Prodigal Son (15 page)

“Crossword puzzle,” Bartow snapped, then held out his hand. “May I have my paper back please?”

He was lying
. Criten glanced from the blank crossword puzzle to the man’s trembling hand and hesitated just long enough to watch panic flare in Bartow’s eyes. Then he presented his most charming smile and handed back the newspaper. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” Bartow stuffed the paper into a drawer of his desk, then faced Criten again, the soul of geniality. “What can I do for you today, Your Excellency?”

“I wish to talk to you about a private matter, not one of state or politics.”

“Is something wrong?” Bartow came to attention, his concern seemingly genuine. “Is it your room?”

“No, not at all. The room is most comfortable. I wish to talk to you about security.”

“Security?” Bartow glanced at Gadi. “Mr. Gray normally handles security. He should be here shortly, but I can call him in early if necessary. Was there a threat of some kind?”

“Not at all.” Criten raised his hand, and Gadi came to stand behind his chair. “I have learned, Mr. Bartow, that there was recently a theft in your organization.”

“A theft? Oh, the car.” The lie slid smoothly from his lips. “Yes, one of my employees took off with my personal vehicle a few weeks back. It’s been dealt with. I’m surprised you heard about it.”

“My security team makes it their business to know everything when I am traveling. I don’t like surprises.”

“Of course, of course.” Bartow’s smile dimmed a hair. “We tried to keep it quiet. I’m sure you understand. Bad publicity and all that.”

“I do understand. I also understand why you lied about the theft.”

This time the smile completely disappeared from Bartow’s face. “Lied?”

“Your employee … this Danny Cangialosi. He didn’t steal a car, did he?”

“Yes, he did.”

Truth
. Interesting. “Ah. Then not
just
a car.”

A bit of caution, a hint of possessiveness, flickered across Bartow’s face. “Mr. Criten, I believe you have me at a disadvantage.”

“This, I know.” Criten chuckled. “I am talking about the stone, Mr. Bartow.”

“S-stone?” Bartow paled, then glanced around. The glass walls of his office revealed only empty hallways and Nicki’s vacant desk.

“The Stone of Igarle. The one you bought at auction on the Internet last month.”

“Oh,
that
stone.” Bartow laughed, the sound nearly convincing except for the alarm in his eyes. “Not much to it. Looks kind of like a red Egyptian pyramid. A nice paperweight.”

“It is much more than that.” Criten leaned forward. “I am Selak79.”

“Oh!” Bartow’s tense shoulders relaxed. “You nearly outbid me.”

“Indeed. I lost my Internet connection, or I would have.” Criten shrugged, a mild reaction considering his rage when he’d realized his frustration with the bidding had shorted out the computer he was using, causing him to lose the auction. “I came to Las Vegas prepared to buy it from you.”

“Buy it! Oh, I don’t know—”

“I was prepared to offer this.” Criten took a velvet jewel pouch out of his pocket. Pulling open the drawstring, he tipped a pinkish-orange stone the size of an egg into his hand.

Bartow stood. “That’s not … it can’t be a Padparadscha sapphire? No, it can’t be. Not that size.”

“It is indeed a Padparadscha. For Santutegi, such treasures are easily obtained.” Criten tucked the pouch in his pocket with one hand and admired the sparkling stone nested in the other. “Isn’t it stunning?”

“It is. It almost glows from the inside.”

“You are correct.” Criten shifted his hand so sunlight danced across the faceted surface of the gem. In the center of the stone, a light sparked and grew steadily bigger. “Perhaps you are not aware, but that
paperweight
, the Stone of Igarle, is part of the lost treasure of Santutegi. It has been missing for generations.”

“I did not know that.” Bartow took a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and wiped his dampening face, never taking his eyes from the sapphire. “I heard it brought good luck.”

Criten shrugged. “Old wives’ tales. But I wanted you to see, Mr. Bartow, that the stone means quite a lot to me. It is part of my culture’s lost heritage.” The sapphire grew brighter in his palm.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Excellency, but I paid for it, fair and square. If you have the provenance for the piece, of course I will be too happy to turn it over to you—”

“Provenance!” Criten surged to his feet, the sapphire burning like fire in his clenched fist. “That stone is thousands of years old, crafted by my ancestors. It is mine by right.”

