“What are you doing here, Matt?”

He avoided her eyes. He’d become good at lying, but he never could to her. “I told you—I wanted to bring you dinner.”

Liar. “Is that the only reason you’re here?” she pressed. “To make sure I eat?”

This time he did raise his eyes to hers. “That, and because I still like looking at you, Natalie. You are still one of the most beautiful creatures God ever created.”

Wow…he sure did know how to press her buttons.

“I can’t do this,” she told him suddenly.

“Do what?”

“I can’t sit here opposite you and pretend I don’t feel anything, that I don’t still -”

He didn’t let her finish.

Pushing his chair back, Matt was on his feet, sinking his hands into her hair, tilting her face up to his. Immobilising her lips by feverishly pressing his own against them in a kiss that set her body on fire.

Available in October 2009 from Mills & Boon® Intrigue

Baby’s Watch by Justine Davis & A Hero of Her Own by Carla Cassidy

Christmas Spirit by Rebecca York & Beast of Desire by Lisa Renee Jones

Beneath the Badge by Rita Herron & Match Play by Merline Lovelace

The Heiress’s 2-Week Affair by Marie Ferrarella

Veiled Truth by Vivi Anna

Tall, Dark and Lethal by Dana Marton

Marie Ferrarella has written more than one hundred and fifty books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

THE HEIRESS’S 2-WEEK AFFAIR

BY

MARIE FERRARELLA

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To

Shana Smith.

Welcome

aboard.

Prologue

The burst of joy that bathed over her like warm summer rain when Natalie Rothchild opened her eyes began to recede as the reality of the situation slowly penetrated her consciousness.

The spot beside her on the bed was empty.

Empty and cool to the touch when she ran her fingers over it.

“Matt?” She called out his name, but only the echo of her voice answered her. There was no sound of running water from the bathroom, no indication that there was anyone else in the hotel room but her.

Her heart began hammering hard, so hard that it physically hurt her. It felt as if someone had shot arrows through it.

He couldn’t have gone.

But if he was here, where were his clothes? The ones that he’d torn off so carelessly last night, throwing them on the floor along with hers? The first time they’d made love last night, she’d all but caught on fire.

The ache within her chest grew.

“Matt?” she called out again. Fear and bewilderment filled her voice as she sat up. A chill ran down her spine. Something was wrong.

Last night, he’d told her that he loved her, told her that they’d be together forever. He’d said he wanted to marry her. She knew he’d meant it. Knew it wasn’t just something expedient to say because he wanted to make love to her. He’d said it after, not before. After was when it carried weight.

So where was he?

And why did she have this awful, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, this uneasy sensation that something was very, very wrong?

As Natalie shifted to swing her legs out of bed, she saw it. Just beneath his pillow—his pillow—there was a bit of paper peeking out.

Natalie froze.

She wanted to leave it there. To ignore it. Because the moment she acknowledged it was the moment she had to read it. And the moment she read it, she knew that the euphoric state she’d allowed herself to slip into would burst apart like a soap bubble that had floated on the breeze a second too long, done in by the very thing that had made it float.

But she was Natalie Rothchild. Natalie, the sensible one. The one who faced her problems and life in general head on and fearlessly. Natalie, the rebel who refused to allow her family’s vast fortune to keep her from living a life of purpose.

Matt told her that was one of the things he loved about her.

He loved her.

Didn’t he?

Pressing her lips together, steeling herself, Natalie pulled the note out from beneath the pillow. She held it in her trembling hands and forced herself to read it.

Her eyes clouded with tears, nearly blinding her before she finished.

Balling up the paper, she threw it across the room and then buried her face against her raised knees. Her heart broken, Natalie did what she rarely did. She surrendered to despair.

Quiet sobs filled the silence within the room.

She was really alone.

Chapter 1

Excitement vibrated through Candace Rothchild’s veins.

She could literally feel her adrenaline accelerating. Creating a rush. It was always this way when she stepped out in front of the cameras. Being the center of attention—even anticipating being the center of attention created a high that few drugs, legal or otherwise, could equal. Ever since she could remember, Candace thrived on the limelight, ate it up as if it was a source of energy for her.

Unlike her twin sister, Natalie, whom she considered a dull, placid being with little imagination or flair, Candace positively bloomed when attention was thrown her way. The bigger, the better had always been her motto.

To this end, she always made sure that she was picture perfect. She wore the latest fashions, had the kind of figure women would kill for and men remembered long after she had passed out of their lives. If, at times, that necessitated starving herself and spending outrageous amounts of money, well, so be it. It was all worth it. She wasn’t cut out for the tranquil, humdrum life. Which meant the role of doting mother, to sons she hardly knew and had less time for, wasn’t for her. The only plus from that end was that the tabloids were forever attempting to guess who had fathered them and if, indeed, it had been the same man in both cases.

Beyond that, the children—Mick and David, named after her favorite singers—held no interest for her. Far more important was that there was always another premiere, another function, another occasion to be photographed and fawned over. At times, she would imagine average, desperate women hungrily devouring the tidbits of her life, fantasizing about the men she’d bedded, all in an effort to leave, however briefly, their own drab lives behind.

She was doing a public service living this way, Candace told herself, a smirk twisting her ripe, collagen-full lips. She gave those poor, hopeless women something to dream about.

Why, she was positively noble, if you gave it any thought, Candace silently congratulated herself as she gracefully slid out of the backseat of the limousine and onto the red carpet that was unfurled before The Janus. This opulent casino, where tonight’s charity gala was being held, was Luke Montgomery’s most extravagant enterprise to date. Never mind that Luke and her father were rivals the way only the nouveau riche could be in Las Vegas, where the stakes that ran highest were not always found on a blackjack table.

The gala Luke was hosting centered around an international jewelry convention. On display was a breathtaking collection of gems that had been donated by various members of the rich and famous, all in the name of charity. The price of admission was high but only in terms of what the average person could afford.

The sum meant nothing to Candace. Money had never been a problem for her. Sustaining her high had been—because she needed to stay in the spotlight in order to survive. Without it, the insecurities that lingered in the background began to encroach, darkening her world and threatening to sink her into a nether region fraught with madness.

So she did what she could to ensure that she would never descend to those levels. She surrounded herself with glamorous people and basked in the glow of the limelight the way no one else could.

Charity or not, Candace had no gems she was willing to part with. She never met an expensive bauble she didn’t immediately love. And tonight, she was sporting the best of the best, a legendary diamond that, according to a rumor she’d heard, had been in her family for several decades. The Tears of the Quetzal. Only gems of quality had names, she thought with a smug grin.

Her father, Harold Rothchild, thought the ring was safely under lock and key. But then, he had no idea how determined she could be. Or how clever. Like everyone else, he had underestimated her. His problem, she thought carelessly.

Besides, what good was jewelry if you couldn’t wear it? Couldn’t flaunt it and make others look at it enviously? None, that’s what. Jewelry had to be seen to be appreciated.

And its owner envied.

Candace looked down now at the ring on her hand. The incredible multifaceted diamond captured all the light in the immediate vicinity and flashed it back onto her in bursts of green and purple. It was as if she had a star on her ring finger. Rumor had it that there was a curse attached to it.

All nonsense, she was certain. The so-called curse was started by her father, or maybe Grandpa Joe before him to keep people from making off with the gem. But she wasn’t ignorant like the rest of her pathetic family.

