Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

Cline.”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “You wouldn’t. He’s at the bottom of the food chain. You feed at the top.”
    “So do you.”
    “But I never forget there’s a bottom.” Rich watched his words sink in, saw the faint frown between her big hazel eyes, and congratulated himself for getting under her pampered skin. “Cline turned over the merchandise to J. E. Shapiro.”
    “Shapiro. Shapiro . . .” She tilted her head. “That name doesn’t chime either.”
    “Another pawnbroker who’s pretty low on the food chain.”
    “Then it would be too low to have access to Shane.”
    “Probably. That’s why I called you.”
    “Sorry to disappoint you. I gave up slumming before I was old enough to drink.”
    Rich ignored her. “J. E. Shapiro isn’t answering calls, so for now it’s a dead end. He probably heard about Cline’s murder and—”
    “Murder! You didn’t say anything about that.”
    He shrugged. “What’s one pawnbroker more or less? Vegas is full of them, like maggots on a carcass.”
    “Shit. Murder brings too much heat.”
    “Not if we can connect Tannahill to it. Then it would be just the right amount of heat.”
    Gail grimaced. “I’m not wild about tagging Shane for a murder he didn’t commit.”
    “What makes you think he didn’t commit it?”
    “If he whacked somebody, you’d never find the body. That’s one very, very smart man.” She moved closer to the wall of glass and looked out at the sprawling, loud, grasping desert city that had made her fortune. But the world had changed since then. Las Vegas had changed.
    She had changed.
    Like the world and the city, she was older. A lot older. She didn’t have it in her to start all over again if Wildest Dream stopped being a cash cow. And it would happen. Her profits were declining. Not steeply, but with the slow, steady bleeding that screamed of future disaster when massive remodeling was required to keep the casino/hotel up-to-date. Too many new casinos. Too many mega­entertainment complexes. Not enough tourists to keep everybody fat.
    Damn it, Shane. Why couldn’t you see how perfect we would have been together? We could have fucking owned this place.
    But Shane couldn’t see.
    Rich Morrison could.
    Life’s a bitch and then you die.
    She turned toward Rich, smiled, and wondered which one of them would survive their partnership.

Chapter 38
    Las Vegas
    November 4
    Morning
    S hane stood in Risa’s office, growing more frustrated by the moment. “The apartment and office are yours for as long as you want them,” he said impatiently. Again. “It was all in the severance package.”
    “Haven’t read it.” Risa didn’t look up from the desk she was emptying as rapidly as possible into one of Cherelle’s battered suitcases.
    “Then you don’t know that you have a year with full pay and benefits to find a new job.”
    “Don’t need it.”
    “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
    The warning in his voice made Risa grateful that her hands were busy. Shane didn’t lose his temper often, but he was closing in on it right now. Part of her was bitterly pleased to know she could upset him that much. The part of her with brains wished she hadn’t fallen asleep at 4:00 a.m. and not awakened until 8:00. Maybe then she could have cleaned out her office before her ex-boss discovered that not only was she leaving her job, as soon as possible she was leaving the casino, the city, and most of all Shane Tannahill.
    “Risa.”
    The yearning in his voice had her looking up before she knew what she was doing. Then it was too late. The heat and shadows in his green eyes took the ground out from under her feet.
    “It’s the only way to protect you,” he said simply.
    “Did I ask for protection?”
    He hesitated. “No.”
    “If the positions were reversed, how would you feel?”
    He opened his mouth, closed it, frowned. “I’m a man.”
    “I’m a woman. So what? Do you defend yourself with your dick? Zippers at dawn?” Still in her chair, she bent over and went back to cleaning out her files. “I’ve been taking care of myself since first grade.”
    “Against a murderer?”
    “Bozo? He never left a mark on me.”
    “A bottom feeder called Joey Cline was murdered in his pawnshop yesterday.”
    Risa stopped stuffing journals into the suitcase. Her head snapped up. “Does he deal in stolen antiquities?”
    “Probably.”
    “Did he have more gold pieces?”
    “No.”
    “Then how do you know he was