Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

preliminary report.” Dana paused. Her fingers moved fluidly on the cool desktop, as though playing notes on an imaginary flute. “Do you think Risa’s attacker will be back?”
    “Doubt it.”
    “Then why did you fire her?” Dana asked quietly.
    “I told you. I want her safe, and the only way to keep her safe is to get her off the playing field.”
    “What about your big New Year’s show?” Niall asked.
    “What about it?”
    “Who will be your curator?”
    “I’ll worry about it later. Right now all I care about is keeping Risa from getting shot.”
    “Ian can do that very efficiently, and we still would have the benefit of her expertise in tracking down the rest of the gold artifacts,” Dana said. “If her childhood friend does indeed have a part in—”
    “No.” Shane overrode Dana. “I want Risa out of it. I’ll expect Lapstrake at the casino by seven a.m.”
    There was the clear sound of a disconnect.
    Niall made a grumbling sound. “Well, I’d better start checking out job possibilities for Risa. I’m sure he gave her a nice severance package, and I’m equally sure she told him to shove it up his arse.”
    “Men,” Dana muttered. “What on earth possesses them to make decisions for fully capable women?”
    Her partner ignored her. He’d heard her view on the male of the species before. Most of the time he was exempt. But not always.
    It made life interesting.
    “Well,” Dana said, “looks like Rarities will soon have a full-time consultant on ancient jewelry and Celtic gold artifacts.”
    Niall shot her a look from amused blue-green eyes. “You’re putting her back on the Celtic gold?”
    “Of course. Our motto is ‘Buy, Sell, Appraise, Protect.’ We exist for the artifacts, not for the clients. Someone out there has some extraordinary pieces of human history and art hidden away. We’re going to find them and return them to their rightful guardian. Risa is our best hope of doing it before some brainless piece of shit melts down the gold and crawls back into the sewers to hide.”
    “Shane will be pissed off when he finds Risa back in the game.”
    Dana smiled like a cat. “Yes, I rather think he will. It will do him good to be reminded just what money can and cannot buy.”
    “What about the danger to Risa?”
    Dana gave Niall the kind of look that said he was no longer exempt from her jaundiced view of men. “Did she ask to be packed in cotton and put on a high, safe shelf?”
    He had the losing end of this argument and knew it. “Let’s get out of here before the phone—”
    It was already ringing. Swearing, he hit the ID button. “It’s Risa.”
    “I’ll take it,” Dana said, nudging him aside with a well-rounded hip so that she could reach the speaker button “Hello, Risa. Dana here. How would you like to go to work for Rarities full-time?”
    “Took the words right out of my mouth. I’ll pack tonight and be there tomorrow morning.”
    “No need to relocate yet.”
    “I’d rather, if it’s all the same to you.”
    “It isn’t.”
    Niall winced. Dana could be tactful when she wanted to be. This wasn’t one of those times.
    “Okay,” Risa said. “Where do you want me?”
    “Stay where you are until Ian Lapstrake gets there. Remember him?”
    “Tall, dark, moves well, smarter than he lets on.”
    “You remember him.” Dana smiled slightly, knowing that Shane wouldn’t like having Ian underfoot with Risa around. “He’s your bodyguard until—”
    “I don’t need one,” Risa interrupted.
    “If you work for Rarities, you take orders from Dana and me,” Niall said. “We say you need a bodyguard. Subject closed.”
    There was a pause. “Right. I need a bodyguard. Like hell, but I promise not to kill him. Then what?”
    Dana’s smile was like a stiletto sliding out of a sheath, thin and deadly. “Then you find your childhood friend and get the rest of the Druid gold.”

Chapter 37
    Las Vegas
    November 3
    Evening
    R ich Morrison’s office took up half the top floor of the Shamrock’s tall needle of a building. Two stories below, a rooftop swimming pool and garden lured the high rollers and whales who took advantage of the VIP spa. Men from several countries lounged like beached albino sea lions around the glittering turquoise water. Showgirls—minus feathers—served drinks, canapés, and themselves to anyone who was interested.
    Rich certainly wasn’t, not even as a voyeur. He was a lot more interested in the conversation he and