by R. T. Wolfe
The cab ride to the hotel was short. He lifted his brows at her choice. "I thought you were on a budget."
"I need proximity. I'm staying in the economy room."
He didn't respond, but opened his door and came around. Before she had a chance to get out, he held out a hand. The gray smiled warmly as she placed her hand in his. The contrast to the last time he helped a woman from her car... her limousine... it unsettled him. It woke something in his mind, in his heart.
Nickie was efficient and focused. The muscles in her calves accentuated from the four-inch heels. He shook it off hard.
"You're not staying in the economy room."
It came out snappier than he'd intended. Dropping her hand, he helped the cab driver with the luggage. Ignoring her protests, he addressed the cabbie, "What kind of weather do we have coming?"
The man looked startled that someone had spoken to him. Duncan always thought that was such a shame.
"Uh, sunny and hot. Welcome to the desert, sir." He smiled awkwardly and Duncan handed him his tip. The bellboy had arrived by that time, and they finished lifting the suitcases onto the bellhop.
As soon as they were distanced from other listening ears, Nickie spoke up. "If you think we're going to share a room, you're wrong."
He lifted two fingers. "It's a suite, detective. Two rooms. A living room, bar and two separate bedrooms, actually. I won't have you staying in economy while I'm in the sky loft suite."
He noticed her lids blink rapidly, then held the door for her.
She sighed heavily and walked through. "I'd say thank you, but you're too annoying. I've got some calls to make. Then, I'm going for a swim. We'll need to discuss tonight."
"I have an appointment," he responded. "I'll catch up with you later."
She looked at him, all irritations gone. Her smile was witty and wonderful. "With the mayor?"
"Yes, actually."
* * *
Duncan had to clear his head about Nickie Savage and what she was doing to his... well... head. The meeting with the mayor had done just that. His grandchildren had been there. The mayor wanted a handful of paintings of them around his expansive grounds, ones that weren't posed. The property was a bit too pristine for Duncan's taste, but he had a number of sketches started and some workable ideas in his head. He would return over the next few days and work as the children carried on around him. Duncan had a way with children. He thought they should be scared of him, but they didn't know enough about life yet to feel that way.
If she finished early with her search, so be it. She could fly home without him. He was impressed with her dedication to the victims she represented, but he was here for only one victim. Brie. He would help the detective as long as she understood he was here to find if there was a connection between the arson explosions.
He paused at the door to the sky loft suite, then knocked. No answer. He entered, setting his key on a mirrored table and headed back to his room. Pausing at the open door to her room, he peered in. It looked as messy as an MMA fight. She'd left her carry-on at the door and her garment bag on the chair. Clothes were strewn over the loveseat. How could one woman make such a mess in only a few hours? Why was he smiling about it?
He left the door and walked to his room, hung up his clothes and changed into his swim trunks and leather sandals. Pulling his goggles from the side pocket of his carry-on, he grabbed a towel and headed for the pool. He would need to be on his game that night, and a swim would be help.
Taking the side exit, he walked around the back of a large grass hut he recognized as a poolside bar. The bartender looked like he was barely legal and asked if he could get him anything. Duncan nodded and asked for water with lemon. He turned to make his habitual scan of a new area. He didn't make it to the surroundings because she was there, swimming the strip at the side of the pool portioned off for lap swimmers. He shrugged. She'd said she would, but he'd assumed she meant the pool in the fitness center.
She took clean strokes, barely making a splash. Nearing the end she flipped, turned over, pumped exactly three dolphin kicks, then continued. Seamless. He sat and contemplated, and decided the feelings he was having were because of the novelty of the detective. Not that he was with her. He'd been thrown with her and she was different. Different was always alluring.
He smiled as she dove into the concrete at the end of the pool like she was finishing a race. Tilting her head back, she dipped her hair in the water. As she lifted she used both hands to push the water from her hair, starting at the top of her head then over her shoulders.
Using the ladder, she swayed up the few rungs. She had the healthiest skin he could remember, golden and fit. Curved like a woman, not like a stick figure. She hadn't spotted him as she panted slightly from her workout. Stepping to her chair, she took her towel over her head. She slipped her sandals on as she brought her long hair around and wrung it in the white cotton.
And that was when he saw.
Six thin lines of scars crisscrossed her back. Six lines and three raised circles the size of cigarette burns.
Chapter 14
Images flipped through Duncan's mind like a slide show on fast forward. Pieces fit together; pieces he didn't want to fit together. Too many answers to questions he now didn't want to ask. The glass of water slipped from his hands and bounced on the concrete.
The detective turned at the sound and spotted him immediately.
He knew his eyes were opened wide, but he couldn't seem to close them. She knew. She knew he knew and the look of shame on her face was more than he could bear. Slowly, she looked to the ground while slipping the towel over her shoulders. Seamlessly, she pulled on her shorts and picked up her bag. He knew his mouth was still open, but he couldn't seem to move.
"You've got one hour," she said short and curt. "I'll need to brief you beforehand."
"Detective—"
"Don't."
She left him there, standing in his disbelief. The young bartender had already come around and was picking up the plastic glass and ice.
