Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

Cherelle shook her head. “Baby-chick, don’t you know that men like to grab a big ol’ double handful of what’s good?”
    Shaking her head, Risa said, “You have some ID on you, or should I walk you down?”
    “Driver’s license.”
    “Perfect. My boss is a fiend for security.”
    Risa went to the phone, called up the front desk, and began giving instructions.
    Smiling, Cherelle ran her fingertip around her steak plate and waited for the key to the magic kingdom to arrive.

Chapter 21
    Las Vegas
    November 3
    Morning
    T he phone rang on Shane’s desk. He ignored it and kept on frowning at the computer screen. Considering all the payoffs that the Golden Fleece had made on slots, the machines were showing a surprising profit margin. Most slots earned a profit of between $100 and $125 per day. Not much, but when you had four thousand slots, it didn’t take long to add up. Yet if the figures in front of him were correct, the machines were taking in an extra $18 per day, for no reason that he could discover. He expected some variation, a few percentage points over or under expectations. Under, usually, because cheats took money rather than depositing it. But here was a consistent high-end variation of more than 10 percent.
    “Excuse me,” Susan Chatsworth said, sticking her head in the doorway, “but Mr. Smith-White insists that you’ll want to speak with him personally and privately.”
    Irritation warred with curiosity. Curiosity won. Smith-White owned a series of very upscale decorator stores, the kind that supplied genuine antiques and antiquities to wealthy clients and the interior decorators who decked out wealthy houses. Since Shane wasn’t in the process of remodeling anything, there could be only one reason Smith-White was so insistent on talking to him privately.
    Gold artifacts.
    Shane picked up his phone. “Good morning, Jason. What can I do for you?”
    “I understand you’re still looking for outstanding Celtic artifacts. Gold.”
    “I’m always looking. That’s why you called me.”
    Smith-White gave the breathless, liquid laugh of a lifetime smoker. “I have four pieces for you to look at.”
    Shane settled back into his black leather chair. “How old?”
    “Hard to tell. Gold doesn’t date. But my guess would be they’re part of a hoard. A Druid hoard.”
    Excitement kicked in Shane. Antiquities normally came complete with papers describing them precisely, most especially on the subject of provenance. Obviously the four pieces of gold Smith-White was peddling didn’t have paper pedigrees.
    “Druid? What makes you say that?” Shane asked.
    “When you see them, you’ll know. They’re quite extraordinary. Only high priests or kings would have possessed them.”
    “Sounds expensive.”
    “The best always is. These are museum quality, which is why I thought of you.”
    And the reward, Shane thought dryly as he glanced at his watch. Early for lunch and late for coffee. “How soon can you bring them here?”
    “An hour, maybe more. Depends on how long my ten o’clock takes.”
    “Have the front desk call me when you arrive. A guard will meet you and bring you up.”
    He disconnected and buzzed Susan. “Have someone meet Smith-White at the front desk anytime after ten-thirty.” He hesitated and gave a mental shrug. Even though he had called Rarities and given them the information from Cherelle’s driver’s license, Niall hadn’t called back yet. “Anything more on the Faulkner woman?”
    “She went out an hour ago. She hasn’t returned.”
    “Suitcases?”
    “Still here.”
    “What’s the tab so far?”
    “Seven thousand seven hundred and change.”
    Shane whistled. “How can anyone eat that much lobster and caviar?”
    “She didn’t. She discovered the salon and the boutique.”
    “Transfer the charges to the comp account,” Shane said, referring to the account that paid for the comps, or freebies for people who bet a certain amount of money every hour for at least three hours a day. “But call down and tell them to draw the line at real jewelry. Sure as hell she’d go for the fancy yellow diamond solitaire.”
    “The one that’s worth three-point-four million?”
    “You noticed,” he said, laughing.
    “Are you kidding? Security is sweating bullets over it, not to mention the matching necklace and earrings.”
    “If the Wildest Dream is going to have a Fabergé show on New Year’s Eve, the least I can do is bring in some fancies from De Beers. Let