by Amy Patrick
I rose from the edge of the bed where I’d been sitting watching Sports Center. “Wow. You look smokin’.”
“Really? I bought the outfit in New York City.” She lifted a hand to touch the side of her hair, which was now curled and hanging over her shoulders. “You don’t think it looks trashy like this?”
“Well… maybe a little—” I laughed at her offended jaw-drop. “I’m kidding. You look great. Really great. You’re going to be the perfect distraction while I’m collecting every other guy’s money down there at the roulette and blackjack tables.
“So you’ve been here before?”
“Vegas? Yes, but only in and out for shows—never to gamble—which is a good thing. I’ve gone to casinos in Lake Tahoe and Reno—overseas, too.” I gave her a sheepish grin. “They don’t tend to like me very much, and I got the distinct impression I was not welcome to return. But Vegas…” I spread my arms out to either side. “… is wide open. Come on, let’s go.”
We decided to start at a casino at the other end of the strip and work our way back, partly so we could check out the spectacular themed decor and partly because we wanted to end the day at our own hotel. It was also a good idea to spread out my winnings so I didn’t draw unwanted attention from the pit bosses and upper management types. They got suspicious when your luck was “too good.”
“Just so you know,” I said to Macy as we trekked down the sunny sidewalk, “I use Sway to get the casinos to overlook the underage gambling thing, but I don’t cheat. My play is all completely legit. So, you don’t have to worry about us getting arrested or kicked out or something.”
“I wasn’t worried about that.” She slid me a quick side glance. “Isn’t it kind of cheating though, since you’re using your glamour? It’s such an advantage.”
“I don’t think of it like that. I’m just using my natural, inborn abilities. People who are good at reading body language have an advantage in poker games. They use it, and no one can complain. Card counting is an advantage. It’s not illegal or cheating, but it definitely benefits those who’ve got the kind of brain power to do it. And casinos hate it because it helps players win—the exact opposite of what they want.”
I gestured around us, upward to the shiny high-rise towers and around at the beautifully landscaped casino hotel entrances. “All of this did not get built because casinos were losing money. Most people lose. A few—if they’re really smart—or really lucky—win.”
She returned my grin, clearly amused at my rationale and lack of guilt. “I see. So you’re just shakin’ what your momma gave ya, huh?” She punctuated her question with a sassy booty-shake that surprised me and made my eyes pop in appreciation.
I waggled my brows. “You’d better stop that or we’re turning this thing around and heading back to the hotel room early.”
Now her eyes went wide. “Anders!” She stuttered for a moment. “I can’t believe you said that.”
I shrugged. My response was unrepentant. “You never know. If my luck holds up, maybe I’ll find out tonight why everybody says ‘what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.’”
Blushing deeply now, Macy increased her pace so she was walking ahead of me. Her voice came rapid fire over her shoulder. “Let’s just win some money, okay? We’ve still got a ways to go before I’m ready to hand over any other prizes.”
I laughed out loud, letting my eyes drift down the back of her cute little body. “I’ll take that as a definite maybe.”
11
Nic
Well, this is Vegas, all right. The ringing, dinging, and repetitive electronic music of slot machines met my ears as soon as I entered the passenger pickup area of McCarran International Airport.
Nox had readily agreed to let me take his private plane here from Houston, but Estelle was flying commercial from New York. I’d taken a cab over from the private air field to meet her here. We hadn’t seen each other in over a year, since before my coma, and as soon as she spotted me, she let out a happy squeal and started running, throwing herself at me.
I hugged her tightly in return. When she pulled back, she grabbed a handful of my beard.
“Oh my God, this is so weird. Why didn’t you shave it? You look much more handsome without it. No one can recognize you like this.”
“I don’t care. The only person I want to recognize me is Macy.”
“Well your bond-mate will probably hate it, too.”
I reached up to run a hand across it. “You think so?” For the first time since I’d awakened from sedation, I felt an urge to remove the facial hair. I didn’t want Macy to be repulsed by the sight of me.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Some women like it. I’m into the clean cut Nordic look myself. Maybe nymphs are into hairy men. Who knows?”
“Could you keep your voice down?” I hissed.
People were already staring—they always stared at Estelle everywhere she went simply because she was stunning and tall. I didn’t want her drawing any extra attention because of her loud-pitched conversation. Who knew where the Ancient Court agents were at this very moment?
Estelle had given me some very alarming information when we’d spoken on the phone two days ago—one of Alessia’s henchmen had tracing glamour. He was uniquely able to follow and find anyone. Apparently, he hadn't been one of the men I’d encountered in Houston but part of another team of hunters.
The good news was Estelle had a pretty dangerous glamour of her own. It was like truth serum. Once applied, it was irresistible, and it worked on humans and Elves alike. I’d always hated it as a child growing up with her, but I certainly appreciated it in this instance.
She told me she’d recruited a source within Alessia’s inner circle—one of her personal bodyguards. At first Estelle had used her glamour to question him—he’d spilled every detail he knew. After that, it was a simple matter of blackmail. He’d told her so much already he knew he was screwed if he didn’t keep on providing any and all information Estelle requested. One phone call from her to Alessia, and he’d be executed for treason.