She had no concerns about a curse, only about the attention wearing the priceless gem could garner her. She stood for a moment as the limousine pulled away, letting those in the immediate vicinity drink in the sight of her. She gave the appearance of being taller than she was, helped, in part, by stiletto heels. The long, clinging scarlet gown she wore would have been eye-catching under any circumstances. On her it was doubly so, and she knew it. Cascading platinum hair completed the picture. She was a knockout.

She was alone tonight. Deliberately so. She wanted to be unencumbered as she scanned the sea of men this gala had lured. She wanted to be free to scan them and to bring the one that pleased her most back to her condo. Her sons had been packed off with the nanny for an overnight visit with the nanny’s sister and nephews—which left the terrain open for her. There would be no disapproving nanny, no annoying children popping up at inopportune times to ask even more annoying questions.

She was in the mood for something new tonight. Something different. Exotic, perhaps.

Exotic, yes.

A smile slipped over her lips as she slowly made her way along the carpet, her pace timed to the flashes that were going off, marking her passage. Photographers called out her name and vied for better positions in order to snare the “perfect” photograph.

In a pinch, Candace mused, she might not mind reverting back to the tried and true. Like Luke Montgomery. In his time, he’d been very hot in bed. Hot enough to leave an impression on her in his wake, even now. Not an easy feat considering the number of lovers she’d had over the years. Her collection had begun at the precocious age of fourteen when she’d surrendered her virginity, already rather compromised, to the family chauffeur. Paolo, as she recalled, had been poor, but beautiful.

And very, very skilled in the ways of lovemaking.

She wondered where Paolo was these days. Her father had gotten rid of the driver the moment he’d found out about the affair. Harold Rothchild had indignantly threatened the man with prison, but even she’d known that the threat was empty. Ever conscious of their reputation, her father wanted nothing more than to avoid any sort of public scandal that reflected poorly on the family.

She’d given him quite a run for his money, she thought, turning her face up so that the lighting caught her just so.

“Poor Dad, you should have raised prize-winning roses, not daughters,” she mused under her breath.

Recognizing them, she paused to pose for several national magazine photographers. One hand on her hip, the other—the one with the ring—delicately placed just beneath her collarbone and above the deeply plunging neckline that left only the tiniest speck to the imagination. Of the two of them, she wondered which was more of a disappointment to her father, she with her penchant of attracting every photographer within a fifty-mile radius, or Natalie, who worked as a police detective, for God sakes. How mundane and common can you get?

“This way, Candace. Look this way!” a deep male voice called out urgently.

The voice, she noted, sounded vaguely familiar to her, although she doubted she could place it as she turned in the direction it had come from.

And then she smiled more brilliantly. She was right. She had recognized the voice. Recognized the man as well, although she couldn’t remember his name.

Something beginning with a P, she thought, although she couldn’t be sure. Or maybe it began with a B. But then, it didn’t matter if she remembered them, only that they remembered her, and by the look on this one’s face, he most certainly did remember her.

They’d slept together, hadn’t they? she thought. He looked like her type. Tall, muscular, with an olive complexion, thick black hair and high cheekbones that gave him almost an aristocratic look. She might have mistaken him for one of the invited guests—if not for the camera he was clutching.

But he was exotic looking and she really was in the mood for someone exotic.

“What have you got for us, Candace?” he called out, elbowing his way forward ahead of the gaggle of photographers. Grumbling and curses marked his forward progress.

“A lot of sugar,” she answered in a breathless voice that made her sound as if she were channeling the spirit of the late Marilyn Monroe at her zenith. “And, of course, this.”

“This” was the ring that she now held up like a courtesan in the court of King Henry VIII waiting to have her hand kissed. A satisfied smirk graced her lips again. A flurry of cameras went off, capturing the image and the moment.

But her attention was only focused on the photographer with the aura of danger about him. Winking, she bent forward, giving him, she knew, ample view of her endowment.

“Didn’t we…?” Candace deliberately let her voice trail off even as her eyes held him prisoner in their blue gaze.

His smile, she caught herself thinking, was incredibly sexy as he answered in a low voice, “Yes, we did. I’m flattered that you remembered.”

It was the perfect thing to say to her and he knew it, even as he maintained his innocent expression.

Candace did her best to recall the details of their coupling—and failed. “I’m afraid your name…” She shrugged playfully, a laugh escaping her carefully made up lips. “I was never good with names.”

“Patrick,” he supplied politely, snapping another photograph. She preened. “My name’s Patrick Moore.”

“I knew it was something that started with the letter P,” she declared triumphantly.

It took effort for the photographer to keep his true feelings from showing on his face. It took even more effort to keep from telling this two-bit slut what he thought of her and her whole degenerate family. But then, that would have been counterproductive to his plan. He hoped that by supplying her with the name he was going by these days, it would keep her from thinking too much. From remembering.

But then, he comforted himself, her brain usually oscillated between being fried or being pickled. Neither state was conducive to remembering pertinent details, like the ones that would blow his cover.

“Is the ring yours now?” someone else, obviously at least mildly familiar with the ring’s chain of ownership, called out to Candace.

She didn’t bother trying to hide the condescending glance she sent toward the photographer. Her laughter echoed with victory.

“It’s always been mine,” she announced.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Luke just within the entrance. Six foot two, lean and muscular, with dark hair she remembered running her fingers through, he looked incredible. A touch of nostalgia surfaced. He always did look good in a tux.

Looked damn good out of one, too, she thought with a lascivious smile.

“If you gentlemen’ll excuse me,” she murmured to the reporters. And then, because she hated the prospect of facing the night in an empty bed, she glanced back at the exotic reporter. It never hurt to have an ace in the hole. “Maybe we can get together later. I’ll fill you in on what I’ve been doing lately. For your tabloid,” she added with a wink as she patted his face, her ring sparkling and throwing off beams of light with every movement.

“I’d like that,” he told her.

She expected nothing less. “Yes, I’m sure you would. I’m staying at—”

“I know where you’re staying,” Patrick Moore cut her short.

She smiled, inclining her head. “Clever boy,” she murmured.

With that, she sashayed off to the casino, every step a calculated movement guaranteed to make men’s mouths water.

Once inside, Candace began to move just a tad faster. If she’d retained her present pace, the object of her pursuit, Luke Montgomery, would have put too much distance between them. She very much wanted to hook up with the gala host. Men of power were like an aphrodisiac for her, and Luke Montgomery, despite his humble beginnings, was now regarded as one of Vegas’s movers and shakers. Nothing she liked more than being on the winning team.

She had, she liked to think, a lot to bring to the table.

“Luke,” she called out to him. When he didn’t appear to hear her, Candace raised her voice, temporarily abandoning Marilyn Monroe’s sexy, throaty whisper for pragmatic reasons. There was still no response.

The third time she called out his name, Luke stopped walking. He could feel his shoulders tensing. He’d heard her the first time and had hoped that she would just give up.

He should have known better.

Damn that shrew anyway. He wanted the focus of this gala to be on him, his newest casino and the charity he was sponsoring, in that order. Nowhere in that hierarchy did he want to include a vapid, superficial bleach-blonde.

But if he didn’t acknowledge her, he knew she was going to cause a scene, and that was the last thing he wanted tonight.

