Dangerous Impostor

by Virginia Smith

  He tossed a trench coat in her direction and dashed to the next rack.

  Lauren set the server down and picked up the coat. “But these are costumes, Brent. Surely you’re not suggesting that we dress like Elvis and march through the casino in the open.”

  “Of course not. We just need a few things, not a whole costume. Here. Try this.”

  Something else sailed through the air. She reached up and snagged it. Her fingers tangled in the long, dark tresses of a wig. She recognized the style immediately.

  “I am not dressing like Cher,” she informed him. “Besides, when we walk through that door in disguises, don’t you think that lady out there will be a little suspicious?”

  Brent straightened and gave her an exasperated look. “We’re not going out that way. Come on. Hurry.”

  He disappeared behind a rack of costumes, and Lauren immediately saw his intent. Of course. How stupid of her. The glowing red sign clearly pointed out their exit route.

  Quickly, she jerked on the wig and began shoving blond strands beneath it. The trench coat wasn’t too baggy, but would she draw attention by wearing a coat outside on a warm Vegas day? They’d have to take the risk, because most of these costumes were on the flamboyant side and would surely draw attention.

  Brent appeared with a baseball cap pulled over his head, buttoning a white dress shirt in place of the more casual blue polo he’d worn earlier. Hanging from his arms were the straps of two bulging duffel bags. He unceremoniously dumped the contents on the wooden floor. A variety of items spilled out, everything from containers of stage makeup, to hairbrushes, to shiny leather belts.

  He tossed one of the empty bags in her direction. “Put the server in here. We’ll be less conspicuous carrying a bag.”

  She did as he requested while he stooped over the larger computer. Her purse fit inside the bag, too. One less thing to carry. She zipped the duffel closed just as he lifted the cover of the fake computer off, once again revealing stacks of hundred-dollar bills.

  “We’re not taking that computer?”

  “Too noticeable.” He clipped the words short as he shoveled bundles of cash into the other bag. Then he slid the cover closed on the empty computer and waved at the items littering the floor. “Hide this stuff, would you?”

  Immediately Lauren discerned his intent. When that cashier came looking for them, she would see a computer in front of the stage manager’s door. If nothing else looked out of place, she might assume she’d missed their exit while she was involved in her book. Or maybe she’d think they innocently left through the rear exit. Either way, she might not send up an alarm, unless they left a disheveled mess behind.

  She attempted a joke as she shoved the contents of the bags beneath one of the costume racks. “Here we are in Vegas, not even gambling, and we still need to pray for a lot of luck if we’re going to carry this off.”

  Brent paused in the act of lifting the computer hull and peered at her. “I don’t believe in luck. What we need to do is pray for guidance.”

  His response surprised her. Pray for guidance? She’d only been joking. He must be pretty religious to make a statement like that. Funny, he didn’t strike her as the type.

  Before she could comment, he’d raced across the hall and set the computer in front of the stage manager’s office. “Are you ready?”

  “Sure.” Lauren shouldered the duffel bag containing the server, scooped up two pairs of big-lens sunglasses from the jumbled surface of a small vanity and raced after Brent.

  They skidded to a halt in front of the exit door. A heavy metal bar served as the handle, a warning appliquéd in red and white across the front. Emergency Exit Only. Alarm Will Sound.

  They exchanged a glance.

  “Maybe the alarm isn’t turned on.” She allowed a hopeful note to creep into her voice.

  “Maybe.” Brent’s lips tightened, then relaxed. “We don’t really have a choice.”

  True. She nodded.

  Brent laid a hand on the bar. His shoulders rose as he drew in a breath. The sound of her pulse pounded in her ears. She clutched the strap of the duffel bag and watched him shove the bar forward.

  A piercing screech filled the air. The alarm was definitely turned on.

