"Well, as long as it's not a bribe," he teased before following me.
After ordering my usual and a cup of black coffee for him, we made our way to a table away from the crowd. He even pulled out my chair for me again. A girl could get dangerously used to this stuff.
He sat across from me and dropped his hands on the table. "So, how have you been?"
I felt my brow furrow at his casual tone and the personal question. "Fine."
"Really?"
"Yes."
He cocked his head to the side, assessing me. "You don't look fine."
"Gee, aren't you the flatterer," I mumbled, sipping at my coffee.
"You look upset about something," he pressed.
I gave him a smile that might have come out looking more like a snarl. "What on earth would I have to be upset about?" I ground out.
He cocked his head to the other side. "Wait—is this about New Year's?"
I opened my eyes wide in mock surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"
He sighed deeply. "It is about New Year's, isn't it?"
"Of course not. I mean, I can't imagine what you think I have to be upset about. It's not like I spent hours getting my hair and nails done, picking out the perfect dress, primping, shaving, exfoliating, and doing a smoky-eye thing that was incredibly sexy looking, by the way, just to sit alone in a crowded restaurant surrounded by lovey-dovey couples and get stood up on the biggest date night of the year!" I practically shouted. So much for the aloof thing.
Ryder's smile was a thing of the distant past now, a deep frown between his sandy eyebrows having replaced it. "I didn't stand you up. I texted."
I narrowed my eyes. "Really? That's the defense you're going with?"
"I'm sorry. Something came up," he said, his eyes darting down to the table.
"Right. Something much more interesting." Or, more likely, someone.
"It's complicated." This time his eyes darted toward the floor. Clearly he wasn't telling me the whole story here. Not that I was sure I wanted to hear it anyway.
"Sure. It always is," I mumbled as I took another sip from my cup.
"I did say I was sorry in my text," he said, finally meeting my eyes again.
"You also said you'd call," I reminded him.
Back to the floor went the eyes, followed by a clearing of his throat and shift in his seat. "Right. Well, like I said, it's complicated." He looked so uncomfortable that I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost. He had stood me up.
"You were going to tell me what's going on with the local police," I reminded him, trying to regain some of my professional composure.
Ryder cleared his throat again. "You know I can't discuss an ongoing case."
I rolled my eyes. "Look, just tell me if they've found anything else on LeAnna. I have a right to know if the woman I'm sleeping with is a killer."
One sandy eyebrow arched upward.
I bit my lip. "She's, uh, staying in the penthouse with Britton and me," I mumbled, feeling my cheeks flame.
I don't know if it was my obvious embarrassment or the idea of girl-on-girl action that changed his mind, but he pulled a notebook from his pocket and after flipping through the pages read out loud, "Other than the partial print on the murder weapon, no other evidence has been found to implicate LeAnna specifically."
"So she can go back to her suite?" I asked, unable to keep the hopeful note from my voice.
"Not quite yet. They are still looking into a couple of things," he hedged.
"How much longer?"
"Another day or two."
Fab. There was a 50/50 chance I wouldn't kill her by then. "But they haven't found anything else to implicate her?"
"Well," he drew out. "I'm not sure they really need to. The murder weapon did belong to her. She admitted to that already."
"But what about the Gambias? You said yourself, that's why you're here."
"I said we believe Taylor had business dealings with them. I didn't say they killed him."
"Pretty big coincidence that they'd be here when he dies."
"Coincidences happen. More often that most people like to think." He paused. "Why? Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No," I mumbled, running a thumbnail along the rim of my cup, spinning my phone in the middle of the table with the other hand. The last thing I wanted to do was add fuel to Agent Ryder's fire with Weston's accusations that I'd invited a Mafia family reunion to my casino.
He turned his attention back to his notepad. "I'm sure Alfie already told you that the video footage we found was a bust."
I nodded. "But if I know LeAnna, there's no way she would have dressed in that ski bum getup as a disguise. I mean, it's not even designer plaid," I only half joked.
