Werewolf in Las Vegas

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  Giselle had seen the place once. She and two of her female Were friends had gone on a road trip that included one night at the Silver Crescent in Vegas. After checking into their room, they’d all shifted and used the special paw controls on the elevators to access a tunnel connecting the hotel with the bar.

  They’d arrived in an anteroom one level below the bar. Lockers lined the walls, which had puzzled Giselle at first until she realized that bar patrons who wanted to use the playground would need a place to shift and store their clothes. Harrison had thought of everything.

  She and her friends had pushed through a revolving door at the far end of the locker room and had stared in amazement. They’d entered another world, one bathed in moonlight, scented with evergreen, and filled with the sounds of rushing water and the hoots of an owl.

  Once they’d recovered from their sense of awe, they’d romped through that pretend forest, howling and yipping like teenagers. She smiled at the memory of it and wondered if she’d have time to go while she was here. What a great way to release some of the tension created by her brother’s dereliction of duty.

  The trolley moved on, gliding past rippling neon and flashing billboards promising riches beyond compare. A river of pedestrians seeking those treasures eddied in and out of the elaborate pleasure domes lining the busy thoroughfare.

  Giselle searched their faces, as if she might spot Bryce in the crowd. His hair, dark red like hers, made him fairly easy to see, especially because he was tall. He was here somewhere. He’d said so, and although he could be a royal pain, he didn’t lie. He’d texted every few days to let the family know he was okay, but he’d ignored all requests, or demands in the case of her father, to return home.

  She’d decided not to let him know she’d flown down. Not yet, anyway. He wouldn’t be happy that she’d come to drag him back, and ideally, she’d like to make her plea in person rather than over the phone. Maybe she could arrange to run into him and catch him off guard.

  Whenever she thought of Bryce, she alternated between being worried and being royally pissed. Although she was familiar with his pattern of going along with the program until something hit him wrong and he bolted, this particular incident had lasted way too long—more than seven months, in fact.

  He had to know how severely his juvenile stunt had impacted her and the rest of his pack. He was slated to be the next Landry alpha and had duties as a result. Giselle had ended up covering for him in addition to handling her job as the pack’s chief financial officer. She wanted him home, preferably before he did something terminally stupid.

  She wasn’t terribly surprised that he’d left. At first the plan to mate with Miranda Randolph, heir to the Randolph winery fortune, had been his idea. But the two packs, especially the two sets of parents, had jumped in and taken over. Whenever Bryce felt pushed, he simply abandoned the field.

  Giselle had to figure out a way to coax him back, even if the Miranda situation was ruined forever. Members of the Landry pack, including their parents, were talking about making Giselle the next alpha, and she didn’t want it. The political maneuvering required of an alpha didn’t appeal to her at all. She’d much rather crunch numbers than settle pack disputes, which meant she had to find Bryce.

  According to Vaughn, Bryce wasn’t staying at Illusions or frequenting any of the usual werewolf haunts, including Howlin’ at the Moon. That probably meant he was spending all his time with humans, and that worried Giselle more than anything else. She prayed he hadn’t embraced the new and dangerous idea of Weres mating with humans.

  After leaving the trolley and entering the soothing ambience of the Illusions lobby, she registered and surrendered her suitcase to the bellman. She’d brought a small one, figuring she wouldn’t be there long.

  Giselle’s nose told her the area was human-free, which probably meant no humans were allowed through the front door. If so, then only Weres would be able to enjoy the three-story atrium filled with evergreens and a babbling brook. In some ways the lobby echoed the playground underneath Howlin’ at the Moon.

  Giselle didn’t have time to stand around and admire the beauty of it, though. She was a werewolf on a mission. Once in the elevator, she called Vaughn, whose office was on the top floor of the building.

