Britton was dressed in a white faux fur coat that went clear down to her ankles, looking like a chic abominable snow monster as she wove her way through the "foodies" to the front desk.
"Hey," she said, stopping in front of us. "You ready to go, Tess?"
I blinked at her, trying to remember if I'd agreed to go somewhere with her. "Um…where?"
A pucker of confusion pulled her eyebrows closer. "It is five, right? Alfie said we were supposed to go to Dickie's grave together at five."
I ground my teeth together and stared up at the nearest black, round security camera in the ceiling. "He did, did he?" I asked.
Britton nodded, her blonde hair bobbing up and down. "Are you ready?"
I sighed. "Look, Britt, there are about a million guests checking in right now." Most of them mobsters. "I really don't have time…" I trailed off, watching the pucker of confusion fade and her eyes turn down at the corners, quickly filling with tears.
She sniffed loudly. "It's okay, Tess. I can go…alone." The last word came out on a stifled sob.
I sighed, shot a few more daggers at that security camera, hoping Alfie was watching, and finally gave in. "Okay, let's go visit Dad."
* * *
The strong, bone-chilling breeze whipped my dress coat against my legs and tousled my hair, flinging stray tendrils across my face. Ominous clouds rolled in, covering the setting sun, matching the emptiness I felt inside as I stared across the countless rows of graves. I sniffed to hold back tears. I crouched, pushing slushy snow away from my dad's headstone before laying the yellow Gerbera daisies at the base. The vivid color fought desperately to brighten such a grim setting. I had struggled with what to bring when Britton had insisted we stop at a florist along the way, but I'd eventually went with what I loved—the same type of flowers he always got for me. I traced the letters of his name with my fingers, stopping when I got to the date. One year today. Alfie was right. As hard as it was to be here, I would have regretted not coming.
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I promise I'm still doing my best to preserve your legacy."
Britton's hand on my shoulder startled me back into a standing position. I swiped at my cheeks, realizing they were wet. "He'd be so proud of you," she said, doing nothing to stop my brewing tears.
All I could do was nod, feeling too choked up to answer.
She pointed toward my dad's grave. "He talked about you all the time. In fact, there were times when I almost felt like I'd been there while you were growing up, you know? I kind of felt like you were my daughter, in a way. Well, sort of. I heard all of the stories from your childhood." She made a huge circle outline with her hands, undoubtedly in an attempt to make sure I knew just how many stories there'd been.
"You're exaggerating."
She splayed a hand, ticking off each digit with a finger on the other as she listed things. "I knew you lost your first tooth in kindergarten, scared the hell out of everyone the summer between third and fourth grade with viral meningitis, that you started your period when you were twelve…" She paused, raising an eyebrow as far as her frozen forehead would allow.
If I'd had a white flag, I would've waved it. Instead, I used my hands, flailing them between us. "All right, okay, I believe you. Please spare anyone within earshot the horror stories from my teens."
Her face softened into a smile. "I'm glad we're friends at least. Dickie would have liked that."
"Me too," I muttered. Then on impulse I grabbed her in a bear hug so tight that I surprised myself. As her arms went around me, hugging me back, a sense of peace drifted through me. Maybe this was what my dad really wanted all along. It was as though he were there, smiling over us. The sun even peeked through the clouds for a moment.
I pulled away, letting Britton up for air. "But you're family too. Actually, more like a sister than a mother though," I added, trying to lighten the mood a bit. "Except when you pull out that mother knows best look."
She backed away, the exact look attempting to furrow her brow, one glossy lip ticked up near the corner.
"Yep, that's it," I said, stifling a laugh.
Her mom face morphed into a smile. "I just wanted to make sure we were talking about the same one." She ran a hand across the smooth top of my father's headstone, the smile tumbling from her lips and tears quickly brimming in her eyes. "I miss him so much."
Grief and regret twisted my gut. "Me too." I slid a hand over her shoulder, hoping to return some of the comfort she'd just given me. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I briefly contemplated not answering it.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
"Yes, Daddy," I muttered, pulling it from my pocket.