  THIRTEEN

  Sunlight blinded Lauren for a moment. The high-pitched siren pierced her eardrums. She took in her surroundings in a glance. They were in a parking lot, with no one else in sight. Her sense of orientation kicked in, and she realized they were at the rear of the casino. The famous Las Vegas Strip lay behind them, on the other side of the immense Hollywood Hotel and Casino. The only people in sight were a couple weaving through the parked cars away from the building. They glanced up at the sound of the siren, but continued on their way to their car.

  “Quick. The casino’s security guards will be here in a second. This way.”

  Brent slipped a hand through her arm and jerked her sideways at a run. Lauren had no choice but to follow.

  They made it the length of the building without encountering anyone. The siren’s wail receded as they put more distance between them. At the corner of the building, Brent stopped and straightened. Lauren pulled up beside him, her breath coming in heaves. He peered around the edge.

  “Okay, I think we’re clear. Remember, act like you belong here.”

  He sauntered out into the open. Lauren gathered her courage, stiffened her spine and followed him.

  The Hollywood’s circular front drive lay directly ahead of them. Beyond a high blooming hedge, traffic sped by on Las Vegas Boulevard. The noise reduced the siren from the door into a distant whisper, easily unnoticed by anyone on this side of the building. Brent’s confident stride aimed them at the casino’s main entrance.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered, trying to walk easily, as though she was out for an afternoon stroll. A drop of sweat slid between her shoulder blades, whether from nerves or from wearing a trench coat on a warm Nevada afternoon, she wasn’t sure.

  Brent didn’t break stride. “My rental car is parked on the other side of the casino entrance. If we can get there, we’re home free.”

  Lauren measured the distance between them and the far side of the building. It seemed to be double the size of a football field. The casino entrance was a bustling hub of activity. Uniformed bellmen rushed toward cars that braked to a halt beneath the deep awning, and hurried to open doors for well-dressed gamblers. A group of tourists burst through a large revolving door and made their way across the driveway toward the hustle and bustle of the Strip. Far beyond lay another parking lot much like the one they’d just left. Her spirits flagged. How would they be able to make it all that way without being noticed?

  Lauren clutched the strap of the heavy duffel bag. She realized she held the sunglasses in her other hand and donned a pair. The glaring Las Vegas sun cooled in her vision. She offered the second pair to Brent, and he took it with a wordless nod of thanks.

  When they entered the shade beneath the awning that covered the circular entrance, her muscles tensed to the breaking point. The glass doors leading guests into the casino were darkly tinted and allowed no glimpse of the building’s interior. Could people inside see out? They inched their way past at a leisurely pace, and any moment Lauren expected to hear Detective Gaines cry, “Stop them!”

  And then they were beyond the entrance. They stepped from shade into glaring sunshine as they entered the casino’s south parking lot.

  Beside her, Brent heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Thank the Lord. My car’s just over there.”

  Relieved beyond words, Lauren was willing to credit the Lord with their escape, too, if that’s where Brent said it came from. Her stride lengthened as she headed in the direction he indicated.

  Suddenly, Brent skidded to a halt.

  “Get down!”

  His command resulted in her knees buckling almost without thought. She crouched down beside him, hovering between two parked cars. Moving slowly, he inched upward and stretched his
neck to see over the roof. Lauren mimicked his movements.

  A few rows away, a uniformed Las Vegas police officer paced between rows of parked cars.

  Brent dropped down on his haunches in the cover of an El Dorado. He didn’t dare speak a word to Lauren, but he didn’t need to. She followed his example. Though her eyes were hidden behind sunglass, a question was clearly evident on her face. What do we do now?

  He wished he knew.

  Maybe this officer was just a security guard patrolling the Hollywood’s parking lot to discourage vandals or thieves from harming the guests’ cars. If so, he might not be looking for them. He removed his sunglasses and inched upward, his head cocked at an angle so he could get a look at the guy while exposing as little of his head as possible.

  A patch on the uniform clearly read LVMPD—Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department. A standard-issue service revolver was secured menacingly on the officer’s wide utility belt.

