Smoke and Mirrors (5 page)

The stay in
Edinburgh
had been good for him. Some had accused him of retreating, yet he and Luc knew the truth. His furlough in
Scotland
had nothing to do with admitting defeat and everything to do with preparation.

I don't think you give a damn.

The sting of Cassandra's words lingered. He couldn't help but wonder what she would think when everything was said and done, when his score was settled.

Derek bit back the ridiculous notion before it seduced his imagination any further. A woman of sunshine and mystery had no place in his thoughts. A woman like her clouded a man's judgment, made him forget lessons he'd learned the hard way.

A woman like her was a dangerous distraction he could neither afford nor risk. He had only to resist.

Piece of cake.

Chapter 3

«
^
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Y
ou can't always get what you want.

Mansfield
's prediction stayed with Cass. The words crawled into bed with her, tossed and turned with her, stood under the shower spray with her. They now accompanied her down one of the long corridors of the Stirling Manor. All those dour-looking ancestors tracked her every step, but she refused to acknowledge them. Too much anticipation hummed through her.

Mansfield
was wrong. She would get what she wanted. Him. Behind bars.

As she passed, a door opened. That was the only warning she got. Before she could glance back, arms closed around her waist and dragged her into a dark room. Adrenaline spurted. Her heart rate surged. The cop in her took over, and a quick maneuver had her breaking free and spinning toward her captor.

Mansfield
had a lot of nerve—

Gray laughed. "Easy there, partner."

She froze midattack. "You fool! Are you out of your mind?"

The man known to the hotel staff as John Dickens, but whom Cass knew as Detective Mitch Grayson, closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "Expecting someone else, dear heart?"

"You mean someone other than the big bad wolf?"

"Sorry to disappoint you."

She narrowed her eyes, refusing to label the quick drain of adrenaline as disappointment. Of course
Mansfield
wouldn't make a move on her like this, right out in the open. Cat and mouse was more his style. Truth or dare.

He'd made that abundantly clear last night.

"Sorry to surprise you like that," Gray said, "but we need to talk, and I didn't want an audience."

Her nerves still jangled, but she squelched them. "What's up?"

"He's been spotted."

She almost rolled her eyes. "Of course he's been spotted, big
guy,
he's been back several days now."

"Not
Mansfield
—Vilas."

That grabbed her attention and snapped her to alertness faster than the three mugs of black coffee she'd already guzzled.

"Santiago Vilas," she said, recalling the photo of the Latin man shaking hands with
Mansfield
. "Well, well, well. So he surfaces again. Will miracles never cease?"

"Some coincidence, huh?"

Like hell. The man had vanished when
Mansfield
did, and now he'd surfaced concurrently, as well. Another domino. "What's the lowdown?"

"Last night. Navy Pier.
Seven o'clock
."

"Practically broad daylight," she mused. "
Mansfield
with him?"

"He was alone when he was spotted, then he gave us the slip."

Cass let out a jagged breath. "Damn."

Gray swiped off his gold-tassled hat and crossed to her. He was all
cop
now, despite the benign image of his bellman uniform. "Can you account for
Mansfield
's whereabouts last night?"

I want to hear you say my name—my first name.
But after that, there'd been nothing. "AWOL, I'm afraid."

Gray shoved a hand through his dark hair and began to pace the length of the elegant room. Behind him the antique cherry poster bed sat unmade, the damask sheets tangled, waiting for housekeeping to come and put everything to right.

"There's no such thing as a coincidence," Gray growled.

"No there's not." A lesson she'd learned the hard way, one snowy Christmas Eve. "But there's usually an explanation."

"You know something I don't?
You holding
out on me, Cammy?"

She smiled at the
nickname,
let it soothe her edgy nerves. Cammy. Short for chameleon. A reminder of all the aliases tucked away in her repertoire, that she could be anyone, anything.

"Meet me at the front desk in five." She turned to leave,
then
pivoted back toward him. And grinned. "Put your hat back on—boss's orders."

His frustrated growl followed her as she closed the door. Seeing her ruggedly handsome partner in his staid bellhop uniform never failed to make her smile, especially the scarlet hat with its little gold tassel. Gray did everything he could to get out of wearing it, but as assistant manager, Cass had the authority to make bellman John Dickens put it back on. No one else understood the heated glare he sent her way; maybe they didn't even notice, but Cass found it priceless.

Midmorning was typically leisurely at the Stirling Manor, and this morning proved no different. The business crowd had long since charged forward with their days, leaving a few guests, mostly there for vacation, milling about.

The lobby, the front desk, they looked the same as they had mere days before, but Cass knew appearances were often deceptive. That's where other senses came in, most notably a sixth sense Cass couldn't explain. With
Mansfield
back, the Stirling Manor felt different, more charged, explosive. Electricity sizzled through the air, an undercurrent zinged around the halls.

"Hey, kiddo," Ruth called. "Where have you been hiding?"

"Just checking a few rooms." Cass went to the computer and looked up reservations. "Well, I'll be damned."

"What—" Ruth's words stopped when Gray strolled over.

"Mornin'." His voice rumbled, as deceptively lazy as his eyes. "Anything special happening today?"

Cass glanced at the dubious look on Ruth's face. The clerk had no doubt heard the rumors about her and the bellman, and was looking to validate them. "Not much, just a small, international conference of financiers checking in today."