Ryder frowned. "Look, I know we haven't found a lot of evidence against LeAnna yet, but we also haven't found a lot to point to anyone else. The only key cards used to open the Taylors' suite that night were theirs and housekeeping. I'm told the staff members in question are being interviewed, so I'll let you know if anything comes up there."
"It won't," I said defensively.
Ryder nodded. "Honestly? I'm inclined to believe you. Which means either LeAnna or her husband took the murder weapon out of the suite that night."
"Or someone stole one of their key cards! Mr. Taylor had a habit of passing out, you know. Anyone could have taken it."
"We have footage from the hallway outside the Taylors' room from the time they checked in until Mr. Taylor…" He trailed off.
I gulped back the vision of his pale, lifeless body.
"For their entire visit," he amended. "No one else entered their rooms."
"Well, maybe they didn't take the scissors from her room. LeAnna wasn't entirely sure she had them with her when she checked in."
"Which is exactly what she'd say if she had used them to kill her husband."
I opened my mouth to protest again, but I was out of arguments. He was right. LeAnna did sound guilty.
Ryder flipped back to the front of his notebook then tucked it back into his pocket. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but everything we have so far points right at your bedmate."
"Roommate," I emphasized, feeling that heat creep up again.
Ryder grinned at me.
My phone buzzed with a text, saving me from his teasing gaze. It was from Maverick.
I've got something you'll want to see.
I quickly covered the phone with my hand before Ryder could read it.
"I, uh, sorry, I've got to go."
"Sure. I understand."
Was it my imagination, or did I detect a look of disappointment in his eyes?
CHAPTER EIGHT
"There." Maverick pointed toward the huge monitor on his wall. LeAnna's face appeared, a box outlining her features and her name appearing above her head. It all looked like a real-life version of The Sims. She stood in front of the ladies' room door just off the gaming floor, smiling down at her phone. "She left Britton a little while before, and she was able to avoid the cameras for a bit. This is her second visit to the ladies' room this evening after checking her phone."
Clearly she was expecting to meet up with her mystery text man.
I stood behind him, watching as she disappeared into the bathroom. I expected the footage to pick up again as she exited. Not so much. It switched cameras and followed her right in.
"Wait!" I swatted a hand against his shoulder. "There are cameras in the bathrooms?"
"Uh, yeah. It's a casino."
"Like, all the bathrooms?" I asked, suddenly doing a mental calculation of how many times I'd used that same ladies' room and who might have been watching me. I crossed my arms over my chest in a protective gesture. I suddenly felt very violated.
Maverick just shrugged. "There are a few blind spots, but we have cameras pretty much everywhere. We're very efficient."
My glare made him pivot back toward the screen, solemn faced. He pushed the play button again, and we watched as
a man came into the bathroom after her. All we could see was the back of him.
"This is what I knew you'd want to see."
LeAnna doing the nasty in the bathroom? No thanks. I swallowed back the coffee that threatened to escape at the thought. I kept watching as the man pulled LeAnna into a firm embrace. They pivoted sideways, but his face was turned away from us as his arms wrapped around her. Her hands slid down his back, cupping his very nice butt. As far as bathroom hookups went, I guess she could've done much worse. He, on the other hand, needed to run far and run fast.
I cleared my throat, and Maverick paused the footage, swinging a concerned gaze my way.
"Are we going to watch the whole sexual encounter? I'll go grab some popcorn if we are," I teased.
"There isn't much more to show except who the mystery man is."
"Oh." I waggled my hand toward the screen. "Carry on, then." If we knew who the other man was and the possible father of her maybe-baby, he could be a viable suspect in Mr. Taylor's death. As implausible as it seemed to me, maybe the guy wanted Mr. Taylor out of the way to have LeAnna all to himself. Though, the poor guy had no idea what he was getting himself into.
The footage picked up again with a little more back stroking and the mystery man removing her hands from his butt, much to her obvious disappointment. I might have snorted in a most unladylike fashion.
