One of Rafe's hands came around, his fingers sliding against my cheek, tilting my face upward. "When Alfie told me what happened…" He trailed off, his face going a shade paler under his warm tan. "This whole thing is my fault."
I shook my head. "No, it was a deranged chef and the mob's fault," I said, trying to bring a little levity to the situation.
But Rafe just shook his head, the same concerned frown between his dark brows. "Yes, and I'm the one who brought them here, to your casino. I'm so sorry, Tess." His gaze dropped to my mouth, his lips soon following suit, brushing mine in a sweet, chaste kiss. Backing away slightly, he whispered, "I don't know what I'd have done…"
I placed a finger to his lips. "I'm fine." I forced a smile to my face.
"Liar. I know when you're faking it. What do you need? Anything. Just name it." He studied my face intently.
"Fine," I conceded, holding up both hands between us. "Honestly, I just want a hot bath and to curl up in bed with Jack for about two days."
The worried expression melted from his face, and he offered me a lopsided smile. "Have it your way." Then he paused and sent me a wink. "Lucky Jack."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LeAnna stood before me in the lobby, all primped and styled, dressed in a skintight black dress and matching glossy designer heels, not even a split end to hint at the hot mess from the night before. Her head was tilted to the side, with a thoughtful look on her face, for a change. "We should probably forgo all of the weepy thanks and just skip to the hugs of appreciation."
I grinned. As I welcomed her into my embrace, I couldn't help but think about how I would've never even considered hugging her before all that had transpired the night before. Maybe people can change after traumatic experiences. Maybe LeAnna was finally maturing. I was impressed.
She pushed me back to arm's length, hands gripping my shoulders. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "We all know I saved your lives with my quick thinking, using the painting and all. I don't need all of the hoopla."
And maybe not.
I briefly considered recapping for her all of the lengths to which Britton and I had gone, trying to find out who had killed Gerald and then to find her when she'd gone missing. The haughty, self-serving look was back on LeAnna's flawless face, her nose once again lofted so high she had to peer down it to look at me. I'd probably have better luck teaching a fish to climb a tree than helping her see the light. I just plastered my professional smile to my face and waved as she turned away from me and made her way toward the door, followed by a concierge with her mound of luggage. That was definitely the way I liked seeing her best—leaving.
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, shaking my head as she crossed the lobby to bark orders at the bellhop. I really had to learn to lower my expectations where she was concerned.
Tate slid up next to me, handing me a folded copy of the Tahoe Daily Tribune. "This should turn that frown upside down."
I flashed him a confused look. "Is there a good hotel review that's come out of this huge mess?"
"Nope. Even better. Just look."
I flipped open the paper to see LeAnna's haggard, smudged face, complete with greasy locks and disheveled dress, plastered on the front page. The headline even read "LeAnna Aiden-Taylor Cleared in Husband's Murder." There was no way she could deny that it was her. I'm sure she'd try, but I didn't much care. I enjoyed the picture entirely too much.
I threaded my arm through Tate's. "And it's not even my birthday. Do you think framing it and putting it in my office is a bit too much?"
Tate's head tilted back, his hearty laugh filling the air. "Yeah," he sputtered between giggles. "Maybe just a little. We can scrapbook it together later though."
I stared out over the casino floor and sighed, watching what seemed like a mass exodus from the hotel. Unfortunately, the photo of LeAnna looked like it was going to be the high point of my day. According to the computers, at least half of our guests had decided to check out that morning. Not that I blamed them. With the Battle Buffet set now being cordoned off as a crime scene, we'd had to refund all of their tickets for the finale taping. I wasn't sure I could count high enough to calculate how much revenue we were losing now.
"Giovanni Gambia, checking out," I heard from the front desk.
I turned to find the portly Italian man and his wife with a pair of rolling suitcases at their sides.
"I hope you had a pleasant stay?" Alicia asked them, ever the professional as she pulled up their bill on the computer.