He walked around for what he'd hoped wasn't longer than an hour. What had he said in the past few weeks? Had he said anything insensitive about the Lacey Newcomer case? Sarcastic? How had he missed the way she knew everything there was to know about the young girl's kidnapping, the scars on her back? He rubbed his hands over his face as he rode the elevator to the top floor. He'd ribbed her about her missing year, assumed the papers were right and she'd been a high-maintenance, rich girl, teenage runaway.
There were many, many questions, new questions—none of which he should ask or research. The door opened and he felt ready to put on the face she'd asked for.
* * *
Nickie was wearing brown and black leopard pumps with a short black miniskirt, and a no-sleeved, skin tight sequined mock turtle neck. It covered her back. A purse that matched her shoes was slung over her shoulder. Duncan was sure it held more than lipstick and a compact.
They looked at each for a short moment. Judging, deciding. He guessed she approved of what she saw as she started. "The tournament is four days long. I don't think they'll use the casino that's hosting. Too much attention and crowd control. We're going to case the others."
"All of them?"
She handed him a note card. "The ones in close physical proximity. We'll split up. You have to walk every damned place around here. The johns won't want to walk far. Most are fat and lazy."
He sighed and closed his eyes. She would know this. Personally.
"If I have to be careful of everything I say, I can't use you and you're on your own."
"I'm sorry."
"See? I can't work like this." She snatched the card from his fingers.
"Why didn't you—?"
She paced now, combed her fingers through the top of her hair. "Tell you? Tell anyone? Look at you! I'm over it—"
"No one gets over something like that," he said calmly. "You might move on, but not over."
"Look who's talking?"
"I'm not denying it."
"Ahhh!" she growled.
He took her waving hands and held them to her sides.
"I have to find her," she said.
Softly, he responded, "You will. We will."
He felt her hands and arms relax. "This was the first time I've ever in my life felt ashamed... the first time anyone but the doctors knew what they were looking at."
"You're stunning." He would not show the sadness or the pity he felt. He could do that for her. "Every inch." He leaned in and gently set his lips on hers. The buzzing in his head was too much to sort out. So, he didn't try. He ran his hands up the bare skin of her silky arms and rested them on her neck. He felt her arms twine around his bare back.
Carefully, he opened her lips. She accepted. The taste of her was confusing. He ignored the confusion and let it drive him to unfamiliar places. He braided a hand through her thick hair and explored with the other down her back. He felt her pull him closer. Body to body. The sexiest moan escaped her lips and sent embers through every inch of him.
Nickie had no idea how Duncan could make her feel pretty after the look he had on his face. Why did she feel trust? This was Duncan Reed. Playboy. Tycoon. She wasn't rich or famous or beautiful. And she didn't want to be another conquest, but she wanted this. Just for now. She wanted his careful hands and the layers he possessed.
Instead, an involuntary sigh escaped her lungs. Placing both hands on his chest, she pushed. She could have kicked herself at that moment. "Duncan."
Carefully, too carefully, he answered. "What is it?"
"I won't have you this way."
The look on his face would have made her laugh if her body wasn't fighting with her head. He looked like he just lost his first race. Missed his first free throw.
"What way?"
"I won't do this because you feel pity for me."
He looked at her long and hard. She knew he was thinking, pulling up past memories, past images. Sorting them in his complicated head of his.
He took her hands and held them up between his. Kissing them gently, he nodded and smiled slightly. "My shower will take a bit longer, then, detective."
An odd mixture of pent up sexual frustration and a wave of relief flooded her. How could he make her laugh at a time like this? Because he was completely not a funny man. "I guess I'll wait."
"And I will wait for you." He said it like it was a declaration.
* * *
Duncan came out looking like he was ready for a photo shoot. The yellowing bruising around his eye socket from his tussle in The Pub parking lot only made him look better, sexy. It added a touch of dangerous. He'd put something in his hair that gave it a slightly slicked back look. The dress pants were designer and matched the dark brown color of both his Armani shoes and his eyes. He chose a crisp, white shirt and a vest that showed off his narrow waist and broad shoulders.
She should change her mind.
"This is a microphone." She handed him a lapel pin. "I'll be able to hear you." She placed her own nearly invisible devise in her ear and turned it until it felt semi-comfortable.
"Why do you get an earpiece?" he asked as he adjusted his pin.
"I'm the cop and you're not."
Without asking, he plucked her note card out of her hand. Confused, she looked up to him only to have him replace it with his.
"We should trade," he explained.
"Banned?" She understood. Good grief. "You're banned from a casino in Las Vegas, Nevada?" She felt her eyes travel in circles as she tried piecing together this new information. Would that hurt her investigation? Help it?
"Mmm." He shook his head. "Not, 'a'."
"How many?"
"Three." He tilted his head to the side. "And a half." His smile was slight. He used it like a weapon. Did he know his eyes lit when he did that?
He has his own scars, she reminded herself. They just weren't visible. Two peas.
* * *
"I'm not sure what I'm looking for," Duncan said into the microphone, hoping he wasn't talking to air. He strolled through the back of the first casino on his list, a brandy in his hand. The women who approached him were a convenient cover. He was a single man casing the place for a one-nighter.
