The men followed, fanning out across the store to conduct a thorough search, while her sister hung back, her brow furrowed in concentration. What, was she trying to read the rabbit’s mind again?
Iris discovered Ginny lost in discussion with a hot blond guy. “Pardon me, Ginny, but have you seen Edgar?”
“Who? Oh, no. I thought he was in the back with you.”
“He seems to have gotten out.” Iris glanced at the guy and was startled by the blue eyes, so pale and intense, and yet oddly familiar.
“Iris, this is Sergei…”
“Gorseyev,” he finished with a smile at the assistant.
Ginny blushed. “He says he’s your cousin,” she whispered with a sidelong look. “Is he?”
“I believe it’s second cousin,” Sergei corrected in his accented English as he shook Iris’s hand.
“I’ll vouch for this one,” Iris said.
His eyes were a younger version of Tatiana’s, and he’d inherited Viktor’s height and build. He appeared to be a few years younger than her own twenty-eight, and he’d clearly made an impression on Ginny.
Mickey appeared at her elbow. “Find anything?” He placed a proprietary hand on her back.
“This is Iris’s Russian cousin, Sergei,” Ginny gushed.
Iris raised a brow. Ginny never gushed. But she was definitely making eyes at Sergei.
“This is Iris’s other cousin, Mickey.”
Mickey offered his hand. “Michael Kincaid.”
“Funny, Aunt Tatiana told me you were Iris’s fiancé,” Sergei said as they shook.
Ginny’s mouth fell open as she turned to stare at Iris.
Iris wished she could melt into the floor. This was the problem with lying-she always got caught. She saw Mickey’s hand tighten its grip on her cousin’s fingers.
“Can you keep a secret, Sergei?” he whispered. “I’m neither.”
Sergei leaned in. “If that is so, what are you?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Mickey winked.
Ginny barely repressed a squeal of delight. “I knew something was going on!”
“Oh, stop it, all of you,” Iris said testily. Mickey had made it sound like this was just one big joke to him. He probably couldn’t wait to be done with this case. To be done with her.
Allie joined their little group with a brief wave to Ginny before turning to Iris. “He’s not here. I mean, we can look in every corner and under every piece of furniture, but I can tell you, Edgar’s gone.”
“Who is this Edgar?” Sergei asked.
“Our dad’s rabbit,” Allie answered.
This made no sense to the Russian. “Rabbit? As in, hip hop, hip hop?”
Ginny and Allie both giggled. Even Iris had to admit, with the accent and all, Sergei was pretty damn hot.
But she saw no humor in losing Edgar. It would have been easier if he were still wearing the collar. Then she could pretend she was worried about the missing gems. Instead, she had to admit she’d developed a bond with that overweight rabbit. If he’d left the store, he was out there in the casino somewhere, and that thought terrified her. Heavy money carts, tourists with rolling luggage, security guards with guns-Edgar could be injured or killed out there. Just her luck that they were on the verge of finding Cosmo, and she’d have to tell him she’d lost his favorite pet.
She looked at Mickey. Why she automatically turned to him for help after all he’d done, she didn’t know. She didn’t question it. Instinctively, she knew she could count on him. “We have to find him.”
But instead of promising everything would be fine, he returned her look with a doubtful frown. “We can’t tear the whole casino apart looking for one rabbit.”
“We don’t have to tear anything apart,” Allie said with confidence. “If you want to find a rabbit, you just have to think like a rabbit. Come on.”
Robert Donovan rarely set foot in the Bellagio, mostly because he hated to admit anyone in Vegas had bigger holdings than he did. Today he should have achieved a major victory by signing that real estate deal and buying that piece of Moscow property from the Bellagio’s owners. But thanks to Cosmo Fortune’s treachery, Jock’s ineptitude and Mickey Kincaid’s lies, the deal was on hold.
Goddammit, he wanted that alexandrite in his hands.
Marshalling his features into a businesslike smile, he turned and waved goodbye to the men who’d shared lunch with him. SOBs, all of them. He smiled and winked as they waved back. Yeah, they’d be stabbing knives in his back if they could. He straightened his cuffs and departed the restaurant.
Grudgingly, he admitted Jack Vados had suggested a good plan. Since delaying the contract would look weak, Vados had recommended they blame the postponement on health issues. Nothing too serious-a flu bug, perhaps. If Donovan were laid up for a few days, no one would blame him for the delay.
Donovan agreed with the idea on all accounts save one. Vados was the one currently laid up with the flu. Like hell Donovan wanted anyone thinking something trivial like a virus could stop him. And to prove he was feeling just fine, thank you, he’d offered to take the sellers out to lunch in lieu of today’s meeting-his treat. He even let them pick the restaurant.
They’d immediately chosen the most expensive lunch restaurant in their highest-priced property. The SOBs couldn’t wait to stick it to him and make him pay for food they could have gotten free for themselves. Drawing a cleansing breath, he tried to shake it off. They’d merely asserted their temporary dominance in this situation. Soon he’d catch up with Cosmo Fortune and get his gems. A day-two, tops. Then he’d sign the contracts, make his quiet but all-important donation to the Russian government, and these assholes would be crying in their soup while he sat in the penthouse of the largest casino in Moscow. The only casino. His casino.
A shame he couldn’t bury Cosmo in the foundation.
People milled about the lobby, many of them tourists staring at that damn glass flower ceiling. Yeah, he got it, it was artsy, beautiful-get over it, already. A camera flash blinded him for a moment and raised his blood pressure. He tried to focus on the main doors that led to the valet area, but too many people crowded his view. In no mood to wait for some bellhop to call for his limo, Donovan pulled out his cell phone, but the grating noise of hundreds of people chattering made him seek a quieter spot.
The Bellagio’s conservatory beckoned. Just off the lobby, the glass-roofed plaza sported themed gardens with fountains. It might be equally crowded, but the open-air space would allow sound to dissipate.
“Mommy, no-o-o-o,” a little boy wailed as his mother dragged him by the elbow past Donovan. “I want to go back and find the bunny!”
Donovan shuddered at the ear-piercing note the boy sobbed in a last-ditch attempt to get his wishes.
The mother must have been deaf to it, for all she did was roll her eyes. “Those people are crazy. There’s no bunny in those gardens.” With that, she hauled him toward the door.
Listening to another wail, Donovan retreated toward the conservatory. It had to be quieter there.
The garden was quiet, except for some people craning their necks and trying to point cameras. Donovan shouldered his way through the crowd, though it made his skin crawl to be surrounded so closely. With an effort, he broke through the front line of bystanders. Here, he lodged himself against the rail surrounding the largest of the three gardens and elbowed enough room to call his driver. When he finished, he realized the crowd had grown thicker. What the hell was the big attraction about some flowers planted beneath a glass dome?
Sparing a minute, he studied the gardens around him. Topiary animals of green ivy danced upon carpets exploding with brightly colored flowers-blood red, caution yellow and white so pure it made his eyes ache. Someone should have gotten fired for even suggesting they waste potential restaurant, lounge or casino space on this sappy terrarium.