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Authors: Loreth Anne White
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followed.
He shook off the sensation. It was Jenna’s affect on his body—and it was the ring in his pocket messing with his head, making him paranoid. He climbed into a taxi, almost telling the driver to take him straight to the Vegas FBI field office beforehis brain kicked back into gear. He should go home first, get his own vehicle, then return the legendary ring ASAP. He’d be a fool to make the cabbie an outside witness to the fact he’d even been to the FBI offices this time of night.
But as Lex sank back into the car seat, hand in his pocket, fingering Harold Rothchild’s diamond, he realized he’d crossed the line. Big time.
What in heaven had he gone and gotten himself into?
The Avenger.
That was his tag tonight, how he was going to think of himself for this leg of his mission. He tucked in behind the white limo, slowing as it turned into the driveway of the Rothchild mansion. The security guard Harold Rothchild had hired since the murder of his daughter waved the limo in through the gates.
The Avenger cut his engine and lights, watched from darkness across the street.
He now knew the FBI agent heading up the Candace Rothchild homicide investigation was seeing the youngest Rothchild heiress. This could get interesting. It held real potential—in any number of ways. Hot deliciousness snaked through him, making him hard. Death, he’d discovered, excited him. Ever since he’d taken the life of that Candace slut.
Killing her had made him powerful. Invincible. Determined to systematically wipe out the rest of the Rothchild scum from the earth, to get his hands on The Tears of the Quetzal. He wanted that ring, needed it.
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, conspiringwith 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
I t 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 asmall 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
He shook off the sensation. It was Jenna’s affect on his body—and it was the ring in his pocket messing with his head, making him paranoid. He climbed into a taxi, almost telling the driver to take him straight to the Vegas FBI field office beforehis brain kicked back into gear. He should go home first, get his own vehicle, then return the legendary ring ASAP. He’d be a fool to make the cabbie an outside witness to the fact he’d even been to the FBI offices this time of night.
But as Lex sank back into the car seat, hand in his pocket, fingering Harold Rothchild’s diamond, he realized he’d crossed the line. Big time.
What in heaven had he gone and gotten himself into?
The Avenger.
That was his tag tonight, how he was going to think of himself for this leg of his mission. He tucked in behind the white limo, slowing as it turned into the driveway of the Rothchild mansion. The security guard Harold Rothchild had hired since the murder of his daughter waved the limo in through the gates.
The Avenger cut his engine and lights, watched from darkness across the street.
He now knew the FBI agent heading up the Candace Rothchild homicide investigation was seeing the youngest Rothchild heiress. This could get interesting. It held real potential—in any number of ways. Hot deliciousness snaked through him, making him hard. Death, he’d discovered, excited him. Ever since he’d taken the life of that Candace slut.
Killing her had made him powerful. Invincible. Determined to systematically wipe out the rest of the Rothchild scum from the earth, to get his hands on The Tears of the Quetzal. He wanted that ring, needed it.
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, conspiringwith 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
I t 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 asmall 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
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