Marie Ferrarella - Las Vegas - Seduction - The Heiress's 2-Week Affair

He crossed his arms before him. “That wasn’t asking nicely, Natalie,” he observed.

She jumped up to her feet. “Look—” But she got no further.

Because, just then, Adam Parker and Miles Davidson pushed open the door and walked into the surveillance room.

Both men looked as surprised to see her as she was to see them.

Parker frowned at her. “You wouldn’t be conducting an investigation into your sister’s death after the captain gave you explicit orders not to and put you on bereavement leave, would you Rothchild?” he asked.

Natalie didn’t know if the question was tongue in cheek or not. She was pretty certain the men would turn a blind eye to her pursuing leads as long as it wasn’t right in front of them. This put all three of them in an awkward position.

“As a matter of fact, Natalie’s here visiting me,” Matt informed the detectives genially. Both men looked rather dubious. “We used to be close,” he went on. “I invited her in here so that I could keep an eye on the monitors while we caught up on old times.” As he talked, he approached the detectives. Passing Wilson’s desk, Matt pressed a key on the board so swiftly that the movement was all but imperceptible.

Except that Natalie saw him.

A long, narrow bar appeared on the bottom of the screen, indicating that something was currently being saved.

Matt deliberately placed his body before the two detectives and in front of Wilson’s computer, effectively blocking it.

He looked from one man to the other. “I’m Matt Schaffer, head of Montgomery Enterprises security.” He shook each detective’s hand in turn. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yeah.” Parker nodded toward the computers in general. “You can hand over all your surveillance tapes from last night.”

Matt remained unfazed. “That’s a tall order, detective. Do you have a subpoena?”

Parker reached into his inside pocket and took out an envelope. “Right here.”

Natalie felt her heart sink.

He smiled to himself as he watched the news on the flat-panel TV in his dreary apartment. Another building blocked sunlight from entering through the window, but that didn’t dampen his spirits. Today, he felt on top of the world.

Didn’t take long, did it? he thought, tossing away the greasy wrapper that had held his fast-food lunch. But then, the media was full of nothing but sharks these days no matter what venue they reported in. The moment they smelled blood—in this case, a story about a tabloid queen who’d led an in-your-face life since she put on her first pair of thong underwear—there was a feeding frenzy.

The story had broke early this morning, and there’d been nothing but a recycling of details, ad nauseam, since then.

No matter, it would be a long time before he got tired of hearing them.

“There’ll be more to join her soon enough,” he promised the attractive blonde whose turn it was to interrupt the scheduled morning programming with this “Breaking news.”

A wicked smile curved his mouth, marring his handsome features. One by one, he was going to make all the Rothchilds pay for what had been done, both to his father and, consequently, to his mother.

“Think he can clear his conscience by throwing a few dollars our way?” he seethed, addressing the words to the air. “Was that supposed to make up for robbing us of Poppi and what was his? Well, Rothchild’s in for one hell of a surprise if that’s what he thinks.”

The laugh that echoed within the dim room sounded more like a demonic giggle.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around the prize he’d secured last night. It comforted him not because of what it was but because he knew that Harold Rothchild grieved over its absence probably even more than he grieved for his daughter’s demise. The newscaster was saying something about robbery being the motive.

Let them think that, he thought. Stealing the dazzling ring had just been the cherry on top of the sundae. Hitting Rothchild where it hurt most. Besides, he wasn’t stealing; he was reclaiming. The gem belonged to his family, not Rothchild’s. And his aim was to go on eliminating family members until old man Rothchild was the last man standing.

Once Rothchild’s entire family was gone, then and only then, would he move in to bring an end to the old man’s misery. Slowly, he decided. Very, very slowly. He was going to enjoy hearing Rothchild beg for mercy.

His father had never had the chance, he thought bitterly. Joseph Rothchild had been his father’s judge and executioner—and Harold Rothchild had stood in the shadows and watched, shaking like a little girl, too afraid of his own father to do the right thing and intervene.

Well, this was going to teach that spineless bastard to mess with his family, the young man promised himself with mounting glee.

Knowing he needed to go out, he looked around the small, airless apartment, searching for a place to leave the priceless ring. But there was nowhere within the three untidy rooms that he, as an accomplished thief, wouldn’t have looked in his search for goods. Thieves were rampant in this city of glitter and sin.

The safest place, for now, he decided, was with him. So he left it in his pocket.

His smile widened. It was the kind of malevolent look that made a man’s blood run cold, he thought proudly, catching a glimpse of himself in the cracked, smoky mirror that he passed on his way to the door.

Besides, in the right hands, the hands of the family who were the rightful owners of the diamond, wasn’t it supposed to bring some kind of good luck? Since his father had been the one to have originally found the gem in that godforsaken mine, that meant the multicolored diamond with its hypnotic gleam belonged to his family. And that, in turn, meant that it was supposed to bring him luck.

In a way, he mused philosophically, it already had. He’d killed Candace Rothchild and no one was the wiser. No one had seen it coming, not even Candace until the late few moments. The lying, empty-headed bitch thought she was going to have a blood-pumping roll in the sack, not receive a one-way ticket for a trip on the River Styx.

Surprise!

Curling his fingers around the ring, he walked out of his apartment whistling. He took care to lock the door behind him.

Natalie watched in silence as the two men she worked with cleared out the last of the surveillance tapes. They packed the lot of them into a box that one of Matt’s people had provided. Parker had the decency to look contrite as the other detective hefted the box.

“Sorry, Nat,” the older man apologized, and then he paused because he didn’t want working relations to deteriorate between them. “But we’ll get him—or her,” he augmented since the killer had left no indication as to gender. There was always an outside chance that Candace had been done in by a jealous wife or girlfriend who had been thrown over by her man because the partying heiress had come on the scene.

Natalie sighed and nodded her head. It was clear to Matt that passive was not a role she played well. He waited until the two detectives had left with their booty, then looked expectantly at the young technician. Without a word, Wilson began typing, his fingers flying again.

Natalie had caught the look that had gone between the two. Caught, too, the swift sleight of hand that had occurred when Matt had passed the technician’s keyboard. She doubted if either Parker or Davidson had noticed. If they had, something would have been said. Matt was still that good.

“What did you do?” she asked him.

His intensely blue eyes looked at her with amusement. “Excuse me?”

There was a time when she would have found this charming. But that naive girl had grown up years ago.