Lucky Ride (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series Book 8)

by Deborah Coonts

  “That’d be the day,” Romeo said out of the side of his mouth. “I’m really sorry, Lucky, but she needs to come with me.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s wanted for murder.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “MURDER?” My brain freewheeled as my mouth went slack. Romeo didn’t normally embrace hyperbole, so I took him at his word.

  Murder!

  “She’s a kid for Chrissake! And so thin, if she was a twig she’d snap. Who do you think she killed?”

  Dane stared at the ceiling while Romeo looked like he would’ve dug his toe into the cement floor if he thought that wouldn’t be undignified for someone on his lofty rung of the detective ladder.

  “Somebody grow a pair and tell me.” I reached behind me and grabbed the girl’s arm, pulling her closer.

  Finally, Romeo met my eyes. “We don’t know if she killed anybody. If you’d stand down from the Mother Bear act, maybe we could find out.”

  Parsing words scratched at the thin veneer of my patience. “Who died?”

  “One of the bull riding support staff. This girl played a part in that.”

  My eyes went slitty. I hated it when Romeo played fast and loose with me…especially when murder was involved. I would’ve said murder is a serious business, but I didn’t think I could do it and keep a straight face. “Allegedly. No matter what you think, it’s still only an allegation.”

  “Whatever.”

  He was begging for it. “Do I have to give you the innocent-before-proven-guilty speech?” He looked so unhappy that I softened. “What has happened to you?”

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes. His shoulders slumped as he lost all of the badass. “You work with ugliness all day and that becomes all you see.”

  “Attitude, Grasshopper. Haven’t I taught you anything?” He started to answer. I stopped him with a raised finger. “Wait. Let me rephrase. Haven’t you learned anything?”

  “Yes, but probably not the lessons you intended.” The Romeo I knew and loved peeked through in his tired smile. “Have you gotten any sleep?” He’d been with me in China, and we’d flown home on the same plane. Just thirty hours or so ago he was riding herd on a jewel thief in Macau and I was running on fumes trying to catch a killer.

  Same life, different location.

  The synchronicity pointed to me as the commonality. An upsetting thought. So I did what I always do with serious problems—I ignored it. If you can’t fix it, why worry about it? A fitting epitaph.

  “Sleep?” I gave a little snort of derision and stifled the urge to hug him, too. What was it with me lately, going all squishy? “You either from the looks of you.”

  “Not a wink.” A little haunt widened his eyes. “I still keep seeing…”

  “I know.” I shivered then I yanked myself back. “Wait. Since when do bull riders have support staff?”

  “The clown. They think I killed the clown.” Tawny blurted from behind my back. She stepped into view but still stayed close enough that I’d take the first bullet. Where our shoulders touched, her nervousness vibrated through me.

  I grabbed her arm. Squeezing tight, I held her close. “Don’t say another word. Not one.” I squeezed until she flinched. “You got that?”

  She ducked her head like the kid she really was. “Yessum.”

  “How do you know I’m here about a clown?” Romeo asked, leaning around to get a look at her.

  I felt her start to answer. “Don’t.”

  He gave me a look of exaggerated patience. “If she cooperates, that will help us both.”

  “But I don’t think our needs are the important ones right now.” I lasered him with a stare. “Do you?”

  He completely wilted. “Of course not.”

  “Good. Get her to the station, put her lawyer next to her, then have at it. This is too important to push the boundaries, Romeo.”

  “His name is Romeo?”

  I heard the smile in the girl’s voice. “It’s Detective to you.” I pulled her around next to me so I could give her the slitty-eye. “Even when I’m not there. Not. One. Word. It’s life or death critical.”

  “Yessum.”

  Drawing a deep breath, I stood tall—swine that I am, I am rarely above using my height to intimidate. Of course, Dane still had me by a few inches, but Romeo was somewhat responsive to intimidation. I closed the space between us until it was slightly uncomfortable. To his credit, he didn’t retreat. “Is that right? You think she had something to do with the clown’s demise?” I stepped on a grin. Maybe it was the jet lag, or the Champagne, or just the incredible oddness of the whole evening, but I felt an almost uncontrollable need to laugh welling up inside me.

