Set Up (18 page)

He hoped his sister wasn't brooding. He'd tried her twice today and not been able to get her. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Sonny was Noelle's lover.

Sonny had worked closely with Robert for years. Robert wasn't careless, but he trusted Sonny. Hell, they all did. Sonny could easily have found out the combination. And Sonny knew what the diamonds were worth and how much a collector like Miles would covet them.

Come to think of it, Miles and Sonny had had their heads together at the wedding yesterday.

But that didn’t mean anything. Miles wouldn’t stoop to theft to get them. At least, the Miles he thought he knew wouldn’t. But if Sonny approached Miles with diamonds in hand, that was a different story.

Didn't matter. He needed Noelle to confirm who was behind the scam before he confronted Sonny and made him tell who had the diamonds. Then, he could recover the book.

He’d find Noelle one way or another.

Chapter Eleven

The hotel lobby in Las Vegas was dark, so dark that Amanda had to strain to read the signs. This was as bad as being inside a cave. How did they expect people to see? She would have complained, except that Callaway McIntyre obviously wanted to hear as little from her as possible.

Not that she blamed him.

Five million dollars’ worth of his diamonds she had helped steal. Along with a book that he valued more than his jewelry, if she hadn't misheard.

Her head ached intolerably. A tiny sigh escaped as he arranged their accommodations, attracting his tiny searching glance, not unsympathetic.

She focused on a nearby urn at least three feet high filled with large purple and small white flowers among glossy green foliage. Anger and pride had gone with everything else, leaving only shame tied to an insistent pounding behind her eyes. All she wanted was a bed where she could plop down and hide.

No space was available, a disinterested desk clerk told them. Callaway, naturally, asked for someone by name.

It didn't take two minutes after Cal spoke to his contact before the clerk, suddenly very attentive, found a room for them after all.

So he had connections out here, too, did he?

Some people always knew the right person in the right place to help them out. Some people always had everything go smoothly, without bumps or setbacks. Some people led charmed lives, damn them.

Amanda's annoyance at Callaway McIntyre's ease in circumventing the system almost made her forget her headache.

Unaware of her resentment, he picked up the keycard. “We have a room but it's probably not much of one.” He led her down steps, up steps, and past crowded shops into an alcove that broadened into the mouth of a wide corridor. “With the broadcasting, home, and poultry conventions all in town this week, we're lucky to get anything.”

When the corridor forked, they veered left into the North Tower and passed more sparkling shop windows. Dresses, furniture, artwork, toys, jewelry… All the well-lit displays looked stylish and expensive.

Under different circumstances and with her head not pounding, she would have enjoyed window-shopping.

After covering an interminable distance of thick carpet, they came to a side alcove containing elevators. Quiet doors opened onto an empty cage. She stumbled getting in.

He caught her elbow, steadied her. “Tired?”

She summoned up her reserves. “It's too dark. I can't see where I'm going. Your influential friend who got us the room ought to replace some light bulbs.”

He chuckled as he pushed the button for the eighth floor. “Ever been to Vegas?”

“No, and I don't plan to come back.”

“The hotels want their customers to gamble, and for some reason, people prefer to gamble at night. You won't find any outside windows in the casinos or any bright lights. You won't find any clocks, either. When customers don't know what time it is, they keep gambling, the casino keeps winning, and everyone's happy.”

“Except the losers.” Bitter thoughts of Noelle ran through her mind. Her head was splitting. She pressed her forehead.

“You really are tired, aren't you?”

That couldn't be compassion. She gave a weary nod.

“Me, too. At least we have a place to sleep. With the conventions, everything's booked. I took whatever was available.”

“Whatever was available” proved to be a wallpapered and modish room with a huge window overlooking Las Vegas and distant mountains. A king-sized bed sat in the center of the room and a short, strangely-shaped sofa stood in front of the window.

He’d had a hard time wangling a room so she couldn’t object to the one bed. Besides, her head hurt so much she had to concentrate to put one foot in front of the other. All she wanted to do was turn down the bedcovers and climb between them.

Callaway mistook her grimace for criticism of his arrangements. “It's all they had, Scarlet,” he drawled with the old mockery. “If you're worried about being ravished, don't be. I've never had a taste for plain women, particularly when they're thieves and phonies.”

Plain!

She relaxed the fists unconsciously balled. “I'm not worried.” She most certainly was not plain. No one in her entire life had ever called her that.

“You can sleep on the sofa if you're scared. You'll have to sleep drawn up in a knot, but I'm sure you can manage.”

“I'm not scared of you.”

He fell down on one side of the bed on his back without turning down the covers. “You ought to be.” He closed his eyes. “You ought to be damned scared. I eat little girls like you for breakfast.”

“I'm thirty-three years old,” she said dryly. “Hardly a little girl. And you don't frighten me one bit.”

She wasn't lying. Somewhere along the line, she'd become too numb, too exhausted to be scared of Callaway McIntyre.

A smile flickered on his lips. The copper hair had fallen away from his broad forehead. Tiny lines of weariness fanned out around the closed lashes and made the raw cheekbones stand out sharply. He looked as tired as she felt.

She wondered what was in the book that made him so anxious to get it back, and whether it belonged to his sister. She wanted, for some ridiculous reason, to smooth out the wrinkles in his forehead and whisper to him that it would be all right.

I'm exhausted. I don't know what I'm doing.

When she fell down on top of the covers beside him, not even her pounding head kept her from dozing off fully clothed. At some point, she was awakened by his muttered, “Sonny came out here,” and felt the bed shift. She heard him dial his cell and ask for Claire, but he sounded distant, very far away. Sleep reclaimed her as she heard him say, “No, no message.”

