Into the Devil's Underground (24 page)

“You’re one of those guys, aren’t you?” Emilie laughed.

“What guys?” He risked a glance at her, enjoying the way her laugh sounded.

“Success comes naturally to you. It’s like a genetic trait.”

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all,” she said. “I just mean you’re good at everything you set your mind to. Some people are just like that. I envy you.”

He thought of the strained relationship with his father. “Don’t. My life certainly hasn’t been perfect.”

“That’s not what I meant. Some people have to struggle just to be average while others excel. That’s all.”

She fell silent again. Nathan wondered what category she would put herself into. Emilie didn’t strike him as the type to consider anything she achieved as something to be proud of.

*   *   *   *

T
HE
N
EVADA
S
TATE
Museum and Historical Society was located in Lorenzi Park, a neighborhood edging toward the rough side. Nathan pulled out his badge for the guard and asked to see the historical society’s director.

A short man in a three-piece suit greeted them. “Rick Tanner. How can I help Las Vegas Metro today?”

“This isn’t official business, but we’re looking for someone,” Nathan answered. “How many people are working on your storm drain project?”

“Storm drain project?” Tanner shook his head. “We don’t have anything like that going on.”

“Did you a few months ago?” Emilie asked.

“Nope. We haven’t done a lot on the drains. Not exactly a favorable part of history.”

“Has anyone else come around in the last few months asking about the drains or the mob’s history?” Emilie asked. “Looking for hidden tunnels?”

Tanner shook his head. “Was there anything else?”

“No,” Nathan said. “Thanks for your time.”

Outside, Emilie kicked the decorative pebbles that lined the museum sidewalk. “Now what?”

“You’ve already contacted Ronson about your grandmother’s pictures, so tell her about the accent and the guy in the library and let her handle it.”

“There’s got to be something more I can do.”

“There isn’t.”

“What about going back to the art gallery?” Emilie said. “I could get the sign-in sheet and cross-check names with the names of hotel employees. Maybe I could come up with something.”

“Emilie, the cops are already doing that. And they’re going through surveillance videos from the Bellagio.”

“I have to do something.” She grabbed his arm. “Please, help me.”

The air surrounding them grew thick. A loud sound rushed through Nathan’s head—a strange gust of fast moving air. Energy flared between them so strongly Nathan’s ears rang. Heat crept through his body, every nerve ending on high alert as he reacted to the look in her green eyes and the feel of her hand on his hot skin.

“Please,” Emilie whispered.

“There’s not much else you can do.” His mouth had gone dry. “We need more information.”

She let go of his arm. “I hate this.”

“I know.”

She fiddled with her necklace. It was shaped like a bell and chimed softly when Emilie touched it.

“This is never going to end. I’m going to be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.”

“Yes, it will. We’ll get him.” Nathan was hit with the sudden urge to touch her face and draw her close. He settled for brushing her hair back over her shoulder. The charge was back, crackling all around them. He exhaled a shaky breath. He couldn’t let this woman get to him.

“We better get you back to your car. And I need a nap.”

21

J
ULIAN FUMED.
T
HE
cop had touched her. Emilie hadn’t stopped him. Why? Did she care for him? Was there another obstacle standing in the way of their future?

“Sorry about the interruption.” Rick Tanner waddled back into his office.

Julian waved him off. “No need to apologize.”

“I don’t like to waste your time, Mr. Batier. You’re one of the museum’s most valued benefactors.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Now, let’s get down to business. You’ve something to show me?”

“I have.” Julian sat a small box on Tanner’s immaculate desk. “A friend of mine procured this, and I thought the museum would enjoy it.” He opened the box. Tanner reached inside, his tongue darting over his lips.

“This is a 1900 Double Eagle,” Julian said. “Made from the gold discovered in the Southwest, including Nevada. The double eagle symbolizes the immense riches of the Old West mining period, of course.”

Tanner ran a chubby thumb over the coin. “If this is authentic, it could be worth a few thousand dollars or more.”

“I can assure you it is. This coin would be a great addition to your Nevada history exhibit.”

Julian kept the other trinkets he’d found in the bootlegging tunnel for himself. There were several wheat pennies dating from 1911-1923, worth only a few dollars each, and an old soda bottle with remnants of ginger ale still inside.

