Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance) (29 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S
HORTLY
BEFORE 7:00 A.M.
on
Saturday, March 1, Braxton quietly let himself into the Morgan LeRoy office,
heading past his desk to the hallway leading to Val and Drake’s apartment.
Halfway down the hall sat their metal equipment cabinet—not the most convenient
place for it, but there hadn’t been room elsewhere in the offices.

After unlocking the cabinet doors, he began carefully sifting
through the items on the middle shelf, trying to remember where he’d stashed the
miniature wireless camera.

“What’s up, bro?”

Startled, Braxton dropped a pack of batteries onto the wood
floor.

“Damn it, Drake,” he whispered, picking it up. “Don’t sneak up
on me like that.”

After setting the batteries back on the shelf, he turned to his
brother, dressed in a plaid flannel robe, holding a bag of ground coffee, his
face crumpled and sleepy.

“We ran out of coffee, had to get some from the office
kitchen,” Drake said groggily. “That’s the denim jacket Dad gave you,
right?”

“Yeah. Found it in the back of the closet. Feels good wearing
it again—makes me think of him.”

“Sometimes hard to believe....”

“That he’s gone,” Braxton finished.

They were quiet for a moment.

“So,” Drake said, “whatcha looking for?”

“That miniature wireless camera. The one shaped like an
eyeball.”

“Third shelf. Left side.” He yawned. “I know because I put it
there a few days ago. Batteries should be good—probably wanna check,
though.”

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Over the past few weeks he and Drake had been getting along
better, helped by Braxton never mentioning Frances, of course. After Val and
Grams had clued Dorothy in on Drake’s objection to Frances, no one else in the
family had mentioned her either.

It also helped that Frances and Braxton had been keeping a low
profile since the night of the auction, never meeting outside of their walks to
her car and a few projects he’d worked with her for Vanderbilt. One being their
research of court records on Ulyana and Dmitri that produced nothing. Another
their visit one afternoon with Yuri, where she provided the Russian photos of
the missing Greek coins.

Today everything was coming to a head with the heist—a
mock
heist, of course, as Vanderbilt had swapped the
real Helena necklace with a replica, known only to Palazzo security who would
conveniently not see Frances steal it.

Afterward Frances would meet Dmitri in a room at the Mandalay
Bay Hotel. On camera, she was going to speak with, and coax, Dmitri to admit his
role in the heist, while handing off the replica in exchange for the brooch and
cash he’d promised. In the next room a tech would be taking video of the
exchange along with two Vanderbilt investigators trained in protection.

Braxton wanted to be nearby in case she needed help, but
Frances had refused. If one of the investigators reported seeing him, Charlie
would be furious that he’d worked solo after all the warnings. But Braxton
persisted, promising he’d stay at a distance, and insisting that he’d never be
able to live with himself if something happened to her because he hadn’t been
there to protect her.

Accusing him of guilt-tripping her, which he agreed he’d done
and quite well, too, Frances finally agreed.

“Found it.” He retrieved the small round camera and
transmitter.

“Started work on that monster Scrabble board yet?” Drake
asked.

“Not yet.”

“If you need help, let me know.” With a yawn, he ambled down
the hall to the back apartment.

As Braxton put new batteries into the eyeball camera, he heard
the adjoining door shut.

A few minutes later, he sat at his desk in the front office,
double-checking the camera’s wireless connection when his cell rang.

“Braxton Morgan,” he answered.

“Yuri. I find slugs. It was Kodak moment. Exactly like
Kodak.”

Slugs.
Coins.

Kodak. Had to be the digital pictures of the coins Frances
showed him that day.

Yuri had always spoken cryptically in phone calls, a precaution
in case the line was tapped, which challenged Braxton to figure about odd
acronyms and strange references.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Braxton...” He pronounced the name as if it had twenty
r
’s.
“When Yuri say he sure, he
sure!
You know that.”

Actually, he did. Yuri could be a sleazy, lying, back-stabbing
thug, but when he said he was sure of something, he was really sure.

“Listen, I tell friend to take Kodak and send to me,” Yuri
continued, “then I send to you. Then
you
sure,
too.”

