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He’d wanted—no, he’d needed—to see her again. “I’m here for a job… Among other things.”
“Uh-huh. Obviously I missed something before. What exactly is it you do?”
“I…” Cameron smiled briefly. “Eliminate problems.” She laughed at his careful phrasing. “What, you’re some kind of enforcer for the Scotch mafia?”
“Scottish, actually. Scotch is something you drink. But, no.” He dropped his foot back to the floor. “I’m a risk management specialist, mostly negotiations and recoveries.”
She set her fork down with a snap. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for an insurance agent. They usually don’t disappear in the middle of the night.”
Cameron knew what she wanted and he resisted giving it. He was very much his own man, had been since having to leave the Special Air Service behind. There had been other women, of course, but he’d made the rules clear from the start. He’d come and gone as he damned well pleased. Until now.
Until her.
His natural aptitude for unconventional warfare was discovered during his Army training. Each time he’d put his dark gift to use, it had cut away a bit of his core and it showed. Given the life he led, he looked like ten kilometers of bad road and well he knew it.
Yet somehow she’d recognized him, as he had her. The instant they’d touched, he felt it. Like that split second before impact when you knew the bullet was coming, but couldn’t do sweet fuck-all about it. Souls colliding as bodies merged.
Anyone outside of his best mate would think he’d gone barmy, but he was sure about himself and Stella. He’d seen that same certainty in the eyes of his parents when they looked at each other, right up until they were killed. Therefore now that he’d returned, he had every intention of staying on. Whether his wife liked it or not.
“Well?” Stella crossed her arms and glared at him. “I’m what you might call a conflict consultant.”
“Consulting could mean anything or nothing.”
Clever girl, his Stella. That was precisely why he’d set up his company in that manner. The less known about what he did, the better for all involved.
“When one person’s agenda conflicts with someone else’s, they call me. That’s why I’m here. Frank DiMarco called me.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Money Changes Everything
NOW, I HAVE TO ADMIT, that stopped me. On several levels. Frank DiMarco is Maria Cavanaugh’s father. And, like I said before, I don’t believe in coincidences. Stone was here because Big Frank had called him, not because he wanted to see me.
Son of a bitch.
Fearing my look actually would kill him, I stared down at my lunch. The Tandoori chicken, jasmine rice and spinach paneer were neatly separated on lettuce leaves. Little tomato rosettes and parsley sprigs garnished the meal. It’s the details that count, both on my plate and in my job.
When Stone reached over to steal a piece of chicken, I shoved the container toward him. My appetite was gone, but my interest was aroused. “Big Frank called you. Is he the ‘conflictor’ or the ‘conflictee’?”
Stone took a bite before answering. “DiMarco would be the conflictee. He’s out a good sum of money.”
“From which business?” Maria’s father owns a couple of small hotel casinos and some adult entertainment clubs on the Strip.
“The Palazzo. About four hundred thousand dollars was stolen over several months. An inside job.”
Normally people tiptoe around a man whose nickname is “Demon” DiMarco. Stealing four hundred grand is more like stomping. I shook my head in disbelief. “Why not go to the cops or the Gaming Board?”
He swallowed a mouthful of rice and spinach. “DiMarco doesn’t want the publicity. More importantly, he wants the money back. Which leads to my proposition. We’ll work together, sharing information—”
I interrupted with a bark of laughter. “Oh, like you’ve been such a wealth of knowledge in the past. Forget it.”
“As I recall, Stella, we’re damned good together.”
I recalled, too. In vivid, true-to-life color with high-definition surround sound. Then I remembered the elegant and expensive silence in the hotel suite the next morning. And the silence ever since.
My anger hummed so close to the surface I felt sure he could hear it. I picked up one of the mouth-blown paperweights I keep on my desk, rolling the crystal globe between my hands. Judging its weight to be about three pounds, I wondered how hard I could throw it.
“I work alone.”
