“Damn straight. I get first dibs.” A panicked giggle burbled up so fast a little leaked out before I clamped a hand over my mouth, smothering the rest.
“Oh no. Reynolds is mine.”
The way Romeo said it left no doubt he’d save me the trouble of killing Reynolds. Of course, that meant I’d probably have to save them both, which ran me smack into that whole some-folks-didn’t-deserve-saving thing. If Romeo couldn’t save his own bacon, I’d step in. But, as to Reynolds, I’d be more interested in turning up the heat.
“You let him shoot at me?”
“He’d already gotten off the two rounds. I saw Jeremy land on you, so I figured you were enjoying the ride.”
“Thanks for that ringing endorsement of my stellar character.”
“Hey, if I remember my Bible studies class correctly, coveting is the only thing expressly off limits. But, you were okay. Reynolds took off. So, I chased him.”
“An interesting interpretation of one of the Ten Commandments. Since when did your principles become so malleable?”
“Not being so restricted just evens the playing field. Survival of the Fittest is the only rule the bad guys play by.”
“That’s not a rule; that’s a theory. Brains over brawn, Grasshopper.”
“Do you have an unlimited supply of those things?”
“A bottomless pit. Seriously, without principles, we become who we’re fighting.”
While not exactly brushing me off, the young detective didn’t exactly embrace my theory either.
“Where’d Reynolds go?”
“He hopped a ride in a Babylon limo.”
Before I could process that, my phone vibrated once again for my attention. This time it wasn’t Mona. “Trenton?”
“O’Toole! Shit. Don’t you answer your phone?”
“I’ve been busy being shot at. It’s on vibrate anyway.” If he’d called, I hadn’t felt them. A quick check. Yep. He’d called twice. Shit. “Where’s the fire?”
“That ass Reynolds bolted in here, grabbed Miss P, and ran.”
Fuck. Not only had he taken a hostage, he’d taken her in one of my limos. If I found Reynolds first, Romeo would be denied his wish.
BEING a Vegas rat had its advantages. Working through the maze of side roads, back roads, and alleys, pushing the car and my skills, I pulled in the rear entrance to the Babylon’s parking garage in record time. Brandy had confirmed only one limo was out and Paolo was driving it. I’d called him several times, redialing the minute each call rolled to voicemail.
He hadn’t answered.
Somehow, I managed to avoid the picket lines in front of the hotel. I bypassed the line of cars snaking its way up the driveway. Throwing my proletariat leanings out the window, I wheeled into my reserved space, which I rarely used. Something about parking a Ferrari in a gold-level space right by the door reeked of an entitlement I found repugnant. But, tonight, I shelved my delicate sensibilities in favor of expediency—Romeo wasn’t the only one slipping from black and white to gray when it was expedient.
By design, the back entrance routed everyone directly into the casino. We wouldn’t want to deprive folks of the opportunity to deposit some money in various machines on their way to dinner or a club. The longer we kept them gaming, the better we were at our job.
Most people thought mischief was our main industry. Not so. Our focus was actually separating fools from their money. But, according to the marketing gurus, putting it that way would be a hard sell. Instead, we sold sex and silliness and an escape from the mundane—an incendiary mixture that kept them flocking to Vegas where most couldn’t resist the Siren call of a chance at hitting it big.
Some days, I found being in a “sin” industry hard to justify. The argument that I wasn’t responsible for my guests’ bad choices only went so far. The rescue gene ran strong in me; but, once again, not everyone deserved to be rescued, even some who did remained out of reach.
Every now and again, the ugly underbelly of my town messed with my magic.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Reynolds had Miss P!
Despite knowing I’d attract attention and perhaps incite a riot, I ran, a lumbering, limping juggernaut hell-bent on doing damage to Reynolds.