* * * *

Callaway came wide awake at the first chime. He blinked at fading daylight coming through the window, remembered he was in Las Vegas, and became aware of the sleeping woman next to him, all in the single instant before he spoke into the cell. “Yes.”

Claire was on the other end. “I don't have long to talk, Cal. The sheriff's people just left.”

“The sheriff? What's happened? Are you all right?”

Claire sniffled, obviously under stress. “I'm fine, but Sonny's dead.”

“Sonny?”
How the hell can Sonny be dead?

“Yes. He was in the pond.”

“The pond.”
Has Sonny drowned? How does this fit?
“Was it an accident?”

“No. He’d been shot.”

“Christ. Do they know who did it?”

“No, but listen, Cal, there’s more and I've got to get back before Robert misses me. Sonny and I were eating breakfast this morning and he told me he got a crank call last week. He said he didn't think anything about it until he got an envelope in the mail. It...” Claire's voice wavered.

Amanda Jane did not stir as he carefully got out of bed. “What was in it?”

“Copies of pages from Mother's journal.”

“Damn him. I suspected it might be him but I didn't really believe he would do it.”

“No, no, Cal. I don't know that Sonny's the one—was the one. He said someone is—was using him as a go-between.”

“Hah.” He glared at the sleeping woman. “I've heard stories like that before.”

“But he urged me to go to the police. He wouldn't have done that if he was involved, would he?”

Cal tried to think. “That could have been a ploy.”

“Maybe, but listen, Cal, he all but asked me to leave Robert and run away with him.”

“What?”

“It was so strange. I've always known Sonny liked me. I've always teased him and he’s always carried on with me. But that's just Sonny. Was Sonny.”

Over the connection, he heard her blow her nose. “Are you saying he thought you'd leave Robert for him?”

She gave a shaky laugh. “I was tempted. For a few minutes, I was really tempted. But you know how Sonny is. Was. I never thought he meant anything, just that he was flirting like he always does. But this morning... I think he meant it, Cal. He was kind of sad, not kidding at all. I think if I hadn't turned it into a joke... It was after I laughed it off that he brought out the copies.”

“Bullshit. What did he say?”

“That someone, he didn’t know who, had called him. Whoever it was told him to get five hundred thousand dollars in cash or bearer bonds from me or Matthew, and that he'd be instructed as to where to exchange the money for the book.”

“Has he… Did he talk to Matthew before he died?”

“I don't know. I was stunned at first, and since then I haven't had a chance to see Matthew. There's worse. Robert’s sick and stayed home.”

“Robert? Mr. Don't-Let-Pneumonia-Keep-You-From-Work stayed home from the office?”

“Don't be sarcastic. Robert has a bad case of flu. Anyway, Sonny and I were having breakfast out on the terrace under our bedroom when we talked, and I thought I saw the blinds move. Robert may have heard.”

“You think Robert murdered Sonny?”

“Now you’re being ridiculous. But I'm sure he suspects I’m keeping something from him. The thing is, I liquidated funds today to get the money. I wanted to give it to Sonny, but I couldn't find him. Then the boys did.”

“The boys?”

“The twins found him in the pond. They were riding bikes and saw him in the water.”

Images of his nephews' innocent faces flashed through his mind. They must have been traumatized. “Are they okay?”

“They're ten-year-old boys. They’re more excited than anything else. But I'm worried the investigators will find out I cashed out the treasury notes. What do I tell them when they ask?”

“Hell.” His mind went blank. “If they ask, tell them you planned on giving it to Johanna for a wedding gift.”

“All right.” She sounded dubious, but it was the best he could come up with. “What about Matt? Should I check to see if Sonny approached him, too?”

“No. Wait before you talk to him. If I can find this woman, we'll have a better handle on what's going on.”

“All right, Cal. I’ll wait till you get back.”

Amanda didn’t stir so he said softly, “I'd already guessed Sonny must be in this up to his eyeballs, Claire. I guess you didn't say anything to the authorities about the, you know, the studs and journal?” He heard her negative reply. “Good. Don't. I've a man working on a new lead at this end.”

Claire wasn’t through. “One more thing. After breakfast, I overheard Sonny on the phone. It sounded like he was planning to go away with a woman. I thought it was strange, when he’d just asked me to run off with him but figured he was flirting with me after all. Do you suppose whoever he was talking to is the one who stole the book from you?”

Denial was on the tip of his tongue, but he glanced at the sleeping Amanda. “Could be. He didn't say anything we could use? Maybe her name?”

“No. I just heard a couple of sentences,” she said regretfully. “If Sonny's the one behind the theft, who killed him? Do you think the woman did it?”

“I don't know, Bags.” He didn't want to think about what her question implied. Not yet. “We'll talk about that later.”

Why was he shielding Amanda's part in all this?

He closed his cell and moved softly back to where she lay sleeping in a fetal position. From the window overlooking the front of the hotel and the outskirts of the city, a last afternoon sunbeam drifted in and fell on her brown hair. Reddish highlights, unnoticeable before, sprang to life.

Aha, she had some redhead in her.

Her shoulder rose and fell. From here he could see the mouth softened by sleep and the dark smudges beneath the lashes. Something stirred inside him. Longing tempered by revulsion.

He swallowed.

He still wanted her. Redhead or not, hot as fire or cold as ice, enchantress or thief. Whatever Amanda Jane or Scarlet might be, he still wanted to take that luscious mouth and run his finger round its curve and press his own against it. He still wanted to stroke those smooth shoulders and run his hands through the sleek hair and plunge himself into her ripe center.