Through the Night (4 page)

Valerie came to a stop in the oversized living room, clearly impressed with what she saw. “Steven’s penthouse certainly trumps one of the executive rooms I would have comped you, which are pretty darn plush, but this … this is just
wow.
”

“You’ve never been up here before?” he asked in surprise, more than happy to leave his darker thoughts behind.

She shook her head, sending her rich, silky brown hair swaying along her shoulders and down her back. “Never had a reason to be up here in the owner’s suite.”

“Then let’s take advantage of everything this place has to offer.” He headed toward the standard-sized, fully stocked bar across the room. “A good drink, exceptional fine dining for room service, and a view of the Vegas strip that is absolutely spectacular.”

She grinned, her warm brown eyes dancing with pleasure as she followed him. “Sounds good to me.”

Glad to see her relaxing with him, he walked around the far end of the long mahogany bar. Lining the mirrored wall behind the counter were shelves of every kind of premium liquor imaginable, to make every kind of cocktail imaginable.

“Let’s start with a drink while we decide what we want to order for dinner,” he suggested. “What’ll you have?”

She slid gracefully onto a barstool, her gaze traveling to the wine rack off to the side. “I’ll take a white wine spritzer.”

“Really?” He raised an incredulous brow at her lackluster choice of drink, and waved a hand at the array of booze she had to choose from. “Did you happen to notice the incredible selection of alcohol at our disposal? Surely you can be more adventurous than a spritzer.”

“What can I say?” Amusement tinged her voice as she rested her elbows on the counter and her chin in the palm of her hand. “I’m pretty tame and boring.”

He found that claim difficult to believe. Bracing both his palms on the bar, he met her gaze, direct and just arrogant enough to get a reaction out of her. “I bet I could prove you wrong on both accounts,” he said, doing nothing to disguise the innuendo in his words or the tone of his voice.

Her stare never wavered, and damn if all that quiet, female poise didn’t turn him on even more. “After watching your luck at the craps table today, I’m not about to accept that wager.”

Because she knew she’d lose. He chuckled, pleased that she hadn’t tried to deny their attraction. She might be a bit guarded when it came to him, but she had a great sense of humor, and there was nothing coy about her. Genuine, honest qualities he appreciated in a woman.

“Okay, a boring, unadventurous white wine spritzer for you,” he conceded, and pushed the room service menu in front of her to look over while he mixed her drink. Once her spritzer was made, he poured himself a snifter of select, high-end tequila, then called in their dinner order, which left them with about forty minutes before their meal arrived.

She took a sip of her drink, then said, “So, you’re a treasure hunter.”

It was more of a matter-of-fact statement than a question. “I prefer ‘procurer of fine things,’” he replied, only half-teasing. The term
treasurer hunter
sometimes came with a negative connotation, and while he did technically hunt for treasures, he did so ethically and honestly, despite what his parents thought or believed.

“Yes, that does sound more sophisticated and refined,” she agreed, a twinkle in her eyes. “What made you become a
procurer of fine things
?”

He swirled the Don Julio Añejo liquor in his glass before taking a drink, giving himself a moment to formulate a reply. People automatically assumed he was born with psychometric abilities and he’d honed the talent over time. Very few knew the truth, and because he’d been met with a whole lot of skepticism the times he’d given an honest answer, he was now more careful with his response to that question.

“I search for antiques and old collectibles because I’m good at it,” he said, opting for a version of the truth, even if it did sound cocky. “I love the challenge and I’m an adrenaline junkie who feeds off the thrill of the chase. And let’s face it,” he added with a grin, “I’ve got this crazy gift of being able to read an old object and learn about its history. Who it belonged to, where it came from, and how the item was used, and what kind of emotions are attached to the piece. Some of the older antiques I’ve come across have led to some very interesting historical facts.”

She took another sip of her drink, her brows rising in interest. “So, you’re a history buff, too?”

