Amy Atwell - Lying Eyes

Mickey reminded himself never to let Cosmo drive again. At least deathly fear had wiped the last traces of anesthesia from his body. Even the nausea had abated by the time they pulled up to a gatehouse guarding an exclusive golf community.

“Are you sure he brought her here?” Mickey asked as they waited behind another car.

“Too sure of himself not to. Besides, his housekeeper called me. She’s an old-er, friend.”

Why didn’t this surprise him? “Isn’t Donovan afraid the neighbors will see something?”

Cosmo threw him a sidelong glance. “Are you kidding? His villa has six bedrooms, sits on three acres and backs up against the seventh hole of the course, which is a par four. He keeps five trained Dobermans to guard the place, so don’t wander out into the yard. Now, keep quiet while I talk our way in here.” Cosmo checked his lipstick in the rearview mirror.

Five minutes later, Mickey hauled himself out of the red Trans Am, relying mostly on his right arm. He was still marveling at Cosmo’s ability to bullshit his way past that guard at the gatehouse. He was beginning to develop a healthy respect for the magician’s sheer nerve. He suspected Iris had inherited more of that than she gave herself credit for.

“Have you been here before?” he asked as they climbed the steps to the front door. He moved more slowly than normal, willing the pain away with silent curses.

Cosmo looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, a few times. Back when Donovan was feeling charitable toward me. Before I knew he’d ordered anyone killed.”

“Why’d you go after him?”

“I didn’t. I was after the Romanov gems. I just didn’t have my own ten million to buy them.”

Make that a healthy respect for his balls. Cheat Donovan by giving him the highest quality copies of the Romanov gems, but keep the originals for himself. He wondered if Cosmo had had any idea what he was getting into.

Cosmo rang the bell. When the housekeeper answered, her brown eyes widened at his getup, but she recovered quickly and kissed the magician’s cheek. Old friend, my ass, Mickey thought. Cosmo spoke fluent Spanish to her. Mickey didn’t speak much Spanish, but he spoke eyes, and even though Cosmo was still sporting his drag makeup-though he’d finally ditched the wig, thank God-the middle-aged housekeeper was definitely making eyes.

“Betina, this is my son, Michael,” Cosmo said in English. He pointed at Mickey. “Hijo.”

She eyed them both with reservation but finally allowed them into a soaring entryway and ushered them to a dim living room. Here she said something to Cosmo and left them.

“What did you tell her?” Mickey tiptoed back to the entryway to see if he could hear anyone else in the house.

“That I’m here to see Donovan, and you drove me because my car’s been impounded.”

“What if Donovan knows you don’t have a son?”

Cosmo fisted his hands on his hips. “You know, up until a few days ago, no one seemed to know I had three daughters. Can’t I conjure up a son if I want one?”

Mickey spread his fingers in the air in silent surrender. “I just want to make it out of here alive.”

“We only have to keep him occupied until Hunter shows up to arrest him, right?” Cosmo pointed to the patio doors. “Iris is outside. Let’s go see how she is, but keep it low key.”

Mickey’s heart rate increased at the sight of her. She was unharmed. In fact, she had Edgar on her lap, and she looked to be enjoying a warm afternoon by the pool.

He followed the magician out to the patio but balked when he spied two burly Polynesian males in suits. Great. They looked about as friendly as orangutans-make that constipated orangutans. He ran his hand along the waistband of his trousers, checking his bandages and making sure Turner’s gun remained hidden.

Cosmo went out into the sunlight, ignoring the bruisers as he went to Iris. Mickey couldn’t help notice the way her face lit up at the sight of her father. It hit him broadside-her bright smile conveyed sunshine and happiness and complete confidence. She had faith in her father.

“You came for me,” she said to him.

Cosmo stopped to stare at her. “Of course I did.”

Iris laughed as she went to hug him. “You know, for once I believed in you-and you came through.”

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m wearing makeup?”

“No. I’m sure you have a good reason.” She tried to smooth his wild silver hair, but that appeared to be a lost cause. Instead she touched his jaw, which now lacked the trademark goatee. “Were you able to save Cory and Allie?”

“I sent help to them.”

She nodded, accepting his assurance. “What do we do now?”

“We bide our time. I promise you, more help is coming here, too.”

Uh oh. Beyond Iris and her father, the guards were talking to each other. Spying a line of potted shrubs along the fence, Mickey pulled his cap lower to hide his eyes and went to inspect the…soil. He dug a thumb downward.

“Who are you,” said a heavy male voice behind him.

Mickey drilled his thumb into the soil again. Without looking up, he said, “Plant care. Semiannual soil testing.”

“You leave now.”

Mickey snorted. Oh yeah, that tricky Mickey persona was coming back to him fast. “I wish. No, I gotta check all these plants.”

“Not today.” This time the guy laid a beefy paw on his shoulder. What he wouldn’t give to sic Pebbles on this guy about now. “Come back another time.”

Mickey put his hands in the air. “Fine, I’ll leave. But there’s no rescheduling. We’re booked. I won’t be back for six months, and these plants-” he waved a hand down the line of potted shrubs, trees, plants, whatever the hell they were, “-could all be dead by then. But hey, it’s your million, right?” He wiped his hands together to dust all the soil from his palms.

The two guards made eye contact. The beefy one at his shoulder nodded. “Finish up. Fast.”

“You got it.” Mickey moved onto the next pot. He didn’t dare look back at Iris, unsure whether she’d recognized him yet or not. He heard the patio door slide open and quickly shifted his position so he could keep an eye on everything.

Donovan stepped into the sunlight. The man clearly thought of himself as a king-divine right, master of his domain. He spared a glance in Mickey’s direction then trained his focus on Cosmo. “You surprise me.”

The magician hunkered down to coax Edgar from beneath the patio table. “What, that I showed up so fast?

“That you showed up at all.”

Cosmo smirked. “I would have been here quicker, but I had to deal with Turner.”

This put Donovan on edge. “You lie.”

“I never lie.” He stood, cradling the overfed rabbit in his arms. “Turner won’t be coming. So you’re on your own.”

Mickey watched, an ache in his heart, as Donovan made a purposeful line toward Iris. This woman, who’d wanted none of this kind of life, had been thrust into the middle of it against her wishes. She was little more than a pawn now. Still, what would Donovan do? The man might hire killers, but he wasn’t a killer himself.

Donovan stepped close to Iris then lashed out and grabbed her suddenly. In one smooth movement, he had a gun at her temple.

Mickey reacted in an instinctive lunge, drawing his weapon, though the silencer made it unbalanced.

“Hold it, Kincaid!” Donovan shouted.

Cosmo gasped. “Everybody just stop! Don’t kill Mickey. He’s hidden the real gems.”

Terror drained Iris’s face as she recognized him.

Mickey held his position, his aim. “Hurt her, Donovan, and you’re a dead man.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kincaid.” He shifted his stance so Iris blocked most of his body. “I’d prefer not to hurt anyone here poolside. Bloodstains will destroy the resale value.”