Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

gold and I can’t get it without help. So I come here to my favorite uncle. I can trust family, right?”
    “Sure you can,” Firenze said absently. “Does the bitch have a name?”
    “Cherelle Faulkner.”
    That kicked up Firenze’s heart rate. He opened the folded piece of paper on his desk and looked at the information that had been passed up the line after a blind phone call came in from someone who didn’t want to do Tannahill any favors.
    Risa Sheridan and Cherelle Faulkner know each other real well. Look into it and you’ll have Tannahill where it’s short and curly.
    “Tell me about her.”
    “Great tits, an ass that won’t stop, and—”
    “I don’t give a shit about her body,” Firenze said, talking over his nephew. “Is she a hooker, a thief, a hype—what?
    “She don’t hook no more. She and Tim run a channeling scam out of Sedona. Gets them into rich houses and then Tim and me clout them when no one’s home. She loves smoking crack and snorting blow, but she don’t do the needle thing.”
    “Has she done time?”
    “Dunno. Not in the last few years, for sure.”
    “How did she get onto Risa Sheridan?”
    “Who?”
    “The bitch you tried to shoot in the casino,” Firenze retorted. Christ, he knew more about Risa from a blind phone call than Socks did from kidnapping her. “Didn’t you even know her name?”
    Socks shrugged. “From what Tim said, the two bitches grew up together. Like, sisters or something.”
    There was silence for a moment while Firenze sorted through what he had and didn’t have.
    “Anyway, Tim’s bitch whacked the old man that owned the gold.”
    His nephew’s casual afterthought made Firenze’s blood pressure rocket. Cherelle was a murderer, and she and Risa were like sisters—Risa, who knew all about old gold art.
    Firenze chuckled. Right now, in his hands, was a lever against Tannahill’s in-house gold expert. Risa could tell Firenze what his nephew’s gold was really worth. Then she could sell it to her boss, who just might find himself an accessory after the fact to murder one.
    Socks looked uneasily at his uncle. He hated it when Firenze laughed that way. Usually it meant someone was going to get the shit kicked out of him. Socks, for instance.
    For a few gorgeous moments Firenze thought about what a coup it would be to bring Shane Tannahill down without the help of the other casino bosses. It would make him a big man around town, just the way his father and grandfather had been. Men of respect. But Firenze didn’t want to end up the way they had—one murdered, one serving life for murder. No, the smart thing to do would be to use the information to trade up the ladder of power. Not as much fun, but a whole lot safer.
    Unlike his nephew, John Firenze was smart enough to know when he was in over his head.
    Even so, Firenze’s hand hesitated as he reached for the phone. If he had more information, he would get a bigger piece of the pie. Not the whole pie. But a great big juicy chunk of it. At a minimum he needed more than his dumb nephew’s estimate of the gold’s worth.
    Settling back in his chair, he played with ways to get hold of Risa Sheridan for a fast, very quiet appraisal. He could go to her openly, but that would bring in Tannahill.
    Firenze shook his head. Not smart.
    “Uh, Uncle John?”
    “Shut up.”
    After a few more frowning minutes, Firenze decided that the quickest, cleanest way to Risa was just to grab her. If she wouldn’t cooperate . . . well, there was always the desert. She wouldn’t be the first person to go out there and not come back.

Chapter 35
    Las Vegas
    November 3
    Late afternoon
    S hane closed his office door behind the LVPD detective who had asked more questions than Risa could answer. When he turned back, Risa was still sitting in the informal conversation area that adjoined his office. Sagging against the sage green cushions, she looked exhausted. Pale skin, smudges under her beautiful eyes, hands lax, even her saucy cap of dark hair looked dull. He suspected he knew why.
    And it pissed him off.
    “You did everything you could to cover Cherelle’s ass,” he said roughly. “That’s a hell of a lot more than she did for you.”
    Warily Risa lifted her chin and looked at Shane. “What do you mean?”
    “Your pal turned her key over to a—”
    “No,” Risa cut in. “Cherelle loses stuff like keys. She always has. It’s just the way she is.”
    “So you’re saying some jerk finds an