Bartow narrowed his eyes. “Like I said, prove it, and the stone is yours.”

“You can’t give me what you don’t have.” Criten squeezed his fingers around the gem, his anger stoking the flames. “Danny Cangialosi stole that stone from you. Some two-bit hoodlum. What kind of security do you have here anyway, Bartow? How could you let this happen?”

“Listen, I’m just as upset as you are.”

“Hardly,” Criten said. “You lost a purchase. I lost my heritage.”

“I’m sorry about that, I really am. But I bought the thing fair and square.”

“I had hoped we could do business, Bartow.” The edges of the stone bit into his clenched hand. “As it stands, I have men on the trail of that bounty hunter and the girl.”

“What girl?”

“Miss McGaffigan.” Criten gave a harsh chuckle. “Did you really think she flew back to New Jersey?”

“She didn’t?” Bartow frowned. “Mr. Gray said she did.”

“Then you’re both fools. She is going to lead me to Danny Cangialosi and the Stone of Igarle. Then it will be mine.”

“Wait just a second—”

Criten slapped the sapphire down on the desk, his palm covering it as he looked Bartow in the eye. “You have no idea what to do with a valuable piece like the Stone of Igarle, Bartow. You with your superstitions and your lucky charms and your horoscopes.”

Outrage and embarrassment warred on the casino manager’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The horseshoe over your door? The rabbit’s foot on your keychain? Reading your horoscope as if it’s fact and not entertainment?” Criten sneered. “You bought the stone as one more talisman against Fate. No wonder you live in Las Vegas. You worship Lady Luck like a divine goddess.”

“You don’t know anything,” Bartow said, hands fisting at his sides.

“I will make you a deal,” Criten said. “I give you the sapphire, and you forget about the stone.”

Bartow opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it and frowned in thought as he regarded the hand covering the sapphire.

“Think of the trouble it will be to hunt down the thief, then reclaim your property without involving the authorities,” Criten said. “This way is easier, and you get one of the world’s largest Padparadscha sapphires in exchange.”

“Maybe.”

“Make the deal, Mr. Bartow. Take the sapphire and forget about the Stone of Igarle. Or don’t take the sapphire, and I will still claim the stone. Your choice.” Criten’s lips curved in a mocking smile. “Consult your horoscope if you need to.”

Bartow stiffened. “I don’t need to. I’ll take the deal.”

“Excellent.” Criten straightened, then removed his hand from the sapphire.

“Dear God,” Bartow whispered, his reverent gaze fixed on the glowing pink stone. “Look at the way it shimmers. How does it do that? The cut?”

“Something like that.”

Bartow picked up the sapphire and cupped it in his hand. “It’s hot. Probably from being in your pocket.”

“Probably.” Criten waved a couple of fingers, focused his will. The sapphire glowed even more, the light nearly blinding as it built.

“Ow! Oh, it’s hot. What the … I can’t let go!” Bartow raised his terrified gaze to Criten. “Do something! It’s stuck on me! Burned on to me or something!” He turned his hand upside down, but the gemstone still stuck to his palm.

“You shouldn’t have outbid me,” Criten said, then focused his power and
pushed
.

Bartow screamed in pain as pinkish-orange light surged up his arm from the sapphire, enveloping him in seconds. He shook as if electrocuted, gasping for breath. He clutched his chest with his free hand, wheezing and choking. “Help … me.”

“Oh, very well.” Criten honed the power like a sharpened dagger and stabbed it into Bartow’s heart.

Bartow arched his back, eyes bulging, mouth open in a silent scream. Then he dropped to the floor like a brick.

Criten let out a long sigh. “That was exhausting. Shall we try the buffet, Gadi? I need to recharge.”

“As you wish, Your Excellency.”

“Yes.” Criten’s lips curved as he regarded Bartow’s shoe-clad feet protruding from behind the desk. “As I wish indeed.” With a shrug he turned toward the door. “Retrieve my sapphire, Gadi. Now that he’s dead, there’s no life force for it to cling to. And take care of the girl.”

“Yes, Your Excellency.”