  Brent dropped back down to the pavement. Okay. A cop in the parking lot. Getting to the Grand Am he’d rented wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d hoped. They’d have to crawl through the lot without being seen.

  A tap on his arm drew his attention to Lauren. Her lips formed a rigid white line, and she pointed to another area of the parking lot. Again, Brent rose a fraction and peered in that direction.

  A second police officer paced slowly down another row of cars. Brent’s spirits plummeted.

  The rental car is between them. They’re watching it, staking out the location and waiting for us to show up.

  Both officers headed away from their hiding place at the moment. Their heads turned to the right and left as they inspected the space between the cars like prison guards checking prisoners’ cells after lockdown. In a few minutes they’d turn and come back this way. He and Lauren were sitting ducks.

  Lord, what now? We’ve got to find a safe place so we can contact an attorney and figure this out. I’m out of options.

  He leaned heavily against the hot metal car door, hands clutching the bag full of cash. Maybe they ought to turn themselves in. Confess everything to Gaines and pray he’d listen to their side of the story. Of course, Lauren would go to jail, but if they got an attorney, maybe it wouldn’t be for long.

  Beside him, Lauren watched him. She’d removed her sunglasses, and he had a hard time ignoring her anxious expression. Anxious, but did he detect a hint of trust in her eyes? She trusted him to get her out of this, to keep her out of jail. The responsibility dragged at him like hardened cement.

  Wait a minute. Brent straightened as a possibility occurred to him. Mason had texted him the name and address of a guy here in Vegas. A Christian guy. Maybe he’d be willing to let them come over for a few hours, make a few phone calls and figure out their next move. A flicker of hope dissolved a tiny bit of his anxiety. This felt like a good move.

  But first they had to get out of this parking lot unseen. Fast.

  He signaled to Lauren that they were making a move. Her nod came quickly, and she grasped the bag containing the server in both hands. He did the same with the money bag, then inched upward again to check out the officers’ locations. They were about ten rows away, a few rows beyond his rental car. That meant they would probably turn and head in this direction soon.

  With a silent prayer, Brent rose to a semihunched position and ran, Lauren close behind him.

  FOURTEEN

  The bag containing the server wasn’t heavy, but its weight dragged at Lauren’s arms in this bent-over position. She dashed from the cover of the car and followed Brent across the driving lane, her stomach in her throat. Any minute one of those police officers might turn his head and see them.

  When they reached the next row of parked cars, Brent slowed, glanced toward the officers and then continued. She dashed after him across another lane. Once they were safely behind a different vehicle, he stopped and dropped to a squatting position.

  Lauren did the same and tried to silence her ragged breath. Where were they headed? She opened her mouth to whisper the question, and he held up a finger to stop her from speaking. The finger switched to point in the opposite direction from the officers. A movement flashed in her peripheral vision, and her pulse kicked up a notch. Were there more police over there?

  A moment later, a car drove past them down the lane. Not a patrol car, but a Buick. The driver’s head was turned the other way, apparently searching for a parking place.

  Brent waited until the Buick passed, then raised up again to peer toward the officers. He dropped back down and motioned for her to follow him. But instead of running toward the next row of cars, they edged around to the front of the car behind which they were hiding and crouched near the front bumper.

  The officers must be coming this way. If we stay between the parked cars, they’ll see us.

  Bands of fear tightened around her chest. Lauren hugged the computer bag to her body and curled herself around it to make herself as small as possible. What if someone else turned down this lane looking for a parking place? There was no way they could be missed. She tucked her head and squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look. Heat radiated from the pavement and beat down on her from the sun above. Perspiration trickled down her back.

  After an excrutiating wait, Brent’s hand tapped her shoulder. She looked into his face and saw a question etched in the lines between his eyes. He gave her a thumbs-up gesture. Are you okay?

  Lauren bit back a hysterical laugh. Did he want a truthful answer? Instead, she managed a nod.