“Let’s see if this sparks your interest, then.” He wriggled an eyebrow. “The thief is Gray Cavanaugh.”
I thought back to the picture of Maria’s husband, not surprised somehow. Then I thought about the timing of Stone’s arrival. “Big Frank hired you to trail his daughter?”
“No, but he did recommend a local investigator—that would be you—who might be a good resource. Following Maria provided a convenient excuse to see you again.”
I ignored that as best I could. “Does Frank think she knew about the embezzlement?”
“He believes she would protect her husband.”
She might. But I remembered Maria’s tone when she mentioned finally being in the family business, her suppressed outrage over the affair. “I’m not too sure about that.”
“Why? What did she discuss with you?”
“I can’t tell you. Client confidentiality and all that.” I focused on the paperweight, paying exaggerated attention to the swirling ribbons of colored glass inside. Then I sent Stone a smile, big on sarcasm and low on sincerity.
He wiped his fingers on a napkin. He leaned back in his chair and gave me a considering look. “If you don’t think Maria would cover up for Cavanaugh, I’ll hazard a guess she came to you about Gray’s bit on the side.”
I shrugged, answering without answering.
He went on. “I’ve a notion this woman is not only his mistress, but his accomplice. Together, we’ll find her that much faster.”
Although I was dying to know how Cavanaugh had grown the balls to rip off Big Frank’s casino, that wasn’t what I’d been hired for. I didn’t know nearly enough about Cameron Stone, but I seriously doubted he needed my professional help. And it was just too unlikely to think this could be personal.
“I can find the mistress on my own without wasting time and money solving your case, too.”
His cool gaze mocked me. “I shouldn’t think money is an issue, considering your assistant can afford lobster for lunch.”
Good. I’d been wondering if he’d picked up on that. The agency may not look like much, but he didn’t need to know we were struggling.
“What do you get out of our partnership?”
He responded with a cool smile. “I’ll have the pleasure of your company and ten percent of the recovery. As my ‘local resource,’ twenty percent of that could be yours.”
Twenty percent of ten percent of four hundred grand. A nice round eight K figure.
He smirked at me. “Ah, now you’re wondering if you’d be better off with or without me, Nevada being a community property state.”
“Without, Stone. No doubt about it.”
He dropped his gaze and his voice took on a husky quality. “I didn’t really ask before. How’ve you been, Stella?”
“How have I been?” The sudden show of interest had me parroting his question.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I set the paperweight on the desk before I threw it at him after all. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, you’re not exactly in a position to ask.”
“Am I not?” When he finally looked up, the color had shifted in his eyes again. “You’re certain of that, are you?”
I leaned back in my chair, clenching my jaw and trying to clamp down on my feelings. Did he actually think he had any kind of claim to my life? After the callous way he’d treated me? My hurt, resentment and confusion warred with my anger. As usual, I let anger win.
I remembered that night—the champagne, the flowers and the Bellagio’s dancing fountains lit up below our window. I’d believed in magic that night. The way he’d looked at me, the unspoken message in his touch, had made me think we were on the verge of…something.
Then I’d reached out for a man and stroked a vacant sheet instead. The pillow under my head had still smelled of citrus shampoo and male sweat. But I’d known even before I saw his note that he hadn’t run out for coffee and a paper. I felt my blood pressure rise and changed the subject.
“Let’s get back on track.”
A professional mask replaced his expression. “Right, then. DiMarco hired an independent auditor to go over the finances. As the casino manager, Cavanaugh has authority to sign markers or IOUs. There were a few questionable transactions.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“He signed off several markers as paid. However, they don’t have corresponding bank deposits.”
I rested my chin on my fist. “So, when his girlfriend didn’t pay her debts, he ‘forgot’ to take the money from her account, huh?”
He shook his head slowly. “She didn’t have an account to take from. Apparently the application for casino credit was approved without ever being verified.”
“Gray okayed the marker on both ends while his girlfriend cashed out the chips. All under his wife and father-in-law’s noses. Dumb ass. If Big Frank is sure that Cavanaugh’s been embezzling, why hasn’t he confronted him?”
