Hey Big Spender

by Gemma Halliday

  I rolled my eyes so far I could almost make out my hairline. "I know nothing about guns," I whispered. "And they kind of scare me. A lot."

  He put his hands on his thighs, bending slightly at the waist. "They're a lot like babies—you just have to learn how to take care of them and understand how they work."

  I tried again to make him take the pink case. He just backed away.

  "Babies aren't loaded."

  Tate scrunched his nose. "You've obviously never changed a poopy diaper."

  "Ha! And you have?" The thought of Tate even contemplating a diaper change was comical.

  "I have…" He looked down at his shoes, mumbling, "Seen it done."

  "That's what I thought." I grabbed one of his hands and formed his fingers around the handle of the gun case. "When you've worked up the nerve to change a poopy diaper, I'll learn how to shoot a gun."

  "Who is shooting a gun?" a voice behind me said.

  I spun around, instinctively hiding the neon case behind my back, and found myself face to face with Rafe.

  "No one!" I blurted out.

  He frowned, craning to see behind me. "What's that?"

  "Nothing!"

  Tate let out a long-suffering sigh from behind me. "It's a handgun. A very nice pink handgun."

  Rafe shot me a concerned look. "You have a gun?"

  "No, I do not," I emphasized, shoving the case back toward Tate. "It's his."

  "Good," Rafe said, the concern melting away. "Because you really shouldn't own a gun unless you know how to handle one."

  I crossed my arms over my chest. "What makes you think I can't handle a little pink gun?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Can you?"

  "No," I reluctantly admitted.

  "Well, I, for one, think she should know how to handle one to protect herself," Tate cut in, pushing the case back along the counter toward me. "I mean, think about what might have happened..." Tate looked up and down the hall then whispered, "with Sicianni, if you hadn't been there last night?"

  Rafe frowned. "How do you know about that?"

  "Tate knows everything that happens in this hotel," I informed him.

  "Huh." Rafe seemed to take that in for a moment. "Well, I have to say that I agree with him."

  "What?!" I spat out. Tate beamed and shot me an I told you so look.

  Rafe nodded. "I think it's a good idea for anyone to know how to protect themselves. Especially someone in your position."

  "What? A poor defenseless woman?" I asked, giving him a challenging look.

  Rafe grinned, popping a dimple in his cheek. "No, the well-known head of a casino. You're a public figure."

  "Oh," I said, the flattery completely deflating my argument.

  "Tell you what," Rafe said, the smile widening to show off a second dimple. "I've got a break from babysitting Sicianni for a couple of hours while the show tapes. Why don't you and I take your little pink gun to the range, and I'll show you how to use it."

  I opened my mouth to protest that Alfie was all the security I needed, but Tate didn't give me a chance. "She'd love to! Wouldn't you, Tess?" he answered.

  I looked from Tate to Rafe to those two amazingly sexy dimples flashing just below those emerald eyes. I was sorely outnumbered.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I stood with my feet plated wide in my heels, staring down at the paper human-shaped cutout at the end of our shooting lane. Each time another person's gun went off, I flinched. Granted, that flinch was much better than the jump-shake-scream thing I'd started with when we'd first arrived.

  Rafe set a box of .22 shells on the ledge next to me and opened the hot-pink case. "Always assume that your gun is loaded, even if you were the last one who used it, and you're positive you removed the ammo." He grabbed the weapon from the case. It looked ridiculously tiny in his large palm.

  I took a deep breath and nodded as he continued his lesson.

  "Wrap your hand around the grip, with your finger resting on the outside of the trigger guard. Make sure the safety is on." He pointed to an orange button on the side. "Push the magazine release switch and pull out the clip." It fell loose into his other hand, and he laid it next to the ammunition on the shelf. He slid his hand along the top of the gun. "Rack the slide and lock it back, looking into the chamber to ensure it's empty. Then, and only then, you can load the magazine." He picked up the clip, pressing bullets into the open end until it was filled. "After it's full, you press it firmly back into the grip." He shoved it into place with the butt of his hand. "With the gun in your hand like this—" He held the gun out for my inspection. "—use your thumb to push the slide release."