So Luke turned around, a perfunctory smile of civility on his lips worn for the benefit of anyone who might be passing by.

“Hello, Candace,” he said as soon as he crossed back to her. Towering over the woman, he all but quietly growled, “I don’t seem to remember sending you an invitation.”

A careless laugh met his statement. “I’m sure it was just an oversight.” Candace possessively threaded her arms through his. Being so close to Luke vividly reminded her of the last time they’d been together. Though she’d never said anything, she’d considered settling down with him. At least for a while. A ladykiller who lived up to his reputation, he was a magnificent lover who always left her wanting more.

Because she sensed that this gala meant a lot to him, she tried to get on his good side by saying, “This certainly has the looks of being quite a successful event.”

He certainly hoped so. Luke had undertaken hosting this event and pulling together all the beautiful people from the four corners of the world not just to benefit the charity he was sponsoring but also because hosting such an event, where all the rich and famous showed up in droves, would garner him an enormous amount of goodwill. Good publicity was crucial since he was on the verge of building yet another casino and hotel—this one on the exact spot where the tenement building he’d lived in as a child had stood.

The Phoenix, as the new establishment would be called, was very near and dear to him, and he wanted nothing to hamper its success. Someone like Candace Rothchild and the kind of attention she attracted could do a lot of harm to all his good intentions.

He wanted her out of here, and he had no time to be polite about it. Moving over to a more private corner of the casino, he asked in a controlled, low voice, “What is it you want, Candace?”

Her eyes raked over his body, blatantly undressing him as she looked up into his eyes. “Why, darling, that should be very evident to someone as smart as you.” Tightening her hold on his arm, Candace raised her face up to his. Her mouth was barely inches away from his lips. “You.”

Gone were the days when he would have been flattered. He knew her for what she was. A woman with no soul on her way out, living in a town that didn’t care. She was swiftly becoming a punch line to a good many insulting jokes.

“Not now, Candace.”

A pout appeared on her moist lips. “Then when?” she wanted to know.

What had he ever seen in her? he couldn’t help wondering. Granted, there’d been a time when he would have gladly taken her up on her offer, but he’d been younger then and far more impressionable. He’d like to think he was too smart now to be tempted to lie down with a black widow.

He shook his arm free and then grasped hers. He began directing her toward the front entrance. “Some other time, Candace,” he said forcefully.

Instantly, her face clouded over. “I don’t like being rejected, Luke. Your little party won’t go so well if I make a scene. That’s what they’ll remember, me,” she emphasized, “not you or this little jewelry store display of yours.”

It was a threat with teeth, and they both knew it.

He didn’t react well to threats. “I think you’ll be happier elsewhere, Candace,” Luke told her coldly. He snapped his fingers over her head at someone across the floor.

She didn’t bother looking to see who Luke was summoning. She wasn’t interested.

“And I think I’ll be happier here,” she insisted. Accustomed to getting her way, it infuriated her to be contradicted.

The next moment, they were joined by a third party. Matt Schaffer, the head of security for Montgomery Enterprises, was at her elbow. But rather than look at her, his attention was completely focused on his employer. Matt waited silently for instructions.

Candace always perked up when in the company of a good-looking man, and this time was no exception as recognition entered her eyes.

“Why, hello handsome,” she purred.

Candace had already had too much to drink, Matt realized. He could smell it on her. But he was careful not to allow his disdain to register on his face. Instead, he raised his eyes to Luke’s face.

“Mr. Montgomery?”

“Schaffer, please escort Ms. Rothchild out of the casino,” Luke requested, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “She was just leaving.”

Candace became incensed. “No, I wasn’t,” she insisted heatedly. She gave every impression that she was about to dig in her heels, and if Matt intended to remove her, it was going to have to be by force.

But rather than take hold of her arm and drag her from the premises, cursing and screaming, Matt leaned over and whispered into her ear. “There are a bunch of photographers outside asking about you,” he told the Rothchild heiress smoothly. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your public, would you?”

Her blue eyes flashed, reminding him of another pair of blue eyes. Matt banked down the memory and the feelings it threatened to usher in with it. He’d made his choice, and he had to live with it…had been living with it these last eight years.

“I don’t want to be disappointed,” Candace told him haughtily.

There was another, more logical approach to this. “You’ll save face if you make it look as if leaving is your idea. Ms. Rothchild,” Matt told her quietly. “But make no mistake, one way or another, you are leaving the casino.”

Candace exhaled angrily, then, right before his eyes, she managed to get herself under control. There was a squadron of cameras waiting to capture her beautiful likeness, she thought, and she knew that when she frowned, she looked closer to her own age. Thirty was a horrible number.

As she moved toward the door, Candace thought she could see that reporter—the sexy one—looking in her direction. Patrick Moore.

Something told her that the evening was not going to be a total waste after all.

She flashed a radiant smile. “I’ll have your head,” she promised Matt through lips that looked as if they were barely moving.

They were almost at the entrance, but Matt knew better than to release her. If he did, she might just double back, and he needed her on the other side of the door.

“From what I hear,” he told her conversationally, “that’s not the part that interests you when it comes to men.”

They made brief eye contact. Just like that, her fury was gone. The smile on Candace’s lips was genuine. “I know you, but I can’t seem to remember your name.”

He saw no point in refusing to answer. From what he knew, she and Natalie hadn’t spoken in a long, long time. She wouldn’t tell Natalie about this. “Matt Schaffer.”

Candace nodded her head, as if absorbing the name. “Right. Of course you are.”

Matt pushed the door open for her. He watched the woman saunter away and swiftly become engulfed by the crowd hanging around the casino entrance. She was in her element.

As he walked back into the casino, Matt could only shake his head. The woman he’d just escorted out was light years away from Natalie. Hard to believe they were actually sisters, much less twins.

The next moment, he forced himself to think of something else. Thinking about Natalie would do him no good. That part of his life was over.

By choice.

Chapter 2

She had to be out of her mind, Anna Worth Rothchild thought.

It was past eleven o’clock, and by all rights, she should have been in bed. The all-night parties that Vegas was so famous for no longer interested her. They never really had, but she’d pretended they did for his sake. Now, instead of curling up in her queen-sized bed, sleeping peacefully, here she was pulling up into her old driveway. Summoned by the distraught note in her ex-husband’s voice when he’d called her less than an hour ago.

She was an idiot for doing this.

What she should have said to him, Anna silently lectured herself as she got out of her ice-blue sports car, was “Tell it to your little bimbo, Rebecca Lynn. Whatever’s wrong in your life isn’t my problem anymore.”

But that was just it—it was still her problem. Her problem because she chose it to be. And that, sadly, was because reasonable, independent woman that she was, she nevertheless still loved the man. Loved him despite the fact that he had, as the old jazz songs went, “done her wrong.”

There was a term for women like her, Anna mused, and if she had half a brain, she’d turn around, get back into her car and drive back home. There was no reason for her to be here.

Yes, between the two of them, they had four daughters in common. Anna’s natural child, Silver, was her ex-husband’s daughter whom Harold later adopted. Silver grew up in the vicinity of three stepsisters from Harold’s first marriage—twins Natalie and Candace and their younger sister Jenna. Raising these girls together would forever bind Anna and Harold to one another. But he had made it perfectly clear he wanted to spend the rest of his life with that gold-digging slut who was only four years older than his twin daughters. He deserved everything that happened to him for being such a fool. For throwing away their marriage after all the years she’d stood by his side, taking care of every detail, leaving him free to handle his businesses and his hotels.

