“Having you fall asleep in my arms would be a dream,” he whispered against my hair as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close.
Too tired to resist, I snuggled in, his body molding to mine. Why did he have to fit perfectly? Even the measure of my breath, the cadence of my heart, matched his.
“Christophe arrives tomorrow.”
My stomach clenched—so much for relaxing. Jean-Charles’s son. Although he looked like a charmer, if the kid didn’t like me, he could be a deal breaker. While sucking-up to adults was in my job description, navigating a five-year-old was way beyond my capabilities.
“So soon? I’d lost track of time.”
“Yes, my niece, Chantal, she is bringing him. They arrive tomorrow night.” A warm tenor infused his voice when he talked about his son.
Would there be room in their life and hearts for me? Another question with no easy answer. Why was I not surprised? “I don’t need to ask if you are excited.”
“To be a family again, it will be nice. Christophe, he will go to school. Life will find its song.”
“Rhythm,” I corrected reflexively. The warmth in his voice made me smile, and his love for his son filled my heart. Despite my fear, I wanted him to be happy. “And Chantal?”
“She is wearing my boots. She is only sixteen, but she will be a student at the Culinary Institute.”
Overcome by surprise, this time I didn’t bother correcting his idiomatic error. A five-year-old and a teenager. Just as my courage flagged I heard Miss P’s admonishing voice, “Remember, Lucky, the harder the struggle, the larger the prize” and courage was restored. I could handle a five-year-old. Sure I could! Assuming I lived through the teenager. “I didn’t know Chantal would be staying.”
“My mother, she is not pleased. She says I am a Pied Piper stealing all the children.”
And the hearts, I thought. The Game of Life. What I would give for an instruction manual. Or at least a list of rules. Or a crystal ball.
In the comfort of Jean-Charles’s arms, my eyelids grew heavy, my breathing slowed, and the wheels ground to a halt. The safe haven of sleep exerted its inexorable pull. Did I dare relinquish myself? He said it would be a dream.
I took him at his word.
***
A chill tickled the back of my neck, awakening me. For a moment, I lay still, remembering, enjoying. The night had darkened. The music had slipped from a pulsing rhythm to languid melodies. Hours had passed.
“You are awake, yes?” Somehow a male-timbered French accent made dreams unnecessary.
“And you have not slept.”
“For a bit, perhaps. But sleep would rob me of these memories.”
I pushed myself up to my elbow so I could look at him. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth. His eyes had turned all deep and delicious—an unfair advantage in my weakened state.
“You never say what I think you’re going to say,” I admitted as I traced the line of his jaw, then bent and brushed my lips over his.
Reaching a hand behind my head, he pulled me to him, deepening the kiss. Molten lava flowed through my veins, pooling in my core where it exploded in a ball of desire. The guy was going to be the death of me. But I wasn’t going down today…I cringed at the back choice of words. Anyway, my demise would have to be rescheduled.
Both hands pressing against his chest broke his hold. “Walk me home?”
He grinned. “Is this not how we ended up here?”
“You expect me to remember?”
The crowd was much thinner now as we pushed through the doors back into the casino. We blinked against the assault of the light—casinos were the only places south of the Artic where daylight prevailed twenty-four hours a day. Smoke hung heavy in the air. Gamblers riding a hot streak or nursing hopes of a change in their luck clustered around a few tables. The remaining tables like picnic tables after a party, sat forlorn, abandoned, surrounded by empty stools. Bees darting among blossoms, cocktail waitresses bounced between groups keeping the participants well oiled. Casinos walked a fine line—allowing a severely intoxicated player to keep playing was a violation of gaming laws. But a slightly inebriated player would push his comfort zones, usually to the house’s benefit.
In quiet corners, the cleaning crew labored surreptitiously with their spot cleaners. Cases of liquor and condiments were stacked next to the bars like sand bags bracing for an impending flood. A group of bored employees circled several slot machines as a rep from the Gaming Commission droned on about new ways cheaters rigged the machines and what to watch out for. Dane used to give that class—a lifetime ago.
