Smoke and Mirrors (3 page)

"What's the matter?" he asked his brother. "Afraid I'm checking up on you?"

Brent shrugged. "Just curious."

Like hell. "Trying to give me a run for my money again?"

"You forget. I've tried on your shoes, Dare. Didn't like the way they fit."

Derek joined him at the wet bar. "That's because they're too big, baby brother. Too much room for you to slip around and hurt yourself. You're better off leaving the danger to me."

Brent frowned. "Dream on. You're the one who ran out of here, leaving the whole damn city wondering where you went, if you were even alive. And poor Marla…
"

Derek slammed his tumbler against the bar. "Don't say her name to me."

"She was going to be your wife."

Memories slithered forward, the lies and betrayal, the aftermath. "She's dead to me now. I suggest you remember that."

Brent studied him long and hard, traces of genuine concern and curiosity flickering through his gaze. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to drag up a bad memory."

Derek headed for the door. "We'll talk more tomorrow. I'm beat." Physically, mentally and in every other way imaginable. He was stepping into the hall when Brent's voice stopped him.

"Derek?"

He turned back toward his brother. "Yeah?"

Brent raised his glass and grinned. "Welcome home, bro."

* * *

The stately grandfather clock chimed the hour. One in the morning. The last of the guests had shuffled out of the lobby thirty minutes before, their bleary eyes indicative of the late hour and the chess table they'd stared at too long.

Cass stoked the glowing embers of the fire. Her insides felt much the same: simmering remains of the night's excitement. At last. Derek Mansfield was home.

His arrival flicked the lead domino into motion; the rest would topple in no time. She thrilled to the prospect of chipping away at his fortress, contributing to his fall. It would be methodical and gradual, undeniable.

"There you are!" Ruth Sun's sensible heels clicked across the marble floor, then the hardwood, then over the plush Persian rug. "If you keep me waiting one second longer I'll just die." Excitement sparkled in the older woman's dark eyes. The veteran desk clerk was as much a fixture at the hotel as the antique furniture. Nothing escaped her notice. "Start talking, missy—now! I want details."

Cass flashed a curious smile. "About what?"

"Like you don't know. The boss. I want to know what happened between you two."

"What makes you think something happened?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe the look on his face when he took off running toward the elevator, or maybe—"

"What look?"

"Let's just say no one was going to get in his way." A rush surged through Cass. She knew the look Ruth described, had seen it herself. Furious and fierce, lethal.

"You should've seen him, Cass. He'd only been here a few minutes. Everyone was staring, falling all over themselves to make him feel welcome. Then Cloyd came running down the hall."

Cloyd. The elevator attendant. Cass should've known.

"He was frantic about trouble on the twelfth floor. And you. I told Derek about the drunks, and he just took off." Awe gleamed in Ruth's eyes, laced her voice. "My God, to have that man charge to my rescue…"

She prattled on, but Cass hardly heard a word. It was more than a little amusing, to see the older woman so flustered. But then, Cass couldn't blame her.
Mansfield
had an aura about him, a magnetism that stirred a woman's blood despite her best intentions. Cass's partner, Gray, had it, too, and Cass had watched its impact on other women. A happily married woman, she'd been immune to it. Then, after her husband Randy's death—

After didn't matter. The woman in her had shut down, leaving no room for anyone but the cop.

"So what happened?" Ruth asked again, this time more insistently. "It's not fair to keep me in the dark."

"I'll tell you what happened."

The low voice surged through Cass. She pivoted toward it, found
Mansfield
lounging against the mantel, black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots. She hadn't heard him approach—unusual for her—had no idea how long he'd been standing behind her.

Nor did she know why the mere sight of him, the sardonic curl of his lips, sent her pulse sprinting.

But it did.

Chapter 2

«
^
»

D
erek watched her eyes widen, the color rush to her cheeks. All flushed like that, with tangled wisps of hair loose around her face, she looked like a woman who'd just rolled from her lover's arms.

Dangerous thoughts, he realized, and detoured quickly. "Fearless, here, decided she could handle a roomful of drunks all by her sweet little self."

Ruth's eyes widened. "I told her not to go up there,
"
she replied. "I warned her, but she wouldn't listen."

"It wasn't
that
dramatic," Cass said, pushing the hair back from her face. "I had everything under control."

Thinking back on the scene he'd walked in on, Derek felt a boiling rage begin to build. He knew what could have happened if he hadn't arrived in time, and it sickened him. "Under control, huh? I suppose that's why one of them was feeling you up, while the others moved in for the kill?"

She shot him a sharp look. "They were harmless, just a bunch of college boys playing cool."

"Honey, if you thought that was playing, I'd love to see your version of the real thing."

Ruth gasped, but Cass smiled. It was a wide, slow smile, one only a confident woman could offer. "I'll just bet you would."

Slowly he let his gaze slide down her lithe body in the scarlet-and-black suit that served as her uniform. "You can be sure of that."

His affirmation seemed to startle her—he almost thought she winced. Those eyes of hers, he realized. They spoke volumes. Sure, she kept a sturdy shield of bravado in place, but he'd played too many games of chance in his life not to see the secrets lurking beneath.

"It's late," he said, surprised by the tender note in his voice. "You've had a rough evening. Why don't you get on home?"

She cocked a brow. "Trying to get rid of me?"

If he was smart. "Nope, just trying to get you home in bed."

