Las Vegas: Scandals. Nina Bruhns

will be wondering where you are.”

      He hesitated, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…”

      “I’m fine,” she lied. “Go find your lady.”

      “She’s not—”

      But Vera was already walking away, not listening. Back straight, head up, she told herself as she threaded through the throng. How many of these strangers had witnessed Maximil-lian’s tirade against her? It didn’t matter. She just had to make it to the door without being stopped. Pretend you ‘re on the catwalk. You ‘re not naked, they are.

      “Vera?”

       Oh, God, now what?

      She resolutely ignored the unfamiliar male voice and went right on walking.

      Long fingers grasped her shoulder. “Vera, wait.”

      She suddenly remembered the thief. She opened her mouth to scream. But then she recognized who it was. From pictures. In her living room.

      “I’m Henry St. Giles,” he said, removing his hand. “Darla’s brother.”

      Fortyish with thinning hair, he was still good-looking in a boring businessman sort of way. Darla was always telling stories about his out-of-control, crazy youth, but somehow he’d ended up selling out to their father and going to work for him after he was cut off for a year. Which explained why they’d never met.

      “I know who you are,” she said curtly, bracing herself for round two. “What do you want?”

      He looked abashed. “I’m sorry, Vera. I just wanted to apologize for what happened back there. With my father.”

      “Why?” she asked suspiciously.

      “We don’t all think the way he does.”

      She arched a brow but didn’t comment.

      “I know you have no reason to believe me,” he continued, “but I honestly regret not getting to know you like Darla did. You’re my little sister. I should have made the effort, not cowed under to my father’s…stupidity.”

      Wow. She hadn’t known what to expect from Henry St. Giles when he stopped her, but this definitely wasn’t even on the list.

      “That’s, um, very nice of you to say.” Not that she particularly believed him.

      “You look like her,” he said, with a little smile.

      “Yeah. So we’ve been told.”

      The man actually looked bashful. Either he was a hell of an actor or he was sincere. You could have knocked her over with a feather.

      He held out a business card to her. “This is me. I’ve written my private line on the back. Call me. I’d love to get together for lunch or dinner. Get to know you. If you like.”

      She decided to be flattered. “Thanks. Maybe I will.” Could she actually be getting a brother? She reached for the card. The second he spotted the ring on her finger, Henry’s eyes popped. “What the—” They shot to hers in shock, even wider. “Vera, is that what I think it is? The ring from Candace Rothchild’s murder?”

      She smiled at his bewilderment and shook her head. “No. It’s paste. Pretty good copy, though, don’t you think?”

      “Where on earth did you get it?” he asked, still awestruck by the jewel.

      “Long story,” she said with a laugh.

      “I thought it was stolen?”

      “No, the original was stolen. Well, actually both. But now they’re back—”

      “Miss Mancuso?” the doorman interrupted. “Your limo is here, miss.”

      “Thanks, I’ll be right there.” She tucked Henry’s card in her beaded bag and held out her hand to him. “It was nice to finally meet you, Henry. And I will call. I look forward to lunch.”

      He nodded and waited just inside the entrance, watching as she walked to the white stretch limo and got in. He waved as the chauffeur closed the door.

      Vera let out a long sigh of relief, bending down to pull off her shoes and wiggle her toes on the plush limo carpet. Thank God the night was over. Just one more thing to do. She picked up the phone to the driver.

      “Yes, Miss Mancuso?”

      She gave him her home address.

      “But Mr. Rothchild said—”

      “Change of plans,” she said. “Just take me to the address I gave you.”

      “Very well, Miss Mancuso.”

      She didn’t want to think about Conner right now. Didn’t want to let herself be depressed about their doomed affair. Or her bastard of a father. Or even about not making any headway on the investigation of Darla and the theft ring.

      She did smile when she thought of Henry. Well, at least the night hadn’t been a total disaster.

      Her brother. Who’d have thought he’d want to get to know her after all this time?

      It was so amazing, it almost made up for losing Conner.

      Almost.