"You gotta be kiddin' me," the woman said. "There's cops crawling all over this place. Gives me the creeps."
"I'm so sorry," Alicia said, her smile faltering for only a moment. I had to remember to give that girl a raise. "Is there anything I can do to compensate you for the inconvenience?"
"Nothing doing," Giovanni answered. "We don't feel comfortable staying here any longer. We're finding other accommodations for the rest of our vacation."
"At the Deep Blue!" his wife jumped in. "Now that's our kind of hotel!"
I stifled a laugh. I had to agree with her. The Gambias and Buddy Weston were like two peas in a sleazy pod.
I hope that Buddy realized this made us even—as happy as I knew Buddy would be to have the business, I was more than happy to go back to my regular clientele of retirees and skiers.
As the Gambia couple dragged their luggage behind them and exited through the glass front doors, I spied a familiar face entering just beside them.
Agent Ryder.
Tate must have spied him too, taking that as his own exit signal. "Well, I've got about a hundred mobsters to check out, so I better get back to work. Meet me for lunch later?"
I pulled him in for a hug, hoping he was feeling my thanks and gratitude all over again as I squeezed the air from his lungs. "Absolutely, and I'll buy. Anything for my hero."
Tate sighed then whispered, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Always," I promised.
"I was trying to fire a warning shot. The shoulder thing was an accident."
I tried to keep from giggling, but I couldn't contain it. Thoughts of how close I'd come to the end of Dubois's knife tried to flood back, and laughter was my way of shaking it.
"Guess I need a few more lessons on the range myself," he admitted.
"I'm sorry, Tate. It still stands that you saved us. We would have been goners if you hadn't."
"She's right," Agent Ryder's voice announced, coming up behind us. He clapped a hand against Tate's shoulder. "You did good, man."
Tate's dark lashes fluttered at light-speed, a smile consuming his face. "Thanks, but I think I'll leave the gun stuff to the professionals like you from now on, Agent Ryder."
"Please, my friends just call me Devin." He offered a hand to Tate, who quickly shook it.
"Well, Devin, duty calls." Tate turned to me. "Noon-ish, Tess?"
I nodded and waved as he backed down the hall then turned my attention to the hot federal agent at my side. He wasn't dressed in his usual suit and tie. Instead he wore jeans and a simple gray sweater. The casual look softened him a bit. I had to admit it looked good on him. Even so, I couldn't help teasing the usually perfectly put-together agent a little. "Laundry day?" I asked.
He grinned. "What, I'm not allowed to be comfortable on my day off?"
"Day off, huh?" I asked, turning toward the front doors so he didn't see the goofy smile on my face. "Does that mean you're here in a personal capacity and not professional?"
"Could be," he hedged, his casual tone matching his attire. "I see the family reunion is over?" he added, glancing around to the couples in suits and spandex, rolling luggage toward the circular drive.
I shrugged. "I heard a rumor it's moving across the street."
Ryder raised an eyebrow at me.
I put my hands up in a surrender gesture. "That's all I know, I swear! I'm so over the whole 'foodie' thing."
Ryder chuckled. "I wish I could say the same, but it looks like as long as the Gambias are
in town, I will be too."
"Oh really?" I asked, not altogether hating the idea of seeing a little more of him.
"Yep." He nodded and leaned his elbows on the counter, glancing over the gaming floor. "So, any chance you're free sometime this weekend?"
That goofy grin took over my face again. "Maybe," I said, playing at coy. "Depends on what you have in mind."
He turned toward me, a smile curling one side of his mouth. "I'd like to take you out. You know, on a real date, for a change."
I bit the inside of my lip to keep from squealing out a resounding yes. "So, the stuff at the lake in your car wasn't a real date? Felt pretty real to me."
He stood up straight, towering in front of me, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I'm hoping for more 'stuff' like that, but maybe dinner and drinks too."
"Sure." I tried my best to match his nonchalant tone. But I couldn't help adding a small jibe. "Only this time, you better actually show up."
