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  Stealing the Golden Dream

  A Jordan Welsh & Eddie Marino Novel

  Sally J. Smith

  and

  Jean Steffens

  Camel Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.Camelpress.com

  www.smithandsteffens.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  Stealing the Golden Dream

  Copyright © 2015 by Sally J. Smith and Jean Steffens

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-985-5 —Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-986-2 —eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015931884

  Produced in the United States of America

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  The Authors wish to thank Mike Steffens for his extensive research on the Dahlonega Mint and the limited edition coins minted there, also for his assistance regarding pharmaceutical matters. Thanks, Mike!

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  As Eddie Marino made his way to the back of the museum building, Muggs’s voice followed him. “Better get your jacket, boss. A little chilly out there. Or maybe Jordan will keep you warm tonight.”

  Eddie looked over his shoulder at his friend and employee sitting at the front desk, adjusting his chair and settling in for his shift.

  “I should be so lucky,” Eddie said.

  “Sure,” Muggs said. “Like you’re not?”

  “Knock it off.” But Eddie snagged his bomber jacket from a locker and shrugged into it anyway.

  Instead of taking the direct path back to the museum’s reception area, he detoured through the exhibit room where the Golden Dream Dahlonega Collection was on display. The premium collection of gold coins was the reason Shea Investigations had been hired by the Arizona Heritage Museum, one of the star attractions in downtown Scottsdale.

  I just don’t get what all the fuss is about.

  He leaned over one of the display cases and whistled long and low.

  So that’s what five and a half million worth of gold coins looks like.

  He’d already skimmed over the promotional brochure, but only because his partner, the incomparable Jordan Welsh, had made him. The limited edition gold coins were minted between 1838 and 1861 in Dahlonega, Georgia, in varying denominations. Each complete set in the Golden Dream private collection was more pristine than the next. The collection was world famous, said to be the most complete in existence.

  Lady Liberty looked good in goldbut five million plus? No wonder the museum hired extra protection while they had custody of the coins. A guy could buy a lot of toys with a chunk of change that size.

  He made his way back out to the security desk and laid his hand on Muggs’s shoulder. Muggs, indeed. His friend had been tagged with the ironic nickname back on the mean streets of Cleveland when the two were boyhood friends. It stuck. Marvin “Muggs” Baxter took a lot of good-natured ribbing because of his Hollywood golden boy looks. He was good people, always ready to step in when needed, always the one who had your back.

  “Thanks for trading shifts with me, bro,” Eddie said. “You saved my bacon. I promised Jordan I’d make the scene at this charity deal. Unfortunately.” Truth be told, Eddie would much rather be spending this cool March evening curled up on the sofa beside Jordan with a good single malt and Coltrane in the background instead of prancing around in a monkey suit. He didn’t mesh with most of the people who went to these charity events, and as a general rule they didn’t get him either. But he didn’t really care what the society crowd thought of him. This was for Jordan.

  A lot of what he did these days was for Jordan, but that was the way it was supposed to be. Wasn’t it? Once you found the one, you hung your future on her. Jordan’s happiness and well being meant everything to him, and she didn’t ask him to show up at these stuffy shindigs very often. It was the least he could do. Jordan—beautiful, stubborn, independent as hell Jordan. He realized he was smiling.

  Ah, what the hell. Maybe their old clients Nick and Connie Brenner would show up. At least he’d have something to talk to them about.

  Muggs stood and moved out from behind the desk. “I don’t mind switching. Glad to.” He hesitated. “You got a minute before you leave?”

  “Sure,” Eddie said. “What’s up?”

  “It’s my dad. I just found out he’s pretty sick.”

  “Sick? Sick how?”

  “Sick like on a clock, you know? Short time. They gave my old man an expiration date. Does that suck or what? He’s my dad, for crying out loud, not a carton of milk. Three to six months.” Muggs’s voice broke from emotion.

  Eddie’s heart went out to his friend. Old man Baxter. When Eddie’s own father was killed in a riot at a Cleveland dock strike, Muggs’s father had held Eddie when he couldn’t keep the pain inside anymore and wept until he was so spent he shuddered. And how many times had he gone to Muggs’s dad with those questions a teenage boy can only ask a man?

  Within the circle of the trio Eddie called his crew—Tank, Diego, and Muggs—Muggs had always been the family guy, the one who called his folks every weekend and flew home four times a year. “Aw, man, I’m so sorry. That just blows. Your dad’s a really good guy. I always liked him.”

  “So, I was thinking of taking some time off, if it’s okay. You know, to be there. With him. With Mom. She’s gonna need somebody, too.”

  “Of course. No problem.” Eddie laid his hand on Muggs’s shoulder. “You didn’t even have to ask. Take whatever time you need. We got you.”

  “Thanks. I’d like to leave for Cleveland as soon as possible—spend every minute I can with him before … you know.”

  “Absolutely. When you know your schedule, give a shout. I’ll be your ride to the airport. And if you need me back there, you’ll let me know. Right?”

  Muggs nodded and looked away. He cleared his throat. “Anything I should know about this gig before you leave?”