He should have disposed of them. But they represented his labor of love, despite its ultimate failure. The double eagle was a true gem, however, and deserved to be seen.

“The museum would love to have the double eagle,” Tanner said. His pasty skin flushed with excitement. “Let’s talk price.”

“Consider it a gift.”

“Mr. Batier, this is worth—”

“I’m well aware of its value, Mr. Tanner. I’ve been doing this for a long time. As I said, this is a gift. I don’t feel right taking money for it.”

Tanner thanked him profusely, but Julian’s mind had drifted far away from the museum. What was Emilie doing right now? Was she with Madigan, allowing him to touch her? Had she offered herself to him? Were their lips mashed together, tongues entwined?

“Mr. Batier, are you all right?”

He stood. “Of course.” His stomach churned at the thought of his Emilie with another man.

“Let me walk you out.”

“No need. I know the way.”

He strolled through the halls, impeccable in his black suit and red tie. Several of the employees nodded in greeting. They had no idea of his inner torment. He couldn’t allow Emilie to slip through his fingers. After years of searching, she was the one to fill the hole Josephine had left in his heart.

Near the exit, Julian halted in front of an exquisite print of John James Audubon’s
Mourning Doves
. He stared at the birds. On that day so many years ago—a lifetime, it seemed—the mourning doves had been calling, their haunting coo resembling a strange lullaby. But when the wood cracked, the horrible splintering sound had startled the doves. Their high-pitched twittering echoed his own panic as he’d watched helplessly. He’d lost Josephine forever that day.

He wasn’t about to lose Emilie too.

22

E
MILIE’S HEAD ACHED.
She’d spent the last hour in Jeremy’s office going over marketing plans. Across the hall, the vault door stood wide open while a technician installed a new alarm.

“Em?”

She started at the sound of Jeremy’s voice. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about this. Timing of the vault repair stinks.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Vault’s the safest place in the bank.” Jeremy rambled when he was in uncomfortable situations. “It’s supposed to be strong enough to withstand a nuclear blast. With this new alarm, if…” His voice trailed off, and he looked sheepish. “Anyone gets stuck in there, they’ll be able to get help.”

“I’ll remember that.” Emilie checked her watch. “Let’s finish this tomorrow, okay? I’ve got some paperwork to wrap up.”

She headed for her office. The bank’s door dinged as it opened. She didn’t allow herself to look back. If she did, the fear that took hold every time that bell chimed would drive her insane.

Heels clicked into the lobby, most likely stiletto by their sharp staccato sound. The faint scent of cigarette smoke covered by a fruity perfume wafted past Emilie. The smell reminded her of juicy fruit and a high school girl’s bathroom.

“May I help you?” Mollie asked.

“I’m looking for my daughter.”

Emilie stopped walking so quickly she almost lost her balance. Her skin turned clammy, even as rage and adrenaline and disgust whipped through her system. The voice hadn’t lost any of its haughty, bored tone, as though she was physically pained to acknowledge Emilie.

Slowly, she turned to face her past. “Hello, Mother.”

Claire turned, her expression coy. Emilie expected to see wrinkles, perhaps a spattering of age spots from too much sun. But she should have known better. Claire’s face was a strange version of the face Emilie remembered, stretched and stiff from plastic surgery. Her normally ash-blond hair was a shade darker, most likely an effort to cover the gray. Stylish charcoal-colored glasses sat low on her beak-like nose, giving Claire the impression of a schoolmarm.

Her hourglass figure was still her best asset and the one trait she’d passed on to her daughter. Her black, fitted silk dress—designer, no doubt—made a soft swishing sound as she strode forward. Matching stiletto heels completed the outfit. Did her mother see this visit as an act of mourning?

“Emilie.” Claire’s attempt at cordiality sounded forced and lacked any sign of sincerity or affection. Her gaze swept over Emilie. “You look well.”

“I am.”

“Physically, of course.”

“Claire, what are you doing here?”

Faux surprise crossed her waxen face. “After we spoke, I decided to see for myself you were all right. Against my pride, I decided to come visit.” Claire slipped her black and white Chanel bag onto her shoulder.

