“Women like us,” said the world-weary black woman who had helped her gain a new identity, “are always going to end up with the wrong men. Forget all that therapy crap. I’ve been back and forth to this shelter enough times to know. There’s no way out. If you’re foolish enough to hook up with some guy, you’ll end up regretting it.”
Dawn wasn’t going to test the premise. She’d had enough of one man to make her more than content to stay away from all of them. There would never be room or need in her life for an intimate relationship. That was what the therapists called the man-woman thing, as if by giving it a fancy name they could change it from what it actually was to what they claimed it could be.
No sir, she thought as she gulped down a cup of coffee and a slice of fattening, delicious, cold, bad-for-you pizza. No relationships. If her car broke down again and a man with Mel Gibson’s looks, St. Francis’s disposition and Bill Gates’s bank balance dropped to one knee right in front of her and begged her to let him replace her old wreck with a convertible before he married her, she’d just smile and say no, sorry, but I’m happy just the way I am. No man, no worries, no trouble.
And no job, if she didn’t get a move on.
Dawn dressed quickly, put on her makeup and pulled her hair into a low ponytail. Cassie could weave all the romance she liked into a simple encounter. She knew better.
Her car started up right away, which was definitely a good omen. Traffic was light, and she scored a Perfect 10 for the drive when she didn’t hit one red light all the way to work. Dawn put her purse in her locker, checked the calendar above the desk and went looking for Betsy. She found her in the lobby alcove, frowning at a sheet of paper in her hand.
“Hi. How’s it going?”
“Slow, so far. I made a list of things you’ll have to do. Like, a one o’clock limo for the guy in the Ella Fitzgerald suite.”
“The banker?”
“Uh-huh.” Becky thumbed through her notes. “And that couple from Brisbane’s coming in later this morning.” She looked up. “The Allisons. I told you about them, didn’t I? He calls himself a sheep farmer. Well, he is, but he’s got a farm—sorry,” Becky said, raising her eyebrows, “a station the size of Rhode Island.”
Dawn nodded. “Okay. I remember. He plays poker. His wife shops.”
Becky grinned. “Succinctly put. What the lady shops for are gemstones. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds—the bigger, the better, and she likes to do her shopping comfortably, so I’ve alerted Roger.”
“Roger. The Rock Hound’s manager?”
“Uh-huh. He’ll be ready to take some things upstairs whenever she phones. I figure on putting them in The Blue Note. You agree?”
Dawn lifted her eyebrows. “La-di-da.”
“You better believe it. You’ll like them. He’s a little loud, she pretty much wears every sparkler she owns, but they’re nice people.”
“Anything else?”
“He likes Foster’s. Make sure the fridge stays stocked with it, and with Somerset Rambler. It’s cheese,” Becky said, by way of explanation, “imported from England. Made from ewe’s milk.”
“Baaa. I should have known.”
The women grinned at each other. “Okay.” Becky tapped a finger against her lips. “Other than that… Oh, yeah. The woman from that balloon place stopped by.” She dug into a pile of papers and dredged out a brochure. “She dropped this off.”
“What is it?”
“Info about something they’re calling their ‘Breakfast for Lovers’ package… Yeah, here it is. `See the desert with your beloved from a gondola high in the sky,’ blah, blah, blah. ‘Greet the day with champagne and caviar in a balloon operated by one of our very discreet pilots…’ Dawn? Are you with me?”
Dawn wasn’t. Her attention was focused on a dark-haired man who had just emerged from the bank of elevators. Her heartbeat quickened. Was it the man who had helped her yesterday? He hadn’t struck her as the type who would check into a Vegas hotel. Well, that was stupid, of course. This was Vegas; he was from New York. He’d told her that. A person wouldn’t come all the way from New York and not check into a hotel, but he didn’t look as if he’d come to gamble. There were always conventions in town. There was one taking place right now, something to do with computer software—but he was a lawyer. As far as she knew, there weren’t any legal conventions or conferences or—
“Dawn?”
