Hearts in Vegas. Colleen Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ running her fingertips lightly over the tight weave of the linen tablecloth. “A little over three weeks from today. What if I don’t find enough evidence by then?”

      “Vanderbilt will undertake a sting. Swap out the necklace with a duplicate, which you’d steal, the critical point being when you hand it over to Dmitri. You’ll need to play this tight with Dmitri, get him to a spot you help choose—a hotel room, for example—where Vanderbilt technicians can be in the next room taking covert footage of him accepting the necklace, discussing the heist and so forth....”

      Her nerves jumped. Those few videotaped minutes would make or break a multimillion-dollar case—the kind of high-stakes shakedown she’d never conducted, yet Vanderbilt thought she could pull this off in one shot? Even Meryl Streep needed more than one take to get a scene right.

      “I’ll do my best to find evidence in the next few weeks, Charlie, but please remember I’m an investigator, not a miracle worker.”

      “A lead investigator,” he said, raising his glass. Whatever confusion or irritation she’d noticed before was gone from his face. He smiled his signature Gekko smile. “On behalf of Vanderbilt Insurance, I’d like to congratulate you on your first promotion, effective immediately, which includes a seven percent raise, more stock options...and I finagled an extra week of annual vacation time, but keep that to yourself.”

      “I’m being promoted?”

      “That’s what the champagne and the classy restaurant are all about.”

      “Really?” she said, feeling embarrassed that she’d wondered if this brunch was a date setup.

      “Yes, Frances,” he said. “Typically, other executives would attend, but since you’re working undercover, Vanderbilt is keeping this celebration low-key. By the way, when you join my division as its initial investigator, your title will be Manager of the Special Investigative Unit.”

      The food arrived. As the waiter fussed over them—“Another Baby Bellini, mademoiselle?”—she unfurled her napkin into her lap, titles and money and her future swirling in her brain. She took another sip of her Bellini, its carbonation stinging her lips. From thief to investigator to manager? Was this real?

      Of course it was. One thing about Charlie, he’d never lied to her. Now it made sense that he’d been handing her tougher cases this past year. He’d been testing her, grooming her to join his team.

      He rapped his fingers on the table and leaned forward with a smile. “You need to stop doubting yourself, Frances. You’re perfect—not only for this case, but also for manager of the special investigative unit.”

      She took another sip of her Bellini, thinking about that word perfect, something she’d accepted long ago she could never be...unless she faked it.

      * * *

      BRAXTON SAT IN his Volvo on a side street next to the restaurant Chez Manny, one of those old-time Vegas restaurants that once catered to movie stars, famous singers and the usual assortment of high-living organized-crime types. These days it still had the reputation for great food, but the neighborhood had gone downhill. Run-down apartment buildings, empty lots cluttered with weeds and debris. An elderly man pushed a shopping cart, its wheels clattering over the broken sidewalk, eyeing Braxton as if he might jump out of his Volvo and try to steal the cart.

      Not the kind of neighborhood that gave a person the warm fuzzies, but it was safer than a good third of Vegas’s hoods, unfortunately. At least Frances was meeting someone here during the day.

      Braxton had been sitting here, wondering who that someone was.

      When he’d bumped into her back at the agency parking lot, he’d slipped his cell phone under her driver’s seat. Then, after she’d left, he’d tracked his phone’s location via his online “Find My Phone” software. Not exactly a classy move on his part, but how was a guy supposed to ask out a girl if he didn’t even know her name?

      Although that girl might not be too happy learning what he’d done. But if she were furious, he’d try to at least charm her into giving back his cell phone.

      In spite of the cold, he’d rolled down his driver’s window, hoping a few stray breezes might freshen the old, musty smell inside the Volvo. A previous owner apparently liked to smoke while driving, because there were lingering scents of stale cigarettes, too. Scents of cooking food wafted his way from Chez Manny...baked chicken and something yeasty-garlicky he imagined to be rolls or calzone or—

      Click. Click. Click.

      He heard high heels on sidewalk. It was probably her.

      He’d parked on the side street so she wouldn’t see him when she walked to her car parked in the lot behind the restaurant. Problem was, he couldn’t see her, either, until she entered the lot. But the clicks of those heels sounded as if she were coming down the walkway from the restaurant’s front door.

      He pricked his ears, trying to identify other footsteps with hers. None. Good, she was alone.

      Then she entered his line of vision, slim and gray, those hips swaying lightly as she headed to her Benz.

      He jumped out of his car, taking care not to slam the door, then jogged across the street.

      “Hey, Babe!” he called out, not wanting to scare her by running up too quickly.

      She turned, a startled look in her eyes.

      He stepped onto the sidewalk, slowing his pace as he crossed into the lot, trying to read her body language, but she stood so stiffly, that was impossible. Moving closer, he tried to catch a hint of her reaction to his surprise appearance and saw, well, surprise.

      At least she didn’t appear to be pissed off. Things were looking up.

      She carried a paperback-size clutch purse, which she held tightly against her chest. Her gaze narrowed as he approached, those sparkling amethyst eyes clouded by suspicion.

      Things weren’t looking so up.

      He stopped, held open his hands apologetically. “I, uh, accidentally dropped my phone in your car.”

      She tilted her head, flashing an is that so? look.

      “So, I, uh...” His throat suddenly felt parched, as if he’d been sucking dirt.

      “So you checked your phone-locator GPS program and realized with great surprise that you’d accidentally dropped it in my car.”

      Man, she was sharp.

      “Something like that.”

      She made a noise that said more than most people could in a paragraph, mostly that she knew he’d dropped it on purpose to track her, so stop the bull.

      Really sharp.

      When up against that kind of smarts, it was time to stop peddling a story and offer the truth.

      “You’re right.” He smiled.

      She didn’t smile back.

      At least she’s still standing here, not getting into her car.

      “Okay, СКАЧАТЬ