People filled the casino. Most of the stools in front of the slots were occupied, and players two-deep ringed the most popular table games. Other tables that catered to a special clientele still sat idle. Even though we knew the economics, changing out the games and the tables required a run through the Gaming Commission that rivaled the FDA drug approval gauntlet. Often the payoff didn’t justify the price.
Few paid attention as I flew past. One man called out. “Lady, is that blood? Do you need help?” I waved him away and kept running.
Nobody else seemed to have heard him.
Excesses barely turned a head in Vegas, I guess.
The music, barely audible above the excitement, had an upbeat tempo to keep the energy high. Young women and men, barely clad, wove through the throng with free beverages of choice.
Alcohol as a loss-leader.
Everywhere else that was frowned upon. In Vegas, it passed as a great business plan.
I hit the door to the stairs so hard it bounced off the wall and I had to hit it again. Two stairs with the good leg, one with the bad. Repeat several times. My breath sandpapered my throat until it was raw. The hallway was clear.
With my hand on the knob to my office and still puffing from the climb up one friggin’ flight of stairs, I worked to find some courage. Brandy would be waiting, and, for once, I didn’t have the answers she’d want. I couldn’t save Romeo. I could try, and I’d give it my all, but the final decisions rested with him.
For the first time ever I felt useless.
Totally on empty in every way, I couldn’t face her now—her fear, her recriminations that she wouldn’t mean but would voice in her powerlessness. But that was my job.
Ready to handle what hit me, I pulled open the door.
She jumped when I burst through the door. Her face pale, her eyes big, she held the receiver to her ear. When she saw me, she extended it to me. “Jeremy.”
I grabbed the thing. “Please tell me you know where Reynolds is.”
“I was following him,” Jeremy said.
“And?”
“I lost him.”
“Shit. He has your wife in the back of a Babylon limo.”
“How?” One word with razor sharpness to cut deep.
“Trenton said he burst into the pawnshop. And I would hazard a bet that because your wife fancies herself some kind of vigilante and because I’m losing my grip, she didn’t resist and is now a pawn in this game rather than a player.”
Jeremy muttered a few expletives, some of which I caught and some of which I deserved. In large part, this was my fault. Playing fast and loose with my own life was one thing.
“This one’s on you, Lucky. You took her there; you invited her into a world she knows almost nothing about.”
Guilty on all charges.
I started to cop to a plea, but Jeremy had hung up.
Brandy stared at me. My office shouted silent recriminations. No laughter. No love. All gone. “What happened to you?” she whispered.
“What?”
“Your nose. All that blood.”
I felt the caked blood and some still viscous on my face, then looked down to see it splattered across the front of my sweater set. “It’s been a night.”
“Romeo?” This whisper was choked.
“He’s fine.” I tossed the words off, a bit more harshly than I’d intended.
“He didn’t come with you?” She acted as if that was a huge transgression on my part.
“We both had cars.” I squeezed her hand and gave her a tight smile. “It’s okay.” I had no idea if it was or it wasn’t, but I lied for both of us.
Then I tried Paolo one more time.
This time, he answered. “Paolo” was all he said. He didn’t use my nam
e, and his voice sounded tighter than a high-c wire.
I was amazed Reynolds had let him answer this time. “Paolo, don’t say anything. Just listen and say yes or no to my questions, okay?”
“Yes.”
I planned the path I wanted to lead him down. This was my one shot to save Miss P. “Are you en route to the Babylon?”
“Yes.”
“Is Miss P with you?”
“Yes.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding. “And a detective with the police department?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Reynolds?”
No answer.
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
“Are you to go to the front of the hotel?”
“I think so.”
“Do as you’ve been told. I’ll be waiting.” I killed that call then called Romeo.
“Yo.”
“Yo?”
“I’m feeling like you sound.”
“Guilty yet hopeful? Good. How soon can you get to the entrance to the Kasbah?”
“I’m half a block away. Been circling. Didn’t know where else to go.”
I filled him in, then I disconnected and called Jeremy, hoping he wasn’t mad enough to ignore my call.
