Free Her 24-Hour Protector by Loreth Anne White Page B

readjusted her bikini bottoms. Napoleon scuttled into the shade under her chair and glared at Lex.
    She began to rub in sunscreen.
    His blood pressure began to rise.
    Harold smiled—the smug, knowing male smile of a powerful patriarch who knew exactly what a fine geneticspecimen of daughter he had under his mansion roof. And what effect she was having on the FBI agent who had deigned to come question him.
    That smile hardened something in Lex.
    He was going to find something to nail this mogul, even if it went way back into the 1970s and had nothing to do with his daughter’s murder, or that spooky ring. “You were saying…you have absolutely no paper trail to prove the origin of the ring.”
    “I have nothing I need to prove, Agent Duncan. I know where The Tears of the Quetzal came from, and that’s good enough for me. I’m not looking to sell or have it appraised. Mostly I’d like it back in my safe. Where it belongs. It’s caused enough trouble already.”
    “Can you tell me what year the fire was that destroyed The Tears of the Quetzal’s paper trail?”
    “Give my lawyer a call. He might have that on record somewhere.”
    Lex caught Jenna glance sharply at her dad and sensed a flare of tension between them. He filed this away.
    “So all you do have in connection with the ring is some…mumbo jumbo about a curse?” Lex said, allowing a hint of derision into his voice.
    “A Mayan legend that was passed down with the diamond. In the right hands, instant and true love follows. In the wrong hands—”
    “Yeah, I heard, grave misfortune.”
    “You had any misfortune down at the field office yet, Agent Duncan?”
    “If you’re implying the ring is in the wrong hands, it’s exactly where it needs to be, Mr. Rothchild, until this case is resolved.”
    A darkness flickered, very briefly, through Harold’s eyes. Lex felt the tension wind tighter between Jenna and her father as Jenna stirred on the deck chair, eyes now fixed on her father.The hot wind blew a little harder, ruffling fine strands of hair over her beautiful features. And Lex couldn’t help but think of how the ring had actually felt hot in his pocket at dinner, and again the thought of sex with Jenna crawled through his mind.
    If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d been under the damn Mayan curse himself, unable to resist the power of her charms in the ring’s presence. He was relieved to have been able to return it to lockup without further incident. Damn stupid move that was.
    He glanced at his watch, changing tactics. “We asked you a while back if there was anyone you could think of who might have a motive to harm your daughter, Mr. Rothchild. You gave us a long list of Candace’s boyfriends, exes, married men and the spouses who might have felt cheated by your daughter’s various high-profile love affairs. Has anyone else come to mind since?”
    “No,” he said, too quickly. “No one. Apart from that Thomas Smythe.”
    “I see you’ve installed quite a bit of additional home security recently.”
    “The security measures are past due. Should have done it ages ago.”
    “So you haven’t received any more notes threatening the Rothchilds?”
    Again, that darkness seemed to shadow Harold’s eyes, and his body stiffened slightly. “What’re you implying? That I’d hide threats from the police? I wouldn’t jeopardize my family that way.”
    “Just doing my job.”
    “If you were doing your job, Agent Duncan, you’d have found the man who sent the first note. And you’d have located Smythe and questioned him.”
    First note. It did imply more than one. Again, Lex filed the information, and again, he ignored the jab over Smythe.
    “We have no indication at this point it was even a male who wrote the note,” said Lex, removing his notebook. He flipped it open, jotted down a few notes of his own. He’d get Perez to dig up whatever she could on Harold’s Las Vegas business history from the 1970s onward, looking for