works hard, loves fiercely, empathizes with everyone in her community. She volunteers down at the church-says it’s her duty, but she really likes knowing what’s going on with everyone in the congregation-and she sings contralto in the choir. She taught me to care about people, to defend my honor and that of those who deserved it.”

Mickey studied her over his cup. “Seems to me you now know who my mother is. I don’t know how much I told you about me.”

“A lot,” she whispered past the tightness in her throat. He spoke of his mother with a reverence that illustrated how deeply he loved her.

“What about your mother?”

“Oh, you know all about me and my life.” She stared down at her feet.

“I had a three-page document with facts and dates. Tell me about her.” When she hesitated, his eyes gleamed with a hint of their typical wariness. “What, isn’t this a two-way street?”

Iris sighed, but after some thought, she complied. “She was an artist with incredible talent. She loved history and cultures and travel, and she could see beauty in simple rocks and metals. She knew how to tell a story.”

“She died in a car accident?”

Iris nodded. Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked to clear them. When that didn’t work, she brushed at them.

Mickey set his cup down and came to her. Cupping her jaw gently, he tilted her face toward him. His blue eyes reflected her pain, her loss. “Tell me about it.”

“Not much to tell. Heavy rain moved in. There was a pileup on the interstate, a couple trucks, a bunch of cars. It wasn’t her fault, it was just an accident. Four people died.”

“How did you get the news?”

“Cosmo told me. There wasn’t anything we could do. She was just gone. It was so sudden. So final.”

“It’s hard to lose someone unexpectedly,” Mickey said softly. He kissed the top of her head, then drew a heavy breath.

Iris gave a little self-conscious shrug. “It was a long time ago. I still miss her, but that freezing pain has ebbed.” She gripped Mickey’s hand, as if he could hold her from sinking into the memories of her loss.

His fingers tightened on hers until she was sure he’d cut off the blood flow. “It steals your breath for a while, doesn’t it?”