Last night he’d told her the Ancient Court agents had tracked Macy and Anders to Las Vegas— that was why we’d both booked emergency flights here today.
“Okay, so my source said the two Ancient Court hunters checked into the Venetian resort. I’m betting that’s where we’ll find Macy and Anders,” she said.
As soon as she collected her things, we set off in search of either the hunters or Macy, whichever we came across first. Spotting the Elves among the casino crowd would be easy, and hopefully they’d lead us to Macy. If they hadn’t found her already. Shaving would have to wait.
We took a cab to the hotel, which looked like an architect’s tribute to Venice. The inside as well was remarkable, strongly resembling an Italian Renaissance Palace with its marble-columned grand lobby and domed vault ceilings with hand-painted frescoes.
My heart quickened, thrumming with hope. Had Macy chosen this hotel? Had she picked it because it reminded her of our time together in Italy?
We followed a bellman across an Italian marble floor that was a replica of the one in the church of Santa Maria del Rosario and-set in a three dimensional, multi-colored pattern. At the reception desk, I was immediately greeted by a clerk whose name tag identified her as Nadia. “Welcome to the Venetian. How may I help you today?”
“Hello. I’d like to speak to one of your guests—a friend of mine. The name is Anders Jensen. Could you call his room please?”
“Certainly, sir. One moment please.” She tapped a few keys on her computer keyboard.
“I’m sorry sir. There is no guest here by that name,” she said. “Are you sure you have the right hotel? Could he be staying at our sister property, the Palazzo?”
God I hope not. “I’m pretty sure he’s here at the Venetian.” Would they have used Macy’s name? “Check under Macy Moreno please.”
Nadia did as I asked with the same results. “I’m so sorry. Will you and the lady be needing a roo
m tonight?” She eyed the impressive collection of Vuitton luggage resting near Estelle’s feet. “We have some lovely suites on the upper floors.”
“No, we—” I stopped mid-sentence. If I did manage to find Macy today, we’d need a room for the night. At the very least, Estelle needed a place to store her bags. “Yes. I’ll take one.”
“Very good. The presidential suite offers two bedrooms, formal dining room, a personal fitness area with steam room and cedar wood sauna, a media room, three fireplaces, a fully stocked cocktail bar, baby grand piano, and twenty-four-hour butler service. The Chairman Suite offers all this plus a waterfall feature at the entrance and jetted hot tubs with plasma TV and a fabulous view of the Strip. It’s also 2700 square feet larger than the presidential suite. Would you like to hear about the nightly rates?”
I shook my head and waved a hand abstractedly. “It doesn’t matter. One of those will be fine.”
The clerk’s eyes brightened, and she smiled. “Very good sir. And how will you be paying?”
I handed her my credit card and went to speak with Estelle as she processed it. “Are you sure the report said they were seen here—at this hotel?”
“Yes. That’s what the guard said.”
I frowned. “Then they’ve gotten smarter about this and are traveling under assumed names. Which is good, I suppose. At least there’s a chance the hunters don’t know which room they’re in.”
“What if they’ve gone out? They could be spotted. They may not know they’re being hunted.”
“I know. They could be anywhere. I’m not sure what to do.”
“How about this… you can stay here and keep watch. I’ll go up and change into some shorts and trainers then I’ll go out and look. I’ll check to make sure they’re not registered at the Palazzo next door. I can also call my source again and see if any further reports have come in.”
I nodded, pacing now. “Okay, that sounds like a good plan.”
“Mr. Buonoccorsi? I have your keys and your card for you sir,” Nadia called out. When I returned to the desk, she eyed me with renewed interest. “You aren’t… Nicolo Buonoccorsi, the soccer player, are you?”
I gave her a tight smile. I did not have time for this. “Yes, I am.”
“Oh wow! I thought it was you, but…” She pointed at her own face and made a circle around her chin and jaw with one finger then whispered, “We’re not really supposed to say anything. Oh, my brother is going to be so thrilled I met you. He was your biggest fan—so broken up over your early retirement.”
“Yes, well… injuries, you know.” I started backing away from the desk. “Thank you.”
“Oh.” She held up a piece of paper. “Would you mind signing this before you go?” She looked around, presumably checking for a supervisor and finding none in the area. “We’re not supposed to bother the celebrity guests, but my brother really loves you, and he’s going through a hard time right now with his divorce, and…”
I returned to the desk, taking the pen from her hand. “Of course. No problem.”
After I’d autographed the paper, she said, “Thank you so much. Have a good stay. Let us know if there’s anything you and your girlfriend need.”
“Sister,” I corrected. “My sister.”
Now her eyelids did that flaring thing again. “Oh. Well, please let me know if there’s any way I can help. My name is Nadia, and I’ll be here until ten tonight, when I get off work.” She paused to let that sink in. “And we do have an Italian-speaker on staff, if that would be helpful to you. In fact, we had a couple of Italian men in here just a short while ago, asking for information, and Lorenzo helped them out.”
I had already started to turn away, but I spun back to face the clerk. “Italian men, you say? This morning?”
She quirked her head at my sudden interest. “Um, yes. Were they teammates of yours or something? Now that I think of it they were really big and ripped.”