"Oh, great." Gray sounded every bit the overworked, underrespected bellman. "Just what I need, a bunch of suits strutting around like they own the joint. Anyone famous?"

She scanned the list of names on the computer. "Bjorn. Duvall. Heffinger. Novachek. Sclafani. Vilas."

Gray's eyes sparked at the familiar name. "Sounds like a real bore—when does the fun begin?"

"Usual time," she said, pleased Vilas and Mansfield were arrogant enough to bring their business right here to the hotel. "After lunch."

"Well, guess I'll just—"

The front doors swung open, and a woman with long, blond hair sashayed into the receiving area.

As soon as her feet hit the hardwood floor of the foyer, she whipped off her cat's eye sunglasses, revealing cat's eyes of her own. Her dress was short, form fitting, black.

As far as entrances went, hers ranked right up there among the grandest, rather the kind of entrance Cass had been expecting from
Mansfield
.

"Where is he, darling?" The woman floated to a halt in front of Cass. Her blue eyes sparkled. "Just point me in his direction. I shan't wait any longer."

"I'm afraid you'll have to, ma'am," Cass bristled. Another puzzle piece, her gut told her, but she wasn't sure which one. "I have no idea who you're talking about."

The woman laughed. "Oh, darling, you
are
new here, aren't you?"

Condescension, maybe amusement, shimmied between them. Cass had not seen this striking woman in any of her research on
Mansfield
but clearly she felt she had some kind of claim to him. Cass didn't stop to consider why that fact unsettled her so much.

"Be that as it may, if you're looking for somebody—"

"Don't get your back up against the wall, luv," the woman said in a rich, animated voice. "I merely find it amusing anyone in the Manor organization could be so naive."

Gray's hand slipped onto the desk and covered Cass's. Normally he wasn't one to make intimate contact in public, but this was clearly a warning.

Cass manufactured a smile. "Yes, well—"

"Sorry, Brooke," Ruth interjected with a warm smile. "He's not around right now—haven't seen him in—"

"Derek, darling!" The woman called Brooke abandoned them, seemingly gliding across the foyer, her high heels making virtually no sound against the hardwood.

Mansfield
stood beside the curving staircase. His dark hair was secured behind his
neck,
a shadow clung to his jaw. His smile was of the variety from which a woman never recovered. "Brooke."

His low voice resonated across the lobby. He opened his arms and pulled the woman to him, swung her into the air.

Their laughter splashed around Cass like a cold shower. She stood frozen, an unwelcome pit stretching and deepening in her stomach. Brooke? There'd been no mention of another woman in
Mansfield
's life.

His gaze met hers for the briefest of seconds. Awareness glittered in his eyes, a wicked intensity. The man held another woman in his arms, yet his gaze was making intimate promises Cass knew better than to acknowledge.

"Cass?"

She ignored Gray and held
Mansfield
's gaze, refusing to be the first to look away. He was good, all right.

But she was better.

"Cass?" Gray's tone was sharper this time, more insistent.

She heard the question he didn't ask, remembered too late Gray could read her like a book. Through years of partnership, an intimacy had
formed,
a relationship rather like a marriage, but without the sex. She usually found it comforting, but now the familiarity made her squirm like a burglar caught in a spotlight.

"Put on your hat," she snapped, then turned and vanished into the office.

* * *

Santiago
Vilas. Derek Mansfield. And now Brooke. Three arrivals in three days. Cass stared at the vase of gladiolus on the granite counter. Red burgeoned up from the centers, a sharp contrast to the deep yellow of the petals. The flowers looked as if they'd been cut open and were bleeding from the core.

Cass stilled.

The analogy cut painfully close.

For someone who'd been high as a kite for two days, this plummet to rock bottom didn't sit well with her. Confidence and optimism were more her style. Like magic tonics, they'd pulled her through the dark times, helped her out of tough jams and were fundamental to bringing down
Mansfield
. Moping would not do.

But that didn't change the way she felt.

Felt.
The word cropped up out of nowhere and had her frowning. Feeling had nothing to do with her job. Thinking did.

Three arrivals in three days—there had to be a connection.

Rumor had it Santiago Vilas fronted a major cartel. He made the connections and built the network, smuggled illegal goods into the
United States
and the greedy hands of his distributors.

A year ago action had been hopping, but when the boys from the DEA and FBI moved in to put
Mansfield
out of business, he had vanished. After a few weeks of coming up empty-handed, the Feds backed off, and the chief considered pulling the plug, as well, but he'd decided to give it a little more time. Time for
Mansfield
to return, time to embed Cass and Gray more deeply into the fabric of the Stirling Manor.

And now all the players were on stage and poised for the final act.

"If that's how you look at my baby brother, no wonder he's sunk."

The deeply amused voice jarred her out of her musings. Cass glanced up to find the object of her thoughts standing there, eyes glittering, lips curled into a wicked grin.

"Why, Mr. Mans—" She broke off and smiled sweetly.
"
De
rek."
She injected enough honey in her voice for it to roll off her tongue nice and thick. "I didn't hear you come over."

"You weren't supposed to." Dressed in black from head to toe, hair pulled back and leaving the gold stud earring for all to see
,
he looked more like a dangerous pirate than heir to a posh resort. "However, I must tell you that when my employees are on duty, I prefer for them to be here."

She picked up a gold pen and nonchalantly studied it. "Far be it from me to fail to meet your expectations, boss."