  The slide cracked back into place. The sound and thought of a loaded gun reverted me back to my jump-shake-scream thing. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea."

  He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Relax. It's a good thing you're afraid of it. Guns should never, ever be taken lightly."

  Well, at least I had the right attitude.

  "This is the last step, and the gun is ready to fire." He pushed the red safety lever. "Put on those stylish protective glasses and earmuffs. I'll fire the first few shots to give you an idea of how to hold it."

  I followed orders and watched him, enjoying my surroundings much better with the gunshots being muffled. He shot four times, hitting the target twice in the torso. I vaguely wondered how Rafe knew so much about guns and hoped it had nothing to do with any Italian businessmen back at the casino. I watched him reset the safety, lay the gun on the ledge, and turn back to me. He pushed one side of his earmuffs off then leaned over and did the same to mine.

  "Well, what do you think? Want to give it a go?"

  While I felt a little better being around the gun after seeing him handle it, I was still majorly anxious.

  "If I say no, can I leave?" I asked.

  He grinned. "Give it a try. Hey, you may even like it."

  I doubted that, but since I was already in earmuff and goggles, I humored him.

  I took a deep breath and stepped up to the ledge. Rafe stood directly behind me. I could feel his hot breath on my neck and smell the mint of his gum as he reached both arms around me to help. Warmth filled every inch of my body as he molded himself to me. Teen-me melted into a puddle, but it was probably for the best. She had no business in the shooting range.

  He settled the gun in my hands correctly, pushed the earmuff back into place, and removed the safety.

  "Just slide your finger over the trigger and pull," he commanded.

  I steadied my hands the best I could and tried to match his stance. I slid my finger over the trigger, squinted my eyes closed, and pulled. The shot rang out, and I heard Rafe whistle beside me.

  I opened my eyes. "How did I do?"

  "Hit him right between the eyes."

  I blinked, looking at the neat little hole in the center of the paper man's head. While I should have celebrated my beginner's luck, suddenly all I could think about was how easy it would be to put a neat little hole in a person's head. A wave of dizziness hit me.

  Rafe pulled the gun from my grip and laid it on the ledge. "You okay?" he asked.

  "No worries," I lied, trying to get my heart to stop pounding like a jackhammer. I made a mental note to give the little pink terror back to Tate and never touch a gun again. I'd had enough dead bodies for one lifetime.

  "You wanna sit down for a minute?" he asked, concern creasing his brow. "You look a little shaky."

  Was it that obvious? As much as I wanted to play tough chick, I was pretty sure I was five seconds away from my knees buckling like a pair of Mary Janes. I let Rafe lead me through a pair of doors to our right, away from the noise and onto a bench set against the wall in the empty hallway. Though when he sat close to me, I'm not sure it helped my racing heart any. I inhaled the woodsy scent of his cologne as I took in shaky breaths.

  "You doing okay?"

  I nodded, touched at the genuine concern in his voice. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye
. I had to admit feeling majorly conflicted where Rafe was concerned lately. One minute he was driving my hormones into a frenzy, and the next he was topping my suspect list. It wasn't a roller-coaster ride of emotions that I was really enjoying.

  He turned his sparking emerald gaze squarely on mine. "What?" he asked.

  I bit my lip. "Can I ask you something?"

  He shrugged. "Sure."

  "How well do you know Sicianni?"

  Rafe frowned. "I told you that Sicianni and your father go way back."

  I tried to fight back any uncomfortable feelings about my father going way back with a Mafioso. "You seemed very friendly with him last night."

  The frown deepened. "Of course I did. That's part of the job, isn't it? Catering to the guys like Sicianni, making nice with the whales and high rollers."

  I nodded. "Sure. The high rollers." I paused. "Like Mr. Taylor?"

  "What about him?"

  "How well did you know him?" I pushed.

  "Tessie, what is this all about?" he asked. I could see a million questions in his eyes. I'd admit I had a few more of my own too.

  I took a deep breath and decided to lay it all on the line. "I saw you with LeAnna," I blurted out.