  He gestured ahead of them. At first she thought he was simply indicating that they were ready to run across the next few parking lanes, but then she realized where he pointed. The same tall, flowering hedge that bordered the front of the Hollywood continued along this parking lot. From beyond it, the sound of traffic reached her—car engines, the occasional distant horn, the boom-boom-boom of someone’s stereo speakers.

  He’s taking us through that hedge onto the Strip.

  Wouldn’t that be crowded? She glanced at her watch. Almost four-thirty. The time surprised her. In one respect, it seemed as if weeks had passed since she’d found Frank’s body this morning. In another, it might have been only half an hour ago.

  Four-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon in Las Vegas. Yes, the Strip was probably crowded. But what choice did they have?

  She nodded to let Brent know she understood his intention, then prepared herself to run. After one more check of the police officers’ location, Brent dashed across the lane. Lauren’s thigh muscles protested the awkward, crouched-over posture, but she ignored the pain and followed.

  He didn’t stop when they reached the cover of the next row of parked cars, only glanced over his shoulder in the officers’ direction as he kept running. Lauren didn’t dare look. An unreasonable fear overtook her—if she turned her head, they might sense it and look back at her. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on Brent’s back and focused on matching his pace.

  Three rows away, they reached the hedge. A wide, smooth sidewalk separated the parking lot from the decorative bushes. A short bank of mulched ground led up to the walkway, which stood a couple of feet above the asphalt. When they stepped up onto it, they’d be visible from the entire lot. Tension pounded in her temples. They’d be exposed.

  With one final backward glance, Brent didn’t even pause. He climbed the bank with one long stride and plunged right into the tall shrubbery. With a bracing breath, Lauren followed.

  The hedge was planted several feet deep. Prickly limbs scratched her face, her only exposed skin. The tresses of the Cher wig became tangled in the branches, and the limbs snatched it off her head. She emerged onto a sidewalk in bright sunlight on the other side, wigless and breathless.

  Six lanes of traffic rushed past a few feet in front of her. Brent stopped, his feet planted on the sidewalk, and she rammed into his back. Someone else brushed against her, and Brent bumped into someone in front of him. They were surrounded by people who were staring at them as
if they’d just stepped out of a spaceship.

  Great. Talk about not drawing attention to ourselves.

  “Whoa, sorry about that.” A light laugh accompanied Brent’s words to those in their immediate vicinity. He made a show of brushing a leaf off of his white shirt and turned to her. “Now, wasn’t that better than walking all the way around that hedge?”

  His tone was light, almost teasing. A young man chuckled as he veered around them. Another shook his head and took his girlfriend’s hand as they continued down the sidewalk. The rest of the crowd parted and flowed around them.

  Brent shouldered his bag and slipped a hand beneath Lauren’s arm. “Remember. Act like you belong.”

  She allowed herself to be propelled forward, and they blended into the moving crowd of pedestrians. The back of Lauren’s neck prickled, and she had to force herself not to turn around to see if they were being followed by the police. She did look back once, when they stopped at a crosswalk, but saw nothing more alarming than a pair of ebony-clad young people draped in chains and sporting neon-pink Mohawks.

  Ahead of her the famous Las Vegas Strip stretched for miles. Everywhere she looked, towers reached into the sky, and electronic billboards flashed advertisements of elaborate shows and all-you-can-eat buffets. Fountains sprayed high, and even in the afternoon sunlight, glittering lights drew her gaze.

  Brent’s hand tightened on her arm. “Here comes the shuttle bus. Let’s get on.”

  A small group of tourists stood beneath a bus stop awning just ahead. When the shuttle arrived, they surged forward. Lauren and Brent joined them and, when their turn came, climbed into the bus. Brent pulled out his wallet and gave the driver five dollars, then they made their way to a pair of empty seats. As the shuttle pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic, Lauren twisted around to look down the street toward the Hollywood Casino. She saw nothing but cars and pedestrians and flashy buildings.