  “Welcome to Las Vegas, Giselle. The front desk notified me that you’d checked in.” Vaughn had the quiet authority of a seasoned alpha, although he couldn’t be much older than Giselle, who’d just turned twenty-eight. He’d assumed his father’s role with confidence. He’d chosen a suitable mate years ago, and now a baby was on the way, a grandchild that poor Harrison would never see.

  “I have checked in,” Giselle said. “Are you free to see me?”

  “Absolutely. Come on up whenever you’re settled. Is the suite okay?”

  “I’m sure it is, but I haven’t been there yet. I’m in the elevator headed for your floor.”

  “Okay, good. We have a lot to talk about. Have you had any texts from Bryce today?”

  “No. Has something happened?” Her heart rate picked up.

  “He was seen at a poker game last night.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Where?”

  “I’d rather tell you about this in person.”

  “I’m nearly there.”

  A few minutes later, a receptionist ushered her into Vaughn’s office. It looked more like a mountain hideaway than command central for Cartwright Enterprises. Beamed ceilings sheltered rustic furniture created from peeled logs, and a gas fire flickered on a stone hearth. A wall of windows looked out on the Strip, but otherwise, the room could have been part of a ski lodge in Aspen.

  Vaughn came around from behind his hand-carved desk. “It’s great to finally meet in person.” He took her hand in both of his. He was a good-looking Were with dark brown hair and the kind of solid build typical of strong werewolf males.

  “Same here. I appreciate your support in this, Vaughn, especially because you must have a ton of issues you’re dealing with.”

  “Yeah.” His smile was tinged with sadness.

  She gazed at him with sympathy. “Your dad was so young.”

  “Yeah. Only fifty-seven. I keep expecting him to come walking through that door.”

  “Was this his office?”

  “Yes, and I always loved it, so I’ve kept things the way he had them.” He gestured to a couple of overstuffed easy chairs in front of the fireplace. “Please have a seat. Can I get you anything?” He walked over to a wet bar along the wall next to the windows. “Wine? Mixed drink? Something to eat?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks.” She settled into a comfy leather chair.

  “You’re sure?” He sounded disappointed.

  She glanced toward the wet bar, where he was in the process of returning two glasses to the shelf. “I’m sure, but if you want something, go ahead.”

  “Guess I was hoping to have somebody to share a drink with.” He turned. “Shana can’t because of the baby, and it’s been a rough twenty-four hours.”

  She realized then what she might have noticed right away if she hadn’t been so caught up in her own problems. Despite his crisp white dress shirt, his Ralph Lauren tie, and what were probably designer slacks, Vaughn Cartwright didn’t have it together this afternoon. His hair was mussed, and without the smile he’d given her earlier, she was able to see the anxiety lurking in his gray eyes.

  “What’s happened, Vaughn?”

  Vaughn rocked back on his heels. “Well, that wasn’t just an ordinary poker game last night. It was a special event between two players, one of them being my brother, Benedict, and the other being Luke Dalton.”

  “So it was a Cartwright-Dalton rematch?” Now she knew why Bryce had been there to watch. He loved to gamble, and he’d been fascinated with the Cartwright-Dalton feud.

  “Exactly. Dalton put the Silver Crescent on the line, and Benedict tho
ught he could win it back.”

  “Would that even be worth doing? I can’t imagine the cost of renovations to create what you had there before.”

  “Yeah, it would be pricey, but we’d make it back in no time by restored access to the Moon and the playground. But that’s a moot point. Instead of winning the hotel, my brother lost the bar.”

  “He bet the Moon? How could he? You’re the alpha! Surely you wouldn’t let—”

  “He inherited it.” Vaughn sounded exhausted. “Unfortunately, it was his to lose. I got pretty much everything else, but my dad willed the bar to Benedict, who really is a natural at running it. Or was. Now it’s owned by a human.”

  “What about the playground?”

  He blew out a breath. “Handled as best we could. The transfer of ownership didn’t take place until this morning. We had crews working all night. They drained the water, turned off everything except the automatic lights for the plants and the drip system, and reconfigured the entrance. Now it looks like a blank wall instead of the door that used to be there.”