His smile faded for a fraction of a second. "New Year's again? You're still on that?"
I shot him a look. "Don't press your luck. Maybe I'll be the one who suddenly has somewhere else to be this time."
He did an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. The truth? I was called away at the last minute for work."
"And, what, your dog ate your phone for the next three months?" I challenged.
He cleared his throat. "No. I was undercover."
"I…oh." I paused. Wow, that was actually a great excuse. And one I hadn't seen coming.
"Look, I'm really sorry. I would have called if I could have, but it was a situation that was very time sensitive. And happened to take longer than I'd anticipated. By the time the job was over, well, a lot of time had passed. I wasn't sure if you even wanted to hear from me again."
I bit my lip. He was right. I almost hadn't.
Almost.
"So now that it's over, tell me, what sort of job was it?" I asked.
He looked over both shoulders in an exaggerated move. Then he leaned in. "Can you keep a secret?"
"Yes?"
"So can I." He winked at me.
I shoved him playfully in the arm. "Come on. That is so not fair. I waited for two hours in that restaurant. Two!" I held up two fingers to emphasize my point.
"Okay, okay," he relented, though his mouth was hitched upward in a smile now. "One of the organized crime groups we'd been tracking was set to receive a large delivery of illegal merchandise from overseas. They needed me to pose as a potential buyer in order to track where the goods were being dispersed in the US."
"Drugs?" I whispered.
He shook his head. "Handbags."
I blinked, not sure I'd hear him right. "Come again?"
He grinned. "Knock-off designer handbags from China. Hey, those babies are big business. I hear women pay crazy amounts for a bag with a logo on it."
"Crazy is subjective," I said defensively.
"Anyway, I'm sorry. About the whole thing," he said, taking a step toward me. "Forgive me now?"
"Hmph," I huffed, though it was getting harder and harder to hang on to any sort of grudge.
"Pretty please?" he asked, taking another step closer.
I bit my lip. "Fine. On one condition."
"Anything" he said, his voice low, warm, and dangerously sexy.
"Next time we go out, I get to drive KITT."
* * *
I sat outside the boardroom, nervously jiggling my knee up and down in my black skinny slacks. The board of directors had been behind closed doors deciding the fate of the Royal Palace for the last…I checked my phone readout again…15 minutes and 32 seconds. Not that I was counting.
I thought I'd made a fairly convincing case to them that while the casino had not seen the significant change in revenue that the board of directors had wanted, we had seen a small upward trend. Of course they had then countered with the entire Battle Buffet fiasco.
With its star behind bars, this is one show that did not go on. The finale had been canceled, and even then reruns of the show had been pulled from the network the moment the news hit the entertainment airwaves that Chef Dubois was a cold-blooded killer. Sicianni had been furious at first. However, being the enterprising producer he was, he'd quickly turned around and pitched a brand new show to the network. It starred the final two contestants from Battle Buffet, the man with the shock of white hair and the woman with the tattoo of the whisk on her arm, as they went undercover and behind the scenes to expose America's most violent chefs. They were pitching a pilot that was rumored to focus on the terrifying reign of Dubois over his kitchen staff before he finally snapped. Personally, I thought they had a fighting chance. That sounded like good TV to me!
With the show a bust, and the ensuing swarm of press scrutiny and law enforcement officers who descended on South Lake, the Gambia family quickly left town. Whatever they had or hadn't been meeting with other families to discuss remained a mystery to me. Which was fine. I vowed to leave the organized crime to the FBI from now on. And with the way Jerry Taylor was wheeling and dealing to keep himself in a white-collar prison, Agent Ryder was hopeful that he would get enough dirt on the family men to make more arrests soon.
