Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

sure he looked at everything. He’d seen less elaborate Chinese puzzles.
    “Look, at least tell me about this Lee Mandel,” Peyton said to Doug. “The name sounds kind of familiar, but hell, I know a lot of people. Where did he die? How? C’mon, help me out.”
    Doug put his hand over the receiver, closing out the lawyer. “Mr. Hall, I’ve noted your objections. Your lawyer has noted them. Do us all a favor and shut the fuck up.”
    Sam’s cell phone quivered into life again, tickling his belly. He ignored it because he’d just come across a shape that made his heart kick. He dug deeper in one of the side pockets and came up with an antacid container. Grinning like a wolf, he popped off the cap of the wide-mouth bottle and tipped the contents onto the coffee table.
    Bright, brilliant, sapphire blue winked among the powdery white discs.
    “Bingo,” Sam said savagely, watching the prisoner rather than the gems.
    Peyton was staring at the display with wide eyes and a dead-pale face. He swallowed hard. Twice. “Where did that come from?” he managed.
    “You saw where it came from,” Doug said. He tugged on Peyton’s arm. “Let’s go.”
    “No, they’re not mine! Somebody else—”
    “That’s what they all say,” Doug cut in, disgusted by the lack of originality in criminals. “I suppose you’re going to tell us the maid put them in there?”
    “I don’t know.” Peyton looked at the gorgeous blue sapphires and began to sweat visibly. “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
    “Yeah, they grew there, like mold,” Sam said. “Funny, I never get fine gems growing in my Tums.”
    “I don’t even take antacids! Check with my doctor. He gave me something much better—”
    Sam’s cell phone kept vibrating. He tore it off his belt and snarled, “What!”
    “This is the—”
    “I know who it is,” he broke in. “What do you want?”
    “That list you gave us?”
    “Yeah?”
    “We got a match on three partials from the trunk of the courier’s rental car.”
    Sam smiled coldly. “Kirby? Or White?”
    “Neither.”
    “Peyton Hall? Ted Sizemore?”
    “Close. His daughter.”
    Sam looked like the phone had just pissed in his ear. “What?”
    “Sharon Sizemore. Right thumb, right index.”
    Sam remembered Kate standing alone in the hallway, waiting for them to arrest the wrong murderer.
    He headed for the door at a run.

Chapter 70
    Scottsdale
    Monday
    9:25 A.M .
    Kate shifted against the wall and wondered how long it took to arrest someone. Then she remembered that the room had to be searched. She felt like banging her head on the wall. If she’d thought of that sooner, she would have argued harder against being left out in the hall. Not that it would have done any good. Sam had a stubborn streak in him that was as wide as hers.
    It was one of the things she really liked about him.
    A sound caught Kate’s attention. Hopefully, she looked down the hall toward Peyton’s room. All she could see was a maid’s cart piled high with towels staggering down the hall toward the elevators. The young woman pushing it was too tiny to see over the towels. She barely missed a guest backing into the hallway close to the elevators, towing a suitcase.
    “Watch it,” Sharon said sharply.
    “Sorry, señora. ”
    Sharon tugged her bronze jacket into place over her bronze trousers and black blouse, and headed for the elevator. She saw a casually dressed woman there, leaning against the wall as though waiting for someone. She looked familiar.
    With a mental shrug, Sharon punched the down button. Whoever the woman was, it no longer mattered. Nothing did. She was out of here.
    Kate smiled automatically at Sharon Sizemore even as she wondered if the other woman knew how badly she’d been used by her boyfriend.
    The two women waited for the elevator with the forced politeness of strangers sharing a public space. Kate was relieved when she saw Sam striding down the hall toward her.
    “That was fast,” Kate said. “Did you—”
    Then she saw the Glock held down along his right leg.
    Kate had a really bad feeling. It might have been the grim line of Sam’s mouth. It might have been the flicker of raw fear in Sharon’s eyes when she saw the weapon.
    Sharon reached inside her purse.
    Sam started to lift the Glock.
    The elevator door opened. Two kids holding pool towels and plastic swim goggles looked out.
    Sharon yanked a snub-nosed gun from her purse and leaped toward the open elevator.
    Without