  “Nope. I just checked on their fancy coin collection. It’s all good. Copacetic.”

  Muggs followed Eddie to the door. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

  Eddie circled once around the one-story brick building through the alley. Everything looked tight as a drum. Yep, this was Scottsdale, all right. You couldn’t even really call the area behind the museum an alley. It was a wide space with half a dozen or so parking spots marked off. Clean and free of debris and the sort of alley clutter you’d find in most cities. Brightly lit. Noise carried from a couple of blocks east where the Old Town nightclub district would just be gearing up. It was a scene he’d been into once, but not for a while, not since Jordan.

  He went around the building to the side of the museum where his car was parked on Marshal Way. A mini-tram driver slumped behind the wheel catching a snooze before he began a night’s work of shuttling partiers from gin joint to gin joint. A couple of spaces over from the tram sat Eddie’s sweet little ride, a black 2006 Porsche Boxster convertible. Before getting in, he hit the lock release on his key fob and ran his hand affectionately along the fender.

  It was barely seven o’clock. He had just enough time to swing by his place, change into a tux, and pick up Jordan at eight—that is if he stepped on the Boxster and stayed out of the way of Sco
ttsdale’s finest.

  This job for the Arizona Heritage Museum was sweet, the kind he wished Shea Investigations could snag every day of the week. Easy money, especially when you compared it to the grinding-it-out donkeywork the firm had to take when they first started out.

  Eddie and Jordan Welsh had joined forces to form their security and private investigation agency ten months earlierand who would have thunk it? Shea Investigations quickly became one of the best damn firms in Scottsdale. That was partly thanks to the success of a big case they handled the previous fall for The Moon & Stars Foundation. In Eddie’s vernacular, that case gave Eddie and Jordan seats at the grownups’ table.

  These days, except for the favored client here and there, they didn’t have to fool around with skip traces, background checks, and stray husband surveillance. He pulled out of the parking spot and turned the Boxster east on Fifth Avenue toward Scottsdale Road.

  Gotta admit though, sometimes I do miss seeing that flabbergasted look on the face of some poor wayward sap when he gets a load of him and his Friday night girl rolling around under the sheets on video.

  Eddie pulled into the driveway of Jordan’s house in North Scottsdale. The coach lights by the garage doors and front entrance cast a warm glow over the terracotta, Mediterranean-style architecture. Strategically placed ground lights illuminated the lone saguaro in the yard as well as the small cluster of mesquite trees shading her den when the morning sun climbed over the McDowell Mountains.

  It was a really nice place—not quite as upscale as one would expect from an old-moneyed trust fund baby like Jordan. She saved up the downstroke on her own, and the mortgage payments were made from her agency income. It was a source of pride to Jordan and frustration to her mother, who just didn’t understand why her youngest daughter wanted to fend for herself as much as possible. No matter what her mother thought, Jordan’s house was still a really nice place to live, even if it felt like playing house when he stayed over.

  He compared Jordan’s suburban lifestyle to the sleek high-rise city condo and more urban way of life he’d chosen. Her neighborhood just wasn’t his bag—a little too Wisteria Lane for him. He was a city boy all the way.

  He glanced at the dash. Eight o’clock on the nose. He moved up the walkway and rang the bell.

  Jordan yanked open the door. “I’m not quite ready.”

  Quite ready? She stood there in a lacy, lilac teddy almost covering her luscious personality. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice breathless. Hubba-hubba. “I can see that, babe,” Eddie said. God, she was a knockout. He cleared his throat, but his voice was still higher-pitched than normal. “Maybe we should just stay in tonight.”

  He reached for her, but she danced away just beyond his grasp.

  “Not tonight. You promised we’d go. Okay, so rubbing elbows with Scottsdale hoity-toities isn’t your favorite pastime, but it’s for a good cause. Plus, making an appearance at these things is good for business. We won’t stay long. I promise.”

  He growled, “Yeah. Yeah. But you also gotta promise I’ll get another look at that outfit later on.”

  He followed her in and took a seat on the sofa. Jordan’s pampered golden retriever, Sadie, pounced on him. Great! Dog hair. Just what I need.

  Jordan had said Sadie had a massive crush on him. He rubbed her behind the ears—Sadie, not Jordan—and smiled when she rolled her eyes and turned to mush under his hand. Now that he thought about it, it might not be such a bad idea to try the ear-rubbing thing on Jordan.

  Inside of fifteen minutes, Jordan walked out of her bedroom wearing a slinky little black dress and a pair of five-story heels showing off her exquisite legs. She only wore those shoes when she was with him.

  On more than one occasion she said, “I don’t look like an amazon when I wear stilettos with you. You’re taller than I am.”

  How could a woman as stunning as she be concerned about her height? She wasn’t just tall, she was statuesque. Magnificent—in his book anyway. Her issue with it was one of the mysteries of Jordan.