  “Clowns are people, too, Lucky.” Romeo bit his lip when he said it. Even though he fancied himself all grown, he still had a streak of juvenile humor, and he knew exactly which buttons to push.

  I swallowed the laugh. It didn’t help that Romeo was feeding me lines like a Vaudeville straight man. “Stop that.” I turned to Dane. “So, what about the clown?”

  “He was trussed like a baby calf,” Dane said, ignoring Romeo’s daggered look. “And that girl’s rope was the murder weapon.”

  She started to say something.

  I pulled her arm. “Don’t. Not until your lawyer is present and he says you can open your mouth. Until then, keep it shut. How many times do I have to say that?” I stared at Dane. “That’s redundant.”

  “What,” he said, momentarily derailed.

  “Baby calf. A calf is a baby and therefore baby calf is redundant.” Everyone stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. They were more than half right.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Stop!” I got control of myself, then gave her a fleeting smile and waited until I had her attention. “I know. But you did know the clown was dead. We just have to go through the formalities. Work with me. Romeo’s a good guy—he’ll help you.” I looked at Dane, then decided not to say a word. Trust, once broken… “I’ve done this a time or two.”

  Curiously, that seemed to calm her. I don’t know why—it scared the hell out of me.

  “I don’t have a lawyer.” Her voice didn’t waver.

  I took that as a good sign—at least she’d been hearing if not listening. “You will. I know just who to call.” I returned my attention to Dane. “Trussing the clown wouldn’t kill him.” As she sidled in as close as she could get, the girl pressed something into my hand. The photo.

  She didn’t want the police to see it. Curious.

  I kept my eyes on Dane as I slipped the one connection to my mother into my pocket. Neither of the men acted as if they’d seen anything.

  “She threw an extra loop around his neck, apparently,” Dane continued. “The prelim is the guy suffocated, but the coroner will let us know when he reaches a conclusion.”

  “Us? Do you have an official role here?”

  He leveled his emerald green eyes on me. “As official as yours.”

  A high-schooler trying to muscle into the Bigs. I found that oddly irritating. “Apparently, she threw an extra loop?” Unlike my friends, I was hearing and listening. I looked to Romeo for an answer…an official answer.

  “I haven’t been to the crime scene yet. Reynolds is working it.”

  Reynolds.

  Romeo shrugged off the opinion written all over my face.

  Detective Reynolds and his boorish bravado actually had been the catalyst to bring Romeo and me into a working relationship. When it came to Reynolds, I was grateful for that, but little else.

  “You’re telling me that a sixteen-year-old girl threw a loop around a fully-grown man’s neck and strangled him? She must have some superpowers we are unaware of.”

  “She could’ve been on a horse and drug him a while,” Dane said, sounding like the smart kid trying to earn points with the teacher.

  I lowered my gaze at the Texan. “Don’t go making up things without evidence to support them.” I turned to Romeo. “Anything to supp
ort that theory?”

  “You’ll have to talk to Reynolds. He’s working the scene.”

  “Terrific.”

  “Look, step aside. Let me talk to the girl.” Romeo held up a hand, cutting me off. “We’ll wait until her attorney is present before questioning her. It’s late, but I don’t go all stupid after midnight. Then let me get to the scene and I’ll fill you in as to what we’ve found.” He could see my hesitation. “Get the girl a lawyer. It’ll all come out. If she’s innocent, that’ll come out, too.”

  I didn’t share his confidence; Justice was blind and all of that—but it would only scare the girl if I said so. “Are you arresting her?”

  “Detaining.”

  “Semantics.” I stepped in close to Romeo, using my height and my current lack of self-control. “She’s a kid. Sixteen.”

  Romeo straightened but still couldn’t meet me eye-to-eye.

  Score one for the home team. I pressed my advantage. “I’m the only adult around—no parents, no family, at least not close. So, I’ll take responsibility for her.”