Dawn looked at Becky. “Yes,” she said briskly, “I’ve got it all. Brisbane. Sheep stations. Jewels, Aussie beer and ewe’s milk cheese. Possible hanky-panky in the balloon gondolas. Right?”
“Right.” Becky smothered a yawn. “I’m off, then. I promised my mom I’d stop by on my way home. She’s back on that should she or shouldn’t she get a perm thing. Whatever I say will be a mistake anyway, but I have to—”
Dawn’s gaze drifted to the man. It was hard to make out details at this distance. Besides the dark hair, all she could really tell was that he was tall. That he had a long-legged, self-confident stride… Her pulse rocketed. Yes. Oh yes, it was definitely—
“…whatever she wanted to do in the first place. Dawn?”
She didn’t want to see him again. She didn’t want to deal with him, feel that breathless rush of fear or anything else unnamed and unwanted…
“Dawn?”
“Yes?” She looked at Becky. “Oh. The perm. Uh, I like your hair the way it is, Beck. I don’t think you actually need—”
“Dawn,” Becky said gently, “are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just—just thinking about the day’s schedule.”
She could see that Becky wasn’t buying the story and now—now the man was looking toward her, a little frown puckering his forehead, and she could almost hear him thinking the equivalent of what she’d been wondering a moment ago.
Is that the woman?
“Good morning, ladies.”
Dawn dragged her gaze from the man and looked at her boss.
Keir smiled. “I had a call from Prince Ahmat. He says you are both jewels beyond price and if this were not America he would marry you both.”
“Did he mention anything about a bonus spin through the jewelry shop?” Becky said, her eyes wide and innocent. “‘Cause I might just consider it if the price was right.”
Keir chuckled. “He also asked if you’d send up more beluga.”
“Heck. I should have known he had an ulterior motive.” Becky smiled. “That’s Dawn’s department. I’m off. See you guys tomorrow.”
“Take care, Beck.” Keir smiled at Dawn. “How’s it going?”
Dawn glanced across the lobby. The man was gone. “Fine,” she said. He really was gone. Maybe he wasn’t the man who had helped her yesterday. There were probably ten thousand tall men with dark hair in town at any given moment. Maybe he hadn’t even been looking at her. Why would he? She was nothing special to look at. “Nobody’s complained,” she said with a quick smile. “Not yet, anyway.”
“A sure sign of success. How’s the car?”
She lifted her eyebrows and tapped on the desk’s shiny wood surface. “Like new. Keir, I can’t thank you enough for—”
“Forget it. Hey, I was protecting the Song’s interests. We spent time and money training you. The last thing we want is to have you unable to get to work because you don’t have transportation.”
“Well, thank you anyway. Really. I don’t know what I’d have done without your—”
Her voice trailed away. Keir frowned and glanced over his shoulder. “Something going on behind me I should know about?”
“No. Nothing. Sorry. I just…” The man was there again, closer than before. And yes. It was him. There was no pretending. “I just… That man.”
“What man?” Keir swung around. “The guy in the tux?” He grinned. “I guess he had a late night.”
“Not him. The other one. See? The one standing near the photo shop?” She took a deep breath. “He looks like the man who helped me yesterday.”
“Yeah. I mean, it is him. I didn’t think he was checking in here. I mean, I suppose it’s possible. I mean…”
Keir lifted an eyebrow. He’d never seen the unflappable Miss Carter flapped, or whatever you called it when a woman looked the way this one looked.
“What’s his name?”
“Why?” She flushed and looked at Keir. “I mean, what does it matter?”
“Well,” Keir said pleasantly, “I’m going to walk over and thank him for his good deed. I figured it might be a nice idea to greet him by name.”