Dane, the perfect strident note of reality to burst my joy balloon.
Poised to leap into the abyss of gloom, I concentrated on Jean-Charles’s and my reflection in the double bronze doors as we waited for the elevator. My chef, quiet, handsome, sedately calm, holding himself in a relaxed easy manner. Me, mussed, frazzled around the edges, held together with the epoxy of resolve. Proof that opposites attract.
My phone vibrated at my hip. Briefly I thought about ignoring it. But, life had taught me that problems were like sparks in a dry forest—the sooner you threw water on them, the smaller the chance of an inferno. With a practiced motion I pulled the phone from its holster and pushed to talk. “Yeah.”
Jerry didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You wanted DeLuca. He’s in Delilah’s holding court.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
“You must leave?” Jean-Charles asked as I reholstered my phone.
“Duty calls. I’m sorry.”
Jean-Charles took me in his arms. Reaching up he brushed a strand of hair out of my face, then he brushed his lips across mine, igniting the sting after a burn. A sensual tease leaving me wanting for more. “I am glad you got a bit of sleep. Your job, it is not healthy.”
“Now there’s an understatement.” I gave a shaky laugh and waved away the look of worry that turned his eyes all dark and deep. “Gotta go.”
With regret, and a bit more willpower than I thought it’d take, I pushed aside the lingering warmth left by the Frenchman and tried to concentrate. Frank had some questions to answer…if I could only remember what they were. I watched Jean-Charles as he disappeared through the doors to the garage, then I turned and headed into the Casino.
Another call caught me halfway to Delilah’s. “So, where is he now?”
“Who?” Romeo didn’t sound confused, just tired, as if he couldn’t understand the context or he didn’t care.
“Sorry, I thought you were Jerry.” Pressing my phone to one ear, I stopped next to an abandoned bank of slot machines and stuck a finger in the other ear. “Whatcha got?”
“A couple of your guests who got into a knock-down, drag-out with some folks as they were leaving Piero’s. A cruiser picked them up and dropped them in my lap. I spend so much time here at the Detention Center, they’re going to give me my own room.”
“And you need me because…?”
“Because…,” Romeo chuckled, “you’re going to love this. I need you because the male guest was arrested for soliciting.” I started to say something, but Romeo said, “No, wait for it.” He paused dramatically. “Your guest, he was arrested for soliciting his wife.”
“Oh, you’ve met Toby and Myrna.”
“How do you know everything?” The bravado had leaked out of Romeo’s voice.
“It’s my job.” No way was I telling him how lucky I really was. “And what I don’t know, I can figure out. Soliciting one’s wife is not a crime, at least, not the last time I looked. So, there must be something else.”
“A piece…of jewelry. The other couple involved swears the necklace is theirs and that it was stolen out of their suite at the Babylon a few weeks ago.”
“Really?”
“And what do Toby and Myrna say?”
“They won’t say a word until you get here.”
***
As much as I wanted to, I didn’t have the heart to leave guests cool
ing their heels in a cell while I went on a little fishing trip with Mr. Frank DeLuca. So, I did an about-face and headed toward the lobby. Fresh out of vehicles, I grabbed a cab for the ten-minute ride to the Detention Center.
A young officer greeted me as I pushed through the doors and escorted me to the interrogation room. Somehow it seemed to be too sad a commentary on my life that I could find it by myself, so I didn’t admit to it. Instead, I followed him dutifully, like a wide-eyed first-timer.
Probably too tired to stand, Romeo remained seated when I stepped inside the small room and shut the door behind me. Institutional gray coated every surface. Every time I stepped into the room I felt perpetually adrift in an ominous, storm-tossed sea. Whether that was by design or just my overactive imagination, the effect was unsettling. Of course, the blinking red eye of the video camera mounted in the corner didn’t help.