  Romeo gave an I-hope-you-know-what-the-hell-you’re-doing look, which I ignored.

  He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and gave me an I’m-sorry look. I stepped to the side, giving him the floor to read the girl her Miranda rights. Those words always dropped the floor out from under me—a reminder that this shit was real.

  Last time had been with Teddie.

  When the detective had finished, the girl was pale with the cold slap of reality.

  I felt the control I so desperately needed slipping away. “Dane, you make sure she says nothing until her attorney shows up, you got that?”

  He flinched at the bite in my tone.

  “You can do that without screwing it up, right?”

  He nodded, but I’d seen his enormous talent for incompetence.

  “Keep her in your sight. Don’t let her go for even one minute. Send the bill to me. Can you do that?”

  “Full fee plus expenses?”

  “Full refund if you fuck up.”

  He extended a hand. We had our deal.

  “Where are you going?” Tawny asked, a tremor in her voice. “I want you to come with me.”

  I put my hands on her shoulders and waited until she looked at me without wavering. “I’ll be there, but I need to go roust your attorney out of bed. Go with them. But remember what I said.”

  “Don’t say anything.” Her voice was a little stronger, but not much. She gave me a quick hug. “Thank you.”

  I held her longer than necessary, squeezing hard. Then I turned and jabbed a finger in Romeo’s chest. “By the book, Detective. You do one thing to coerce a statement out of her and I’ll have your head on a pike.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded.

  I was overplaying—we both knew it. Romeo understood what it meant. We were a good team.

  A tiny stick of a girl between the two men, Tawny disappeared through the door. She didn’t look back.

  Silence wrapped around me like an itchy wet wool blanket. When the girl left, the air had left too and I struggled to breathe.

  “I can say, without hesitation, that you are quite likely the most interesting woman I have ever met.”

  Jean-Charles! I hadn’t forgotten, not really, but he’d faded in light of the murder thing. I turned and met his half-amused, half-worried-as-hell look—I’d seen a lot of that look recently.

  I opened my arms in supplication. “This stuff finds me. What can I say? There I was, sitting in my office, signing like a million pointless papers, and she walks in with a story.”

  “You don’t have to fall for every pretty face with a sad tale.”

  I sidled in close to him. He took the not-so-subtle hint and encircled me in a hug.

  “I fell for yours.”

  “But I have no sad story.” Neither of us mentioned his wife who had died in childbirth. The one his family had loved and he still called to in his dreams.

  “No, but you are mercurial.”

  He didn’t deny it. “You do like the drama, no?”

  “No.” The lie slipped out. “What, I should stop helping people?”

  “You cannot stop being you. Drama comes with problems.” He was arguing both sides, so I stepped out of the conflict.

  He released me, then grabbed my hand, tugging me with him. “Come. I am not trying to change you, merely keep you safe.”

  “You can’t.”

  “This, I know.” Sadness and a hint of vulnerability crept in—he’d lost a love before.

  How could the heart stay open in the face of such devastation?

  Mona had left.

  Teddie had left.

  One day he might decide my life held a bit too much downside, and he would leave.

  Could I trust Jean-Charles not to? Could I handle it if he did? Was the possibility of happiness worth the price of potential pain?

  Would the Almighty please send a God-O-Gram with the answers?

  Even though I asked, I knew that one would be a “no.” This one was on me. But, to be honest, I never did like the whole risk/reward thing. If I ruled the world, we’d all get just the reward part. Mona used to tell me that without the bad, we wouldn’t appreciate the good.

  I wondered how she’d feel about that now.

  “I will be here for you,” Jean-Charles said as if he could read my mind.

  I didn’t much like being so transparent to him either, but the fact was as immutable as the cost/benefit paradigm I railed against. “You amaze me.”

  “This is a good thing,” he said with a little laugh…a very little laugh. “You scare the hell out of me.”

  “This, too, is a good thing.”