  "With LeAnna? When?"

  "The night Mr. Taylor died. She…" I trailed off, momentarily losing my nerve. I cleared my throat. I could do this. I was a tough chick at a gun range, after all. "I saw you two practically making out."

  Rafe blinked at me, his green eyes a total blank. "Making out? Tess, what are you talking about?"

  "Don't deny it!" I warned. "I have video footage."

  He studied my face, his expression stoic. "Look, I don't know what you think you have, but there is nothing going on between LeAnna Taylor and me."

  "Then why were you hugging her in the bathroom?"

  "In the…" His voice trailed off, something flickering behind his eyes. Then he shook his head and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "What are you doing, spying on me now?"

  "No!" I scoffed, huffing at a deep breath and crossing my arms over my chest. "I was spying on LeAnna."

  Rafe raised an eyebrow my direction.

  "For her own good!" Sorta. "I was trying to help Britton prove that LeAnna didn't kill her husband by having Maverick follow her via the security footage on the night her husband died. Only I didn't count on seeing her throw herself at you in the ladies' room."

  "Then I guess you didn't see the footage from us together on the set that night, did you?"

  I wrinkled my nose. "You were making out on the Battle Buffet set too?"

  "No! We weren't making out anywhere." Rafe shook his head again. "She showed up at the set asking for a behind-the-scenes tour from Dubois. He was explaining some of the weird food combos that the contestants had to cook with, you know like oysters and candy corn, when she started to look sick and bolted. I followed her to make sure she was okay, and she told me it was just morning sickness."

  I bit my lip again, replaying the footage I'd seen in my head. Honestly, Rafe hadn't actually made out with LeAnna. He'd put an arm around her shoulders, and she'd grabbed his butt. But for his part, I guess that's the sort of thing one might do if he was comforting a woman who looked like she was going to puke her guts out.

  "So you're not seeing LeAnna?"

  Rafe's expression softened. "No, I am not seeing LeAnna Aiden-Taylor. And," he said, moving closer to me on the bench until his thigh rubbed against mine. "For the record, I'm not seeing Tiffany Weston either."

  "You're not?" I somehow squeaked out through the rush of warmth running through my veins at the physical contact.

  He shook his head. "No. She's just visiting her uncle for spring break, and she doesn't know anyone in town, so I was showing her around."

  "Oh. That's…really nice of you," I said honestly.

  "I'm a nice guy when you give me half a chance." His voice was low and deep, his eyes suddenly taking on a dark, dangerous look that had both teen-me and adult-me melting like a Hershey's Kiss right there on the bench. He reached one hand out and brushed the tips of his fingers along my cheek. I shuddered at the contact, my breath hitching in my throat as he leaned in and ever so softly brushed his lips against mine.

  I'm not sure how long our lips were locked together, as I think I might've blacked out for a moment. Not that I minded. But from somewhere in the deep recesses of my ecstasy-filled brain, I heard my phone ringing from my pocket.

  Reluctantly I broke contact and fished it out, happy to see that Rafe looked almost as disoriented as I felt. "Hello?" I breathed into the phone.

  In hindsight, maybe I should have taken a moment to compose myself before answering.

  "Whoa, sex kitten!" came Buddy Weston's voice on the other end. "You always answer the phone that way, darling?"

  I cleared my throat. "No," I told him, this time putting on my no-nonsense businesswoman voice.

  "Well maybe you should. You could start charging $3.99 a minute." I heard him cackling at his own joke.

  "What do you want, Weston?" I sighed.

  "Hey, this is a friendly courtesy call, King. I'm just doing a fellow casino owner a solid."

  I rolled my eyes. "I highly doubt that."

  "Come on—you don't think I can be friendly? I'll scratch your back this time, and maybe next time you can scratch mine…" He trailed off, and I tried really hard not to get a mental image of his hairy back.

  "I think I'll pass."

  "Oh yeah? Well maybe you want to check your guest register before you blow me off, doll."

  "And why would I want to do that?" I asked, quickly losing what little patience I had left.

  "Because I just watched half of the Gambia family pull up in front of your lovely establishment."