Twice.
Until he turned toward the camera. As the facial recognition software pulled his face into focus, I kicked myself for not recognizing his sleek hair or his buns of steel. In my defense, any normal woman would be in denial at the thought that he would really be meeting a girl like that in a bathroom of all places.
All doubt was gone as the software put a black box around his face and typed his name above him.
Rafe Lorenzo.
The latte in my stomach turned sour.
"What…what were they doing in there?" I wasn't completely sure why I went from believing she was hooking up with some random guy in the john to this blind wonderment.
"Uh," Maverick muttered. "I think it's pretty clear it's some sort of tryst."
"Tryst? Who says it's a tryst? Maybe it was just a momentary lack of common sense, at least on his part."
Maverick hovered his finger over the play button for a few seconds, took a deep breath, and then pushed it. I watched as LeAnna nestled against Rafe's chest. Another woman walked by slowly, staring from them to the rows of toilets, obviously confused, with a man in the room. Rafe wrapped LeAnna in his embrace at his side, walking her out of the bathroom, both of them laughing all the way.
With my ego deflated to the size of a pea, a tiny ember of hope still burned that Rafe wasn't that desperate. I muttered, "Can I hear the audio?"
Maverick snorted this time. "Clearly we don't have audio in the bathrooms."
"Right, because that would be indecent."
I felt my face burn warmer at the naive thought of anyone wanting Tornado Tessie when Princess LeAnna was on the menu. As always, she reeled in the cute guys like an expert angler. Why would this be any different?
"Are you okay?" Maverick rose, grabbing my arm. Then he dropped it like a hot potato, immediately looking down at the floor, his cheeks flushing pink at his bold move.
I fought back the tears of embarrassment and pride. "Yeah. Sure." I forced a smile to my face. "Uh, listen, could you do something for me?" I asked, trying to switch gears lest I make a total fool of myself in front of an employee.
"Of course!" He jumped.
"Uh, we have a guest staying at the hotel by the name of Hank Gambia." I paused, watching for any reaction. If the name meant something to him, he was a top-notch actor. His face didn't register any recognition. "Anyway," I went on, clearing my throat, "you think you could just sort of keep an eye on him?"
Maverick's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Any particular reason?"
I really hoped not. "Not really, just…just in case."
Maverick nodded. "Okay. Sure, I guess." I could tell he had his suspicions, but if there was one thing the casino security knew how to do, it was mind their own business.
"Thanks," I told him, turning to leave on what I hoped was professional note.
And not the one of total embarrassment that I was feeling.
* * *
I keyed my penthouse code into the elevators and rode up, my head spinning. If there was anyone I thought I could have trusted, it was Rafe. But what if I'd been wrong? I knew the teenage snowboarding-hopeful Rafe, but I'd only been around adult-Rafe for less than a year. He had poo-pooed my worries that Mr. Taylor might have had some connection to the Gambia and Battle Buffet…but had that been strategic? It had been Rafe who had set up the deal with Battle Buffet to come to the Royal Palace in the first place. Had that been strategic too? Had he possibly been the one who went way back with Sicianni, and not my father? And if so, where did Mr. Taylor fit into all of this?
Too many questions and not enough answers had a gigantic headache brewing between my eyes. I prayed Britton and her devil-spawn friend had gone shopping or perhaps skeet shooting, where LeAnna would suffer a horrible, disfiguring accident. Of course, my luck wasn't that great.
As soon as I walked through the penthouse doors, Devil Spawn rolled her eyes at me from the sofa.
Goodie.
"Britton?" I called out, hoping for a buffer, especially after the video footage I'd just watched. All I could think about was LeAnna wrapped in Rafe's arms.
LeAnna scrolled on her phone, her other hand shooing me. "She went to the attorney's office. Something about paperwork or needing to sign something."
"For her allowance," I blurted out without thinking.
