by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
“This is an old pal. Tell him I sent you, that should clear the way for anything you need.”
“Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it.” She didn’t look at the card.
He stared at her, struggling with something. She could tell by the way his lips tightened that he wanted to say more. Then finally, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Be careful, baby,” he whispered softly, then left.
Darcy watched him go, which was an event in itself, then looked at Meg.
Meg grinned. “I vote for Jack.”
Two stylists added a vote for Kel. She looked at Charlie, who was confused by the adult conversation and went back to playing with the penlight in the tent.
“There’s no competition,” Darcy said. But there was.
“Not yet,” Zoe put in. “But I see one brewing.”
Darcy hoped not. It was so teenage, anyway. She looked at the back of the business card.
Her features tightened.
Great. Jack’s friend was a cop. Detective Kyle Windom.
Well that blows. No way was she getting anywhere near the police. Not even for help to find this Cleo Patra. She’d have to do it on her own.
With the boys in black willing to kill Tony Feeley to keep him from talking, Darcy was thinking she’d be better off with a gun.
She looked at her baby boy scribbling in a coloring book, tucked safely in his new tent. She knew she couldn’t bring him along, but she’d been away from him so much lately and missed him. Leaving him with Megan was safer, she told herself. She didn’t have a choice.
The music was the ching of slot machines, the shouts of winners. A wild assortment of people from tourists to high rollers peppered Caesar’s Palace and kept the casino running at top speed.
Darcy got a little dizzy staring at all the bright lights. Her persona for the day was a high roller and she had on so much paste jewelry it was a wonder she didn’t stick to the carpet. She didn’t think it would do her good to look like a showgirl, since she wasn’t tall enough, and the security around Caesar’s Palace was phenomenal. She’d be lucky if she could get close enough to Cleo to speak with her.
Cleo wasn’t hard to find. Her water bill, paid online, brought Darcy to an apartment and while Cleo wasn’t there, according to the neighbors, she didn’t socialize and kept late hours. Nor did she have many guests. Cleo didn’t own a phone. Probably carried a cell, Darcy thought, but if it was that easy to find her, then the boys in black could, too.
Although Feeley could have been blowing smoke and could have been harassed by the thugs for another reason entirely.
The foot traffic around her was heavy. Lights sparkled like flashing beacons, luring the players and their money to the casinos beyond. She made a point not to behave as if she was searching, pausing to study the people, the restaurant menu. Her gaze shot around herself. It was instinct to stop and look, to watch her own back.
Her gaze caught on the back of a man’s head. He was in the casino, moving between the blackjack tables, and something about him struck her enough for her to head that way. The crowd was heavy, brushing her hard enough for her to misstep. She peered over heads, her gaze quickly flicking over the crowd. She spotted him and moved.
Darcy was nearly close enough to get a good look, but his back was to her. It was the way he walked, she thought, not his looks.
Kel? He turned a corner, and she hurried to catch up.
But when she reached the spot where she’d seen him last, he was gone.
She looked around at the shops and restaurants, but didn’t see him. The doors leading out were nearby. Giving up, Darcy turned back and headed to the Coliseum Theater. She needed to find Cleo before the show, since afterward it would be too crowded and the dancers would be making a beeline to get home.
She went into the Coliseum, marveling at the size of the place as she walked with confidence in her step, her jewelry and clothing shouting money and enough of it to burn. No one questioned her when she stepped inside the empty theater. She went up to a man who was near the stage. He was wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard, pointing to the stage and telling someone to move the lighting. Darcy assumed there was a lighting grip in the rafters.
She waited and when he noticed her, he smiled and looked her over.
“Yeah?”
“I’m looking for someone, one of your dancers.”
His gaze narrowed. “What for?”
“We have a mutual friend, and they asked if I’d say hello, see how she was liking working here.” Darcy put on her best fascinated face. “It looks all so exciting and glamorous,” she gushed.
His gaze shot over her, noticing her designer clothing and jewelry. Darcy only hoped he didn’t notice it was paste and last year’s collection.
“What’s her name?”
“Cleo.” She cleared her throat. “Cleo Patra.”
He gave her a look that was equally amused. “Yeah, she’s back there.” He inclined his head toward the stage door.
“May I go back?”
“Sure. They’re getting ready for tonight’s show.”
He pressed the headset to his ear and listened, a finger up to stop her from talking. Then he frowned and spoke into the mike, “No, that’s not right.” He turned his back, waving her on, and Darcy drew a breath and started moving. She wasn’t going to give him a chance to stop her if he had second thoughts.
She pushed through the stage doors and walked down a narrow hall that forked, one short corridor leading to the stage, the other to what she assumed was the dressing rooms. She followed the chatter, the sounds of equipment being moved. It felt familiar to her, like working on movie sets. Soon she saw people giving stage orders, and a woman who Darcy suspected was the dresser was adjusting elaborate headpieces and skimpy costumes on women who were inches taller than her, and more beautiful up close than she’d thought possible.
She tapped the dresser, who didn’t even look up from working on refitting a dancer’s costume. “I’m looking for Cleo.”