  He was carried back almost a year and a half to the first time he laid eyes on her. In fact, he’d laid more than just his eyes on her. He’d tackled her and pinned her to the floor at a warehouse job they were working under separate employment contracts. Even in that awkward moment, something about her went straight to his heart. He’d been so taken with her when she approached him ten months ago to merge his security company with her JW Investigations, he didn’t hesitate long enough to consider the profitability factor. But, hey, it had worked out great in the end, so no harm, no foul.

  Tonight, his woman—as he’d come to think of Jordan but would never put it that way to her—looked nothing short of spectacular, although in his opinion, she still wore way too many clothes.

  “You look hot tonight,” she said, vocalizing the compliment he’d mentally paid her. “Let’s go, Marino.”

  Her phone rang. It was Mary Welsh’s ringtone, the “Imperial March”—Darth Vader’s theme. Jordan looked at Eddie. Eddie looked at Jordan. She mouthed, “Mother.”

  He mouthed, “I know,” and shook his head.

  She shrugged apologetically as she slid her finger over the screen. “Mom. What’s up? Eddie says, ‘Hi.’ ”

  Eddie whispered, “No, I didn’t.”

  Mary Welsh’s shrill voice came over the speaker. “Oh, Jordan, I’ve done a terrible thing. Somehow I managed to miss the bottom step off the rear patio. I hurt myself.”

  “Mom. Hurt? How hurt?”

  “My ankle. It’s excruciating. Do you think you could take me to the hospital?”

  Swell. Eddie watched his chance for a second peek at the lilac teddy fly out the window.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  “Chicago. The lease on our Welsh’s Steak and Chop House on Superior is up for renegotiation. You know how your dad loves wheeling and dealing. Thinks he’s such a shark and nobody else can take care of the family business quite the way he can. He went a couple of days ago.”

  “Alec?” Jordan asked.

  “Your brother’s at the Scottsdale steakhouse. It’s spring training season, and we are busy, busy, busy. Where else would the manager be? Working, of course. Isn’t that what the Welsh men always seem to be doing?”

  “And you couldn’t reach anyone else?”

  Eddie could see she was running out of options.

  “I tried Katie, but your sister didn’t pick up the call.” Mary sighed. “My guess? She’s out hiking some mountain with that cuddly man of hers. They’re too adorable together. I’m thinking nuptials within the next year or two. It’ll be nice having a bank president in the family.”

  “Dave’s the manager of the bank, Mom, not the president.”

  “Whatever,” Mary said. “Kate might be working late at the crisis center.” Frustration laced her voice. “Millions of dollars in trust funds for you kids, and you’re all always off working somewhere. What good is being wealthy if it doesn’t free up your time so you can take care of your mother?”

  Jordan rolled her eyes. Eddie had to admit she held no illusions about her mother. Mary Welsh was a card-carrying narcissist and could be a full-blown bitch when she wanted to be. But, hey, nobody’s perfect.

  “Jordie? Please. It hurts.”

  Jordan deflated right in front of him and turned apologetic hazel eyes his way. “I’ll be right there, Mom.” She hung up, reached in her bag, and took out her keys.

  He stood. “Toss me the keys. I’ll drive.”

  “What? And ruin both our evenings? No. I’ll go get her. I’m giving you a pass on the fundraiser, Marino, but I’ll take a rain check.” She paused. “Seriously, I don’t like going to those things any more than you do, but if it’s a good cause, it’s worth it.”

  “Nothing beats a good cause.” He almost meant it.

  He kissed her good night and grabbed a handful of her sweet bottom before heading to his car with a spring in his step. Reprieve from the stuffed shirt affairbut not a tota
l win. He’d been totally looking forward to getting Jordan out of the cute little teddy. There’d be another time. Sooner than later, if he had his way.

  Just before six, Thursday morning, Eddie turned off Scottsdale road onto Fifth Avenue and nearly took out a half-dozen sunburned college students stumbling across the street. From the look of them, they were just now heading to their hotel after a night of carousing in the downtown club district. Every spring break in the Valley of the Sun brought more party kids than the year before.

  He returned his attention to Jordan’s call. “Glad to hear Mary Mary Quite Contrary is okay. Guess she’ll live to dance at another charity ball.”

  Eddie wasn’t just being polite. He really was glad to hear Mary Welsh wasn’t badly hurt. Head over heels crazy about Jordan meant a certain level of commitment, and her family was part of the deal. But the Welshes weren’t exactly an easy A. As gorgeous as they all were, they still had a lot of warts, and Mary Welsh a few more than the rest of them—if you asked him anyway. She’d made it quite clear the way she saw it: he was okay in her book as long as he wasn’t happily-ever-after for her well-heeled daughter. Mary was good old American steel under that sleek exterior, but he doubted her resolve could stand up to his. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “They X-rayed,” Jordan said. “Just a bad sprain. She flirted outrageously with all the doctors at the ER. It was mortifying. Thank God, Dad will be home tonight to assume nursing duties. Do you and the crew need me to take a shift at the museum? If not, I’ll hook up with Steve Keegan. He wants to meet at the Jokers Wild nightclub down south to touch base with the Phoenix PD Arson Division people.”