It was a text from Maverick.
Hammerhead just went down to the VIP cocktail party.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I checked my reflection again in the full-length mirror mounted on my bedroom door, giving my black satin evening gown one last look. I adjusted the crystal choker at my neck so the ribbons that cinched it dangled at my shoulder. The chunky matching bracelet slid back into place when I dropped my hand to smooth my skirt. Jack gave my legs the figure eight brush of approval, winding between my ankles several times. I sat on the edge of my bed, careful not to wrinkle anything as I mentally prepped myself for the Battle Buffet VIP party. Originally I'd been excited by the idea of a gourmet meal prepared by Chef Dubois and hobnobbing with our big spenders and the producers of the show. Only now, I wasn't so sure that the party would have as much hobnobbing as it would consorting with the criminal element.
I glanced at the clock. I was as fashionably late as social etiquette would allow without being rude. It was now or never. Jack stared at me. He let out a little purr-slash-meow of encouragement, kneading biscuits on my comforter. I stood up, scratched his ears, grabbed my crystal-beaded clutch, and put on my most professional hostess face as I made my way down to the party.
We had opened up three of our ballrooms to accommodate the impressive guest list. The first held the pre-dinner cocktail party, which was in full swing by the time I arrived. I scanned the packed room for a familiar face. I spied Dubois, circulating among the crowd in a suit and tie, though he still wore the white sneakers in some attempt to look too cool to be too formal. He was soaking up the many congratulations that were offered, clearly loving being in the celebrity spotlight. Guys in dark suits circled the room, weaving through people, their gazes quickly shifting from person to person. I noticed quite a few had hands strategically placed in either their jackets or pockets. I suddenly felt underdressed, the only person in the room not packing.
I entered the crowd, making my way through groups of plump, middle-aged women with gaudy makeup caked on their faces, stuffed into evening gowns at least two sizes too small. They gulped wine, hoarded hors d'oeuvres, and complimented each other on their fabulous attire. I suddenly felt like a beauty queen, my ego inflating more and more with each new cluster I passed. Finally I spotted Britton, dressed in a gorgeous white, floor-length beaded gown, in a far corner with Alfie, chatting up a thin man in an ill-fitting tuxedo. He had an impressive scar that slashed across his face, putting Alfie's to shame.
As soon as Britton saw me, she waved my direction and threaded her way through the crowd to my side. "Great turnout, huh?" she asked, eyes scanning the room.
I nodded, trying to think of the revenue the extra guests were bringing in and not about how many of them might be on the FBI's Most Wanted list.
Britton grabbed my arm, turning me away from the crowd. "Hey, any word from Ryder about the owner of that phone number in Napa?"
I shook my head. "Nothing yet. Sorry."
"Tess, I'm really worried about LeAnna," she said, her lips pinching together in a way that would have produced wrinkles on a normal face. "I was looking through her stuff this evening and… Well, let's just say I know for sure she didn't leave on her own."
"What did you find?"
"Her wrinkle cream."
I gave her blank look.
"Tessi
e, there is absolutely no way LeAnna would have gone somewhere overnight without that, let alone gone on the run!"
From what I knew of LeAnna, I kind of agreed with Britton. However, it was hardly conclusive proof. "Are you sure she wouldn't just buy more?"
Britton shook her head. "No way. She also left behind her pore cleansing mask, charcoal scrub, eye cream, and lip plumper," she said.
"Okay, you're totally right," I agreed. "Look, I'm sure Ryder is running down every lead he possibly can to find LeAnna." Which was completely true. Whether Ryder believed in her innocence or not, I knew he wasn't the type to let a suspect slip through his fingers.
Britton nodded, though the pinched look didn't leave her face. "Tessie, I'm really worried about her. If she didn't leave on her own, that means somebody took her. Or worse," she added, her voice cracking on the last word.
I bit my lip. I had to admit that the more time that went on without an appearance from LeAnna, the more I kind of agreed with Britton's theory.
"I'm sure she's fine," I lied. "The best thing you can do is mingle and keep your phone on in case she tries to contact you, okay?"