So why was she here? Why did she even care if Harold was distraught?

Because she did, Anna thought with a sigh, wrapping her ermine stole tighter around her shoulders against the April evening chill. It was as simple as that. She just did.

About to ring the doorbell, she was caught off guard when the door suddenly swung open and Clive, Harold’s butler for the past twenty-five years, firmly ushered out a tall, dark-haired man with an olive complexion. The well-built, exotic-looking man was far from happy to be leaving the premises. Although he was wearing formal attire, it appeared somewhat rumpled.

The intruder nearly knocked her down as he was being hustled out of the mansion. The unexpected close contact allowed Anna to catch the faintest whiff of a sweet scent. It was vaguely familiar and nudged something distant in her consciousness, but she couldn’t place it.

The next moment, the memory was gone. The thought that the scent was something a woman might wear whispered through her mind as she regained her balance. The latter was accomplished largely due to Clive’s swift action. Seeing her predicament, he quickly caught the former mistress of the mansion by the arm and kept her from falling.

“Sorry, ma’am, didn’t mean to be forward,” he apologized, withdrawing his hands the moment she regained her footing.

Anna smiled. After all these years with the family, Clive was still incredibly formal. She sincerely doubted that they made people, much less butlers, like him anymore.

“Apology more than accepted, Clive. If you hadn’t caught me, that oaf would have mowed me down.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw the stranger was retreating through the gate. She decided the man had to belong to the car that was parked down the street. “What was that all about?”

“I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am. He’s one of those ruthless reporters, I believe.”Anna was certain that Clive knew far more than he was saying. Nothing happened in this house or to this family that the gray-haired man was not aware of. “So nice to see you again, ma’am,” he said warmly, deftly changing the topic. “Mr. Harold is expecting you. He’s in the den.”

The butler dutifully escorted her to the room. Along the way she noted some changes. There were expensive, somewhat showy, paintings gracing the walls. Rebecca Lynn’s handiwork, no doubt, she mused. If there was a spare dime lying around, the woman would find something to spend it on.

Opening the den’s double doors for her, Clive unobtrusively backed away and withdrew, moving as silently as a shadow.

Harold, his back to her, was alone in the room. When he turned around, she was struck by how drawn he looked. His hand was wrapped tightly around a chunky scotch glass. The glass was almost empty.

Her first thought was that something had happened with the eye candy he referred to as his third wife. Had she been a lesser woman, she might have secretly gloated at the thought. But Anna was made of better stuff than that, and she found her heart aching for him, aching despite the fact that he had been less than kind during the final days of their marriage.

“All right, Harold, I’m here,” she declared, crossing to him. Removing her wrap, she carefully draped it over the back of the cream-colored leather sofa. “What’s the big emergency that couldn’t wait until morning?”

On his best day, Harold Rothchild was never one of those men who exuded power. What power he had he inherited from a father who had been almighty, leaving no room for a son to emerge and become his own man, even if he was handsome enough to turn a few heads. All his life, Harold had searched for a way to do that, to become his own man. Years after Joseph Rothchild’s death, Harold was still searching.

Draining his glass, he placed it on the desk and cleared his throat before finally giving her an answer. He felt a tightness in his chest. “It’s gone.”

He wasn’t making any sense, and there was panic evident in his blue eyes. Anna put her hand on her ex-husband’s, as if to silently reassure him that she was there for him. “What’s gone, Harold?”

“The ring.” His voice seemed to crackle with the stress he was experiencing. “My father’s ring. The Tears of the Quetzal. Candace kept asking me questions about it. When she asked to see it, I said no. I thought she’d get angry, but she just said, ‘All right.’ After she left, I had this feeling that something was wrong,” he confessed, almost talking to himself. “So I went to the safe to look at it—and it was gone,” he wailed. “And now something bad is going to happen. I can feel it. Something awful.”

Anna didn’t follow him, but then, Harold had always been secretive when it came to the ring and its origins. All she had ever gotten out of him was that, in the right hands, it brought true love to its owner within sixty seconds. In the wrong hands, dire things came to pass. Personally, she’d always thought it was all just empty talk, something to glorify the ring, nothing more. She’d only seen it once herself, and it was far too gaudy for her taste.

“Worse than the ring disappearing?” she asked.

Harold seemed to go pale right in front of her eyes. A line of sweat formed on his forehead. He sounded almost breathless when he said, “Much worse.”

Natalie Rothchild felt sick to her stomach. It took all she had to keep the light breakfast down that she’d consumed this morning.

After working her way up within the Las Vegas Police Department to the rank of detective in a relatively short amount of time, there weren’t many things that still got to her. She’d learned to harden herself, to separate herself from her work. She kept a firm, if imaginary, line drawn in the sand for herself. Her professional life was not allowed to cross over into her personal life—what little there was of it.

Natalie was well aware that if she began to take her work home with her, she would burn out within six months—the way Sid Northrop, one of the homicide detectives on the force when she’d first joined it, had.

But this was different. This was personal. And she hadn’t been summoned to the scene because it was personal. She’d come because she’d overheard the dispatch put the call out on the police scanner. According to the information, a hysterical nanny had come home with her two charges only to find the children’s mother dead on the living room floor. Natalie was about to ignore it because two other detectives were being called in to handle the homicide and God knew she had enough on her plate already without being Johnny-on-the-spot for yet another murder.

But the address that the dispatch rattled off stopped her cold. The address belonged to Candace.

A wave of fear mingled with disbelief washed over her. Her hands felt icy as she held onto the steering wheel. Even though she and her sister lived in two different worlds and didn’t interact, she still felt an obligation to keep tabs on Candace. Her twin sister had cotton candy for brains, not to mention that Candace’s self-esteem was like a giant champagne bucket with a hole in the bottom. She seemed in desperate need of adulation and found it living her life on the wild side.

If anyone needed a keeper, it was Candace. And even though they no longer had anything in common but blood, Natalie secretly had appointed herself her sister’s protector, keeping Candace out of harm’s way whenever she possibly could.

Damn, but she’d really dropped the ball this time, Natalie upbraided herself grimly.

In Candace’s condo now, she fought back anguished tears as she looked down at her sister’s battered face and body. The room looked like a battlefield, and Candace was lying on the floor next to the marble coffee table, her limbs spread out in a grotesque, awkward fashion like a cartoon character that hadn’t been drawn correctly. The scarlet dress that Candace had undoubtedly paid a fortune for accented the pool of blood that encircled her head lying on the ivory rug.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a gruff voice behind her admonished.

She blinked twice, banishing her tears before she glanced over her shoulder at Adam Parker, one of the two detectives who had been called in.

“Yeah, well, neither should she,” Natalie bit off angrily. Reaching out, she adjusted the right side of the front of Candace’s dress to cover her exposed breast.

“Hey, you know better than to touch anything,” Miles Davidson, the other detective, pointed out, crossing over to her.

Yes, she knew better. But this was her sister, and at least in death, Candace needed a little respect.