  “Will the plants be okay?”

  “Should be. I certainly can’t let them die. For one thing, it would make one hell of a mess under there.”

  Giselle couldn’t even imagine. “Can you buy it back?”

  “Not today, but I plan to keep trying. I spent the entire morning over at the Moon making offers that would give my CFO cardiac arrest if he knew. Dalton wouldn’t budge. He said that having a Cartwright property next to the Silver Crescent was too painful for him after his father’s death.”

  “I suppose it was.”

  “Oh, I don’t doubt it. Benedict hated seeing a Dalton property next to the Moon. He thought he’d win and we’d get the Silver Crescent back.”

  “This is horrible, Vaughn.” She wondered how this would affect the alpha’s relationship with his twin brother. “Where’s Benedict, now?”

  “I don’t know. He supervised the work last night and let me know it was secure, but I haven’t heard from him since. Turns out I’m not the only one with family issues, though. Before I left the bar this morning, Dalton’s little sister, Cynthia, showed up and they got in a huge fight. She told him she was disappearing for a while so she could spend quality time with her new boyfriend, who happens to be someone you know and love.”

  “Good Lord.” Giselle squeezed her eyes shut. “Are you saying the new boyfriend is my brother?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  She groaned and let her head fall back against the plump chair cushion. “I’ll take you up on that drink, Vaughn. And forget the girly stuff. Give me a Scotch on the rocks.”

  Chapter 2

  After the embarrassingly public fight with Cynthia, Luke retreated to the office of his recently acquired bar and shut the door. She’d obviously thought that after he won the bar he’d be in a celebratory mood and would magnanimously agree to hire her as a Moonbeam. She’d figured wrong, but arguing with her had taken the shine off his poker victory. She was basically the only family he had left, and he yearned to make peace with her. But she seemed determined to ruin her life, and he felt an obligation to try to prevent that.

  She’d never totally cut out on him before, and he hated the feeling of being disconnected without any idea of where she was. But he dared not follow his first instinct and scour the town looking for her.

  She hadn’t said where she was going, obviously on purpose, but he didn’t think she’d leave the city. She’d always preferred her hometown to travel. She hadn’t liked being so far away during her college years, and she’d flown home every chance she got.

  If he went looking for her, though, and she realized he was after her, she might take off for parts unknown, especially if Landry was encouraging her. Worry sat like a cold, hard lump in his stomach. She was twenty-two, an adult, but when he thought of the bad decisions he’d made at that age, the knot of worry got bigger.

  He’d lost his father and felt as if he’d lost his mother, too, now that she was living in France. He couldn’t lose Cynthia. He’d ask Owen Banks, his chief of security, to keep track of her.

  Owen looked like a nerd with his thick glasses and supershort haircut, but he had the mind of a CIA operative. Unclipping his cell phone from his belt, Luke speed-dialed Owen.

  “What’s up, boss?” Owen insisted on calling Luke that, despite many conversations in which Luke had suggested Owen use his first name instead.

  Luke filled him in. “I want to know if she leaves town, either driving or flying, but I don’t want her stopped. Only followed.”

  “Do you know if she’s in her Corvette?”

  “Damn it. No, I don’t.” Luke squeezed the bridge of his nose. “And if she’s in Landry’s vehicle, he probably has a rental.”

  “No worries, boss. Regardless of what they’re driving, I’ll find them and keep you posted.”

  “Thanks.” Luke thought of something else and wished he hadn’t. But he should consider all possibilities. “Better alert all the wedding chapels, too. If she comes in with Landry, they need to stall as long as possible. I will interfere if she decides to go that far.” Technically he couldn’t stop her, but he could make a hell of a protest.