The woman pointed off to the right and kept right on working, straight pins in her mouth. Darcy shifted between the women and men, ignoring the stares and walking down the hall. She asked again where she’d find Cleo and a man spoke up, his gaze moving over her.
“She’s in there.”
“May I go in?”
He pushed away from the wall and rapped on the door, then leaned close when someone opened it a fraction. “Someone to see Cleo,” he said, giving Darcy the once-over again.
The door shut and in a few minutes a black woman with flawless café-au-lait skin stepped out. She was beautiful. And really tall. She had to be near six feet, Darcy thought. It was hard to believe the woman was about forty-five.
Wrapping her silk robe a bit tighter, Cleo looked down at her, her hip cocked. “What you want, honey?”
“Can we speak in private?”
She looked around and gestured. “You see any place in this wild house?”
Darcy inclined her head and shifted away from the crowd, farther back down the hall. The click of Cleo’s shoes followed her and when they were in private, she faced her.
“I’m Piper Daniels. I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
She gave her a narrow, wary look. “You a cop?”
“No, I’m not.”
“So what’s this about? And make it quick, I’ve got to dress for the show and it takes a while to pack all this—” she gestured to her voluptuous body “—into half a yard of material.”
“Tony Feeley said—”
“That bastard sent you?” Cleo cut in, her friendly attitude vanishing. “Forget it.” She turned and headed toward her dressing room.
Darcy raced to catch her arm. “No, he didn’t send me here.”
Cleo looked back, losing her grip on her. “Then what do you want?”
“Information.”
Cleo’s beautiful kohl-lined eyes thinned. “I haven’t seen Tony in years and don’t want to.”
“I
wouldn’t, either. He ranks below pond scum.”
Cleo smiled slightly, yet her eyes held years of distrust. Darcy understood that. “Please, Miss Patra.”
“Call me Cleo, honey. And what information do you think I have?” She lowered her voice, glancing to see if anyone was close enough to hear. “I haven’t been in Tony’s line of work for two decades.”
“I know. This has nothing to do with Tony.” Darcy debated on how to approach this, then decided straight ahead was the best way. “Twenty years ago, did you answer an ad to become a surrogate mother?”
Cleo’s eyes widened, her features going slack as she stepped back, looking past Darcy and around the area.
“Sorry, sister, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cleo turned and hurried down the hall.
Darcy caught up with her. “Cleo, wait.”
Cleo rounded on her, nearly six feet of angry black woman towering over Darcy. “You listen to me, girl, don’t come near me again, or I’ll have the hotel staff kick your preppy little ass outta here.”
Darcy didn’t have to ask why she was so reluctant to talk. Someone was willing to kill to keep this surrogate business under wraps.
“Take this then.” She handed Cleo a card with her alias and her cell number printed on it. “If you change your mind, call me.”
“I won’t.” Crushing the card, Cleo leaned down in her face. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your mouth shut and get out of this town as fast as you can.”
Cleo spun away, long curls bouncing as she stormed off.
She’s scared, Darcy thought. Very scared.
Had the men who were after Tony visited Cleo?
And how was she going to convince the woman to talk to her?
Chapter 11
Cleo had been a surrogate. No doubt, after her reaction.
Walking toward the front exit, Darcy passed the ticket counter, not paying attention to anything but her own steps when she dropped her purse. She stopped to pick it up, glanced around for any loose items.
That’s when she saw him. Jack. She almost didn’t recognize him. He looked more like a corporate executive than a bounty hunter in the dark gray suit, dark shirt and silk tie. Hot. Incredibly polished. He was talking to a hotel staff member, handing him something.
When he lifted his gaze, Darcy felt pinned and knew in an instant he was aware she was here. She waited till the other man left, then strode up to him.
When he looked at her, Darcy felt her insides tighten. “Did you follow me?”
He jerked his head back. “Hell, no. I knew you’d be here, but not here.” He gestured to Caesar’s.
Darcy’s gaze thinned. “What are you doing here, Jack?”
“If you must pry,” he enunciated, “I’m working on an old missing-persons case for someone. You didn’t call Kyle, did you?”
“No, I didn’t need to. I found her on my own.”
“Good girl.” He smiled.
She didn’t. “Don’t patronize me.”
He eyed her, his smile fading. “You really think I’m tracking you?”
“Yes.” He’d been outside the Match Lite Bar, and now he was here? It was too convenient.
“What the hell are you into that you’d believe that?”
“None of your business.”
He stared her down. “Woman, I swear, you’re stubborn enough to try a saint.”
“So you keep telling me. I thought we’d settled this, Jack.”
“We did. You’re letting your imagination get to you.”
Maybe he was right, but there were too many people moving around her life who could topple the scales.
She let out a breath. Jack moved close, moved in. She felt her insides shift and twist as he stared down at her.
“You’re edgy. What’s going on, Piper?”
I’m Darcy, she wanted to scream. I’m here, can’t you see me? But she couldn’t and she was so tired of it.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“You don’t have to handle it alone, you know.”