“I don’t know his name.” Dawn saw the surprised look on Keir’s face. She picked up the papers Becky had left and unwittingly clutched them like a shield. “I didn’t ask. And anyway, you don’t have to thank him. I wouldn’t want to—to embarrass him or any—”
Her protests were useless. Keir was already walking toward the stranger. She watched helplessly as the men exchanged a few words, then a handshake. Keir gestured toward her and she forced a smile to her lips. She felt awkward and on display. Every survival instinct she’d cultivated during the past four years was shrieking the same message.
Run. Run!
But she couldn’t run. She wouldn’t. There was nothing to run from, except her own imagination. She held her ground with a polite smile.
The man said something. So did Keir. Then he put his hand lightly on the stranger’s shoulder and they began walking toward her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GRAY stared across the lobby. There were lots of tall, slender redheads in the world. Vegas had to be loaded with them. But this wasn’t just any redhead. Even at this distance, he recognized her.
This was the woman he’d helped yesterday.
He could tell by the way she held herself, by the tilt of her head as she looked up at the man who was talking with her. Her conversation seemed animated. She was smiling and Gray remembered how difficult it had been to coax those first smiles from her and how foolishly pleased he’d felt when he finally had.
Why should he be so surprised to see her? She’d gone into the hotel through the employees’ entrance; he’d figured that she worked here. It was just that he hadn’t expected to stumble across her so easily. The Desert Song was the size of a small town; after last night, he’d assumed he’d have to search for her the same way he was going to have to search for Dawn. Instead he’d stepped out of the elevator and there was the mystery woman, standing next to a desk and smiling, though not at him.
Definitely, not at him.
He knew the exact instant when she saw him because her smile disappeared and she stiffened. The guy with her said something. She didn’t respond. She kept her eyes locked on Gray instead. The guy spoke again. She answered, and now the man turned and gave Gray a long, assessing look. Then he said something to Red. She shook her head and took a step back.
Gray’s smile faded. What was going on? She acted as if he really might be the serial killer they had joked about. The hell with her. And the hell with being Mr. Nice Guy. Dammit, he was going to tell her that. If she was that distrustful, she shouldn’t have gotten into his car in the first place.
He started toward her, his step purposeful, just as the man with her started toward him. Gray felt a quick pump of adrenaline. Had she sent a watchdog to chase him off? But the guy began to smile; the closer he got, the more he smiled, and he had his hand out even before they were close enough for Gray to decide whether he wanted to accept the handshake.
“Hello.”
“Yeah,” Gray said, his eyes still on the woman. He had the feeling she was ready to cut and run.
“I’m Keir O’Connell.”
“Yeah,” Gray said again…and then the name registered. He tore his gaze from Red and focused it on O’Connell. He was a big man, about Gray’s own height, with a pleasant smile and watchful eyes, the kind you saw on some prosecutors and lots of defense attorneys—and on their more intelligent clients.
“I manage the Desert Song.”
Gray took the hand O’Connell offered. The woman could wait. He was in Las Vegas to find Dawn Carter and this man was her boss or maybe her lover. He was Gray’s best lead so far.
“Nice to meet you.” The Desert Song’s manager had a firm grip. No way did he spend all his time pushing papers. “My name’s Baron. Graham Baron.”
O’Connell’s smile broadened. “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Baron. I’ve been hoping to meet you.”
“I’ll bet you say that to all your guests,” Gray said, and returned the smile.
“Only to the ones who perform good deeds.”
O’Connell tucked his hand into the pocket of his trousers. He wore a navy-blue suit, well-cut and tailored in much the same conservative style as the discreetly expensive ones Gray usually wore in the courtroom. He realized he’d expected shiny Italian silk and flashy gold jewelry. A pinky ring, at least. So much for his stereotype about Las Vegas businessmen—or at least about Keir O’Connell, who looked as if he’d be equally at home here or in a New York City boardroom.
“It was very decent of you to help one of my employees,” O’Connell said. He jerked his chin toward the alcove where the redhead stood, frozen, staring at them both.
