What Happened in Vegas…

3

JACINDA STROLLED toward Gideon as if she didn’t have a care in the world and slid onto the bar stool he pulled out next to him. “Johnnie Walker on the rocks,” she said to the bartender.

The guy’s gaze tracked down her body, presumably taking in her pale blue Chanel suit and expensive leather bag. “That’s not a very prissy drink.”

“I’m not a prissy woman.”

“It’s nice to see a high-powered job and fancy office haven’t completely tamed you,” Gideon said as he returned to his seat.

She smiled slightly and accepted her drink. “No, I guess not.”

“My grandmother would call you a great dame.”

“Would she?” After the research she and Andrew had done all afternoon, she supposed that would be a compliment.

“She’d like you even better if you gave her back her emerald.”

“It’s not mine to give.”

“I’ll prove it belongs to my family.”

“I look forward to it. Let’s table that. Tell me what you’ve been doing the last six years.”

Surprisingly, he agreed to her cop-out, for which she was grateful.

The auction had taken its toll on her stamina, and she needed a distraction from imagining the scandal if Gideon decided to go to the press with his story. Somehow, Mr. Pascowitz would manage to blame any problems on her. She’d seen him throw more than one staff member under the bus when his own back was against the wall.

Setting aside thoughts about her boss, she focused on Gideon. However strange and unsettled his life as a finder of lost legacies seemed to her, he clearly relished every minute. He’d been to exotic places she’d rarely seen pictures of, much less dreamed of exploring. While he poked through antique stores, auction houses, pawn shops and estate sales, he also spent many hours in libraries and at universities doing research.

He’d acquired an impressive art collection and learned to speak four languages. He’d interviewed everyone from royalty to the homeless. He’d located people and things that didn’t want to be found. He’d made sure thieves and swindlers were prosecuted. He returned necklaces, rings and even crowns to elderly, teary-eyed ladies.

“Did they all have blue hair?”

He put on a look of mock insult. “Are you doubting the credibility of my stories?”

“You can certainly spin an excellent tale.” And they were probably true, if exaggerated. “What does your upper-crust grandmother think of her treasure-hunting grandson?”

“She mostly approves.” He grinned. “Though she’d rather I donated more of my finds instead of turning them over to their privileged owners. She especially didn’t like me getting Marcus Capwell’s watch back for him.”

“You mean former Senator Capwell?”

Gideon curled his lip. “That’s him.”

“Why didn’t she want you to get his watch back?”

“He stiffed her for the tab one night after inviting her and her friends to drinks at a club.”

She angled her head in confusion. “She’s ticked at him over a bar tab?”

“It was a ten-thousand-dollar tab.”

“Ah. That would do it. So why did you look for it in the first place?”

“Because I’d hoped the trail would lead to some embarrassing places.”

“And did it?”

He grinned. “Definitely.”

“That’s pretty bloodthirsty.”

He toasted her with his beer bottle. “A good thing to remember when dealing with me.”

She met his gaze directly. “You don’t scare me, Gideon. Nothing does. Not anymore.”

He laid his hand over hers, his thumb covering the pounding pulse point at her wrist. “I never thought you were anything less than absolutely brave. In fact…” He stroked her cheek. “I think you’re pretty amazing.”

She leaned back from his touch and looked away. “Deep down, I’m exactly the same as I was six years ago.”

“A dancer?”

“A survivor.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Sure it is.”

He inched forward, holding her jaw against his palm. “So, why are you embarrassed?”

“I’m not.” She forced a smile, even as her mind walked again through the mansions she’d visited over the past few years, each containing priceless treasures, each perfect in every decorating detail, each refined and tasteful.

Then she recalled the dingy duplex where she’d grown up: the stove that rarely worked, the stained carpet, the sputtering candles she’d light because the power was cut off every few months. The desperation and sense of being trapped, forever, in poverty.

Gideon lived in the luxurious world; she pretended she had even an inkling of what kind of privilege was like. Gideon owned famous works of art; she still kept her pasties in her underwear drawer.

“Can we talk about something else?” she asked.

His gaze roamed over her face, and she thought he might push, but he surprised her again by nodding. “Seen any good movies lately?”

“Not too many. I’ve been working long hours on the auction.”

“We should go see that new murder mystery.”

She shook her head. “Too dark. I like romantic comedies. That’s what Andrew and I usually see.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah. We usually agree on the same hunky actors.”