“Okay. When’re you sending this pic—Kodak, Yuri?”

“When I get proof candy man leave U.S., I give directions to
slugs.”

Candy man. Russian Confections.
Dmitri.

He’d been mulling over an idea that might scare Candy Man into
leaving the country, but Braxton needed to find the right time and place. But
first, he needed photographic proof the coins were in Vegas.

“Send me those Kodaks, Yuri, and I’ll do the rest.” He paused.
“Does Dmitri—”
shit
“—Candy Man have family
here?”

“Have never heard of such person name. Goodbye.”

Yuri ended the call.

Braxton realized he’d slipped, but he’d never excelled at these
cryptic conversations.

As Braxton slipped his phone back into his pocket, Drake walked
into the waiting room, holding a steaming mug, his gaze blacker than the coffee
it held.

“What the hell are you doing talking to Yuri?” Drake growled.
“Just can’t stay away from the criminal element, can you?”

“Drake, chill. This has to do with a case.”

“Asking Yuri to send you photos...and you’ll
do the rest?
What kind of case is that? It makes me
sick
that you’re in with him again.”

“Give me some credit, man.”

“I give you credit for every dark moment of your past with him.
Want to destroy my agency? Bring Yuri into the picture. What photos is he
sending you?” He took a hit of coffee.

“Some coins. Has to do with the Vanderbilt case. There’s a link
between Dmitri and Yuri and some antique coins, and Yuri’s helping me follow the
thread, and that’s the truth, so help me God.”

Drake frowned. “You’re risking our agency working with
Frances—because of her, you’re getting thick with Yuri again. I warned you she’s
gonna drag you down, and she is.”

“I’m not getting thick with—”

“You’re too ga-ga to save yourself,” Drake interrupted, “so
I’ll help you. Do you want your family...or Frances? ’Cause you can’t have both.
If you choose her, I’ll be the first one to close the door. And I’ll make sure
Uncle Felon Groupie
never
has contact with my son,
either.”

“Drake, for God’s sake—”

“You can take that threat to the bank, Brax.”

When Drake drew the line, it didn’t budge. Hell, Braxton could
be hardheaded, too. After a few uncomfortably silent moments, Braxton said
quietly, “Drake, you’re my brother. Of all the family we have left...” That
thought got to him. He swallowed, hard. “I probably love you the most. But
sometimes, you can’t see beyond the surface. You’re forgetting that Mom, Grams,
and even Val
like
Frances. Mom, especially.”

Drake shook his head, a steely look in his eyes. “I’ve gone
down this road with you before, Brax. Remember how you insisted Yuri wasn’t a
bad influence? And look how far down he took you. Get real—Frances is still
serving out a criminal sentence. She’s still honing her jewel thief craft, too,
in that job as an insurance investigator. I only see what’s on the surface?
Well, bro, I see
bad news
written all over this. As
your life topples, you’ll lose all of us, one by one, just as you did before.
Your choice.”

Drake walked out of the room, his footsteps heavy as he headed
down the hallway. The door shut with a slam.

For a few moments, Braxton sat there, stunned, wanting to shake
off the insanity of that exchange, even while knowing how real it was. Years
ago, when he’d first hooked up with Yuri, Drake had tried to talk sense to
Braxton, convince him he was making a mistake. But Braxton wouldn’t listen, and
for that he eventually lost his family.

I love Frances.
He’d felt it, but
now he actually put it into words.

But the thought of losing his family again was almost more than
he could bear.

He gritted his teeth and shoved the wireless camera into his
pocket.

* * *

A
T
ONE
O
’
CLOCK
on
Saturday afternoon,
Frances, wearing a new cream-colored Marc Jacobs pants outfit with taupe Gucci
pumps, walked across the tiled entranceway toward the ornate glass doors of the
Palazzo, one of the most luxurious casino-resorts in the world. Potted palms
swayed in the breeze. Small clusters of well-dressed people stood around,
chattering.

She hadn’t detected Braxton at any time during her drive over,
or on this walk inside. He was keeping his word to stay out of sight, but she
knew he was out there, watching her, protecting her. She still felt those
familiar preshow jitters, but for the first time, she didn’t feel as alone.