“I just wanted to cover her,” Natalie answered quietly, rising to her feet. It didn’t matter that, at one time or another, half of Vegas had probably seen Candace naked; she didn’t want this being the final impression those processing the scene came away with. Taking a cleansing breath, Natalie looked over toward Parker, the older and far more heavyset of the two detectives. “What have you got?”

His frustrated expression answered before he did. “You got here fifteen minutes after we did. Nothing so far,” he replied somberly. “The ME can answer a few basic questions for us once he gets her on the table.” Natalie continued to look at him expectantly. The ME had been on the scene when she arrived. Parker exhaled sharply. “Right now, it looks like time of death was around eight, maybe nine o’clock last night. We looked around and robbery doesn’t seem to have been a motive. Nothing’s been taken.” He pointed toward Candace’s throat. “She’s still wearing a diamond necklace.” A weary sigh escaped his lips. “Judging by her bruises and the state of this room, I’d say this was personal.”

Squatting down again, Natalie looked at her twin’s right hand. Last night, while heating up a frozen dinner, she’d kept the TV on for background noise. A program devoted to fawning over celebrities had been on, and they had gushed over live film clips from the gala in progress at The Janus.

She hadn’t been surprised to see Candace on camera. Candace had a penchant for showing up anywhere that a camera was rolling. What had surprised her was that her twin was flashing the Tears of the Quetzal, holding it up for the camera to capture. Natalie knew for a fact that her father kept the ring under lock and key, refusing even to allow any of them to see it, much less flaunt it in public.

How had Candace managed to get it away from their father?

And who had taken it off Candace’s finger?

“The ring’s gone,” she told Parker quietly.

“Ring? What ring?” Davidson blinked, suddenly looking more alert.

Parker didn’t need to ask. Natalie knew he was already aware of what she was referring to. “You mean that big golf ball-sized rock that your dad’s got hidden away in some faraway safe?” When his partner looked at him in surprise, Parker shrugged the wide shoulders beneath his worn all-weather coat. “What? I read People magazine. Sue me.”

“That’s the one,” Natalie replied with a sigh, standing up again. Her grandfather, Joseph, had owned the diamond mine from which the multifaceted, near priceless gem had emerged, or so she had heard from her stepmother. Her father’s fortune was partially built on it.

Did he kill you for it, Candace? Did whoever did this to you try to take the ring only to have you fight him off? You should have let him have it. It was a stupid rock…it wasn’t worth your life.

A thought suddenly hit her, and she looked up at the two detectives. “Anyone notify my father yet?”

Parker and Davidson exchanged looks. She had her answer. Notification of a loved one’s death was never high on anyone’s to-do list.

“Not yet,” Parker answered grimly.

Natalie nodded, already resigned to her part in this. “I’ll do it. Let me know what the ME comes up with as soon as there’s a report.”

Parker frowned, but his tone was kind as he tried to make her understand his position. “Natalie, we can’t have you—”

She stopped him before he could finish voicing his protest. “Unofficially,” she emphasized. “Notify me unofficially.” There was no room for argument in her voice. She looked around. “Where are the kids?”

“Kids?” Davis echoed.

“Kids,” she repeated. “Candace’s kids. Mick and David. My sister has—had—two children. Dispatch said the nanny found her and called this in. Where are they?”

“Take it easy. She took them back to her sister’s house. Don’t worry, Sanchez went with her,” Parker said, mentioning another detective. “Um, correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I heard, your sister really didn’t keep close tabs on her kids.”

“No, she didn’t.” She needed to get in touch with the nanny, Natalie thought as she left.

She had the woman’s name and number programmed into her cell phone. She’d already checked out Amelia Pintero’s background to satisfy herself that her young nephews were in good hands—and not because Candace had asked her to. Candace, as she recalled, was just glad to have someone else take care of them for her. She would have used Gypsies if they’d crossed her path before Amelia had.

Natalie knew that it was a given that she wouldn’t be allowed to investigate her sister’s murder, but there was no law that said she couldn’t look into it on her own when she was off duty. And even if there was, there was no way she was about to abide by the restriction. She and Candace hadn’t gotten along in a long time, but blood was blood and after all was said and done, Candace was still her sister. More, she’d been her twin. A part of her was dead.

She deserved some answers—and the killer deserved to be put away for the rest of his life. It was as simple as that. And she planned to kick off her investigation by going to The Janus, the casino where Candace was last seen. She was going to have to find a way to get a look at the security tapes, to see if someone had followed her sister when she left the casino—or if, and this scenario was far more likely, Candace had elected to leave the casino with someone new.

In her heart, Natalie had always known that men would be her sister’s downfall.

And that makes you different how? a mocking tone in her head queried. For her, it hadn’t taken a squadron of men; all it had taken was one. One man who had sworn his love for her, given her an engagement ring and then pulled a disappearing act.

It had made her back away from the entire species.

Damn, she hadn’t thought about Matt in, what? A couple of months or so.

Now was not the time for a stroll down memory lane, Natalie chided herself as she pulled up in her father’s winding driveway.

Natalie took a deep breath, bracing herself for the ordeal ahead. It didn’t really help.

With effort, she got out of her car.

The walk from the driveway to the front door felt exceptionally drawn out and almost painful, a little like a prisoner walking the last mile before his execution, she mused.

Clive answered the door. He smiled at her, looking both formal and kind at the same time. It was a feat she never quite understood how he accomplished. A pleased light entered his hazel eyes. “Miss Natalie, what a pleasant surprise.”

She knew he meant it. For a second, she allowed herself to absorb his words, and then she set her mouth solemnly. “Not so pleasant I’m afraid, Clive. Is my father home?”

To his credit, Clive displayed no curiosity, asked no questions. “Yes he is, Miss, but I fear that he doesn’t seem to be himself today.”

Natalie looked at the butler in surprise. Had her father heard about Candace? But how? The police were keeping everything under wraps for now. Their main logic behind this was to stave off the media vultures for as long as possible. They could feed on this kind of fodder for six, nine months at a time. And they would. But right now, they weren’t supposed to know.

Had there been a leak?

“Why?” she pressed. “What’s wrong, Clive?”

She knew that the man was very closemouthed, but she also knew that while she’d lived in this cold mausoleum of a house, she had been his favorite. So she looked up at the tall man and waited for a response.

It came. “It’s the Tears of the Quetzal, Miss. I’m afraid that someone seems to have made off with it.”

An image of Candace, flaunting the ring in front of the cameraman, flashed through her mind. It was immediately followed by the sight of her lifeless body lying on the rug, her hand denuded of the legendary ring.

“You can say that again,” she murmured under her breath. “Where is he?”

“He’s on the terrace, Miss. He’s been there for most of the night. I tried to get him to come in, but…” His voice trailed off.

“You’re a good man, Clive. But some people won’t allow themselves to be helped.” She was talking about Candace—not her father—but for now, it was applicable to him as well.

Turning, Natalie made her way to the back of the house, no small feat. As far as houses went, she’d always felt that this one could have provided shelter to a small third world country. Neither she nor her stepmother, Anna, had cared for its enormity, but Candace had loved it and her father’s current wife, Rebecca Lynn, the world’s only living brain donor, had actually been lobbying for something even bigger and more ostentatious.

Maybe the Taj Mahal was up for sale, Natalie thought sarcastically. She could remember thinking when they first moved to this house that she needed to drop bread crumbs to mark her way or be forever doomed to wandering the halls, looking for the way out.