“As I said, this must be kept quiet. Casinos never want to let on about losses, especially from employee theft. However, DiMarco is adamant that this be managed as swiftly as possible. Find the tart and we should find the money.”
“There is no ‘we.’” Not when I wasn’t sure of what was really going on and he’d given me no reason to trust him. “If you figured that since I’d be following Cavanaugh, you could tag along, think again.”
His lips curved into a confident grin. “Come now, love. We’ll be bumping into each other, constantly getting on top of things. Better to share what we’re doing and get comfortably into position, I’d say.”
Could he put any more innuendo into that line of reasoning? I swear, everything was sexual with him. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Happy to hear it. When I take you back to bed, I fully intend to keep you awake.”
I let that pass, though it wasn’t easy. Stone was one hell of a lover. But I didn’t want the complication right now. At least, that’s what I told myself. Then his gaze raked my chest and he winked. I looked down to see my nipples standing at attention. Dammit. Damn him.
He stood up and reached for his wallet, then handed me a business card. It was bright white with only his name on the front. On the reverse were three telephone numbers. “My mobile phone, my pager and my answering service.”
Tossing the card onto the desk, I dismissed him with a look. “I’ve got work to do. You can find the door.”
The glacial blue look he shot me was heavy with unspoken words. I’m a gambling woman, so I was willing to bet I didn’t want to hear them.
“Ring me once you have Cavanaugh’s schedule. We’ll coordinate from there.” Stone walked out.
It wasn’t until a couple minutes later that I realized I hadn’t actually agreed to work with him. We both should have known better. Impulsiveness had gotten us into trouble in the first place. But I love a good mystery and the agency could use an injection of cash….
So, here I was, headed for trouble once more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Business of Information
JON WAS BACK in my office so fast you’d think he teleported. He’d probably been lurking in the foyer, waiting for Stone to leave. I was already waiting for him to leave again, too.
“So, who was our unexpected visitor?”
I must have reacted to his odd tone because Jon smiled and plopped down on the chair Stone had occupied. “Start talking, girlfriend, and don’t skimp on the details.”
“I’m not your girlfriend and there’s nothing to tell.”
“Puh-lease. I have eyes. I saw him and I saw the sparks.” He leaned his elbows on my desk, his brown eyes intent. “Now, who was that divine creature?”
“Stone is…”
My voice trailed off. I tapped my pen on the blotter, struggling for a description. He wasn’t my lover or my friend. He was an impulse I’d quickly regretted, a mistake I wouldn’t mind repeating, but also a problem I needed to resolve.
“Stone is none of your business.”
Jon pouted, an expression that managed to look adorable on him instead of infantile. “You’re no fun. At least give me a vicarious thrill and tell me he’s as good as he looks.”
I pictured Stone naked and sweaty and smiled. “Better.”
“So you are involved.” His voice sounded flat for a second, but then he camped it up as usual. “Here I’ve been teasing about your nonexistent love life, and all the while you’ve had this big, sexy secret.”
Yeah, but sexy or not, our relationship was staying a secret. I arched my left brow. “Are you done?”
“Not even close. When did you meet him? Where did you meet him? What did—”
“Skip traces,” I blurted.
“Excuse me?”
To stop Jon from pursuing the subject of Stone, I’d get him to search the proprietary information databases. Locating people is time-consuming, often frustrating but also a large part of the job.
I handed Jon a couple of manila folders from my Do Something pile. One client was looking for child support from her scumbag ex-husband; another was searching for his birth mother; and the third wanted to find a former boyfriend from the class of 1952.
“See if you can at least find current addresses. Anything else you come up with would be great.”
“You want me to find them? Me, a mere secretary?”
“Administrative assistant,” I retorted.
Jon gave me a look. “You’re not completely off the hook, Steele. I’ll just bide my time until you confess all the sordid details about Cameron Stone.”