Britton blinked back the unshed tears and nodded bravely. "Right."
I gave her a tight hug before she turned and made her way back toward Alfie and Scarface.
No sooner had she left my side than I heard a familiar voice call my name.
"Tessie, you look amazing!"
I turned to find Rafe at my elbow. "That dress…" He trailed off, grinning. "I love it when you wear your hair up like that." He reached out and wound a finger through one of the loose curls at my neck, sending wonderful shivers skittering through me.
"Thanks," I mumbled, patting the back of my hair.
I brushed away nonexistent lint from his black satin lapel, noting that our outfits matched in a happy accident. It was almost like the perfect prom, only with aging mobsters and casino patrons, but I'd take it. All that was missing was a gaudy wrist corsage and a bad cover band.
"You look pretty sharp too," I told him.
He offered me an arm. "Are you ready to mingle?"
I gulped back a lump in my throat and swiped on my happy face. "Sure, lead on."
We trailed through seemingly endless groups of people. I shook hands, gave air kisses, and navigated several jovial comments about how our slots weren't nearly as loose as the ones in Atlantic City.
"Ms. King," I heard someone call my name. I turned to find James Sicianni chatting with a man I recognized as the Battle Buffet director.
Sicianni abandoned the director and quickly strode toward me. His face was all charming smiles and shining teeth as he pulled both of my hands into his. "Ms. King, you look absolutely ravishing," he gushed, kissing the back of my hand, his unsettling hooded gaze never leaving mine.
Instinctively I glanced around for Rafe, but he was busy greeting a large guy in an Armani suit and at least half a dozen carats in diamonds on his chubby fingers.
Sicianni finished fondling my hands, and he released them, but he quickly draped a firm arm around my shoulder instead. It was like he could sense I was ready to bolt. "I believe I still owe you a drink."
Spying a woman with a drink tray, I raised my hand, getting her attention. I grabbed two flutes of champagne, handing him one. "Please, allow me."
A knowing smile twisted across his face. "This doesn't count, you minx." He punctuated his statement with a wink.
I laughed nervously and took a generous gulp from my champagne. I quickly glanced around for a polite out.
And locked gazes with an impeccably dressed Agent Ryder.
Crap.
I forced a smile as he made his way toward us.
"Mr. Sicianni." Ryder nodded toward the man attached to my side. "Would you mind terribly if I borrowed Ms. King for a few moments?"
If I wasn't afraid he was about to arrest me for aiding and abetting the entire criminal organization, I could have kissed agent Ryder.
Sicianni sent a wary eye toward Ryder, slowly lifting his arm from my shoulder. "Of course. I'm always cooperative with the FBI."
I gulped, hoping I wasn't reading deeper meaning into that statement.
If Ryder read any meaning into it, he didn't let it show. Instead, he offered me his arm. "Can we find a quiet corner to chat?"
I pointed to the one farthest from the open bar, and we wove our way through the tightly packed mob. Literally.
Finally able to talk without yelling, he asked, "When were you planning to tell me that you were playing hostess to the entirety of the West Coast family men?"
"Whatever do you mean?" I forced a surprised look to my face, clutching the neckline of my dress.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest, giving me a hard stare. "Tess…" he warned.
"They happen to be foodies," I protested. Hey, if that was the story they were going with, I was going with it too.
"Foodies?" Agent Ryder repeated.
I nodded, crossing my arms over my own chest. "That's right. Restaurateurs, food critics, bloggers," I said, repeating what Rafe had told me.
"Really?" Ryder said, the same challenging tone in his voice. He pointed to a guy in a dark suit near a potted palm, who was wearing a pair of leather gloves. "So, exactly what food blog does Eight Finger Eddie write for?"
I gulped. "Uh…"
"And, I'm assuming Ned the Knee-Capper," he said, gesturing toward the guy with the impressive scar, "reviews for Better Homes & Gardens?"
I closed my eyes and thought a really dirty word.