“I’ve become one, yes, because it’s the nature of the job.” And because it had been a connection he’d shared with his grandfather, the one man in his life who’d accepted him, and his gift, unconditionally and loved hearing all about Chase’s findings and travels. He died two years ago, and there wasn’t a day that went by that Chase didn’t miss the old man. “I touch old things, and they connect me to some kind of past history, which then requires me to do research and discover all kinds of intriguing things that are linked to the object.”

“That’s fascinating,” she said, her tone earnest.

He shrugged. “No more so than your psychic gift.”

Something painful passed across her features, and before he could analyze those dark shadows, they were gone, leaving him to wonder what had happened in her life to cause such a strong emotional reaction.

“There’s nothing fascinating about being a clairvoyant,” she said, back to being composed. “It’s more a curse than a blessing, and it’s not something I’d wish on anyone. I’m sure you feel that way sometimes, too.”

“Actually, I don’t,” he replied honestly. “I think it’s freakin’ awesome to be able to see history in something I touch, though there are times when there is a lot of emotion attached to an object, and that attachment can make things more difficult.”

She nodded in understanding. “Same thing when I touch people. The emotional aspect of it all is so draining.” Then she shook her head, as if their conversation had turned much too serious and personal for her. “Tell me about this antique you’re searching for, and why Steven is paying you the big bucks to find the other pieces that are a part of it.”

Since they had time before dinner arrived, he decided she’d better understand the case if he let her see the one and only piece of the cane that he had in his possession. “There’s something I want to show you. I’ll be right back.”

He left her sitting at the bar while he went into the master bedroom, then opened the safe in the walk-in closet. After retrieving the polished wooden chest he’d stored there earlier, he returned to his place behind the bar, opened the box, and folded back the soft cloth bundling his prized possession. Or rather, Steven’s prized possession. While Steven was interested in completing the cane that once belonged to Al Capone and was paying Chase a small fortune to do so, Chase wanted what the cane ultimately
led
to.

“This fine piece of carved mammoth ivory was a part of a walking cane that Al Capone had commissioned for himself back in the early 1930s,” he told her. “Peter Smed, the man who created and carved the handle, mostly worked with metals, but this is one of the very few ivory pieces he made, which makes it even more valuable as an object of art, as well as the obvious connection to Capone.”

Her gaze, wide with awe, took in the cluster of lily of the valley blossoms that had been intricately etched into the piece of dentin. There were over a dozen buds, and nestled within each flower was an emerald jewel representing the stamen. Just on its own, even without the other components, the one-of-a-kind, custom-made cane top was a stunning collectible and a showpiece. The ivory itself was rare and illegal in today’s market. Linked to Al Capone, the value of the piece rose exponentially.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said, and took a drink of her spritzer as she raised her curious gaze to his face. “How did you find it?”

“I was at an estate auction in Chicago about six months ago. Honestly, I just thought it was a cool-looking piece which had been listed as ‘household décor,’ but when I touched the ivory, I was hit with glimpses of where this piece originated, and who it belonged to.” He’d also seen another vision, this one a much more intriguing image of an ivory carving of the Virgin Mary, which had piqued his interest beyond the cane top’s association to Al Capone.

At the time, he hadn’t known what the flash of insight meant, and he still hadn’t discovered the full connection, but if his gut intuition and tons of research were accurate, once the cane was restored to its full former glory, it would provide the clues that would guide him to a priceless treasure that only a few people knew existed—a rare and valuable ruby worth millions.

But that wasn’t information Valerie needed to know, so he kept to the facts. As far as Chase was concerned, those other visions had no bearing on what Valerie had been hired to do, which was to help him find the rest of the pieces of the cane.

“Since no one else was aware of who the cane handle belonged to, I won it for a couple thousand,” he went on. “I figured that somewhere along the way, the ivory piece got lost in the shuffle, and when the person who had it in his possession died, and his estate went to auction, no one realized the true value, which worked to my advantage.”