“Any news?”
I should’ve known worry would trump anger. That would come later. “Miss P is in the back of the Babylon limo. Detective Reynolds is with her. I’m not sure which team he’s playing for if you get my drift. I’m taking the front. Romeo is taking the Kasbah. Can you take the garage entrance?”
“Two minutes.”
With the men in place, I headed toward the only other entrance at the front of the hotel. The valet shack hid in a copse of large imported trees on the other side of the six-lane driveway from the front of the hotel. From somewhere cool and rainy, the trees were having their troubles adjusting to the temps in Vegas, but right now the cooler days of January seemed to bring them out. Judging by the foliage, the trees thought it was spring. Being perpetually a bit off and misreading all the signals myself, I felt empathy and an odd connection.
Thankful for the shelter, I hunkered in the shack amid the trees. No one would see me there, but from that particular vantage point, I had an unobstructed view of the traffic climbing the circular drive toward the hotel.
With the sun long gone and the glare of headlights, I had to wait until the cars passed underneath the first of the lights at the foot of the drive before I could see them clearly. The valets, running with the night’s business, didn’t even give me a second glance as if it was normal for me to be skulking in the dark. As the seconds ticked by, the windows started to fog—one hot body shut inside on a cool evening turning to cold night. With the sleeve of my sweater pulled over my palm and grasped firmly, I swiped my forearm across the window, clearing the fog temporarily, and I tried not to breathe.
The parade of cars never thinned. Lambos, Porsches, Mercedes, and the ubiquitous Land Rovers, dotted among the cabs and Lyfts and Ubers.
But no limo.
According to my phone, nine minutes had passed. They should have been here by now. And I hadn’t heard from Jeremy or Romeo. In case my calculations had been off, I gave it two more minutes, then abandoned my post and scurried inside, hiding in the crowd exiting their cars and moving toward the entrance.
Halfway across the lobby, stymied as to whether to run to the garage or the entrance to the Kasbah—the limo had to go to one of those entrances since it didn’t roll up to the front—I paused under the glass hummingbirds and butterflies taking wing high above. Barely a day went by that I didn’t want to join them in their flight to somewhere else.
Right now, I wished someone would call me and tell me something.
I didn’t have to wait long. Just as I was dreaming of where I would fly to, my phone jarred me out of it. “Tell me.” I didn’t even pause to look at the caller ID.
“Lucky?” Miss P’s voice, breathless and worried.
My knees went weak. “Where are you?”
“The Kasbah entrance.”
“Thank God you’re safe.”
“I’m fine, but you need to come quickly. Reynolds took off. I think Romeo is going to kill him if he catches him. Jeremy just got here. He’s gone after both of them. If you don’t get here quick…” She let a whole list of horribles hang in the silence.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A S I raced through the lobby, over one of the bridges that crossed our little stream, I startled a momma duck and her brood. The momma splashed into the water, squawking her displeasure, while the babies peeped in fear. A little girl who had been watching them gave me the stink-eye. If she wanted a piece of me today, she’d have to get in the back of a long line.
As I hit the casino, I spied Temperance, my MMA fighter moonlighting as a security guard. “Come with me.” An order she couldn’t refuse.
“Jesus, you look like hell,” she said as she fell into a sprint on my heels.
Adrenaline muted the pain in my calf. I ran with only a slight hitch. “Mad as hell, too.”
We pounded past startled gamblers and dodged revelers just getting the party started—I barely saw them as I put my head down and ran. The guard at the entrance to the Kasbah rose to stop us as we rounded the corner and headed toward him. When he saw it was me with security in tow, he stepped out of our way. I thought about yelling at him to call more security, but that might involve Fox—I had no idea where he was or what game he played—which only muddied the waters and increased the odds I might kill someone before the dust settled, so I flew past without a word.