“Oh.” Gray shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t much.” Not enough for the lady to have told me her name. “Actually,” he said, with a little man-to-man smile, the kind he figured would make it simpler to ease into a deeper conversation that would lead him to Dawn, “it’s my conscience that deserves thanks.”
O’Connell raised one coal-black eyebrow. “Your conscience?”
“Well, the lady’s car broke down just past a rise in the road. I was barreling along when all of a sudden she was right ahead of me. I stopped on the proverbial dime. I’m afraid I said some pretty rough things in what I guess you’d call the heat of the moment. Once I calmed down, I figured I owed her one.”
Keir laughed, just as Gray hoped he would. “I’m sure she doesn’t blame you for that, Mr. Baron. She told me that nobody else stopped to help her.”
“I’m sure someone would have, sooner or later,” Gray said, with what he hoped was the right amount of modesty.
“Maybe, but you’re the man that did. And I appreciate it. It may sound corny, but we like to think of ourselves as family at the Desert Song. Have you had your breakfast? I’d be happy to walk you over to the Reveille Caf;aae and buy you—”
“I’ve already eaten, thanks.”
“Well, then, it would be my pleasure to arrange for you to have dinner at La Chanson.”
“That’s very nice of you, Mr. O’Connell, but—”
“Please. Call me Keir.”
“Keir.” Gray hesitated. He and O’Connell were grinning at each other like old pals. Now was the time to ask about Dawn. On the other hand, maybe not. Maybe he was better off waiting until the conversation went on a little longer. And maybe, what the hell, he could solve one problem before he moved on to the next. “Keir, actually, if you want to thank me—”
“Absolutely.”
“Well, what I’d really appreciate is an introduction to the lady we’ve been talking about.” O’Connell raised his eyebrows again. Gray gave him a big smile. Any more smiling, they were going to be carted off to the nearest funny farm. “We never got around to introducing ourselves. She was so worried about being late for work…”
“Ah. That sounds like her. Well, in that case…” Keir put his hand lightly on Gray’s shoulder and the men began walking toward the desk. “I’ll be happy to oblige, Mr. Baron.”
“Gray.”
“Gray. It’ll be my pleasure.”
No, Gray thought, as they drew near the redhead, it would be his. At least Red didn’t look as if she’d seen a ghost anymore. Her color had gone from white to pink. Was she embarrassed to face him because of the way she’d given him the slip? Actually she didn’t look embarrassed so much as she looked trapped. What was her problem? Better still, what was his? Why would he want to pur
sue a woman who acted as if he carried the plague?
But he wasn’t pursuing her. He just liked things wrapped up, that was all. He’d already wasted more time thinking about the lady than she deserved. A handshake, an exchange of names, and that would be the last she would see of him.
By the time they reached the desk, she’d started fussing with some papers, thumbing through them, studying them, doing anything to avoid making eye contact, but that wasn’t going to stop him.
“Good morning,” Gray said. “Remember me?”
She looked up, clutching the papers to her like a shield or maybe a lifeline.
“Yes.” She smiled, if you could call that twitch of her mouth a smile. “Of course I do.”
“You certainly left in a rush yesterday.”
Her color deepened. “I know. I mean, I apologize. It’s just that…” She looked at O’Connell, hoping for assistance, but Gray had to give the guy credit. He was strictly an observer, watching the little tableau play out with his arms folded and an indecipherable expression on his face. “I, um, I was so late for work…”
“Don’t tell me your boss docked your pay,” Gray said, flashing a thousand-watt smile to make it clear that he was only joking. O’Connell got the joke and smiled, too, but not Red. She darted another glance at the boss, then shook her head.
“No. Of course not. Keir—Mr. O’Connell was very nice about—”
Hell, Gray thought, and took pity on her. “I’m sure he was,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “I think it’s time we introduced ourselves. I’m Gray Baron. And you are…?”
She looked from his face to his hand. He had to stop himself from actually checking his fingers for spots of soot but, finally, she made the decision.
Raising the Stakes Page 14