She pulled her battered braid over her shoulder. "What if I'm not tired?"

"Who said you had to be?"

Her eyes flared, but other than that, her composure remained rock solid. "You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Derek's blood heated, not just at her words, but at the provocative sight she made standing there, all rumpled and flushed. "Sorry, honey," he said, detouring from the dangerous path, "this has nothing to do with my confidence level." He didn't have time for distractions right now, no matter how intriguing a distraction she made. "This has to do with making sure my employees are safe and sound." He moved closer, his six-foot-plus frame crowding her against the wall. "Tonight you were neither."

She lifted her chin. "But I'm both now."

She would be
,
Derek amended, if he left her alone. "So you are, but you can't blame a man for being concerned." He abruptly stepped back and hooked an arm around the small of her waist, steering her toward the front door. "Now get on home before I have to take you there myself."

She stiffened, as though he'd just taken his switchblade to her heart, rather than his hand to her back. Odd, Derek mused. The woman could take on a roomful of drunks, but she shut down when he touched her.

Smart, he amended, and the danger she posed ratcheted up another notch.

She stepped away from his touch. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much."

"I just bet you can.
"

She flashed him a tight smile,
then
headed for the door. He let her go, physically, but couldn't resist one parting shot. "What's the matter? Not afraid, are you?"

She stopped, pivoted toward him. "Not on your life," she
said,
the light sparking back into her eyes. A defiant smile touched her lips. "It's late. I'm simply calling it a night."

And the Cubs were going to win back to back World Series, Derek thought as he watched the door close behind her. The woman had more secrets than he did, and something deep inside him wanted to know what they were, why she kept them.

Too bad discovering them could get them both killed.

* * *

Cass set down one of countless pictures from her file on
Mansfield
and frowned. He'd seemed so charming and gallant the night before, it was hard to believe he'd involve himself with an international criminal like Santiago Vilas, as the picture of the two smiling men suggested. But the photos taken only six months earlier spoke for themselves.

The walls of her small home office closed in on her, prompting her to stand. She needed fresh air. She needed to work off this restlessness before reporting for duty.

Seven miles would do the trick, she decided. Deliberate, not fast. Steady, not rushed. Whereas some people drank wine to unwind, Cass ran.

She never stopped to ask herself why.

Anticipation burned through her, as much for the endorphins of the run as for the endorphins of the chase.

Mansfield
.
Over the past six months she'd collected a library of news clips, sound bytes, and exposés about her current target. She was nothing if not methodical, and in his absence she'd contented herself with information rather than the man.

A weak substitute, she now realized.

Several magazines had run features on the Stirling Manor and its founder Sir Maximillian. They always tried to include
Mansfield
, but he had never consented to an interview, forcing reporters to resort to images of him from his merchant marine days, when he'd been wild and uncivilized. Not that he was civilized now, but at least he'd rejoined the family fold. He could be labeled a businessman now, even though Cass thought that was stretching things.

Semantics, she corrected. Whether or not
Mansfield
was a businessman depended upon how one defined business and how one defined a man.

She preferred to focus on the business.

Cass pulled her hair behind her head and began braiding.

Six months. Twenty-six weeks. One hundred eighty-two days. That's how long had passed since the chief had outlined the case to her.

Shadowy linkages to crime had tarnished the Stirling Manor's pristine image. At first it had seemed an unfortunate coincidence; an out-of-hand party here, an ill-fated meeting there, an occasional guest with a questionable reputation. But the coincidences gave way to pattern, pattern to rumors and suspicions. The trails led straight to the top, precisely where the motivation became muddy. Sir Maximillian's heirs had more money than they could spend in one—much less two—lifetimes, leaving only two reasons for spreading corruption through
Chicago
's streets.

Power and greed.

Enough circumstantial evidence existed to warrant an investigation. Once the authorities zeroed in on the manor, identifying a target hadn't been hard. Mansfield and Vilas were seen together in dark alleys and on the pier.
Mansfield
had even made a trip to Vilas's home country. And if that wasn't enough to incriminate him, the fact all activity had dried up when
Mansfield
left the country six months before left little doubt.

Cass sat on the floor and began stretching. Her big St. Bernard, Barney, rushed over with such force he toppled her to the carpet, straddling her as he assaulted her with his tongue. The overly-eager dog interpreted Cass sitting on the floor as an invitation to wrestle. Laughing, she obliged him.

Hours later, invigorated by her lengthy run, she strolled through the Stirling Manor's mahogany doors. A crystal vase of bloodred gladiolas greeted her, as did her scowling partner. He was clearly still angry about the chance she'd taken the night before. "You're late."

"Five minutes, Gray. Don't hassle me." A glance around the elegant lobby revealed little activity. "Seems pretty quiet. Anything unusual?"

"There you are!" Ruth hurried across the hard wood floor of the lobby. "Derek's looking for you."

"Derek…? Oh." Cass thought of him as
Mansfield
. Use of his first name seemed alien to her, too intimate for a suspect. "
What's he want
?"

"Wouldn't say." Ruth's smile erased ten years from her face. "He's been calling down to the front desk every ten minutes. He wants you in the penthouse. Immediately."

The words
want
and
her
in the same sentence, a sentence uttered by
Mansfield
, sent an uneasy rush of excitement through Cass. Disconcerted, she turned to leave, but Gray grabbed her arm. He didn't say anything, didn't need to.