Her 24-Hour Protector(21)

For his father.

And in doing this, his father’s death would finally be avenged.

The fact that Agent Duncan had a personal interest in Jenna Rothchild made him feel even more righteous about it all. Duncan had become his key opposing force. His enemy, stoppage—ever since Duncan had thwarted him, conspiring with that lawyer Conner Rothchild to throw him a fake ring to save a cheap stripper.

He turned the ignition. Vegas was all a game. A gamble.

Somebody won.

Somebody lost.

This time the winner would be him.

And this week, Jenna Jayne Rothchild would be the one to die.





Chapter 4




It was almost midday, temperatures spiking at 105 degrees. Oscillating waves of heat shimmered up from the road as Lex pulled his SUV into the palm-lined driveway of the Rothchild mansion, braking at the security booth at the gates.

He wound down his window, showed his shield. “FBI, for Mr. Rothchild.” The security guard pressed a button on a newly installed intercom system, announcing the federal agent’s presence. So much for the element of surprise, thought Lex as the gates rolled open.

He drove up the sun-bleached driveway, the Rothchild mansion looming into view. The architecture was Spanish-influenced—Moorish arches, red tiles, stuccoed walls that echoed the sun-baked tones of the surrounding Mojave Desert. Palms flanking the entrance rustled softly in the hot breeze.

A wall of heat slammed Lex as he got out of his vehicle. He made his way up the steps to the massive front door, noting a small security camera tucked into the portico, another aimed around the side of the house. All new since his last visit. Harold Rothchild was clearly feeling a tad nervous these days, perhaps taking the threat that had been made to the powerful Rothchild clan after Candace’s murder a little more seriously but not so seriously that he’d hired bodyguards. Lex rang the doorbell.

His goal today was to interview Harold without encountering Jenna. Harry Quinn be damned.

According to Jenna, Harold had old business connections with Frank Epstein. Epstein, in turn, had Vegas mob associations that went back to the early seventies, and he was currently the subject of an SEC and FBI commercial crimes probe into an apparent New York Stock Exchange junk bond scam. If there were connections between the Epsteins and Rothchilds it could go to the heart of motive for murder. At this point, Lex wasn’t ruling anything out.

He also wanted to press Harold again about the provenance of The Tears of the Quetzal. Lex was convinced the man was not coming clean on the history of the diamond for some reason.

Hot wind gusted, crackling through the ragged palm fronds as the big door to the mansion swung open wide. And there stood the one person he was seeking to avoid, wearing nothing but a scrap of bikini the colors of a Tequila Sunset, and just as damn intoxicating as a shot of the liquor to his system. The sight of her clean took his breath away.

“Jenna. I was…expecting your butler.”

Jenna’s lips curved, but no light reached into her eyes. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon, Lex.”

His eyes skimmed hungrily over her—couldn’t help it. She was wearing crazy high heels that put a killer curve into her calves, seductive arches into her feet and a powerful punch to his gut. In her navel, a small little emerald green jewel winked. It took an embarrassing moment before he could wrench his attention away from it. He cursed softly to himself as the latent tension from last night’s date quickly began to shimmer between them again.

“I presume you’re here to apologize?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Actually, I’m here on business. I understand your father is in?”

Her mouth flattened slightly, some of the glimmer leaving her. “Fine.” She stepped back, holding the door open but not far back enough so he didn’t have to brush against her barely covered chest as he entered.

“Harold is out by the pool. Go through the hall and then through the wet bar over there,” she said coolly, with a tilt of her chin.

It wasn’t the first time Lex had been inside the Rothchild lair, but again, he couldn’t help musing his entire house would pretty much fit inside just the hall alone. He started to make his way over the gleaming tiles but paused. “Look, Jenna,” he said, swinging around. Mistake.

She was too close.

His brain headed completely south, and she could see it. A whisper of amusement toyed briefly with her mouth. Yet a hint of insecurity remained in her eyes. An insecurity that wasn’t apparent last night.

He’d put it there.

Again, guilt twisted.

He cleared his throat again. “I am sorry about last night. I…I want to say thank you for all the trouble you went to, with the dinner, the restaurant, your very generous contribution to a charity I—”