He leaned into the light. “You may be right, none of this makes sense.”
At least he got that part right.
“But one thing I’m sure of...” He paused, milking the moment, making sure he had my attention. “I’m in way over my head.”
“I fell for that game…once.” I reached for my phone. “I’m calling Romeo.”
“Wait.” For a moment, Dane tensed, pulling into himself—a caged animal coiled to leap. But he didn’t. He settled back, almost vibrating with the effort to still himself. “Hear me out, then call him if you want to.”
The clock on the wall ticked the passing of the seconds, perhaps stretching to a minute, as I contemplated my predicament. There was not one good reason why I should listen to him…again. Not one. So, of course, bitten by the curiosity bug, I sorted through possible justifications. God, I must have stupid written all over me. Perhaps I should consider changing my name to Patsy.
“Where’s Cole Weston?” I tossed the question out there, chumming the waters.
The question clearly caught him off guard. “The deaf kid? With Shooter, last I knew.”
“Yes, but where exactly?”
“His room on the fifteenth floor, west wing.” Understanding reached Dane’s eyes as they locked on mine. “They aren’t there?”
“No. And the police found blood in the hallway.”
He blinked a couple of times, absorbing the blow. “Fuck.” That hint of homicidal I had been looking for now hit his eyes.
“Any ideas?” I asked because sarcasm makes me feel good.
“The killer?”
“A shot in the dark, but that’s one explanation.” I pulled the pillows closer to me, finding comfort in the foam fortification. “How about this one? You and Shooter tried to take Cole with you. He resisted.”
“Why would we take him?”
“You tell me.”
“I really haven’t a clue. What part does he play in this whole thing? Sylvie never mentioned him, not that she threw much my way.” He clammed up, pressing his lips into a thin line as he looked over my shoulder.
“Who was Sylvie, really?” I had lotsa ideas, and a few suppositions, but I wanted to hear Dane’s story.
He leaned back, but kept his face in the light, where I could see it. His eyes flicked to mine. “My wife, but you know that.” He paused.
I waited, absolutely certain he was weighing exactly how much to tell me. “Dane, now is not the time to hedge your bet. It’s all in or I’m out.”
“She worked for the government. Undercover.” He took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt, shook on out, then rolled it between his fingers. A frown pulled his brows together and hardened his mouth. “She was in over her head. I was convinced the bad guys had made her, but she didn’t believe me. She thought it was one more ploy to get her to quit. The more I pushed, the madder she got. One night she split.”
“And she didn’t leave a forwarding address?”
Dane glared at me. Confirmation enough.
“And that pissed you off?”
“It was her choice, not mine.”
“Answer my question.”
A tic worked in his cheek as his eyes narrowed. He stuck the cigarette between his lips. He thumbed the lighter, then held the flame to the tip, inhaling deeply. Tilting his head back, he blew the smoke out through the side of his mouth. “Yeah, it pissed me off. But I loved her, why would I bury a shoe in her neck?”
“Because she split. Men like you don’t take no for an answer.”
“Men like me?” Dane’s voice held a knife-edge.
I was beyond caring. “Controlling. Arrogant. Chivalrous to cover a mile-wide chauvinistic streak.” Why hadn’t I seen what was so apparent now? I waited, watching his anger boil. “She didn’t call you from the poker game, did she?”
“No. I called her.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to get her out of there. Things were getting hot.”
“You’d tried that before.”
“Yeah, but this time she was scared, I could tell.” He glared at me. “I knew her pretty well.”
“From the video it looked like she was mad.”
“Mad as a cornered coyote.” Dane’s voice had gone quiet. “She said I’d blow her cover.”
“She got that part right.”
He flinched, which should’ve made me feel better, but didn’t.
“How’d you meet?” I modulated my voice, but I had to work to keep the mad out of it.
“Like I said, she worked for the government, more specifically the Department of Justice, chasing a money-laundering scheme involving American troops overseas. Our paths crossed.”
“The DOJ? Money laundering?”
“Black-market profits pushed though an offshore gaming site. The money went in as wagers, came out as winnings. Scrubbed clean. Untraceable.”
“Gambling and money laundering, common bedfellows. Does this offshore gaming site have a name?”
“Yeah, it was that site run by Kevin Slurry—Aces Over Eights.”
“How come the feds haven’t shut it down as they have so many others?”
“If you want to catch a rat, it’s better to bait a trap.”
“A sting?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. “In my limited experience dead bodies tend to make government-types all twitchy. And, as far as I know, Aces Over Eights is still up and running.”
“With Sylvie…” He trailed off. After a moment, he found his voice. “I’m out of the loop, let’s leave it at that.”
“Okay, let’s assume what you say is true, which, given your proclivities, is a huge leap. Let’s say Kevin Slurry is guilty as sin. Who is he cleaning all this money for?”
“Don’t know.” Dane rubbed the stubble on his chin making a sandpaper–on-wood sound. “Sylvie caught their scent in Iraq, but just when she thought she had them, they vanished. I can only assume that she caught the whiff of their scent and it led her here.”
“And the guy you sent up? I understand Leavenworth isn’t a garden spot. Bet he was pissed, but he didn’t roll, did he?”