She’d found the way out years ago.

Finally reaching the back of the building, she walked out onto the terrace. She was immediately struck by her father’s profile as he sat at the table. He was still a handsome man, Natalie caught herself thinking. But right now, he looked gaunt and incredibly weary, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

That was Rebecca Lynn’s fault, no doubt. He was trying to keep up with a woman half his age who was determined to “do it all.” Either that, or become a young widow. God knew she wouldn’t put it past Rebecca Lynn.

She didn’t say anything until she was almost at his elbow. “Hi, Dad.”

She’d startled him. He sucked in his breath, his body tense and rigid. “Natalie, what are you doing here?”

There was no point in beating around the bush. It only prolonged the inevitable, and that wasn’t her style. “I have some terrible news, Dad.” Natalie sat down at the table and placed her hand over his. Her father wasn’t the touchy-feely type, but this time, she thought some contact might actually help. “Candace is dead.”

He visibly paled but didn’t look nearly as surprised as she thought he would. She supposed that, given Candace’s lifestyle, all of them had been expecting this day now for a long time. “When?”

“Last night.”

He slowly nodded his head, as if that helped him take in the information. “Where?”

“They found her body at her condo. The nanny came home with the kids after a sleepover and discovered her. She called the police.” She enunciated the words slowly, refusing to allow her voice to break, her emotions to leak through. Her feelings were private, even from her father. “Candace was murdered.”

It took Harold a moment to process the information she’d given him, and then he looked up at her, his expression devoid of emotion. “Did she have the ring on her?”

“Ring?” Natalie repeated, stunned. She remembered what Clive had said about her father’s distress because the ring was missing. Candace was dead. Didn’t that trump a missing ring? Didn’t he care? “Is that what you’re concerned about?” she cried, struggling to keep her temper under control. “The damn ring?”

He grew more upset in the face of her reaction. “Natalie, please understand, of course I’m devastated about Candace, but that ring…that ring can mean the difference between our family’s financial collapse and success.”

How could he even think about money at a time like this? “What are you talking about?”

Harold nervously ran his tongue along his dry lips. “I made some shaky investments,” he confessed. “I’m spread rather thin right now, and I had to borrow some money from—” He paused for a moment before finally blurting out a name. “The Schaffer family.”

He’d been desperate at the time; there was no other explanation for his doing what he’d done. He didn’t have his father’s flair for making money, so he’d turned to a family known to have underworld connections. Men who broke legs as easily as matchsticks and with less thought. He wouldn’t put it past Matt Schaffer to try to ruin him.

His eyes grew bright. “Matt Schaffer’s the one who has the ring. I’d bet my life on it,” he concluded heatedly.

She hadn’t thought she’d ever hear that name again. “Matt Schaffer’s in California,” she heard herself saying hoarsely.

And then her father blew her world apart by saying, “No, he’s not. He’s right here in Vegas. Working for Luke Montgomery. Or at least that’s the story he gives out.”

Matt Schaffer.

Here. In Vegas.

Natalie suddenly felt as if the ground beneath her feet had turned to quicksand.

Chapter 3

Harold continued to talk, but Natalie could no longer make out the words.

Her father’s voice became a buzzing sound in the background as she grappled with the information he’d just carelessly flung out at her. Coming on the heels of Candace’s murder, learning that Matt Schaffer was now living back in Vegas was almost too much for her to process. Or bear.

But she had to, Natalie told herself fiercely. What choice did she have? There was no one around to run interference for her, no one to try to smooth out the choppy waters so she could navigate them without going under and drowning.

All that was on her shoulders. But then, she’d more or less been on her own for the last eight years.

Natalie raised her chin proudly. Okay, she’d deal with Matt being here in Vegas. Deal with having to see him.

But despite the way things had ended between them, she knew Matt Schaffer would never kill anyone. If he had the ring in his possession, then he’d gotten a hold of it while Candace was still alive. She’d make book on it.

You also thought he’d never leave you, remember? Called that one wrong, didn’t you? her annoying little voice taunted.

Still, just because the man didn’t have the guts to commit and lacked the backbone to tell her so face-to-face didn’t mean he would kill someone over a ring no matter how valuable it was. He wasn’t a killer or a thief, if she discounted his stealing her heart.

“Matt wouldn’t kill Candace,” she told her father firmly.

Her father looked like a cornered man desperately fighting to survive. He vacillated, not sure of anything anymore.

“Maybe not, but someone in his family would.” Everyone knew that the Schaffers had underworld ties, connections to people who did things that could not bear scrutiny. He grasped her hand as if that would make her understand better. “I owe them, Natalie. I owe them.” Harold struggled to keep his voice from cracking. “The Schaffers know people. And those people,” he insisted, “have killed for pocket change.”

She glared at him. “Then why would you have knowingly gotten mixed up with them?” she demanded.

It made no sense to her. There were lending institutions. Yes, money was hard to come by, but Harold Rothchild was a reputable businessman with a great deal of collateral. Going to a loan shark, if that was indeed what he’d done, was like agreeing to play Russian roulette with not one but half the chambers loaded with bullets.

“Because…” He began to explain, then stopped abruptly. “Oh, it doesn’t matter why. I did, and now Candace is dead and the ring’s gone.”

Her father seemed to have forgotten one very important element in this horrible tale. So typical of him, she thought.

“Your nephews are fine, thanks for asking,” she told him sarcastically. She’d checked on the boys on her way over here. She’d stopped by the nanny’s sister’s home and asked Amelia to tell her in her own words what she’d seen. She had to wait until the young woman stopped throwing up. The details were sketchy, the nanny’s reaction honest. She’d asked the young woman to watch the boys until she got back to her.

“The boys.” Harold stared at her for a moment, a lost look in his eyes. And then he seemed to come to. “Where are they?”

“I left them with their nanny.” She rattled off the address. It was far off the beaten path of both the casinos and the better residential areas, but it was still a decentenough neighborhood, thanks to a renovation effort on the part of the city.

“I’ll send a car for them,” Harold said, thinking out loud.

“Good idea.”

She didn’t mean that to sound as caustic as it did. But she was on edge. The toughest part of her day was still ahead of her. She was going to have to go and interface with the one man she didn’t want to ever see again.

Some days it just didn’t pay to get up out of bed, Natalie thought wearily.

About to say goodbye, something in her father’s expression stopped her. She knew it would drive her crazy for the rest of the day if she didn’t ask. “Is there something else?” she wanted to know. “You look like you want to tell me something.”

“No.” Denial was always his first choice, but then Harold thought better of it just as his daughter began to leave. “There was a note.”

Natalie turned around. What was he talking about? And why hadn’t he said anything when she’d first come in? “A note?”

He nodded his head. “I didn’t understand what it meant until you told me that Candace was dead.” He sounded breathless as he said, “We’re all in danger. The curse is real.”

Natalie looked at her father as if he’d lost his mind. It took considerable effort to remain patient. “You’re talking in riddles, Dad. Start at the beginning. What note?”

Rather than continue trying to explain, Harold took a folded piece of paper out of the pocket of his robe and handed it to her. She noticed that his hand shook a little.

“This was in the mailbox this morning. Clive found it when he went to put in the outgoing mail.”