Yes, she did, and she wanted to share her burdens with him, but was certain he’d turn away from her. She realized Jack meant more to her than she’d thought possible.
“I do for now.” She turned away and stepped outside onto the curb. He was there as she handed the valet her ticket.
“Have dinner with me later,” he said suddenly.
When she looked at him, he was close. He gripped her hip, pulling her near. The air sizzled, her body suddenly aware of only him. Each feature, the tense strength of his muscles and the heat in his blue eyes. Before she could say a word, he kissed her. Nothing chaste and quick, but a hot, seductive slide of lips and tongue—utterly possessive, completely primal. It made her heartbeat climb rapidly, and she wanted closer.
“I accept your apology,” he whispered when he drew back.
She made a frustrated sound, pushing him. “I didn’t offer one.” He didn’t let her go just yet.
“Tasted like it to me.”
Darcy smiled up at him, shaking her head.
“That’s some outfit, too.”
She wore a slim-fitting black sheath of lace over a flesh-colored lining.
“I can tell you’re not armed, too.” When she frowned, questioning, he gave her a long slow look and said, “You aren’t hiding a thing in that dress.”
Just then the valet pulled up. Jack stepped back to open her door. “I’m staying here.”
She flicked her room key. “Paris.”
His gaze lowered over her with unshielded want and he inhaled through clenched teeth. “Probably a good thing,” he muttered. “Dinner, seven. I’ll come for you.”
“Okay.”
She slid behind the wheel and smiled as she drove away. That kiss spoke volumes, and though he’d never made any overtures, his recent behavior was sending messages that were loud and clear. But she couldn’t take their relationship much further. She was lying to him. And that, Jack might never forgive.
Darcy did what every red-blooded woman did in Vegas. She shopped. The fun of strolling through shops was dampened with trying to figure out how to convince Cleo to trust her. The woman had no reason to, and if Darcy were in her shoes, she wouldn’t, either.
Her thoughts on a hot bath, she stepped off the elevator, then hunted in her purse for her room key. She’d taken a couple steps when she realized the hall was darker than when she’d left. She headed quickly toward her room, and just as she turned a corner someone slammed her face-first against the wall. A heartbeat later, a knifepoint dug into the side of her throat. Darcy didn’t have time to be afraid.
“My money’s in my purse, take it.” She let it drop with the bags. He didn’t go for it. She struggled and the man shoved her legs apart, nearly unbalancing her. The weight of his big body crushed her to the wall.
She smelled the minty scent of his breath as he said, “Keep your nose out of it, lady.”
She didn’t recognize the voice.
“You got that?”
“Sure, yeah, no problem.”
He shoved harder. “You ask too many questions, bitch. Drop it or I’ll drop you.” He ground his crotch to her behind and revulsion floated up from her stomach. She rammed her elbow back into the man. It did nothing. Absolutely nothing. His laugh was low and cold, and he pressed the knife till a trickle of blood slid down her throat.
“Want to die now?”
“Go to hell.” She drove her heel down on his foot as she threw her head back into his face. At the impact, she heard something crack.
He groaned loudly, but didn’t let go. The hand in her hair slammed her forehead to the wall. Darcy saw stars and thought, I’m going to die over this.
Then the thunder of footsteps vibrated the floor, and seconds later the man was off her. She twisted in time to see Jack knock the blade from the man’s hand and land a full-face, hammer-fisted punch right on the guy’s nose. The man staggered, blood spraying from his nose. Jack didn’t stop, dri
ving his fist under the guy’s chin, nearly lifting the man off his feet. Her attacker crumpled to the carpet. Jack shrugged his jacket into place and looked at her.
He was pissed. He moved toward her and instinct would have sent her backing up, but when he reached her, she let him take her into his arms.
“Thank you, Jack.”
“Why’d this guy go after you?”
She pushed away from him, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” He tipped her chin up. “Jesus, you’re bleeding.”
She touched her throat, looked at the blood on her fingers. Jack gave her his handkerchief, then flipped out a cell phone and dialed. “Hotel security.”
“No, Jack. Don’t!”
“What? Are you crazy? It’s on video.” He pointed to the cameras positioned in the corners.
“I won’t talk to them.” She started toward her room.
He grabbed her close, his eyes sympathetic. “You won’t have to. I will.”
Darcy sagged, her heart pounding.
Jack spoke into the phone, his tone demanding and angry, but when he shut it off, he was calmer.
“Give me your room key.”
“Why?” He flicked his fingers, not explaining. She handed it over.
He went to the room and unlocked it. “Get your stuff, you’re coming with me.”
“I am not.”
“Yes, you are. Now. And don’t give me that crap about taking care of yourself. I know you can, but tonight, you couldn’t.”
He waited at the door till she repacked her things.
The security was there and he wouldn’t let them talk to her, giving them his cell number and telling them to take it up later. They hauled the attacker off, but not before Jack searched his pockets. No ID, no wallet. No gun. And he wasn’t talking. Just bleeding.
Through the TV system, he checked her out of the hotel, then with his hand on the small of her back, he escorted Darcy out of the hotel and to his SUV. He didn’t say a word. It made her nervous.