Dane’s eyes widened. “You’re good.”
“I’d rather be lucky than good,” I said, trotting out one of Miss P’s platitudes—one I hated. Middle school kids could be vicious—apparently I still had the scars to prove it. “And, since I can’t trust you, luck is something I’m gonna need in spades. That and a couple of Guardian Angels willing to work overtime.” I squeezed the pillows close to me. Why did a friend’s betrayal cut so deeply? “Your Leavenworth friend? Got any insight?”
“You’re right; he didn’t roll. We offered him the moon, but he wouldn’t give his contact up. The guy was scared stupid.”
“And the Gaming Commission, you didn’t quit, did you?”
The change in topic caught him by surprise. “No, I was put on indefinite leave pending an investigation.” He paused, taking a deep breath. When he started again, his voice was stronger, fueled with emotion. “There were some papers, some records. It looked like I was part of the scheme—the black market stuff and the laundering. Sylvie found them.”
“You? One of the black hats? I’m shocked.” Using sarcasm as a weapon was sorta like arguing the Constitution in court. If that was the best you had, you’d better run for cover. Curiously impervious to the warning, I tried not to think about it. “Now this is the part where you tell me it was all a setup, a misunderstanding.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.” He shrugged as his eyes flicked to mine, looking for confirmation, if I could hazard a guess.
“You have yourself to blame for that.”
“I’ve made some mistakes.”
“That’s the first thing honest thing you said.” I massaged my ankle as I watched the emotions parade across his face. What was I supposed to do? Oh, I knew what I was supposed to do, but, really, I wanted answers almost as badly as he did. Would throwing him to the Metro wolves help? Doub
tful. Yes, I’m the queen of justification. “What exactly was Sylvie doing here? Trying to pull your nuts out of the fire?”
“Hell, no. She was obsessed with bringing down the whole house of cards. Those guys were…well, money laundering was the least of their…businesses.” He spat the word out like it was laced with poison. “She didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. I was collateral damage.”
“I see,” I said although this whole thing was about as clear as the air downwind of a forest fire. “And the shoe, the mate to the one buried in your wife’s neck, did the bad guys plant that in your truck, too?”
“No, Sylvie left it there. She only took the one. It was broken—something with the heel, I think she said. I don’t know. She said the guy who shines shoes for the guests said he could fix it for her.” Dane leaned on his elbows, his hands clasped in front. His knuckles were white.
So, the killer had pawed through her purse and the shoe was handy? If so, what was he looking for? Or maybe Sylvie had pulled out the shoe, the only weapon she had? So many ways the whole thing could’ve gone down. “So you guys were still together?”
“She’d call when she needed something.”
Sounded familiar. “And those scratches on your cheek? Did Sylvie give you those?”
Dane shot me a glance out of the corner of his eye. I tried to keep my face blank, my expression impassive. He started to nod then he slowly shook his head. “No.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. If he tried to hide his conflicting emotions, he wasn’t very good at it. Finally he said, “There was this girl.”
With Dane, there was always a girl. I so hoped it was our girl—the one with Sylvie’s shoes. Then, at least we’d know who we were looking for, sort of. “Where?”
“Coming out of the showroom as I went in.”
“A witness?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
So he had seen the girl.
And she had seen him.
A fact that could cut either way.
“I don’t know, but she fought like a hellcat.” Absentmindedly he traced the marks on his cheek.
“What’d she look like?”
“You mean besides terrified?”
When my eyes went all slitty, Dane settled back to the truth, or at least his version of it. “Dark hair, Hispanic, medium build, big brown eyes, dressed as a cocktail waitress, but didn’t smell like one.”
Our girl. The girl in Sylvie’s red shoes.
I rooted in my pocket until I found the picture Jerry gave me. I unfolded it then thrust it at Dane. “Is this her?”
He half stood in order to reach across the gap between us, then settled back in the chair, the photo in his hand. I waited while he studied it.
“Yeah.” Hope flashed in his eyes. “You have her?”
I shook my head. “She may have been dressed as an employee, but she doesn’t work at the Babylon.”
“Can you find her?” At my outstretched hand, Dane rose and returned the photo.
His reluctance to give it back was easy to see. I’m sure he wanted to flash it around, see if he could get a line of her. Maybe she was the killer. Maybe she could finger the killer. Maybe she could finger Dane. The thought made my blood run cold. Either way, I sure didn’t want him taking off after the girl before I could find her—so I measured my response as I meticulously refolded the paper and put it back where I had found it. “No. But leave her to Romeo. That’s his job.”
“I can’t believe I let her get away, but when I caught sight of Sylvie over the girl’s shoulder. I froze.”
“Understandable.”
“Sylvie was already dead.”
“And someone with some answers disappeared.”
“So you really don’t know where she is?” Dane asked.
“I told you before—I haven’t a clue.”
The light of hope in his eyes flashed out. He turned once again to stare at his hands, his head hanging in defeat.
Something was bothering me. Okay, a ton of somethings were bothering me, but this was something he had said. What was it? I mentally panned back over our conversation. Finally I had it. “She didn’t smell like a cocktail waitress? What does that mean?”