  * * *

  "Damn it, Buddy was right," I muttered to Tate twenty minutes later.

  I stood behind the front desk, looking at about fifteen suites listed in the computer under the Gambia name.

  I glanced out at the gaming floor. It looked like a cross between a scene from The Godfather and Jersey Shore. A big guy in a dark suit with a neck the size of my thighs stood at the roulette wheel, a towering pile of chips beside him. A guy with dark hair and about a million gold chains hanging around his neck chewed on a toothpick and adjusted his cufflinks as he bet at the blackjack table. A rotund, balding man in a designer suit and the shiniest pointy black shoes I ever saw sat at the video poker machines, playing virtual hands at lightning speed. Beside him sat a woman playing a keno machine and wearing leopard-printed leggings stretched way past their normal limits atop a pair of gold stiletto heels. At the end of the aisle was a tall, lanky guy with one hand tucked inside his suit jacket, his watchful gaze shifting from one patron to the next.

  I wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or duck and cover.

  "Didn't anyone notice all of these reservations under the same last name?" I asked Tate, scrolling through the register again.

  Tate shrugged. "We get a lot of family reunions here."

  I shot him a look. This was not the type of family I wanted reuniting in my casino. "Any idea how long they are staying?"

  Tate clicked a couple of keys on the keyboard. "It looks like just the weekend." He looked up from the screen, giving me a pointed look. "Just until after the Battle Buffet finale."

  I closed my eyes and said a silent curse word, mentally going over my options. I could turn them away, but with the board meeting coming up in just a few short days, was turning away revenue really the best thing for the casino? The whole point of the Battle Buffet show was to bring in guests. We had guests in spades. The only problem was there was the teeny tiniest possibility that one of these "foodies" might have killed Mr. Taylor. And then there was the whole Mafia meeting thing. Battle Buffet was supposed to bring in good press. If anyone got hold of the information that the entire VIP section of the show's theater now was filled with organized criminals, we'd be sunk.

  I took a deep breath. I counted to ten. Oka
y, this would be fine. They were just guests. A big family of Italian, food-loving guests. They would enjoy their show, gamble a little, and be on their way. Hopefully, no one would be the wiser.

  My phone rang from my pocket, and I pulled it out to see Alfie's name on the readout. "Yeah?" I answered.

  "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Alfie's deep voice boomed at me from the other end. Clearly he had his "eye in the sky" on the proceedings in the lobby as well.

  "A full gaming floor and lots of new guests?" I said, doing my best to pull out the positive spin I'd just talked myself into.

  Alfie grunted. "I'm gonna need you to approve some overtime for security."

  "Done!" I promised and hung up. Then I quickly shot a text off to Maverick.

  Update on Hammerhead?

  I nervously watched Alicia check in a portly man and woman at the next counter over as I waited for his reply. Giada and Giovanni Gambia. Both of whom also had tickets to this evening's VIP dinner, or so Alicia informed them as she handed over their room keys. I took a deep breath, hoping this dinner wouldn't be my last supper.

  Three minutes later my phone buzzed with Maverick's response.

  Slept off a hangover this morning, hit the lunch buffet, and been steadily losing money at the slots ever since.

  I let out a small sigh of relief. I wasn't sure exactly what I was expecting Hammerhead to do, but at least the report hadn't listed any nefarious activities.

  "Aren't you glad you have protection now?" Tate asked beside me, nodding toward a guy checking in who had a distinct bulge at his right hip. Either he was packing or he was very happy to be in Tahoe.

  I shook my head. "Trust me…both I and the world at large are better off if I don't have a gun in my hand."

  "Come on. Are you telling me the shooting range wasn't fun?" Tate said.

  "Sure, putting little holes in guys is a riot."

  Tate shot me a look like I was the world's biggest lightweight. "Honey, it's a baby gun."

  "Well, consider it your baby. I put it back in your locker."

  Tate pouted. "But it was a gift!"

  "Yeah, well, get me a pair of shoes next time instead," I muttered as I glanced across the lobby to find a familiar face making her way toward me.