Criten stepped outside the office and stretched a bit. Manipulating energy always left him ravenous—for both food and sex. The elevator door dinged open, and Nicki stepped out, her purse over her shoulder, a coffee cup in one hand and her cell phone in the other. Her breasts bounced beneath her clingy blouse as she headed toward her desk, tapping the phone’s keys with one thumb as she walked toward him, legs that went on for days and a tight little skirt with a frill at the mid-thigh hemline. Her lush dark hair swept over her shoulders, her tongue peeking from between bee-stung lips as she concentrated on her texting.

Criten folded his arms and leaned against her desk. He could think of other things to do with that tongue, and with Gadi’s help, she’d be happy to do anything he wanted, for as long as he wanted it.

Sometimes it was fucking awesome to be the boss.

CHAPTER TEN

A towel hastily wrapped around her, Cara darted out of the bathroom still dripping from the shower and dug her ringing cell phone out of her purse. The generic chiming gave no indication who was calling, but her heart pounded anyway. What if Danny had lost his cell or, worse yet, was in jail? “Hello? Danny, is that you?”

“Still chasing ghosts?”

Her soaring hopes crashed back to earth at the familiar, unwelcome voice. “What do you want, Warren?”

“I told you. I want you to come home. I just landed this big account for us, and you’re the key to it.”

She gritted her teeth and forced her tone to remain polite. “I already told you I can’t come home right now.”

“Yeah, I know. Because of Danny. Really, Cara, when are you going to understand that you can’t keep rescuing the guy?”

She stiffened. “That’s none of your business.”

“Don’t be bitter, babe. It doesn’t suit you.”

She tightened her fingers around the phone. “Don’t talk down to me, Warren. I told you I’m unavailable. Tell Mitch to assign the project to another programmer.”

“I can’t do that. I promised the client the senior partner would be working on their interface—personally.”

“Un-promise them. Have Mitch give it to Rada. She’s excellent.”

“Rada is not the senior partner of Apex. You need to come home now, Cara. Don’t make the business pay for your stepbrother’s mistakes.”

“I’d say in this case the business would be suffering from
your
mistake, Warren. You shouldn’t make promises for other people.” She took a deep, silent breath. Counted.

“I’m not the one who goes haring off to rescue a deadbeat relative every time he screws up. You have to choose, Cara—the company or Danny? Because right now it seems the company is all you have. You can’t depend on Danny, and you know it.”

“Oh, but I can depend on you, is that it, Warren?” She struggled to keep her tone professional and not give in to the ball of anger burning in her gut. “Let’s face it, your track record isn’t exactly stellar where I’m concerned.”

“Oh, here we go. You
are
still bitter. I knew it after you hung up on me yesterday.”

“I’m not bitter.” Even as she said the words, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror across the room. Stiff posture, white-knuckled grip on the phone, jaw clenched.

Well, yeah, okay. Maybe she still harbored a
hint
of bitterness. And disappointment. And some distrust about men.

“If you’re not bitter, why are you holding this deal hostage? Prove it, Cara. Come home and take care of business.”

She searched for a snappy comeback, but all she managed was, “I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.” He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Think it over, Cara. Decide if your company is important enough to merit your attention. This deal would go a long way toward solving our cash flow problems.”

Before she could respond, he hung up.

She stood there, still dripping, staring at the “Call Ended” message on the display. She knew he considered himself the winner of their little skirmish since he’d been the one to end the conversation. Then again, she’d hung up on him yesterday. A small victory.

Talking to Warren always left her battle-weary from the emotional potshots he called conversation. She hated that he could do that to her, force her to play these games that blended striking at weakness with skillfully targeted guilt trips. She wasn’t the type to try and one-up anyone, and she found the drama distasteful.

Maybe it was a good thing he’d dumped her, because she sure hated who she had to be when she dealt with him.

That simple truth struck her like a bullet. She didn’t want to be this person anymore—argumentative, manipulative, hung up on the past. The stereotypical woman scorned, afraid to trust. She was more than that. She knew she was more than that.

It was time to stop licking her wounds and start living again.

The door opened and Rafe walked in, stopping just inside the doorway. He held two cans of soda in his hands. The door closed behind him with a loud snick. “You’re not ready.”

“No.” She dropped her phone back in her purse. “I’m not.”

He took another step into the room. “Everything okay?”

She glanced at those gorgeous blue eyes, gentle with concern. She never felt combative with this man. Challenged, sure, but in a way that excited rather than provoked.