Most every casino had an exclusive or secluded section. Some more exclusive and more secluded. He decided to find it.
As he memorized the rooms, the hallways, he noticed, as he'd expected, a lack of gamblers. Most would either be participating in or watching the tournament that was two casinos down the strip. It made him feel vulnerable and easy to spot. He wasn't doing anything illegal, he reminded himself. Not with the casing or with counting any cards.
The next one was much the same, except one of the girls from the first casino had stuck to him like paint on a brush. There was an obvious guard standing in front of a door to one of the side hallways that led from the high ante-area. He didn't think there would be a solitary man in charge of nine girls... or however many there were now. Although, he did suspect the same sorts of things would be going on behind that door. He wished they were with women of legal age.
"I'm going to wait for you in front of the fountains." He hoped the detective heard him and that the girl hadn't.
The bleach blonde was too high to know there was more action next door. Brushing her off wasn't going to be easy without drawing attention. As they made it to the only water fountain display he could have been referring to, she leaned back with her elbows resting behind her on the wrought iron fence. He thought if she pulled her head back any farther, she may fall in.
He saw the detective as she approached. She looked between them, but kept walking without a hitch.
As soon as she was in earshot, she spoke. "What can I do for you, Duncan? I'm in the middle of... work." Her eyes were all business and all Nickie Savage.
He stopped to meet her before she reached the fountain. "Darling," he said loudly before kissing her first on one cheek, then the other before lingering on her lips.
When he pulled away, the detective's eyes were open and staring. She lifted her brows, then leaned over to look around him at the blonde. Speaking low, she shook her head. "Now this is just lazy. You are perfectly capable of fending off women on your own."
Turning, he was relieved to find the blonde pushing away from her pose at the fence, with her bottom lip sticking out. She didn't say goodbye as she stumbled back to the casino.
"Is she seriously why you called me all the way out here?" She adjusted her earpiece, then dug in her purse.
"You look amazing."
She took out her smart phone and typed like a maniac. "I look like I blend in, and that's not helping."
He wrapped his arms around her waist and put his lips close to her ear. "You mean to tell me you haven't had any blonds after you this evening?" He kissed her just under her ear.
She pushed him away with both arms, but not before he felt her breath quicken. "Working."
Trailing his hands up her sides, he asked, "Here? In front of the fountain?" He dipped his face close to hers, inhaled the lavender beneath the faint scent of cigarettes and looked into the steel gray.
Her smile was slight but beautiful nonetheless, and it was close to time to paint it. "Well, I'm quitting for the night," he mumbled as he leaned in and took her lobe between his teeth.
She shivered as she asked, "What do you mean? We've only been at it—" Pulling back, she looked at her watch held together by several bangles. "—two hours now."
"I'm not getting anywhere. And I have a plan. Tonight, I start work on the mayor's paintings and tomorrow night I play poker." He turned a piece of her locks of waves between his fingers, memorizing the texture. Her hair was thick and silky, several shades of blonde and brown. The brilliant water show at his back lit up the lighter strands.
She looked honestly confused. "Fine. I have work to do. Give me the lapel."
He obliged. "What I mean is that I've found an intimate game. High stakes. I'll need to
stop at my bank tomorrow and get the cash for the buy in. Who knows, we may make some money."
"You have a bank in Las Vegas, Nevada?" Dropping the lapel into her purse, she pulled her hair behind her shoulders. "I can't afford to waste the night. I've got my own key. I'll enter quietly."
"A night without you in our hotel room. I'll try not to form a complex." He reached up and brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek.
"Which is why I told you we're not sharing a room."
* * *
Shortly after 3 a.m., Nickie slid her keycard into the elevator, unlocking access to the top floor. An early night for Vegas. She'd drummed up three promising leads. Not a bad start. She would put them at the top of her list for the following night.
The first thing she noticed when she entered the room was that Duncan had changed the corner lounging area into a studio. He sat on a small folding stool in the middle of two soft lights and a large easel. Sitting next to him was a chair he'd transformed into a stand for his supplies. His deep brown hair was tied in a small tail near the back of his neck. She hadn't known it was long enough to do that. It was damned sexy. He wore cotton lounging pants, no shoes and a loose linen shirt.
Since Duncan sat facing the door, she knew he'd seen her come in. It was the first time she thought he looked like an artist. Why had she never thought that to be odd until this very moment? He was disheveled with his amazing head of dark brown hair in a mess, eyes puffy and red and intensely locked onto the painting that must be of the mayor's grandchildren. He offered no greeting. Just as well. She needed sleep.
As she shut the door to her room, she let out a small moan of relief, kicking off her shoes. She could wear heels, wear them for hours, do a chase in them if that weren't ridiculous. However, these were beyond pain and were happily kicked to the side. She slipped off the skirt and peeled the turtleneck over her head.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she slipped on her pajama bottoms and a cotton tank before crawling directly into bed. Holy. Cow. The bed. Firm, soft, smooth. The sheets must have a much higher thread count than her three-hundred thread—scratchy ones with balls of lint covering the center.