LeAnna had gone back to Napa to settle her husband's estate, which, according to Britton, turned out to be much more sizable that LeAnna had ever hoped. Since Jerry was unable to profit from his crime, the entire estate now went to LeAnna. While the idea of her in endless designer dresses didn't fill me with any warm fuzzies, at least she would no longer be trying to get her hooks into wealthy older men. In fact, from what Britton told me, LeAnna was now having to fight off gold diggers of her own.
"Tess?"
I bounced to my feet at the sound of Alfie's voice hailing me from the doorway to the boardroom.
"They're ready for you, kid," he informed me.
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to release some of my nerves as well. I knew our profits hadn't lived up to the board's expectations. I had a sinking feeling I knew what they were going to say. I steeled myself against the words as I straightened the lapels on my cropped blazer, held my head up high, and marched into the boardroom ready to meet my fate.
A long wooden table held several well-dressed men and women, all with piles of spreadsheets and pie charts in front of them. I gulped back fear, knowing exactly what those charts showed. Less than stellar profits over the last four quarters.
"Ms. King," the white-haired man at the head of the table began. "The board realizes that we put you in a difficult position when we voted you in as a temporary chairman of the Royal Palace Casino and Resort. We realize you had precious little experience in the hospitality industry and a very sharp learning curve ahead of you."
I nodded politely, silently waiting for him to go on. So far this wasn't sounding like a glowing performance review.
"The board is grateful for all of the work that you have done over this past year as a temporary director. We are, however, concerned about the lack of a significant change in our profit margins."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Alfie's hand on my arm stopped me. He gave me the slightest shake of his head. I shut my mouth with a click.
"We have an obligation," the white-haired man went on, "to our shareholders that we feel has not yet been fulfilled. There have been some good ideas for special revenue-generating events, but they have not quite worked out exactly as planned, have they?"
If he was referring to Battle Buffet, that was the understatement of the year.
"As such," he said with a quick glance at the others around the table, "we are removing you as temporary chairman."
There it was. I felt as if I'd been punched in the gut. I'd known this was coming, but actually hearing the words out loud had tears pricking at the back of my throat. I blinked, trying to keep a calm professional facade even as my sentence was being handed down. I only prayed that while they might be letting me go, they hadn't given up hope on the casino yet
.
"And the Royal Palace?" I asked, amazed that my voice wasn't as shaky as my knees suddenly felt. "Are you closing the doors?"
The white-haired man blinked at me as if he didn't understand the question then turned to a man in a three-piece suit sitting next to him.
"I am afraid you may have misunderstood our meaning," Three-Piece Suit said. "The board has decided that running the day-to-day aspects of the casino and the public relations and event planning that go with that are just too much burden for one person to take on. We are removing you as the temporary chairman and reinstating you as the permanent cochairman."
"Wh-what?" I asked, my gaze whipping from the man at the table to Alfie standing beside me. I could tell from the small smirk on his face that he'd been in on this.
"You have the deepest respect of the staff and patrons of the hotel," White-Haired Man picked up again. "We think your father would be very proud of the way that you run the day-to-day business of the Royal Palace."
I did some more blinking, unable to keep those tears from hitting the back of my eyes now. "Thank you," I managed to whisper without completely breaking down.
"In fact," Three-piece Suit said, shuffling some papers, "we were rather impressed with the numbers that you brought in this weekend."
I scrunched up my nose. "This weekend?" I asked. As in the weekend we'd had to refund nearly a thousand Battle Buffet finale tickets?
He nodded. "Yes. Even with the swift vacancy of the rooms after the…unpleasantness," he evaded, "we had an unprecedented uptick in revenue on the gaming floor for the short time our, er, foodies were staying with us."
I shot a look at Alfie. He grinned back and mumbled, "Turns out the 'foodies' liked to gamble big. And they weren't very good at it."
I didn't know what to say. Apparently the event hadn't been a total bust after all. "You mentioned I'd be cochairman?" I asked.
White-Haired Man spoke up. "Yes, we have made the decision to appoint a cochairman who will take over the special events planning and media for the casino, to ensure that our next event goes off without incident."
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