  Cynthia had met the guy a couple of months ago at a local gelato shop, of all places. They’d hit it off, and Luke had made it his business to find out what he could about Bryce Landry. The details were sparse. Landry came from a wealthy family in San Francisco and spent most of his time in Vegas playing high-stakes poker. Luke had no quarrel with that lifestyle—Vegas depended on men like that to keep the lights on—but that didn’t mean Luke thought a high roller was the right choice for his sister.

  “Got it. Talk to you soon.” Owen disconnected.

  Luke laid the phone on the battered wooden desk and sat back in the worn leather desk chair with a sigh. He should have seen this coming, but he hadn’t. Cynthia might have hoped he’d be toasted after his success, which could make him easier to convince about the showgirl thing. Curiously, he hadn’t been as elated about winning the bar as he’d expected to be, and he hadn’t touched a drop of liquor all day. So he’d been stone-cold sober when she approached him. Good thing. He’d needed his wits about him.

  Of course she’d asked him for the hundredth time to let her perform with the Moonbeams. Even though she could have signed on with any of the casinos just to spite him, her only goal was performing with the signature act created by their mother, Felicia. Felicia had been a dancer before her marriage to Angus, and afterward, she’d supervised the hiring and helped with choreography. Luke could understand that Cynthia had been starry-eyed at fifteen, but he’d expected that by now she would have grown out of it. Instead, they’d had a blowout fight when she arrived after the poker game and he’d refused her request again.

  Although he was only eight years older than his sister, sometimes he felt a hundred years older, and this was one of those days. He had to be both father, mother, and brother to her, and he was doing a piss-poor job of it. Although he couldn’t blame his dad for dying, he wished his mom had stuck around to help deal with Cynthia.

  No, no, he didn’t. Not really. Felicia Dalton had never been particularly maternal. She’d loved her husband passionately, and Angus had spoiled her rotten. Her grief when he died had threatened to suck both her children under. Luke had been secretly relieved when she’d decided to move to a little cottage nestled among fields of lavender in Provence. A couple of her friends had already flown over for visits. He’d been way too busy to go, but Cynthia kept saying she would.

  She hadn’t, though, because she really did avoid travel as much as possible. A few weeks ago, he’d called his mother and asked her to talk Cynthia out of her obsession with the Moonbeams, but his mother couldn’t see the problem with letting her do it. Sometimes he wondered if he should just say to hell with it and put his sister in the Moonbeams’ lineup. He tried to
imagine himself giving up the struggle, and it hurt his soul. He’d think of his dad, who’d been so proud of announcing that his daughter was attending Yale. He hadn’t cared that she hadn’t chosen a profession yet. She was one smart cookie, he’d say, and he’d had every confidence she would pick an exciting career in her own time.

  Well, she had, and performing with the Moonbeams was it. She’d admitted today she’d only attended Yale to please their father. She’d always planned to follow in their mother’s dancing footsteps.

  But he had to believe she wouldn’t have pulled this disappearing act if she hadn’t fallen in with Landry. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the guy was encouraging her to push the envelope. Otherwise, why disappear with him? Why not go alone? Landry appeared to be an accomplice of some kind, and if he was, then he’d just made an enemy of Luke Dalton.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Luke?”

  He recognized the voice of Chuck Stevens, a friend since grade school and his CFO for Dalton Industries. Chuck had tended bar all through college, and he’d offered to oversee the operation this first day. “Come on in, Chuck.”

  Chuck opened the door and stuck his head in. “Sorry to bother you. I figured you came in here to be alone.”

  Luke waved a hand. “I could probably use some company. What’s up? Are we running out of booze already?”

  “Nah. Still plenty. But . . . uh . . . somebody’s here to see you. I’m not sure if you want to see her, though.”

  “Cynthia?” Luke leaned forward so fast the chair creaked.

  “No, sorry. This lady’s name is Giselle.” He paused. “Giselle Landry.”

  “Landry.” Luke gazed at his friend. “Is this some weird coincidence?”

  “No. She’s Bryce Landry’s sister.”

  Luke stood. “Good. This is good. Maybe she’ll have some insights into the situation.”