“Most of the women who work here smell of cologne or flowers or something. But this girl, she smelled like smoke, charcoal, I’d say. We used to cook out a bunch in Texas when I was a kid. Just the smell makes my mouth water.”
I waited while Dane finished his jaunt down memory lane.
“Charcoal smoke and something else,” he said as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again they were empty dark holes. “A dank sort of smell.”
“Dank?” In the middle of the Mojave that was a rarity.
“Yeah, like water. Sour, standing water. The odor of the mosquito pits after a summer storm.”
Mosquito pits. Standing water. Sour. Dank. Charcoal smoke. “Oh, man!” I jumped to my feet, then crumpled a bit as my ankle screamed at me.
Startled, Dane jumped up a fraction of a second after I did. As I moved to go around him, this time more gingerly, he grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Wherever you’re going, I’m going, too.”
I pried his fingers from my arm. “You show your face, you’ll get us both arrested. You’re staying right here.”
“I need to know what you’re thinking, where you’re going.”
“Not a chance, Cowboy. Stay here.”
His face closed into a frown. “And do what?”
“I don’t know. Sleep, get rid of the stink of fear and alleys that’s clinging to you, whatever. I don’t care. But I’ll kill you myself if you dare even stick your nose out of the door while I’m gone. Got it?” I poked his chest with my forefinger for emphasis.
While he mulled that over, I charged toward my bedroom. First a shower and a new outfit.
The strappy gold flats would be out of place where I was going.
Chapter Sixteen
Dane had agreed to stay put a bit too easily.
I didn’t trust him for a minute, which was a good thing—maybe I was actually learning—doubtful, but possible. After a quick change of clothes, I laced on my Nikes then headed out the door. As I passed the guest bedroom, I heard the shower running. Punching the lock, then securing the door behind me, I paused in the hallway, grabbed my push-to-talk and pressed the appropriate button. “Security? Who’s running the show right now?”
“Who do think?” came the pithy reply.
“Jerry.” Relief flooded through me—handling Dane would require the first-stringers. “I thought I sent you home.”
“Yeah, well, I take orders about as well as you do. What’s up?” I heard the click of his lighter then the sizzle as he pulled the flame into the tobacco.
“Those things are going to kill you.”
“If this job doesn’t get me first. Between you and me, it’s a toss-up.”
“Good point. Listen, I need you to post one of your guys outside my apartment door. No one goes in. No one comes out.”
“Who you got in there?”
I lowered my voice—God knew who was listening. “Just a friend.”
“You and me got differing opinions on friends.” Jerry’s cigarette sizzled as he took another pull. “You’re diggin’ a hole, girl.”
“I’m a danger to myself and others—it’s part of my charm. Promise me you’ll see to it I get the help I need when this is over. But, right now, just do as I ask, okay? Just for a few hours?”
“If the cops come nosing around here...”
“Without a warrant, they can’t get into my apartment.”
“Technically…”
“I know, but they need good cause to go barging in. And, if you can keep my friend under wraps, they won’t have any. Just a few hours, that’s all I need.” I started to ring off, then I stopped. “Jerry, my ass is on the line here.”
“I got your ass, girl. You know that.” I started to ring off, then I heard his voice come back. “Lucky?”
“Yeah.”<
br />
“One of my people found some footage of the Stoneman in the casino after he’d asked for personal time. It looked like he was tailing Sylvie Dane, but he was almost as good at dodging the cameras as Dane himself was.”
“Did you see him by the dealership?”
“He was headed in that direction, but with the sign hanging in front of the cameras and all, I can’t put him inside.”
“Maybe not, but it’s something. Thanks.”
This time I did hang up—there was nothing else to say and banter wasn’t the panacea it normally was.
When the security detail showed up, I made sure they had no problem with my shoot-first-ask-questions-later instructions then I headed toward the elevator.
I needed sleep. I needed food. I needed a life. But most of all, right now I needed a plan.
Handling this by myself seemed the height of stupidity, so, of course, that’s what I decided to do. Besides, I was fresh out of knights in shining armor. The elevator deposited me in a curiously quiet lobby. All the smart people were tucked in bed.
Concentrating on repositioning my phone at my hip, I was startled by a body hurtling around the corner. Scowling, his stride purposeful, his jaw set, Jeremy stared straight ahead, unseeing. Distracted, he looked like a man on a mission.
Suffering from a lack of everything that does a body good, I was one step too slow. I braced for impact.
Nose to nose, we both skidded to a halt with inches to spare.
“What are you doing here?” Even at this god-forsaken hour, Australian sounded good. And looked good.
“I work here.” Boy, ask for a white knight and voilà! If I’d only known it was that easy. “How about you?”
“Trying to catch the scent of Shooter and the kid. Was on my way to go over video footage one more time.” With one quick glance, he absorbed my jeans, sweatshirt, Nikes. “Is today casual day?”
I smiled, feeling the tension ease a smidge. “No, it’s do-somebody-else’s-dirty-work day.”
Jeremy gripped my arm. Any tighter and I would’ve grimaced. “Dane’s dirty work? Do you know where he is?”
Lucky Bastard Page 28
