Another Side Of Midnight. Mia Zachary
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get out of our partnership?”
He responded with a cool smile. “I’ll have the pleasure of your company and ten percent of the recovery. As my ‘local resource,’ twenty percent of that could be yours.”
Twenty percent of ten percent of four hundred grand. A nice round eight K figure.
He smirked at me. “Ah, now you’re wondering if you’d be better off with or without me, Nevada being a community property state.”
“Without, Stone. No doubt about it.”
He dropped his gaze and his voice took on a husky quality. “I didn’t really ask before. How’ve you been, Stella?”
“How have I been?” The sudden show of interest had me parroting his question.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
I set the paperweight on the desk before I threw it at him after all. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, you’re not exactly in a position to ask.”
“Am I not?” When he finally looked up, the color had shifted in his eyes again. “You’re certain of that, are you?”
I leaned back in my chair, clenching my jaw and trying to clamp down on my feelings. Did he actually think he had any kind of claim to my life? After the callous way he’d treated me? My hurt, resentment and confusion warred with my anger. As usual, I let anger win.
I remembered that night—the champagne, the flowers and the Bellagio’s dancing fountains lit up below our window. I’d believed in magic that night. The way he’d looked at me, the unspoken message in his touch, had made me think we were on the verge of…something.
Then I’d reached out for a man and stroked a vacant sheet instead. The pillow under my head had still smelled of citrus shampoo and male sweat. But I’d known even before I saw his note that he hadn’t run out for coffee and a paper. I felt my blood pressure rise and changed the subject.
“Let’s get back on track.”
A professional mask replaced his expression. “Right, then. DiMarco hired an independent auditor to go over the finances. As the casino manager, Cavanaugh has authority to sign markers or IOUs. There were a few questionable transactions.”
“Yeah, like what?”
“He signed off several markers as paid. However, they don’t have corresponding bank deposits.”
I rested my chin on my fist. “So, when his girlfriend didn’t pay her debts, he ‘forgot’ to take the money from her account, huh?”
He shook his head slowly. “She didn’t have an account to take from. Apparently the application for casino credit was approved without ever being verified.”
“Gray okayed the marker on both ends while his girlfriend cashed out the chips. All under his wife and father-in-law’s noses. Dumb ass. If Big Frank is sure that Cavanaugh’s been embezzling, why hasn’t he confronted him?”
“As I said, this must be kept quiet. Casinos never want to let on about losses, especially from employee theft. However, DiMarco is adamant that this be managed as swiftly as possible. Find the tart and we should find the money.”
“There is no ‘we.’” Not when I wasn’t sure of what was really going on and he’d given me no reason to trust him. “If you figured that since I’d be following Cavanaugh, you could tag along, think again.”
His lips curved into a confident grin. “Come now, love. We’ll be bumping into each other, constantly getting on top of things. Better to share what we’re doing and get comfortably into position, I’d say.”
Could he put any more innuendo into that line of reasoning? I swear, everything was sexual with him. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“Happy to hear it. When I take you back to bed, I fully intend to keep you awake.”
I let that pass, though it wasn’t easy. Stone was one hell of a lover. But I didn’t want the complication right now. At least, that’s what I told myself. Then his gaze raked my chest and he winked. I looked down to see my nipples standing at attention. Dammit. Damn him.
He stood up and reached for his wallet, then handed me a business card. It was bright white with only his name on the front. On the reverse were three telephone numbers. “My mobile phone, my pager and my answering service.”
Tossing the card onto the desk, I dismissed him with a look. “I’ve got work to do. You can find the door.”
The glacial blue look he shot me was heavy with unspoken words. I’m a gambling woman, so I was willing to bet I didn’t want to hear them.
“Ring me once you have Cavanaugh’s schedule. We’ll coordinate from there.” Stone walked out.
It wasn’t until a couple minutes later that I realized I hadn’t actually agreed to work with him. We both should have known better. Impulsiveness had gotten us into trouble in the first place. But I love a good mystery and the agency could use an injection of cash….
So, here I was, headed for trouble once more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Business of Information
JON WAS BACK in my office so fast you’d think he teleported. He’d probably been lurking in the foyer, waiting for Stone to leave. I was already waiting for him to leave again, too.
“So, who was our unexpected visitor?”
I must have reacted to his odd tone because Jon smiled and plopped down on the chair Stone had occupied. “Start talking, girlfriend, and don’t skimp on the details.”
“I’m not your girlfriend and there’s nothing to tell.”
“Puh-lease. I have eyes. I saw him and I saw the sparks.” He leaned his elbows on my desk, his brown eyes intent. “Now, who was that divine creature?”
“Stone is…”
My voice trailed off. I tapped my pen on the blotter, struggling for a description. He wasn’t my lover or my friend. He was an impulse I’d quickly regretted, a mistake I wouldn’t mind repeating, but also a problem I needed to resolve.
“Stone is none of your business.”
Jon pouted, an expression that managed to look adorable on him instead of infantile. “You’re no fun. At least give me a vicarious thrill and tell me he’s as good as he looks.”
I pictured Stone naked and sweaty and smiled. “Better.”
“So you are involved.” His voice sounded flat for a second, but then he camped it up as usual. “Here I’ve been teasing about your nonexistent love life, and all the while you’ve had this big, sexy secret.”
Yeah, but sexy or not, our relationship was staying a secret. I arched my left brow. “Are you done?”
“Not even close. When did you meet him? Where did you meet him? What did—”
“Skip traces,” I blurted.
“Excuse me?”
To stop Jon from pursuing the subject of Stone, I’d get him to search the proprietary information databases. Locating people is time-consuming, often frustrating but also a large part of the job.
I handed Jon a couple of manila folders from my Do Something pile. One client was looking for child support from her scumbag ex-husband; another was searching for his birth mother; and the third wanted to find a former boyfriend from the class of 1952.
“See if you can at least find current addresses. Anything else you come up with would be great.”
“You want me to find them? Me, a mere secretary?”
“Administrative