Smoke and Mirrors
Authors: Jenna Mills
Contents:
Prologue
F
rigid waves pounded the jagged rocks lining the
Lake Michigan
. Icy pinpricks of water sprayed up toward the pale blue sky,
then
rained down like a hail of bullets. The shards stung Derek Mansfield's face, splattered his long trench coat.
He didn't give a damn.
He stared out over the choppy water, watching a single sailboat fight the wind. It was barely a stain on the horizon from this distance, a blur of red and blue and yellow.
"Are you even listening to me?" his friend Lucas Treese barked. "Have you heard a word I'm saying?"
Derek tensed. Inevitability loomed closer. Everything he'd been working toward now threatened to crumble between his fingers.
"Don't you get it?" Luc persisted. "Personal agendas don't matter now. The timing's wrong. You could wind up at the bottom of this damn lake if you're not careful, with nothing but concrete shoes to keep you company."
Derek released a jagged breath,
then
turned toward Luc, the man he trusted with his life. "The hell you say."
"The hell I
do
say," Luc retorted. "The hotel is crawling with Feds. You may not give a damn about what happens to you, but I'm not interested in signing your death certificate."
Derek slipped his hands into his pockets. "It's mine to sign, not yours."
"The hell
you
say." Luc's sharp response earned the questioning, frightened glance of a nearby woman strolling along the lakeshore with an infant. She hurried away.
"Time," Luc counseled for the hundredth time. "Let the smoke clear. Then, if this fool plan is still what you want, I won't stand in your way."
"Like you could."
"You're damn straight I could."
Derek turned back toward the lake. "Vilas won't be happy about a delay."
"You're the one he wants," Luc reminded. "He knows what you can do for him. He'll wait. You should, too."
The need to move forward burned through Derek, but he wouldn't get far without help. In fact, he might just find his butt in prison. Or at the bottom of the lake. Luc had backed him into a corner from which he couldn't escape.
His friend was right. Vilas would wait. The bastard wasn't a man to walk away from a quick fortune, just as Derek wasn't a man to walk away from the chance to make his mark.
He looked out over the lake. "Six months, no longer."
"A year," Luc countered.
Derek considered. In twelve months time sailboats would again dot the azure backdrop of
Lake Michigan
. Illusions, they
were,
seductive images of an innocent world that didn't exist.
"Six months," he insisted. October. Everything would be cold then, gray and dead. Perfect. "That's all. Nobody will stop me then. God help the fool who tries."
Chapter 1
D
etective Cassidy Blake stepped from the elevator and took the long hall at a brisk pace. Farther down the hall, a party raged out of control. She had to settle the rowdy punks before they upstaged the main event.
Derek Mansfield was back.
After all the research and profiling, the preparing, she figured she knew the man as intimately as a woman could without having crawled into his bed. Now she looked forward to meeting her prime suspect in the flesh.
She wanted to bring him down.
He'd been gone for six months. Some thought the heir to the Stirling Manor hotel empire at the bottom of
Lake Michigan
, but Cass believed him too smart to become fish bait. Clever, dashing and relentless were only a few of the adjectives commonly attributed to Mansfield.
She'd researched the man enough to know they were all true.
The mere image of his insolent smile was enough to heat her blood with anticipation. She looked forward to getting inside the reprobate's head, discovering what made him tick. Then she looked forward to locking him away for a long, long time.
Excitement hummed through her, joining forces with the rock and roll blaring from the room down the hall. Cass slid her hand into the front pocket of her black suit jacket, her fingers caressing the cool metal she found there. Undercover as an assistant hotel manager, she could only use the Smith & Wesson as her last resort, but she was too well trained to walk into a hornet's nest unarmed. Security had promised to meet her at the room.
The corridor stretched before her, a Persian rug running down a never-ending sea of hardwood. The attention Mansfield's grandfather had lavished upon the stately hotel never ceased to amaze her. Even this passageway resembled the hallway of a manor house. Richly paneled walls. Ornate molding. And, what Cass considered the crowning touch, portraits.
Hundreds of them lined the walls of every corridor of the hotel's eighteen floors. God only knew who all those dour-looking people were. Sir Maximillian certainly didn't. His staff had scoured European estate sales, laying down top dollar for collections of family portraits. They were proudly displayed, side by side, ornate frame after ornate frame, one family after another.
Cass thought it bizarre, a desecration of someone's family tree. The painted eyes seemed to track her progress down the hallway.