She shifted on the cushion to face me. "You make your poor stepmother ask for an allowance like a teenager? Isn't it bad enough that you practically stole this casino out from under her when your father died?" LeAnna's face was scrunched in a very unattractive scowl, not that I'd seen much of the un-scowling version.
"Did Britton say that?" My pulse quickened at the thought.
LeAnna stood, pivoting slowly toward me. She crossed her arms over her ample bosom, still dressed in the workout clothes Britton had loaned her. "She didn't have to. I figured that out all on my own."
I shook my head. "The allowance is from dividends on my father's shares in the casino." Making sure a regular, monthly allowance of dividends was paid on his shares had been one of the first things I'd done as acting chairman. Britton wasn't exactly the best at the nine-to-five thing. "And we're not talking gas money here, okay?" I said, trying to defend Britton. I knew the last thing she'd want was someone like LeAnna thinking she was a charity case.
"Well, gee, aren't you generous?" A condescending smile stretched her deflating lips. Someone was going to need a plumping refill, or I was going to enjoy watching them turn into wrinkled, empty balloons. I really hoped for the latter scenario. Her staying with us might as well have a few perks for me, too.
Her gaze narrowed. "What are you smiling at?"
I did a wide-eye-innocence thing. "Nothing at all," I lied, overaccentuating each word as though I were talking to a labradoodle.
Britton burst through the door dressed in a skintight baby-blue minidress, and scanned the mail in her one hand as she held a full takeout bag looped over the other. Without even looking up, she set everything on the kitchen table. "LeAnna, I brought us Thai food from the King's Court. I hope you're hungry. You need to keep up your strength now that you're eating for two." She looked up, glancing between LeAnna and me. "Oh, Tessie, I totally didn't know you'd be here. But I'm sure there's enough to share," she offered.
"That's okay. I just came up here to regroup before the taping this afternoon. I'll get something later." I patted her shoulder and walked toward the hall, my bedroom, and my freedom.
And, most of all, my cat.
Britton grabbed my arm. "Not so fast. Lisa in housekeeping told Ken, the valet, who mentioned to Sharron at the bar, that you had coffee with th
at smokin' hot fed guy. Agent Ryder? Isn't that his name?"
LeAnna rubbed her hands together. "Hot fed is my favorite flavor."
I narrowed my eyes at her. Was there really a flavor she didn't like?
I turned back to Britton. "Yeah, so?"
"So, what did he tell you about the investigation? Is LeAnna free to go back to her suite?"
I released a sigh that was filled with 100 percent genuine disappointment. "No, not for a few days still."
I did a mental search through what I could and couldn't tell Britton in front of the police's Suspect Number One, who had flopped back onto the sofa, phone shoved back in front of her face. I definitely couldn't tell her about the possibility that a mob family meeting was about to take place at the casino or about Rafe and the restroom incident, not to mention that he could very well be LeAnna's mystery texter.
"Do they have any other suspects?" Britton pressed.
I bit my lip. "Possibly…" I glanced to LeAnna. She was sprawled on the sofa—one foot dangling off the arm and the other skewed under the coffee table. Her phone was propped right under her nose with one hand, the other draped over her head, hanging from the armrest.
She caught me watching her and glared up at me. "What?"
"What can you tell me about Gerald's business connections?"
She scrambled to a proper sitting position, dropping her phone into her lap. "Who wants to know?"
"Believe it or not, I'm trying to help." Help you get back to your own life and the heck out of mine.
Britton stepped to my side, linking her arm through mine. "You can tell Tessie anything."
LeAnna shrugged. "He owns a winery in Napa. As everyone knows. He had tons of business connections."
"Okay, let me focus the field for you." I paused, not sure how to broach the subject of her husband having possibly been "whacked" by the mob. "Did he ever do any business with Mr. Sicianni or Battle Buffet?" Mr. Taylor had owned a winery. Battle Buffet was all about food. It wasn't outside the realm of possibility that they had crossed paths at some point.
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