Using her handkerchief, Natalie took the note from him and carefully unfolded it. She didn’t want to get any more fingerprints on it than there already were.

There was a single line typed in the middle of the page: One down, many to go.

The words had been typed by a laser printer, and she was willing to bet a year’s salary that once the LVPD lab tech finished analyzing it, he would find nothing remarkable about the paper or the printer that had been used.

“We’re all in danger, Natalie,” her father repeated insistently.

She folded the note. Leaving it within the folds of her handkerchief, she placed it in her purse. She didn’t have time to hold her father’s hand—she had a murderer to track down.

“Try to think positive for once, Dad,” she advised crisply. “I’ll get back to you when I have more information,” she said by way of parting.

She left him the way she found him, sitting on the terrace, staring off into space.

Though she did her best to talk herself out of it, Natalie could feel the adrenaline rush through her veins as she left the Rothchild grounds and made her way to The Janus.

It was coming in waves, she realized, a little like when she knew there was going to be a showdown. One that might leave her wounded.

There were few things in her life that Natalie had believed to be a certainty, but one of them was that she’d thought she would never see Matt Schaffer again. Eight years ago he’d vanished out of her life, leaving behind a one-line note tucked under a pillow that had grown cold. All the note had said was: I’m sorry, but this just isn’t going to work.

That was it. No explanation, no real indication of remorse, no mention of the possibility that whatever it was that was taking him away from her could, in time, be resolved. The note had been as clinical, as removed and compassionless as an eviction notice, which, in effect, it was, she thought as she navigated through the morning traffic. Matt had written the note to evict her from his life.

She’d spent the next two weeks crying, breaking down without warning as she walked down the street, talked on the phone or sat, staring at a meal she couldn’t bring herself to eat.

Candace, she remembered with a bittersweet pang, had tried to get her to go clubbing in order to get her to forget about Matt.

She’d turned her twin down, but she did get her act together. If Matt didn’t think enough of their relationship to try to get in contact with her, to try to make her understand why he’d changed so radically from lover to stranger, then the hell with him. He was dead to her, she resolved. And he’d remained that way.

Until twenty minutes ago.

The adrenaline in her veins kept mounting.

Natalie focused on her driving. Vegas in the daylight wasn’t nearly as alluring as it was after dark. Like an aging woman best seen in soft lighting, Vegas’s imperfections were all visible in the daylight. Natalie supposed that was why people like her sister didn’t like to get up until well past noon. They lived for the night.

Except that Candace could no longer do that.

The thought brought a fresh, sharp ache with it.

“Damn it, Candy, what a waste,” Natalie murmured under her breath, calling her sister by the nickname she hadn’t used in years. “What an awful, awful waste.”

Reaching her destination, she pulled up before The Janus. As she did so, Natalie saw one of the three valets currently on duty make a beeline for her vehicle.

The lanky young man was quick to hide the frown that had begun to curl his lips.

He was undoubtedly used to parking a higher class of vehicle, Natalie thought. Unlike her twin, she was determined not to touch any of the family fortune or the trust fund that her grandfather had set aside for them on the day they were born. Instead, she lived on and spent only what she earned. Perforce, that limited her lifestyle. The salary of an LVPD detective didn’t stretch very far, restricting her to the basic necessities of life. Consequently, her automobile was a six-year-old Honda Accord, but it proved to be more reliable than most of the people she knew.

“Welcome to The Janus,” the young attendant said cheerfully as he opened the driver’s side door for her with a flourish.

“We’ll see,” she replied solemnly.

As he pulled away with her car, Natalie looked up at the casino’s logo. Janus was the Roman god with two faces, one pointed toward the past, the other facing the future. It struck her as rather ironic, given what she was doing here, seeking out someone from her past in order to get answers so that the future could be settled.

The moment she entered the casino, the Vegas phenomena took hold.

It was like stepping into a world where time did not matter or even make an appearance. Though there were cameras everywhere, capturing and time-stamping every movement that was made by the casino’s guests, there were no clocks displayed throughout the actual casino, no measurement of time passing in any form. All there was was a sense of “now.”

The feeling of immortality was created out of this sort of fabric, Natalie thought.

Because, in her experience, she’d discovered that bartenders knew the inner workings of any establishment they worked for better than anyone else, Natalie made her way to the first bar she came across.

The bartender in attendance was a gregarious man who looked to be in his early forties. He had premature gray hair and a quick, sexy smile, which was probably one of the main reasons he’d been hired. That, and his dexterity when it came to mixing drinks. She noted that he had fast hands.

His name tag identified him as Kevin.

Moving to her end of the bar, Kevin asked, “What’ll it be, pretty lady?”

Slipping her hand between the bottom of the glass and the bar, Natalie stopped him from placing it down. “Information.” She saw a dubious look cross his brow. To counter that, she took out her badge. Granted she wasn’t here in an official capacity, but “Kevin” didn’t need to know that. “Were you on duty last night?”

Because there was no one else at the bar seeking his services, Kevin began to wipe the gleaming black surface, massaging it slowly. “You mean during the gala?”

“Yes.”

The smile gracing his lips was a satisfied one. Last night had obviously been profitable for him, she figured. “I caught an extra shift.”

She took out Candace’s photograph and carefully placed it on the bar, turning it around so that he could look at it head-on. “Did you happen to see this woman there?”

The bartender glanced at the picture. Mild interest turned to recognition. “You mean Candace Rothchild? Yeah, she was here, loud and brassy as always. But not for long,” he added, looking rather disappointed. There was always a circus when Candace was around, Natalie thought. People came along for the entertainment. “The boss and she had at it, and then he had Schaffer ‘escort’ her out.”

She latched on to the first part of his statement. “They argued?”

“Yeah.”

“About?”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t tell you. Too far away for anything but body language,” he confessed.

“And Schaffer?” she repeated.

“He got her to leave.”

She leaned in over the bar. “Tell me about him.”

“Don’t know much,” the bartender admitted. “Just that his name’s Matt Schaffer, and he’s Montgomery’s head of security for the casino. Boss flew him in from L.A., where he’s head of security for Montgomery Enterprises.”

There was no avoiding it, she thought darkly. She was going to have to talk to Matt. The thought left her cold. “Do you know where I can find him right now?”

Kevin glanced at his watch. “He should be in his office.”

She rarely frequented casinos, and when she did, they weren’t ones that belonged to her father’s rivals. Luke Montgomery had made no secret that he wanted to be the King of Vegas, a position that her father had once aspired to.

“And his office would be—?” She waited for the bartender to enlighten her.

“On the second floor, toward the rear.” He pointed her in the right direction.

Taking out a twenty, she placed it on the bar. “Thanks for your help.”

In a practiced, fluid motion, Kevin slipped the bill into his vest pocket. “Any time, lovely lady,” he called after her. “Any time.”

She debated going up the stairs, then decided on the elevator. The car that took her up to the second floor was empty. Natalie stepped out of the elevator, looked around to get her bearings and then walked toward the rear of the floor.

The office where the monitors and the people who watched them were housed was encased in dark, tinted glass walls. It gave her an opportunity to scan the room and its occupants before she entered.

None of them were Matt. But then, as head of security, he’d probably have his own area, she thought, most likely removed from the others.

Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred, she silently recited, digging deep for a line from a poem by Tennyson. Wrapping her hand around the brass handle, she opened one of the glass doors and walked in.

