Las Vegas: Scandals. Nina Bruhns
back?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. Though he knew damn well. Silver had received a nearly identical message scrawled on her mirror about being the next one to die—just before someone maliciously brought a scaffolding down on her head. That someone must still be after the Tears of the Quetzal. And didn’t know it was now in FBI custody. Until the culprit was found, Vera could be in danger.
Conner gathered her up in his arms again, heading for the elevator. “Let’s get you away from here.”
For a second she looked like she wanted to object. But then she just put her arms around him and clung to him. Not in a sexual way—despite the fact that she was nearly naked and just moments ago had all but given herself to him—but like a frightened woman would hold a man who made her feel safe.
His stomach roiled into a clot of opposing emotions. Anger at whoever had done this. And a strange, completely alien sense of wanting to protect her from all harm.
Okay, that and a gnawing sense of panic.
Something was going on deep inside him, in his heart, that he did not understand. Did not need. Definitely did not want.
The elevator opened and he swept in, pushed the button for the ground floor.
“Vera,” he said. “I know you didn’t want me as your lawyer, but I’m hoping you trust me as a friend, after—” He stopped, suddenly feeling awkward. Damn. If not for the break-in, they’d be in bed by now, naked, and he’d be deep inside her. Making love. He was still aroused, still aching for relief. Still wanting her like she was the last woman on earth and he hadn’t had sex for at least a decade.
He cleared his throat. “In light of…what happened between us, I’ll be turning over your case to my assistant in the morning. Meanwhile, I hope you believe I have your interests as my top priority in this incident.”
For once she didn’t argue. She bit her lip and nodded. It obviously hadn’t occurred to her that her sister might be inside hurt—or worse. He didn’t intend to enlighten her. But there were also other issues at hand.
“Here’s the thing. The FBI is on its way. Vera, think hard. If there’s anything, any reason at all, they shouldn’t go into your apartment, you need to tell me now. Before they arrive.”
She gazed up at him, her green eyes wide and uncomprehending. Man, she was guileless. Did that mean his instincts were right about her?
“You mean…like drugs or something?” she asked.
Again he cleared his throat, not understanding why it was so damn important to him that she be innocent. “For example, yeah.”
She continued to worry her lip. “Um. Darla might not want them in her room. There could be…some illegal substances.”
He nodded. No shock there. “They’ll probably look the other way on that, this time. Anything else?”
“Like…?”
“Did Duncan tell you any of his suspicions about your sister?” he asked carefully.
“Suspicions of what?”
Okay, apparently not. “I’m not really sure how much I should be revealing to you, but since you’re still my client, I feel I should be up-front and warn you. That ring you were wearing isn’t the only thing Darla is suspected of stealing. There may be more.”
“Stolen jewelry?” she asked, her jaw dropping. “That’s not possible. Darla is rich! An heiress. Why would she ever…” Vera’s words trickled to a stop.
He gazed down at her. “Could it be true? Because if the FBI finds stolen goods in your apartment, it could get really ugly.”
“I don’t know,” she said worriedly. “Really. I wouldn’t have thought so, but…Darla is…Well, sometimes she gets these crazy ideas. For thrills, she says. Or to get back at our father. For his neglect. I suppose…” She looked miserable. “I suppose it could be true. I just don’t know. But I don’t think anything would be kept here. I would know.”
“Fair enough.” The elevator doors opened and suddenly he remembered what she was wearing…or rather, not wearing. He was about to slip off his jacket to give her when he realized the bag of belongings she’d dropped on the ride up was still lying in the corner of the elevator.
He grabbed it and pressed it into her hands. “Here. Better get dressed before someone sees you.”
“Oh, jeez,” she said, glancing down at herself. “Not exactly street attire.”
More’s the pity. He admired how she was so totally comfortable in her own bare skin. The women he knew would be dying of embarrassment to be seen like this in public, every last one, convinced their bodies were too fat or too skinny or had some other terrible imagined flaw, making them unduly self-conscious. Women could have such hang-ups about their self-image. It was refreshing to be around one who so obviously liked how she looked.
She quickly pulled on the jeans and T-shirt. He forced himself to concentrate. “You stay down here in the lobby and wait for Duncan. I’ll go back to the apartment and take a quick look around. If there’s anything that shouldn’t be found, I’ll deny him permission to search there. Okay?”
Fear leaped into her eyes. “You’re leaving me alone? Why can’t I go with you?”
“Just in case,” he said, and she looked even more panicked. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Duncan will get here in a few minutes.” Unable to help himself, he bent down and kissed her. The taste of her lips swirled on his tongue, and a painful ache of arousal swept through him again. Too good. He pulled away.
“Conner, wait,” she began. She glanced down at his mouth, and then his body, and something shifted in her expression. Uh-oh, trouble ahead. “I, um, don’t—”
He put a finger to her lips. “Shh. We’ll talk later, all right? I’ve got to go up.”
She nodded reluctantly. “What if someone’s up there with a gun?” she asked nervously.
“Anyone’s probably long gone,” he assured her, then led her out of the elevator, gave her a last kiss and got back on.
Watching him unhappily, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “Please, be careful.”
He smiled, touched by the sincere worry in her eyes. “Count on it.”
Once up in the apartment, he was able to give the whole penthouse a cursory search before the FBI showed up. No Darla, thank heaven. Nothing else out of the ordinary was visible in the piles of debris left by the break-in or in any of the bedrooms, either, so granting Duncan and his CSI techs access would not compromise his client.
He took one last look around. If the place hadn’t been such a mess, it would have been really nice. If nothing else, Darla had good taste. At least in interior decorating. In friends and lifestyle, maybe not so much.
Of course, an exotic dancer would normally be included in his general condemnation. In the Las Vegas legal community, aside from his take-no-prisoners ruthlessness in the courtroom, Conner was known for a generous pro bono policy toward the homeless, drug addicts and sex workers. But he’d never considered them his equals in any sense of the word. His family would disown him if they even suspected he was considering a serious liaison with a stripper…even if she was the illegitimate daughter of billionaire Maximillian St. Giles.
Hell, especially if she was the illegitimate daughter of Maximillian St. Giles. Or any other woman not in his social class or better. The key word there was illegitimate. His father had given Uncle Harold a lifetime of grief for marrying beneath him. More than once. Conner had no intention of repeating that mistake and lowering his father’s respect for him. Or giving his blue-blood family any reason to question Conner’s loyalty to their highbrow ideals, even if he thought they were at times silly and sometimes destructive.
He’d