Cleopatra's Necklace (Devlin Security Force Book 3) (29 page)

“The computer chip?”

“The bitch here says you think I kept it.” Confident mask firmly in place, Zervas smiled. “News stories reported the chip was removed from the necklace at the Met. But there was no chip. So where is it?”

Cleo’s right hand moved up from her stomach to her throat. She didn’t hold her locket for comfort as he’d seen her do many times. Instead she pointed to the locket with her index finger.

Because her back was against Zervas’s legs, he couldn’t see her pantomime.

When Zervas again focused on the necklace, Thomas chanced another look down.

Cleo tapped the locket, then spread her fingers wide in a burst.

If a grenade had exploded in front of his face, he couldn’t have been more shocked.

Not Cleopatra’s necklace, but Cleo’s necklace.

“I’m in the gift shop,” Lucas said quietly in Thomas’s earpiece, “To your right. Got a clear shot. Give me the word.”

Even if Lucas made a kill shot, Zervas could still pull the trigger. Could still kill Cleo. Maybe gunfire wouldn’t explode the chip. Maybe it would. Neither was a chance he’d take. He cleared his throat, the signal to wait. “The chip’s in the original. You have it in your hand.”

“Nice try, asshole. I already examined the fucking thing. No chip.”

“You didn’t look closely enough,” Thomas said in a reasonable tone. “Moreau was an expert jeweler, a craftsman. He hid it well. Look between the gemstones.”

Doubt crimped the other man’s forehead. He stepped away from Cleo and scooped up the heavy collar. Holding it close to his face, he kept the gun on Cleo. Greed was making him sloppy. Instead of taking the necklace and his hostage, he wanted more.

Always wanting more, that was Marco Zervas. This time he would have nothing.

Thomas glanced from his enemy to Cleo. Put his free hand to his throat and pantomimed ripping the locket’s chain free.

The corners of her mouth lifted in brief acknowledgment. She gripped the necklace and yanked. The links bit into the tender flesh of her neck but held. Another tug. A silent snap left the thin gold chain dangling on either side of her closed hand.

He shut his eyes for a second. Called up the numerals. Then keyed the explosion code into his phone. All he had to do was press Send. He cut his eyes toward the far corner to her right. Sweat poured down his back. Could she throw it far enough away? More than six feet?

Understanding shone in her eyes. Her hand started to move.

Eyes on Zervas, he shook his head.
Not yet.

Zervas raised the pistol, aimed it at Thomas’s chest. “There is no chip. You’re a fucking liar. I’m getting out of here. As soon as I kill you,
Captain.
” Confusion and fury chased across his gaze. He might shoot them both.

“Now!”

The locket and chain flew across the room, bounced between two figures.

Thomas pushed
Send
.

The corner exploded in a fireworks burst of color and noise. The wax bodies splintered. Legs and arms leaped into the air, dark suits shredded and aflame. Shrapnel from the metal stands flew outward like molten daggers.

One of the molten pieces struck Zervas in the leg. He cried out and bent to his smoldering pants leg.

Thomas slid across the floor. Dived for his Sig.

Zervas turned back, saw Thomas. Fired.

Thomas jackknifed up, weapon in both hands. Aimed.

Zervas’s bullet struck his left side, a two-by-four that knocked him backward and drilled pain through his torso. Black dots swarmed before his eyes. He sucked in a hissing breath but maintained a grip on the gun.

The sprinklers whirred on, dousing everything in cold water and the smells of smoldering cloth, melting wax, and gunpowder.

Blood stained Zervas’s ruined pants leg, but he stumbled closer, smiling. He held his pistol aimed squarely at Thomas’s head.

“No!” Cleo surged up from the floor. She grabbed Zervas’s gun arm and swung him around.

The Ruger fired, the bullet zinging into the wall. Zervas flung her down as if she were a pesky fly. Slammed the gun butt on her head, dropping her in a heap.

Blinking away the daze and the water in his eyes, Thomas pulled the trigger.

A hole opened in Zervas’s black shirt. Blood spread and his gun arm faltered. But he stumbled forward a step. “Not dead yet, asshole.”

“You will be.” Thomas fired again. And again.

The gun fell from Zervas’s hand. He clutched at his throat. Blood poured crimson between his fingers. He tumbled backward onto the floor. Still. Eyes vacant. Blood pooled, turned pink in the water beneath him, and then flowed no more.

Lucas rushed in. Picked up the Ruger. “He’s done for. Thomas?”

Thomas breathed against the white-hot pain in his side. Struggled onto his knees. Crawled toward Cleo’s crumpled form.

“Never mind me. Cleo, check on Cleo. She’s...”
Everything.

CLEO FLOATED UP
from somewhere black. A dozen bass drums thundered in her head. A throbbing agony she’d never experienced before. Wet and chills. Shivering awareness lifted her up another layer to a foggy gray. She tried to open her eyes, but hadn’t the strength.