Toby looked sheepish when his eyes caught mine. A red gash split his lower lip, which had swelled to twice its normal size. An ugly bruise colored his right cheek and a deepening circle of purple underscored his other eye. Myrna, on the other hand looked angry, and relieved…and not the least bit embarrassed—even in her spandex tube top, which she nervously tugged. But, the more she tugged at the top, the higher the bottom inched, threatening the lower threshold of decency.
Romeo kicked out the chair next to his. “Take a load off. Now that you’re here, maybe the Jacobses will be so kind as to enlighten me as to how we came to be introduced this evening?” He looked expectantly at his charges as I sunk into the chair next to him.
“What is all of this about?” I asked the two of them in my best schoolteacher voice.
A glance passed between Toby and Myrna, then Toby gave a slight nod and Myrna started in. “Well,” she said, her tone conspiratorial. “Everything was going to plan. I got all gussied up and went to the bar at Piero’s as planned. They have the most wonderful bar. And the food! It’s to die for. Anyway, I was sitting there and Toby—”
“I’m sure this is an interesting story, but could you fast-forward to the interesting part?”
She tugged at her skirt, another piece of spandex insufficient to cover the necessaries. “Well,” she harrumphed. “It all started with the necklace Toby gave me.”
I glanced at Romeo. He pulled the item in question out of his pocket and dribbled it on the table. “Is this the one?” he asked.
“Yes. It’s so pretty, don’t you think?”
Pretty if you like a huge diamond set in platinum, offset by an emerald of equal size, with the two stones then circled by smaller rubies. Distinctive. Pricey. Noticeable. The piece would be hard to miss, especially on Myrna’s neck, uncluttered as it was with clothing.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Romeo pressed.
“We were standing out front of the restaurant, negotiating a price when this couple attacked us!” Myrna talked with her hands, making grand gestures as her voice escalated with indignation. “They accused us of stealing! Stealing! Us? Please, we’re commodity traders from Chicago.”
I almost asked what the going price for meat on the hoof was, but Romeo’s daggered look shot me down. Instead I composed myself and asked, “If you didn’t steal it, where did you get it?”
“I bought it at that high-end jewelry store at the Edelweiss.” Toby sounded less than pleased, which was understandable, all things considered.
“A lot of people pay a lot more, get less, and end up in jail anyway,” I offered. “You’re not alone.”
“You’re not helping,” Romeo hissed.
Toby gave me the grin I was hoping for. So, I turned to Romeo and shot him a gloat. Leaning back, he shrugged and motioned for me to continue.
I leaned forward, my elbows on the table, arms crossed. “You bought it?”
“Of course. Those folks specialize in one-of-a-kind pieces, estate jewelry, pretty amazing stuff. I buy something there every year.” He sure looked like he was telling the truth. Personally, I didn’t know much about the jewelry store at the Edelweiss, but it was on my list of places to visit. As a boutique property catering to Eastern Europeans and Russians, the Edelweiss was a close competitor and it stood to reason they’d have something over the top.
I turned to Romeo. “I assume you questioned the couple who said the piece is theirs?”
“They even provided me with a video inventory they used for insurance purposes. The piece is there.” He poked the necklace with his finger. “If this isn’t the same one that was stolen outta your hotel, it’s a damn fine forgery.”
That stopped me. “Forgery? Hadn’t thought of that. Did you check with Security to see if a report of the theft had been filed?”
“They said they’d fax it to me.”
“Unique pieces stolen from the Babylon…” I turned to Romeo. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Wouldn’t hurt to check it out,” he said with a noncommittal shrug, but I could see Myrna and Toby’s story had piqued his interest.
“How’re you going to handle that? The store is probably closed at this hour.”
“True.” He leaned forward, a glint in his eye. “I have a plan, but I need your help.”
***
As I staggered through the Babylon, Jerry confirmed my fear—Frank DeLuca was not on the property. I’d missed my chance.