The woman whose desk was closest to the door looked up and then began to cross to her. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come in here. This is a restricted area.”

Natalie already had her ID in her hand and held it up. “I’m looking for Matt Schaffer,” she told the woman.

God, even saying his name made her mouth go dry. She was supposed to be over him, had moved on with her life. What happened?

The woman began to answer her. “He’s—”

“Right here.”

The deep voice came from behind her. Natalie felt every single nerve ending go on tactical alert at the same moment that all the hairs at the back of her neck stood up.

Despite the fact that it had been eight years, she would have recognized his voice anywhere.

“What can I…do for you?” The break in the question came because she turned around in the middle of his inquiry.

Natalie.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, Matt Schaffer stopped breathing. He’d known that, most likely, it would be just a matter of time before their paths crossed. Knew when he had reluctantly agreed to Luke Montgomery’s proposition that he transfer to Vegas to oversee security at The Janus because there’d been a problem with the last man who’d been in charge. His only condition had been that the transfer be temporary, lasting only until someone reliable could be found to fill the slot.

If luck had been with him, he might have been able to avoid this.

But deep down in his bones, he’d known all along that this was destined to happen. Maybe even unconsciously he’d actually wished that it would. Now that it had, that same old feeling he’d always had around Natalie slipped over him.

If anything, Natalie had gotten more beautiful, not less. Her straight brown hair was still lustrous, still silky, and her eyes were that incredible shade of blue that could pull him in without warning. Maturity sat well on her, like a rosebud that had bloomed into a breathtaking flower. He felt that old magic, that crackle of chemistry humming between them.

The reasons he had walked away from her all those years ago were still valid, still in play. Leaving hadn’t been a mistake. He’d done it for her, but God, he’d missed her all these years. So much so that it almost hurt to look at her. To look at her and realize all that he had missed. All that he would continue to miss, because nothing had changed.

“Natalie.” He said her name warmly.

She raised her chin in that way he’d always found both endearing and amusing. More than once he’d wanted to give in to impulse and just nibble on it. He’d refrained, knowing the action would have earned him an indignant right cross because when she raised her chin like that, she wanted to be taken seriously. It was her tell, he thought, a sign that gamblers looked for in other gamblers because it was used to clue them in on what was to come next.

“Hello, Matt.” Her voice was formal, devoid of any emotion, her body almost rigid. He could remember how fluid she felt in his arms. It made him ache. “It’s been a long time.”

And he’d been acutely aware of every moment of that passage of time without her. More than once he had thought about the way things could have been, if he had only been able to go back and change things, be someone different…

But he’d always come to the same conclusion—that it was useless to waste time wishing. Things were the way they were and that was that.

“Yes, it has,” he agreed quietly. “What can I do for you?”

She made it cut and dried. All she wanted was to get this over with. “You can answer some questions and give me access to all of last night’s surveillance tapes.”

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t this. “I don’t understand—”

It was then that Natalie took out her badge again and held it up for him to look at. When they’d last been together, she’d just graduated college. Being a policewoman hadn’t even entered her mind. All she wanted to do was spend her days and nights loving Matt. Just showed how naive and stupid the very young could be, she thought cynically.

“Candace Rothchild was here last night,” she told him crisply.

“Yes, she was.” Was this about his making her sister leave?

“She was also found dead in her condo early this morning. Time of death was sometime last night.”

He stared at her, trying to process what she was telling him. “Your sister’s dead?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes.” The answer came out in a hiss between her teeth. Their paths hardly ever intersected anymore, but it was hard imagining a world without Candace in it. There’d be no more promises to make in fleeting moments of remorse only to break again the very next day. No more publicity-fraught attempts at trying to be a better mother to Mick and David. All that was gone now.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Natalie.”

“Thanks.” The single word was said without any emotion.

She saw the look of concern that came over his face. He’d become an accomplished actor since she’d last seen him, she thought cynically. One would have even thought he cared—except that she knew better. The only one Matt cared about was himself.

“Let’s go to my office,” he said in a low voice, turning on his heel to lead the way.

She had no choice but to follow.

Chapter 4

The moment Matt pushed the door open and walked into his spacious glass-enclosed office, the phone on his desk began ringing.

Talk about timing. An exasperated sound escaped his lips, and he looked over his shoulder at Natalie. “Do you mind if I get that?”

She gestured toward the multilined console on his desk. “Go ahead.”

His being on the phone would give her a few more seconds to pull herself together, she thought. She hadn’t realized seeing him again would affect her like this, shaking her to the core. If anything, his physique seemed more buff, harder, somehow. And looking into his blue eyes had her reliving bits and pieces of the past that made her feel so vulnerable. So much for being over him.

“Schaffer,” Matt said as he put the receiver to his ear.

Natalie caught the shadow of a frown forming on his lips just before he turned his back to her. Matt lowered his voice, and even though she couldn’t actually make out all the words, there was no missing the annoyed undercurrent.

“I don’t have time for this, Scott,” Matt finally said, cutting his older brother short on the other end of the line. He’d been in town less than two weeks and already Scott was seeking him out, dumping his problems in his lap. He wasn’t about to allow himself to get sucked back into this kind of a rut again. He was done with all that. Done. “This time, you’re going to have to bail yourself out of trouble.”

The voice on the other end of the line begged indulgence.

Because this was his brother and because, God-only-knew-why but family still meant something to him despite all the turmoil it had caused in his life, Matt spared his older brother a minute more.

He sighed again, weary. “All right, I’ll call you later. Until then, don’t do anything stupid.” Matt broke the connection before Scott could add another layer to the tale of woe that he’d been spinning.

Replacing the receiver in its cradle, Matt turned back around to look at Natalie. She looked stern, he thought. And beautiful despite her frown. “Sorry.”

Her eyes met his. Hers were unfathomable. “Of course you are.”

He would have had to have been deaf not to hear the sarcastic edge in her voice.

He had it coming, Matt thought, and he couldn’t blame her, not after the way they had parted company. But he still felt in his heart that he had done the right thing.

Even if it hurt like hell at the time.

He wasn’t exactly feeling terrific right now, he realized. Eight years and he still wanted her. Maybe even more than ever. He’d often wondered over the years, in isolated moments when he found himself alone, if he would ever get over her. He had his answer now. And it was a resounding “No.”

She didn’t need to know that, either, he thought, doing his best to appear impassive.

The next thing out of Natalie’s mouth threw him for a loop.

“Did you have my sister killed?”

It took him a second to find his tongue. “What?” The implication behind the question had him reeling. How could she even think that? “Do you actually believe that I would be capable of something like that?”

Though she was certain that she gave no indication of it, she was struggling against her attraction to him. The fact that she could feel that, after all that had happened, disgusted her. She was supposed to be a stronger person than that. Right now, Natalie felt as if her emotions had been dumped into a blender, the button set on “high.”

“I discovered a long time ago that I’m not exactly a great judge of character.”

He had that coming, too, Matt thought. He refrained from commenting on her words. Instead, he answered her unsettling question.

“No, I didn’t kill Candace.” And then he hit her with a question of his own. “What could have possibly been my motive?”

She’d asked because her father had planted the idea in her head, but she didn’t want to bring him into the conversation just yet. “When they found her, Candace’s ring was missing.”

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