I gestured to my sister. “Estelle. Would you come here a moment?” When she’d joined me at the desk, I said, “Nadia, would you go and get the Italian interpreter for us? My sister would like some recommendations on restaurants and shopping, and her English is not good.”
“Um… sure. Okay. I’ll be right back.”
Nadia clicked away and disappeared through a doorway into an office, I presumed.
“What’s going on?” Estelle asked. “Why did you lie about my English?”
“Sorry. I think there’s someone here who spoke with the hunters a short time ago. Maybe you could find out what they asked him? Or maybe where they were headed next.”
“Yes. Good idea.”
Within minutes, Nadia was back. “He’ll be right here. Want me to ask the bellman to take your things on up?”
“Yes, thank you. And thank you for calling the interpreter for us. You have been most helpful.”
She beamed. “Happy to. And if you need someone to maybe show you around later tonight, I get off at ten,” she reminded me.
I gave her a gentle smile. “I’m afraid we have plans for tonight already. Thank you again for your assistance.”
She nodded, accepting her dismissal and retreated behind the desk, calling forth the next guest.
A few minutes later, a man in a nicely tailored suit and cheap, but well-polished shoes approached us. “Mr. and Ms. Buonoccorsi? I am Lorenzo. How may I be of service?”
Now it was Estelle’s turn. She began speaking to him in perfect Italian, not asking about dining and shopping recommendations but about the men he’d spoken to earlier.
“The Italians you spoke to today… what did they want?”
His face showed visible resistance at her direct questioning about other hotel guests, but like everyone under my sister’s glamour, he answered honestly. “They asked about two guests who they believed had checked in last night—Americans—a young man and woman. They described her as very short and brunette and him as tall and blond. I told them we do not disclose information about our guests.”
“And are they staying here? The Americans?” Estelle demanded.
Again, the man visibly balked, but he answered. His face broke out in a sheen of sweat as if he was trying to hold in the words but found himself unable to keep them from coming out.
“I checked and did not find any record of either name they gave me. We host many famous guests, though, who wish to preserve their anonymity and privacy and use pseudonyms. Are you with the police or something?”
“No, but we are trying to protect the American couple. Did the Italians ask you about any other locations, give you any indication where they’d be searching next?”
He shook his head. “No, they said very little. Only asked questions. Like you.”
Estelle turned to look at me. “I think that’s all he knows.” When I nodded my agreement, she turned back to the interpreter, her words laced with Sway. “If the Italians return, you will not mention this conversation. And if you do happen to see an American couple fitting that description, you will call our room and notify us. You will not inform the Italians.”
“I understand,” he said. And then, as if she’d been physically holding him and suddenly released him, he stumbled back a few steps.
Turning on her supermodel smile, Estelle said, “Thank you for your help, Lorenzo. I am looking forward to taking your suggestions and getting the most out of our Las Vegas visit.”
She watched him walk away before turning to me. “What now? I guess we at least know the hunters are here, so my source’s information is accurate.”
“Yes. And they wouldn’t be here unless Macy and Anders were. So, I think we stick to the original plan. I find myself a nice, out of the way spot here near the elevator banks so I can see who’s coming and going. If Macy is out in the city somewhere, I’ll see her when she returns. And if they’re still here, I’ll see them when they leave. They're bound to leave the room at some point, right?”
I could read the thoughts on my twin’s face as clearly
as if she’d said them aloud or spoken them directly to my brain. Estelle herself had just referred to Macy and Anders as a “couple.” After spending the past two months together, it was entirely possible my betrothed and her “bodyguard” would stay holed up together in their luxury hotel room, ordering room service and watching movies, and enjoying other amenities I didn’t even want to think about.
A sick feeling spread from my chest to my stomach. Heaving a hopeless sigh, I said, “I don’t know what else to do.”
Estelle touched my arm. “No. I think it is a good plan. No one can come or go from the guest room floors without passing through this area. I’m sure they will show up eventually. I will go change into better walking shoes and then I’ll search around the Strip. I have the picture of Macy you sent me from your phone. And of course, there are plenty of photographs of Anders’ beautiful face online. That’s probably the one I’ll show around the Strip. If anyone’s seen him, they’ll be likely to remember it.”
Something in her tone caught my attention and lifted my spirits. “Clean-cut Nordic types, huh?” I teased. “Better watch out for that guy—I hear he’s a real playboy.”
“Shut up, Nicolo,” she ordered, her cheeks going bright pink. “I eat playboys for breakfast.”
“You’re blushing though. Estelle’s got a crush on a band boy,” I teased in that sing-song tone reserved for brothers tormenting their sisters.
She narrowed her eyes into a flinty stare that threatened bodily harm. “Don’t you need to find a spot for your stakeout?”
Still laughing, I handed her a key card and went off to find a comfortable seat from which to survey the elevator banks and wait out my prey.
Twenty minutes later, I watched as Estelle emerged from an elevator, dressed in comfortable walking clothes, and headed for the casino’s front exits. Then the monotonous wait began. Over the next several hours, I scanned every male-female pair of unequal height who came and went, studying their faces.
