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“No. Are you?” I had basic medical training as a SEAL, but that was a long way from an MD.
“I’m the head of trauma at Jackson Memorial.” He nodded to the injured man. I slid to the side and let him take over.
“Please.” I was grateful to pass the injured man into the doctor’s far more capable hands. Around me, people were standing up, embracing loved ones, and taking stock. It could have been so much worse.
Steel approached carrying the blonde in the white dress. She lolled in his arms, unconscious. The big man crouched down to gently place her on the dance floor. “One of them coldcocked her on their way out before locking us inside. I tried to pull her away before he could hit her but…” The former biker had a soft spot for women who were victims of violence.
A few drops of blood from her head wound marred the white bodice of her gown. I watched the stain spread and couldn’t stop thinking about Lee’s timely exit.
“Son of a bitch.”
Steel’s gaze turned to me. “What?”
I shook my head. My response was sufficient that Steel refocused on tending to the injured woman, but the head shake did nothing to dispel my disturbing thoughts.
She played me. Lee fucking played me. Her dramatic departure was perfectly timed to keep her out of danger. The cryptic texts on the cheap cell phone. Obviously, she was up to her eyeballs in this shit. She’d stolen her prom dress and picked pockets at the state fair to buy her first car. I’d been a fool to think she gave it up.
She told me way back when that stealing was the one thing she was good at. Why work when you can steal, she’d said. Hell, she probably stole her way out of fucking Oklahoma.
It was her fallback response. Even when I confronted her tonight, she didn’t talk to me. No, she stole my watch right off my wrist.
I promised Ray I’d protect her, but this… How far could I—or should—I go?
I watched the doctor tending to the man’s leg. It was time I put in the effort. I owed it to Ray’s memory to get Lee on the right side of the law. Better late than never. This time I’d keep my promise. Lee would own up to her involvement. If that meant jail, so be it. People could have died tonight.
“Derek, oh, thank God.” Gigi Mills, the gala chair and Smith Agency uber client, collapsed into my chest. I let her lean on me, unsure what else I could do to calm her down. I hoped John Smith was on his way. Client relations were his and his wife Kira’s wheelhouse. Not mine.
“My beautiful party…” She pressed her face against my shoulder, stifling a sob. “I was so scared, but I knew with you here, everything would be okay.”
My idea of okay didn’t include a gunshot victim and millions in priceless watches stolen, but I wasn’t the wife of a billionaire.
“The police are arriving right now, Mrs. Mills. I will be happy to assist you in any way I can in dealing with them.” I patted her back awkwardly.
A loud crash of a battering ram preceded a line of Miami cops and paramedics as they breached the main ballroom door and flooded into the space. The power flickered and the house lights came on full blast, illuminating the full extent of the damage.
Gigi, still clinging to my chest, looked around the room, her breath coming in short pants as she absorbed the magnitude of what had happened. She grasped my lapels desperately. Her eyes fluttered and then rolled back into her skull.
Oh shit.
I closed my arms tight around her to keep her from falling to the floor in a dead faint.
“Can I get a medic?”
Chapter 3
Lee
IunfoldedtheMiamiHerald on my antique mahogany desk at Oleander. The headline screamedBrazen Robbery at South Beach Hotel. A full color photo of the police swarming outside the OceanBlu filled the remaining space above the fold.
The article confirmed those watches were too hot to handle. I wanted out of this life, not a retirement in the state penitentiary.
I took stock of my office and the retail store beyond. I couldn’t go to jail; I worked too hard to build all this. Oleander was the most prestigious full-service fine jewelry store in greater Miami. My store was as lavish as the goods we sold. Marble floors, gilt-framed mirrors, thick Oriental rugs, and crystal chandeliers. Ostentatious, yes, a bit. But my customers ate it up. And with all my years of hard work, the store now turned a tidy profit without the added injection of funds from my illegal activities.
Oleander was a long way from my first shop, Regal Pawn, in a sketchy part of Newark, New Jersey. I started my career hocking stolen TVs for an up-and-coming local mobster known as Uncle Jimmy. Like me, Uncle Jimmy had moved up in the world over the years, becoming head of the Delgatto crime family.
And I owed him. I ran my index finger over the almost indiscernible lump on the bridge of my nose. I shoved away the thoughts of how I’d gotten it. No matter. Debts must be paid.
The discreet buzz of the store’s front doorbell pulled me from my unpleasant thoughts.