Liar. You’ve got an agenda.
“Well, you’ve seen me. I have work to do.”

Emilie stalked toward her office. Her mother wasn’t here to make peace. There was no sign of contrition, no rush of compassion as she spoke. Her motivation was personal.

“I came all this way,” Claire said. “Can’t I have five minutes to speak with you?”

Emilie saw her coworkers watching. Lisa had crept around to the front of the teller’s counter and stood with a catty smirk on her face. Jeremy appeared frozen in his doorway, eyes wide in surprise. Mollie and Miranda had the grace to pretend they were working.

Emilie motioned to her office. “Five minutes.”

She quickly straightened the mess of papers on her desk and set her shiny nameplate on the edge for Claire to see. She sat up straight in her chair. Emilie wasn’t going to let Claire get to her this time.

“A nice window, desk neat and tidy.” Claire settled into one of the chairs facing the wide desk, her gaze roaming the office. “Not much of a personal touch. Typical you.”

“Your five minutes have started. Better get to the point.”

Claire glanced at the carpet and then placed her bag on the edge of the desk. “I told you, I wanted to see how you were. You’re my child, Emilie, whether you like it or not. I want to be here for you.” Claire looked as though she were choking on the last sentence.

“Really? If that were the case, why did you wait so long to come see me? Why did you tell that blogger my personal history they had no business knowing?”

“I thought I was helping. I wanted to come sooner, but I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me.” Claire adjusted the diamond tennis bracelet on her right wrist. Her voice lowered in a pathetic attempt at sincerity. “After you called, I finally decided I was going to come and risk your reaction.” She smiled thinly.

“We’ve lost so many years, Emilie. All because of my own stupidity.” Her botoxed lips trembled. Tears slipped out of her eyes. “Thinking about what you must have gone through in here and knowing that man probably wanted to do awful things to you is so upsetting.” Claire rubbed her tears with the back of her hand. Emilie waited for her to pull out her compact to check her makeup, but her mother kept talking.

“How you’re able to come back to work is beyond me. I would be in constant fear, wondering if he’ll return. After all, no one knows what this stalker looks like. He could pose as a customer and wile his way into your good graces. God knows what he could accomplish.” She dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. “You’re just not safe.”

Emilie’s fingernails dug into the leather arms of the chair. Claire’s skill at manipulation had not diminished over time.

“Cut the shit. I’m not a kid anymore. I know all your tricks. You’re wasting your breath. What do you want?”

Surprise flickered across Claire’s face, and then her expression relaxed into her normal look of mild disgust where Emilie was concerned. “I should have known. You haven’t learned anything from your mistakes.”

“I’ve learned plenty. What are you here for?”

Claire reached into her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She tapped them on the desk the way she’d done for as long as Emilie could remember.

“You know you can’t smoke in here.”

“Just a habit.” Claire’s gaze flickered from the pack to Emilie, her jaw grinding. Finally, she blew out a long, ragged breath. “I know I’ve been a lousy mother. And most of my reasons were purely selfish. But not everything I did for you was bad.”

“Kicking me out was good? Calling me a whore was good?” Emilie couldn’t squelch the old anger.

“I kept the truth from you,” Claire said. “Because your memories of my mother were happy. You saw her as some sort of saint, and even though I hated your bond, I also knew it was the only maternal one you’d ever have. I simply wasn’t capable.”

“You chose not to bond with me,” Emilie said. “I don’t know what truth you’re referring to—”

“Not everything my parents did was wonderful,” Claire snapped. “They had another life you know nothing about.”

“I’m sure they did.” Emilie didn’t have time for Claire’s games. “Most people do before they have children.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Their charade continued right up until her death. And problems were crawling out of the woodwork in that old store.”

Her mother made no sense. A nasty sensation tore through Emilie—a warning she was about to hear something she couldn’t deal with. “You never wanted to deal with anything. That’s why you sold the place.”

“I sold the store to protect us both,” Claire said. “Moved us across the country and married a man I didn’t love so I could get our names changed. Yes, his lifestyle gave me perks, and I failed you growing up, but I protected you from your grandparents’ mistakes.”