Nausea crawled up her throat. Worse than the pain. She breathed in shallow pants.
Must wake up.

Through a semi-consciousness muddled by the incessant drumming, she felt cool air and rain on her face. Big, gentle hands cradled her, moved her onto her back. She heard voices. Both deep, one anxious, speaking her name.

“Cleo, wake up. God, please.”

Thomas.

She opened her eyes a crack. Fought through the swirling confusion and pain. Slowly the room came into focus. The wax museum. Not rain but sprinklers.

And Thomas, beside her, bent over her, scowling, the skin across his cheekbones stretched taut.

“Thomas.” She grabbed his hand. Rough, warm flesh. Living flesh. “Thank God. But he
shot
you.” It was all she could manage. She lay back, in the grip of the throbbing.

He gave her a crooked smile. “I’ll be okay. Bullet-proof vest. Dented but not bleeding. A whole lot better off than Zervas.”

“And the Bushes.” Lucas Del Rio’s voice came from somewhere across the room.

“Bushes?” Frowning cued another drummer to action and she gasped.

Thomas chuckled. A most welcome sound. “The chip explosion assassinated two presidents.”

Lucas added, “Bush 41 and Bush 43 will need limb transplants.”

“Andie?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Was it true, what you said? She’s safe?”

“All true. She’ll tell you all about it.” Thomas lifted her hand to his lips. “God, Cleo, I thought—”

His words were lost as overhead lights flooded the room and the sprinkler’s rain ceased. What seemed like dozens of men and women ran in with weapons and other equipment. In moments Cleo found herself borne off on a stretcher away from Thomas. As the EMTs slid her into the ambulance, she let go and drifted into oblivion.

***

At University Medical Center, nurses replaced Cleo’s sodden black spy garb with a blue-flowered gown. Amazing, long enough to cover her butt. Assorted physicians poked and prodded her, commented on her bloodshot eyes but even pupils. They finally declared she had a mild concussion. Duh. She could’ve told them that. Zervas clobbered her twice, didn’t he?

After she answered a few of SA Hunt’s questions, a shouting match among the medicos and the FBI and Thomas threatened to add to the pounding in her head. The hospital wanted to keep her overnight. SA Hunt and a Las Vegas officer wanted to ask more questions. Thomas declared he would watch over her, and tomorrow the authorities could grill her. And him.

“You are injured too, Mr. Devlin, and have been prescribed pain medication,” a dark-haired nurse in flowered scrubs said, “Let us do our job.”

After a pause, he threw up his hands. “Fine. Just promise you’ll keep these vultures away from her tonight.” He punched the air toward Agent Hunt and the cop.

She had no love for hospital stays but Thomas needed rest. He insisted he had no broken or cracked ribs. Not likely. She could see pain digging lines in his forehead and tightening the corners of his mouth.

Once the agony in her skull eased to manageable levels, she had major thinking to do. Now was not the time, but soon Thomas and she needed to have a long conversation. He remained ever her protector, but he might not want anything more after how badly she’d messed up falling for Zervas’s trick. Pain throbbed in her chest and not from any of his blows.

She closed her eyes as a nurse wheeled her to a desert-tan room and tucked her into bed.

“It’s okay,” Thomas said, sidling past the nurse. “We’ll be just a minute.”

Whatever he might’ve said to her was cut off as someone else rushed in behind him and skidded to a stop beside the bed.

Andie.

Her right cheek sported a purple bruise and a gauze bandage circled her right wrist. Thomas had told the Andie saga. Except for her wounds, she looked wonderful. Stronger and more together than she’d been in years.

She wore a tight white tee with the Bellagio logo, skinny jeans the same pink as a stripe in her spiky ’do, and a smile as wide as the Nevada desert—except for the wobble in her lower lip. “Shit, you didn’t have to get yourself beat up to save me. You look like hell.”

“Back atcha. Shut up and come here,” Cleo said, opening her arms.

Andie stepped into the hug.

Cleo held her best friend tight as if she might vanish if she let go. “I was scared I’d never see you again,” she said through tears of joy. The demons in her head were pounding their drums with giant hammers.
Let ’em
.

“Seems I had to get myself kidnapped for us to have a reunion.”

“I hear you almost took out one of the bad guys by yourself.”

“Felt damn good after what they put me through.” Andie touched the bandage on Cleo’s cheek where Zervas had whacked her with his pistol. “Bastards.”

Cleo grinned. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

“No shit,” Andie said, eyeing her brother sitting on the edge of the bedside visitor chair. “
A lot
of catching up.”

“But not tonight,” he said, pushing up off the chair. His breathing hitched, and he straightened with effort. “All of us need rest. Especially the one with the concussion. Sorry, babe, but they’ll probably keep waking you up.”

He called her
babe
. Before Cleo could speak, the nurse returned and evicted her visitors.