The entrance was on the far side of the cluster of bungalows in the middle. Technically, we could wind our way through, but the fastest route was around one side. I chose the left—no reason other than I thought it might be the road less traveled.
Miss P paced the curb when Temperance and I skidded to a stop in front of her. “Thank God.”
“How did you…?”
“He let me go, then took off when he saw Romeo. But you need to hurry. They went that way.” She pointed through the entrance into the dark.
The gate was closing.
“You wait here,” I said to them both.
Both objected, but they were too late. In five strides, maybe less, I slipped sideways out the gated entrance, which was within three feet of closing, then stopped in the alleyway.
As with most hidden entrances to hidden treasures, this one was unmarked and down a long, dark alley far from the lights of the Strip and the front of the hotel. One light illuminated the gate to serve as a deterrent to anyone intent on stopping one of our guests to relieve them of their personal goods. We’d doubled-down with a guard with a gun just to the left of the gate.
With hands on my knees and gasping for breath, I managed to ask, “Which way did they go?”
The guard pointed down the alley, away from the lights.
Of course, they went that way.
“Your gun.”
“You look like you’ve found enough trouble already. Why don’t you walk it off?”
“Give it to me, or I’ll take it from you. How’d you like to explain being shot with your own gun to the guys around the water cooler?”
He couldn’t get it out of his holster fast enough. With guards like him, security became a wish rather than a promise. “If you shoot anybody, I’m screwed.”
“That would make two of us.” I chambered a round, thumbed off the safety, and ran.
My footfalls echoed off the buildings to either side—tall walls of concrete. Graffiti decorated the lower half of most of the walls—swirls of color I could only half-see and mostly imagine in the dim light reflected off the cloud deck above. The light was just enough to keep me running down the alley and not veering off into a wall or a dumpster. Every now and then, I’d splash through some standing water—not ideal for my new Ferragamos.
Romeo would pay. Reynolds would pay.
Creatur
es scurried in the dark to either side—rats or worse. But they’d have to run fast to catch me, so I pushed them out of my thoughts and focused ahead. A mile stretched between each of the major intersecting streets on the Strip. Whose bright idea was that? Sucking wind, my throat raw, my legs burning, I willed myself on. Up ahead, I could see the lights and passing traffic of Desert Inn. Giving the men more sense than they regularly exhibited, I doubted they would dart into traffic. As I approached the cross street, I slowed. The walls on either side gave way to fenced employee parking lots, then the maze of small buildings underneath the D.I. flyover hurling traffic over the Strip.
Romeo, Reynolds, and Jeremy could be anywhere. Man, I’d invited them to this party and none of them chose to return the favor.
At the end of the alley, with too many choices in front of me, I stopped. Where was Dorothy’s scarecrow when I needed directions to the Emerald City?
A shot rang out to my right. Okay, not exactly a straw man, but I’d take it.
Drawing a deep breath, I once again willed my legs to run.
Romeo’s gun had a silencer. Jeremy could be armed or not—he ran hot and cold that way depending on the job. With too few brain cells left to process that, I parked it, trusting all would be made clear.
Keeping my ears open, my head on a swivel, I trotted now, and my legs and lungs thanked me. Running full tilt-into a firestorm wasn’t on my list of acceptable evening activities—even if Romeo was up to his ass in badness.
The pounding of the blood in my ears told me my adrenaline levels still spiked, yet my calf started to burn. With the end of my sweater sleeve over one palm and caught with my fingers, I rubbed my face, careful not to bump my nose. Without a mirror, I felt sure I was making the whole thing worse, but I couldn’t help it.
The rabbit warren under Desert Inn always gave me the creeps at night. Dark, with the stench of too much alcohol and too little hope, this was one of the places the bright, shiny dreams brought to Vegas went to die.
Another shot in front of me. This one closer. I pressed myself against the wall to my right, listening. My heart pounded; blood whooshed through my ears.
Not helping.
Lucky Score Page 22