She’d finished her homework days ago, told Dmitri it would take
her exactly 268 seconds, or 4.46 minutes, to walk through the entrance of the
Palazzo, turn immediately right into the Luminary Lounge, which housed the
Legendary Gems exhibit, steal the Helena Diamond necklace, and leave by a side
door and climb into the Audi that would be waiting for her. She’d practiced this
walk several times, and run the number past Oleg who thought 252 was more
accurate.

Although precision was critical in a jewelry heist, it didn’t
matter today. She could take 4.46 minutes or ten. Palazzo security would ensure
she stole the replica necklace without a hitch.

A red-coated doorman smiled as he opened a door for her.

Two hundred and sixty-eight seconds and counting.

* * *

M
OMENTS
LATER
,
SHE
pulled her invitation to the
Legendary Gems exhibit from her pocket and handed it to a fiftyish man wearing a
purple shirt buttoned high with a bolo tie. Behind him stood a much younger man
with a buzz cut, his massive shoulders evident beneath his Palazzo security
guard blazer. His eyes met hers for a flickering second before he continued
scanning the area.

The strategically placed lights and shiny acrylic cases filled
with jewels gave the room a shimmering, otherworldly quality. She caught a whiff
of vanilla. Like other high-end hotels on the Strip, the Palazzo infused the air
with subliminal scents that supposedly influenced people’s moods.

She’d studied the layout of this exhibit in such detail, she
could be blindfolded and know exactly where to go. As she strolled casually
toward the case containing the Helena Diamond necklace, two beefy Palazzo
security guards focused their attention elsewhere.

She paused at the case and looked down at the Helena necklace,
momentarily awestruck by its glittering beauty, reminding her how dazzling
costume jewelry could be. Leaning forward, she angled her shoulder, her right
hand lifting the lock as her left plucked the necklace.

A few moments later, Frances strolled out of the exhibit,
across the marble floor, and out through a side door. As she stepped outside, a
breeze swept past, carrying scents of the Mojave desert. The beige Audi sat at
the curb, its motor running.

The day had been sweet and perfect.

She willed it to remain that way as she faced her toughest
challenge, just minutes away.

* * *

B
RAXTON
WAS
SITTING
in
a chair in the Mandalay Bay hotel-casino lobby, his baseball cap pulled low,
pretending to read a newspaper, when he saw Frances, a vision in her
sandy-colored outfit and blond hair, stroll into the room. He took a deep
breath, imagining he could smell the citrusy scent of her shampoo, taste the
salty sweetness of her skin, hear that husky voice.

He felt his heart twist.
I don’t want to
lose you.

Couldn’t think about any of that now.

He stood and checked the screen of his smartphone before
slipping it into his shirt pocket. After leaving Morgan-LeRoy this morning, he’d
changed into some clothes he’d picked up at at a discount store the other
night—brown cargo pants, dark blue hoodie, lace-up sneakers. Boring, badly
matched clothes to look as un-Braxton-like as possible.

As Frances crossed the lobby, he jogged to the elevators.

Minutes later he stepped out onto the tenth floor, and headed
down the hall to a fake ficus tree, bushy with green plastic leaves, and
retrieved the wireless camera he’d hidden earlier, its lens pointed at three
room doors—the middle one being Dmitri’s.

Frances had texted him the room number earlier this morning
with the understanding that he wasn’t to come up to the floor. He’d agreed
because there were supposed to be two Vanderbilt investigators and a video tech
in the adjacent room. He’d placed the camera up here, with a feed to his
smartphone, to see if Dmitri allowed anyone other than Oleg or Ulyana inside.
Oleg had arrived a few minutes ago, and Frances was on her way. As a safety
precaution, they’d spaced their arrivals to not be seen together.

A twentysomething couple was staying in one of the neighboring
rooms. A ponytailed, nerdy-looking kid, carrying two equipment bags, had entered
the room on the other side at nine-thirty. That had to be the video tech.

The reason Braxton had come up to the tenth floor was because
the two Vanderbilt investigators, who were supposed to join the nerdy tech kid,
hadn’t showed. Which meant Frances was up here on her own.