***

The next day, Thomas did a walk-through of the previous night’s battle for Agent Hunt and the LVPD detective. It torqued him that they’d already questioned Cleo. Hunt assured him Cleo was feeling better, but he needed to see for himself when this charade was over. Numbered evidence tags marked the wax body parts in the explosion site, bullet holes, expelled casings, and bullet trajectories. Chalk outlined where Marco Zervas had died.

The damp clothing and disheveled hair of the remaining wax figures looked as if they’d been caught in a sudden downpour and stumbled inside to dry off.

When the walk-through and various agents’ questions were mercifully finished, Hunt admitted the museum personnel, who’d been waiting in the gift shop. Some began carrying off the damaged figures.

A petite blonde in a pale blue business suit approached Thomas. She introduced herself as the manager. “Thanks for letting us begin the renovation.”

Thomas shook the hand she extended. “Renovation’s a polite way of saying it, ma’am. Sorry about all the mess, especially the Bushes.”

“No problem. Insurance will cover it.” She waggled pink manicured nails toward the damaged corner. “Don’t worry about those two. They were due to be retired.”

Behind her, Lucas ducked his head and his wide shoulders shook with mirth. He was as worried as Cleo—maybe more—about Mimi. Good to see him smiling.

The manager’s beaming countenance made Thomas smile. “You seem cheerful about something that’ll shut down this gallery for some time.”

“Not long. Only today,” she replied. “As soon as we’re cleared, this room will be repaired and painted. Costumers and an artist should arrive from London tonight to fix Cleopatra and the others. When we reopen, I expect the publicity will double our ticket sales. Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook are all abuzz. I hear comedy shows at two casinos have added jokes about Cleopatra and the Bushes. The PR department is writing a press release about how Madame Tussauds helped recover the Cleopatra necklace.”

He bent in a slight bow over protest from his sore ribs. “Devlin Security Force needed this recovery. I’m happy to share the spotlight.”

Her smile winked out. “Sadly, the necklace the London staff is bringing won’t be nearly as stunning as the real thing.”

He looked over her head at Lucas, who gave him the all-clear sign. Both the FBI and the LVPD would immediately release the necklace to Devlin Security custody. Hunt had said although evidence, the piece was too valuable to remain in custody. The police photographs would suffice.

He grinned at the manager. “Once the original returns to the Cleopatra Tomb Exhibit in New York, I should be able to send you a nice replacement.”

***

“I’m so glad, Thomas,” Cleo said from the passenger seat of the SUV. “I can’t think of a better use for René’s copy.” She smiled but her gaze was solemn as she donned shades.

He left the University Medical Center campus and headed east on West Charleston Boulevard. She was unusually quiet, her mouth soft but down turned. Probably pain from the concussion. He wanted to talk about
them
, but this wasn’t the time.

He reached over to cup her nape. “You sure you’re okay? I can turn around.”

“God, no. I couldn’t get any rest at the hospital. They kept me awake asking me question after question. By now I can recite my answers by rote.
My name’s Cleopatra Marie Chandler.
I live in Venice. Well, I used to live in Venice but right now I guess I live at the Bellagio. My birthday is the ninth of April.
”

“You must feel better if you can joke.”

“Truthfully I do feel better. Last night—oh, wait, it was this morning—I had a dozen drummers banging competing solos in my head. Today only the winner is performing. More ibuprofen will help.”

He slanted a glance her way as he turned south on the freeway. The dashboard clock read five-fifteen. Almost time. “But there’s something else. Mimi.”

She sighed. “You read me too well. Yes, Mimi.”

“Guilt, guilt, guilt.”

“Yes, guilt. No shit, as Andie would say. She knows nothing about Zervas and the necklace, but that whole thing is the reason I needed to
do
something. Chasing after them was the only thing I
could
do for her. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but she’s still in a coma and there’s nothing left, no way to make it up to her. I feel so helpless.” She twisted to face him, propping her left knee on the padded leather seat. “I can’t even reach her mom on the phone. Lucas says he can’t get through either.”

He’d planned to surprise her but maybe that wasn’t such a hot idea. “When I heard that, I tried the house number this afternoon. Trudy lost her mobile phone on the flight to Toronto. She has a new one now.”

“And Mimi?”

He whipped his vibrating phone from his pocket. “Here. This call’s for you. I’ll let her tell you herself.”

Mouth agape, Cleo took the phone and said hello. She pressed shaking fingers to her lips as she listened. “Mimi! I thought... I mean, oh, thank God.”

Mimi’s mother had told him the Toronto specialist could find no reason Mimi wasn’t waking up. Then yesterday Mimi opened her eyes. Today she was sitting up and talking. He guessed Cleo and Mimi would talk until his phone battery died.

Cleo emitted a soggy laugh. “Thomas, Trudy told her about my concussion. She says I have a much harder head than she does.” Tears spilled down her cheeks beneath her sunglasses.

“No argument here.”

He handed her a tissue from the box in the console, then grabbed one for himself.