Kristin Hardy - Her High-Stakes Playboy

“A hotel. They don’t have him listed.”

“So much for our lead. What do we do now?”

Gwen started the car. “We go home and call Stewart.”

“YOU’RE MISSING WHAT ? ”

Saying the words aloud made them more real. “The Blue Mauritius. The red-orange one-penny Mauritius. More.” Her stomach muscles clenched.

“Does Hugh know?”

“Not yet. They’re on their trip for another twelve weeks. I don’t know what to do, Stewart.” The words spilled out, and for the first time since she’d opened the safe, tears threatened. “He could wind up losing everything, everything , and it’s all my fault.” It was a relief to let the panic out. Stewart would know what to do. Stewart would help her.

If anyone could.

“It’s okay, Gwennie. It’s going to be okay,” he soothed. “Hugh has them insured, so even if we can’t get them back, he’ll get replacement value.”

“But he doesn’t,” she blurted.

“ What? ” His cool disappeared.

“The premiums went too high. He let the insurance lapse last year except the basic policy on the store. He put all the money into the business.” And his granddaughters were the weak link.

Stewart cursed pungently. “Dammit, what was he thinking? Why the hell didn’t he have them in a safe-deposit box?”

“You worked with him for ten years, Stewart. You know how stubborn he is.”

“That’s no excuse for not having them protected, though. That was the first thing he taught me—protect the clients’ holdings and protect your own.”

“It wasn’t just financial with him. He was a collector at heart.”

Stewart let out a sigh. “I know. Come on, it’s still going to be okay. We’re talking about world-famous issues. They’re not going to be easy to unload, especially if your thief is someone who doesn’t know the stamp world.”

“Oh, I have a good idea who the thief is,” she said grimly. “We hired on a new clerk, Jerry Messner, about a month ago. As near as I can tell, he’s bolted.”

“Coincidence?”

Gwen laughed without humor. “He had motive, he had opportunity. Security wasn’t compromised from the outside. You tell me.”

“You called the police?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Keep it that way for now. The last thing you need on this is publicity.”

Gwen nodded. “That was my thinking. I’m hoping we can get them back before we have to tell anyone.”

“Any ideas?”

“Maybe. The prize issues aren’t the only stamps missing. There’s another twenty or thirty thousand in value gone from the store inventory. Common issues he can unload pretty easily, get himself some money to tide him over.”

“Well, isn’t he a greedy little bastard,” Stewart said, an edge of helpless anger in his voice.

“I put out a few feelers on the loop, asking if there’s any action out there with the low-cost issues. I’m keeping quiet on the high-value ones for now.”

“Smart thinking.”

“If it is, it’s the first smart thing I’ve done since Grampa left.”

He sighed. “Don’t beat yourself up, Gwen. There’s no point. The thing to focus on is getting them back. I’ll tell you what, e-mail me a list of everything that’s gone. I’ll make a couple of quiet phone calls to a few people I trust, just to see if they’ve heard any word of some of the issues coming on the market.”

“As soon as we hang up,” she promised, reaching over to switch on her computer. “And Stewart?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. I feel a lot better knowing we’ve got some help.”

“It’s going to be okay, Gwen. Trust me on this.”

And for a moment, as Gwen hung up the phone, she felt as if it actually would be.

Joss stared at her as Gwen logged on to the Internet. “So, what did he say?”

“He’s going to ask around, see if anything’s surfacing.” Gwen sent Stewart the file she and Joss had compiled earlier.

“Is he going to tell people why he’s asking?”

“Stewart understands the situation. He’ll keep the theft quiet.”

Joss rose to pace around the office. “You know, I’m surprised. I would have picked you for the first one to run to the cops.”

“Normally I would have been,” Gwen told her, clicking on her e-mail in-box. “These are different circumstances.” She scanned the contents of the messages that popped up in her preview pane. “I just don’t want to blow—” The thought evaporated from her brain as she stared at the words on-screen.

Joss crowded up behind her. “Did you get something?”

It took her a couple of tries to speak. “It’s a dealer. He just bought a Ben Franklin, same perf, very good condition. It sounds like one of ours.”

“Well, call him.”

“I am.” Gwen scrolled down, searching for the contact signature at the bottom of the e-mail. And then suddenly she was yanking open the desk drawer and pulling out her purse.

“What? Where is he?”

“Las Vegas.” The blood roared in Gwen’s ears as she pulled out the matchbook and compared it to the numbers on-screen. “It’s the same area code as where Rennie is.”

Joss’s gaze took on a particular stillness. “Call it,” she ordered, her voice barely audible.

Hands shaking, Gwen dialed the number and listened to the tones of a phone ringing hundreds of miles away.

“Versailles Resort and Casino,” an operator answered crisply.

Gwen resisted the urge to cross her fingers. It couldn’t just be coincidence the stamp had surfaced there, it couldn’t. “Jerry Messner, please.” She crossed her fingers. All she needed was a chance.

There was a clicking noise in the background. “How was that spelled, please?”

Gwen told her.

The keys clicked some more. “One moment, I’ll connect you.”

And the line began to ring. Gwen banged down the handset hastily and stared at Joss. “He’s there.”

3

LIGHT, COLOR, NOISE. SLOT machines chattered and jingled in the background as Gwen walked through the extravagance that was the Versailles Resort and Casino.

“You want to tell me what I’m doing here again?” she asked Joss over her cell phone as she walked across the plush carpet patterned with mauve, teal and golden medallions. Ornate marble pillars soared to the ceiling overhead, where enormous crystal chandeliers glittered. Waitresses dressed in low-cut bodices and not much else hustled by carrying drinks trays. The casino had the sense of opulence, a decadent playground for the wealthy, though it was open to all comers.

Under the luxury, though, was the reality of gambling. The air freshener pumped into the cavernous main room of the casino didn’t quite dispel the lingering staleness of cigarette smoke. The faces of the gamblers held a fixed intensity as they hoped for the big score. Or hoped just to break even. She couldn’t have found anyplace more unlike herself if she’d tried.

Then again, she couldn’t have looked more unlike herself if she’d tried.

“You know why you’re there,” Joss said. “You’ve got to find Jerry.”

A balding man in his thirties glanced up from his computer poker machine as Gwen walked by. “Hey, baby,” he said, toasting her with a plastic glass that held one of the free drinks handed out by casino waitresses. After a lifetime of wanting to be unremarkable, Gwen had gone the other way completely. Exit Gwen and enter Nina, the bombshell.

“I look like a tart,” she hissed, tugging at her tight, low slung jeans and her scrap of a red top.

“You don’t look like a tart. You just look like a woman who’s not afraid to flaunt what she’s got.”

“Yeah, well, the flaunting part’s working.” A bellhop walking by tripped over his own feet and stumbled up with a grin. “Joss, this is not my style. This should be your job.”