Finally, I made it back to my temporary home—the top floor of the Babylon. The hall was empty, the atmosphere funereal. Much like my life, it was devoid of light, laughter and fun—three of my staples that currently had gone wanting. The floor was private, with Mona, the Big Boss, and myself its only residents, so I saw little need to throw the deadbolt. The knob turned easily in my hand and I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Propping myself against the wall, I reached down and gingerly pulled the shoe from my foot with the huge ankle, then kicked off the other shoe. With my feet released from their prison, I sighed in relief. High heels were invented to make women more appreciative of simple pleasures. And, although the theory worked, I’m not sure it had the far-reaching effects men hoped for.
The lights from the Strip painted the apartment in a multicolored glow sufficient for navigation so I left the interior lights off as I grabbed my shoes and made my way through the great room to my bedroom in the back.
And then I smelled it. Smoke. Cigarette smoke. What the hell?
“You keep long hours,” a voice in the dark growled. “Servicing the help now, are we?”
Dane! I whirled toward his voice as my heart leapt into my throat. The glow from the end of his cigarette brightened as he took another drag—I could hear the sizzle of the tobacco as the fire consumed it. An unreadable shadow backlit by the glow from the Strip, he eased forward from the deep embrace of a winged, high-back chair.
For a moment I froze. Should I be afraid? Defend myself? With what, my rapier wit? My gun? I had no idea where it was—stuffed in some box still waiting to be unpacked, I guessed, which didn’t help. Should I fling my shoes at him and make a break for it? Unable to process, my brain ground to a halt. “How the hell did you get in here?”
“Your door was unlocked.” He blew out the smoke in a perfect ring that glowed eerily in the half-light, which irritated me.
“And the elevator needed a special key.” That comment was rhetorical. Dane had worked in Security—even I could connect those dots. I stood in the middle of the room unsure where to turn or what to do next. “Would you turn on a light or something? It’s not like Metro is going to be looking in my windows.” Come to think of it, they might, but I didn’t say that part.
Dane flicked on a lamp.
I blinked against the light. Narrowing my eyes I tried to measure his mood as he mashed the butt into a blown glass bowl, a limited edition Chihuly, on the table next to his chair. He looked tired, worried, angry, but not homicidal, as far as I could tell. I took that as a good thing. His shirt and jeans, now well into their second day of wear, appeared as if they’d been pulled from the bottom of the d
irty laundry pile. A two-day stubble darkened his cheeks. His hair, on the other hand, had come through unscathed, beckoning for fingers to be run through it.
Either I was too tired to care, or just mad as hell, but the normal tickle of temptation was a no-show. “You’ve got one hell of a nerve coming here.”
“I had nowhere else to go.” His voice was flat, tired but with an edge. Absentmindedly he patted his pockets, then quit.
“I’m touched.” Tossing my shoes under the side table, I staggered to the couch and curled myself into a corner, tucking my feet underneath me. Pulling the throw pillows around me, I created a pastel silk and foam fortification. Not much, but the illusion was all I needed. “You do know the police are beating every bush in this city looking for you?”
“They’d be incompetent if they weren’t.”
“Then I suggest you give them a shout. They get seriously irritated when you make them chase you.” Dropping this whole mess in Romeo’s lap would so simplify my life. But, if Dane was concerned about anything, it sure wasn’t my comfort level, so I didn’t see any upside to pointing it out. “It’d be easier for you in the long run.”
“It’s the short run I’m worried about.” Dane leaned forward. His elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. “I’ve got to find Sylvie’s killer.” When he looked up, his face was pinched with anger, his eyes haunted by an emotion I couldn’t read. Regret? Sadness? Perhaps he really had loved her.
What would I do if someone killed one of my loved ones? “Why are you here, Dane? I mean, besides trying to add harboring a fugitive to my résumé?”
“I need your help.”
“You can’t be serious!” Fury arced through me—white hot, it sizzled and burned. I thought about jumping up and starting to pace, but I was too tired, and my ankle had started to throb. “You’re avoiding the police, stringing us all along, and you want my help.” I stared at him for a moment—the guy was a head case. “Logic is clearly not one of your strong suits.”
Lucky Bastard Page 27