  He treated that as a joke as he handed me my purse. “You must go. The girl…” His eyebrows came together—the harbinger of a question. “Why did you not go with her?”

  “She’s holding back, playing me. Thought perhaps I needed to show her she’s in the Big Leagues now. Romeo will take care of her.”

  “You want to shake her, yes?”

  “Yes. And now it’s time to roust an attorney out of bed.” I hoped he was alone or things could get testy. “Then, perhaps, it’s time to talk to my mother.”

  Tonight, I rode the slippery slope from bad to worse.

  Squash Trenton lived in a small house in what I liked to call a suburb of downtown on the outskirts of Naked City. A formerly decent part of town, Naked City, where the showgirls used to sun topless on the roofs of their apartment buildings, had been claimed by unsavories but was now going through a bit of a resurgence. Caught between the old and the new, it had a fighting chance of the renewal sticking.

  The apartment buildings were a thing of the past, leaving small streets of comfortable cottages, most of which now sported bars on the windows and peeling paint. But Old Vegas charm still lurked in the detailing—a frescoed stucco, filigreed window casements, date palms stunted by the desert and the unrelenting sun, but fighting for a foothold—a visual metaphor for the city itself.

  The old Andre’s, one of the restaurant institutions of a classier Vegas and the scene of much of the important history of my life, had occupied one of the small homes that now sat dark and abandoned as I slipped past.

  Nostalgia arrowed through me, leaving a sense of loss but the warm comfort of memories. Of course, with change, the tangible talismans were disappearing, leaving only the hope of remembering.

  Change. The more I had, the more I struggled with it…or maybe against it. Is that what age does? Or maybe it’s that the past is the only immutable thing in life, a constant that creates a comfort.

  Either way, sometimes a drift down memory lane did the heart good.

  Even though I doubted Squash Trenton had a sentimental bone in his body, I could see why he’d chosen to live here. Near the courthouse and the bail bondsmen, but far enough away to avoid having the desperate crawling through his windows at night—present company excluded, of course. Unle
ss to escape a fire or a potential homicide, I drew the line at crawling through windows.

  The large gaps in streetlights gave the neighborhood an eerie feel, as if it had been designed to hide things in the darkness. Or maybe it was simply a throwback to a different time when kids played in the streets and neighbors looked out for each other so lights weren’t to hold back the darkness. Now, despite an uptick in respectability, many of the bungalows had bubbled stucco, curled trim, and bars on the windows.

  Progress.

  That whole reality thing again. I tried not to let it bother me.

  And I tried not to let it bother me that once again I was calling on Squash Trenton, hat in hand.

  Squash wasn’t, of course, his real name. At least I didn’t think so. I had no idea where Squash, both as a name and as a man, came from, not that it mattered. He came highly recommended by my father. Come to think of it, I had no idea how my father came to appreciate the skills of a criminal defense attorney, not that that mattered either. But I was seeing a trend here that was a bit upsetting. While not in the top five, being out of the loop was on my Top Ten Most Hated Things list.

  Squash’s windows were dark when I eased to the curb and killed the engine. They wouldn’t remain so long—as I’d made my way down the street, I’d seen lights in the houses pop on. My arrival wasn’t particularly stealthy—with over seven hundred horses and an exhaust system designed to attract attention, the Ferrari was more of a look-at-me-car than a fly-under-the-radar one. Not that I cared. The Ferrari was a loaner—my classic Porsche had met a fiery end and I had yet to replace it. Italian or German? The decision was impossible. But lately, I had the sneaking suspicion I might have outgrown the Ferrari. Maybe even the Porsche. But Porsche made an SUV now.

  Progress. Was age nothing more than hope shifting to resignation?

  Again, I tried not to let it bother me.

  In front of Squash’s house, I flipped the car into neutral, then gunned the engine a time or two before killing it. After the day I’d had, any interest in playing nice had long since evaporated.

  A light flicked on in a window to the far right as I eased the car door shut. Although not worried about making a racket, I couldn’t bring myself to abuse the car by slamming the door.