"But you know what, Tess? You're spot on about 'Judge and Jury' Jonathan. He and his lovely wife, Badass Becca, are restaurateurs. They own a chain of pasta shops." He paused. "They also own a racetrack, a betting parlor, and a construction company known to specialize in cement shoes."
I threw my hands up. "Okay, I get it. I'm hosting my big, fat, Italian Mafia dinner."
Ryder grinned, clearly reveling in his little victory.
"Look, I had no idea they were coming, okay?" I whispered, lest I garnered unwanted attention from Badass Becca. "They just sorta showed up. I swear I thought they were foodies."
He raised one eyebrow at me.
"Well, up until recently," I amended.
"And why didn't you call me when you realized they weren't?"
"What was I going to do?" I whispered. "Call the whole show off?"
Ryder's smile faltered. "Tessie, these are not the kind of guys you want in your casino." Or girls," he said, turning toward Becca. "Trust me—you don't want to piss that woman off. Even her own husband doesn't trust her. Rumor has it he sleeps with a gun in each hand." He pointed to another group of people and started again. "And don't get me started on Stubby the Snuffer, Max the Impaler, Vicious Vito…"
I grabbed his finger and pushed his hand down, stepping between him and, evidently, pretty much every known Mafia figurehead. "Fine. So what do we do now?"
"We? We don't do anything. I make sure we have FBI surveillance on the casino twenty-four seven until your friends leave, and you try to stay out of trouble."
Trust me. I had no problems with that. "Speaking of staying out of trouble…" I started, my eyes resting on Britton across the room. "Did you find out whose number LeAnna was calling?"
Ryder shook his head. "It was a burner phone."
I felt my shoulders slump in defeat.
"Not uncommon for a guy seeing a married woman. But don't worry," he reassured me. "We'll find her."
I hoped so. I only prayed she wasn't wearing cement shoes when they did. I looked around the room. Could one of these men—or women, I amended, my eyes resting on Becca—have killed Mr. Taylor and abducted LeAnna? I felt panic starting to set in as I put a hand to my throat, feeling my erratic pulse. I had real-life mobsters packed into what I had considered a large space, but it seemed to shrink right in front of me.
I fanned my face, feeling light headed all of a sudden.
"Let's go get some air. I think Mr. Lorenzo has
this covered." He nodded in Rafe's direction, where I could see him chatting up another expensively dressed couple.
"I'm supposed to help host tonight." I inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly, but it did little to help my panic.
"Come on," Ryder said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door. "Just for a few minutes. I'll take you for a drive."
I glanced over my shoulder. Ryder was right. The staff did look like they had everything under control, and Rafe did look like he had the hosting duties down better than I could muster at the moment. "Okay," I conceded. "But just a short one."
Five minutes later we were standing in the circular drive as Ryder handed the valet his ticket and a twenty-dollar bill. The cold night air brushed gooseflesh along my bare arms. I rubbed my hands over them in an attempt to stave it off.
"Maybe we should wait inside," I said.
Without hesitation, Ryder slipped out of his suit coat and draped it over my shoulders. I pulled it tightly around me. The intoxicating smell of his cologne enveloped me as well, quelling my anxiety instantly.
The valet pulled up in a newer sleek, black Chevy Camaro. As Ryder opened the passenger door for me, I offered him a nod of approval as I got in. Within seconds he flew around to his side, and we were off.
As he pulled into traffic, he offered, "I figured we could drive out by the lake." He leaned forward, looking up at the vivid moon in the night sky. "There's a full moon tonight. Who knows—we may even have a Tahoe Tessie sighting."
I shot him a look. "Ha-ha. I've never heard that one before." Thanks to my father's wry sense of humor and never-ending quest for a great publicity stunt, he had named me after the legendary Tahoe Tessie monster that was rumored to live under Cave Rock on the Nevada side of the lake. Fashioned after her Scottish Loch Ness cousin, Tahoe Tessie had been sighted by many drunken fisherman over the years, though, shockingly, none had actually been able to snap conclusive photographic evidence of the monster.
Ryder's eyes whipped toward me, twinkling with amusement. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."
Hey Big Spender Page 17