He grinned, still remembering the rush he’d gotten when he took ownership of the lily of the valley carving for a fraction of what it was worth. “I had the piece tested and authenticated, and I found a very old photo of Capone using the cane, which he didn’t do often. Once he was incarcerated, the cane mysteriously disappeared and has never been accounted for.”

Her mouth lifted in a teasing smile. “The other pieces are probably stashed in Al Capone’s vault, the one that Geraldo Rivera hasn’t found yet.”

Chase laughed at the reference to the greatly hyped TV special that had aired back in 1986 that promised viewers a highly anticipated glimpse of Capone’s hidden riches, only to discover a few empty bottles scattered in the secret dirt-filled room located beneath the Lexington Hotel in Chicago.

“So, someone took the cane apart, distributed or sold the pieces, and you need to find the rest of the components?” she guessed.

He nodded and sipped his tequila, enjoying the expensive, rich flavor as it went down his throat, smooth as silk. “Steven is paying me, and you, to recover the bottom portion of the cane. It’ll definitely be worth more as a whole. And since he’s putting his collection of gangster memorabilia on display at the Onyx, having the entire cane in his possession would garner all kinds of publicity for him, and for the casino.”

She nodded in agreement just as the doorbell rang, surprising Chase with how fast the time had gone by, and how much he’d enjoyed his conversation with Valerie. It was nice having a discussion with someone who understood his ability to read old objects and wasn’t suspicious of him, or his claims, as many others were.

“Looks like dinner is here,” he said, and closed the lid on the wooden case to keep the ivory cane top protected. “Would you mind letting room service in while I put this away in the safe?”

“Sure.” She slid off the barstool and headed for the door while he went back into the master bedroom and locked up the box. Tomorrow, he’d hand the collectible off to Steven’s curator, Tony, for safekeeping while he and Valerie searched for the rest of the cane.

By the time he returned to the living room, the waiter had gone over everything with Valerie and she was signing for the meal. Chase grabbed both their drinks from the bar and handed the spritzer to Valerie when her hands were free.

“You can set everything on the table out on the balcony,” he told the younger man. It was a beautiful night out, and while the sun was beginning to set on the horizon, they still had plenty of light to eat outdoors, where it was cool, and they had an amazing view of the Vegas Strip.

The waiter wheeled the tray toward the balcony, and as Valerie followed, Chase fell into step beside her. On a whim, he lightly placed his hand on her lower back in a gentlemanly gesture.

He enjoyed the way the silk of her blouse slid warmly over the tips of his fingers, which made him think about what her bare skin would feel like beneath the stroke of his palm, or how she’d taste as he swept his tongue along the small of her spine, where the sway of her back met the luscious curve of her sweetly rounded ass.

The arousing thoughts swirling in his head made his dick hard, and his only consolation to that was the fact that he knew she was just as affected by the simple press of his hand against her back. There was no mistaking the sensual tremor that his touch elicited, or the small gasp of pleasure that escaped her parted lips at his unexpected caress.

His own fingers tingled with that strange electricity and heat that seemed to spark between them, and lust shot through his veins like a drug he was quickly becoming addicted to and wanted a whole lot more of.

She didn’t look at him, but the flush coloring her cheeks and the sudden rise and fall of her chest, and the nipples that had peaked against her blouse spoke volumes. She wanted him just as much as he desired her, except she was fighting the inevitable.

Figuring he’d tortured them both enough for now, he let his hand fall away as they took their seats across from each other at the table. As the waiter transferred their meal from the cart to their place settings, Valerie gulped down the last of her wine spritzer, as if she’d needed the liquid fortitude after what had just happened between them. Again.

He spread his linen napkin on his lap and suppressed a chuckle, certain she wouldn’t appreciate him finding humor in the fact that she was so obviously flustered. “Would you like another drink?” he offered instead.

“No, thank you,” she said. “One was plenty. I’ll stick with water.”

Water was safe. She clearly wanted her wits about her, and honestly, so did he. Because before the night ended, he planned on testing the power of their attraction, and he wanted her sober enough that there was no blaming alcohol for her actions.

Chapter Three