The music grew louder as she approached the door. Mentally preparing herself, Cass recalled the group of young men who'd checked in earlier that evening. Ivy League college had been written all over them, money and prestige, insolence. They'd made a commotion at the registration desk, the one named Chet requesting a personal escort to their room.
Now, adrenaline pumping, she rapped her hand against the door and waited. The noise didn't lessen, the door didn't open.
She sighed. Damn, but she didn't need this. Not tonight. She knocked again, this time harder, louder, the sound of it sharper than before. "Open up! It's hotel management."
Just like that the door swung open, and a beefy arm snaked out, grabbed her wrist,
yanked
her inside. The smell of beer and cigar smoke hit her like a punch to the lungs. She quickly untangled herself from the offensive grip, but a semicircle of leering drunks pushed her back against the wall.
"Well, now," the one named Chet drawled. Clearly the ringleader. "When we called room service and asked for a babe, I didn't really expect them to come through for us. But now that you're here—"
"Now that I'm here, you're going to quiet down this party, or we'll have to ask you to leave. We have other guests—"
"Oh, we'll quiet down, all right." This from the tallest. He swiped off his T-shirt and stepped closer. "All the noise will come from you, honey bun."
Irritation sparked. Cass itched to teach these boys a lesson, but couldn't risk blowing her cover. She searched for what a frightened woman might say, rather than what she wanted to say. "Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Why, it's not in the gutter, sugar. It's somewhere a whole lot more fun." To the encouraging cheers of the other men, the shiftless one lunged at her.
Years of training and experience had Cass spinning out of reach. She ducked through the semicircle of men and scooted around a table. The adjoining room offered another exit, but as she dashed across the carpet, yet another man stumbled out from the bathroom. "My, my. What have we here?"
Cass slammed to a halt.
Chet swaggered over and snaked an arm around her shoulders, jerking her to his side.
Cass went completely still. No one touched her.
No one.
"Room service just served her up," Chet bragged. "All we need now is some whipped cream."
Cass rammed her elbow back into his gut, taking satisfaction from his surprised grunt of pain. She ducked quickly out of his reach, but the four other men blocked her escape.
"Going somewhere?" one of them asked. "So soon?"
Instinct took over. She reached for her gun, but found her arms yanked from behind her back before her fingers could curl around the cool metal. Chet jerked her toward him, the unnatural position of her arms causing her chest to jut out.
"Take your hands off me," she snarled.
But they ignored her. "LeBlanc?" the one who'd just emerged from the bathroom inquired, eyeing her name badge. His trousers hung open. "Hell, Chet, I've always wondered if it's true what they say about French women."
"Well, Animal, looks like we're going to find out." While he held her wrists in one beefy hand, Chet yanked off the band securing her French braid and began unweaving her hair. "You want to know why we call him
Animal?
"
Not especially, but Cass wanted to keep them talking. That way she could engineer the right moment. Between her head and her feet, she still had effective weapons.
"Because his brain's so small?" she answered glibly.
Laughter filled the room. Animal swaggered forward, his eyes somewhere between glowing and stoned. "I'll show you small, Frenchie, so small you'll never be satisfied with anything less."
Repulsed, she bit back the sharp retort that rolled to her tongue. She needed them to keep thinking of her as the weak, frightened female they clearly already did.
"You
really
don't want to do this," she tried one last time.
Animal lumbered closer. "Don't tell me what I want, Frenchie. I'm going to show you instead."
He rambled on, but she paid no heed to his words. He and his friends had stolen enough of her precious time. She drew a breath and prepared to teach these clowns a lesson they'd never forget.
"Lay one hand on her, and you're a dead man."
The words rushed through Cass like a gale-force wind, but she had no idea who spoke them. The menacing voice resonated from behind her, but Chet's hold prevented her from turning toward it.
Animal stopped dead in his tracks.
"Take your hands off the lady, son, and back away."
"Mind your own business," Chet snarled. His grip tightened.
A low rumble filled the room, a perverse, distorted laugh. "The lady
is
my business."
"Yeah?" Chet swung around and pressed Cass to his body, giving himself a look at the unseen cavalry, but preventing Cass from doing so. "I don't see
no
ownership tags."
"Are you fond of your front teeth?"
If the threat hadn't been uttered in such a deadly tone, Cass would have laughed. Adrenaline, she knew. The thrill of danger, the rush of anticipation.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so alive.
The inebriated frat boys stood mute, mouths agape, eyes fixed on the source of that low, commanding voice. Even Animal made no move to prove his name. He just swayed from side to side, looking like the Jolly Green Giant ready to topple to the ground.