by Rickie Blair
“I heard back from Philippe about the accident.”
“Was he pissed off?”
“No, he said the studio would deal with any fallout and not to worry.”
“That’s good.” Sam swigged the last of his beer and gestured to the bartender for another.
“So,” Ruby said. “You and Felicity. What happened there?”
“Not much.” The bartender placed a filled beer glass in front of Sam. “And you and Hari? What happened there?”
Her chest tightened. “Not much, either.” The conga line had broken up and the dancers were crowding the bar. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
When Sam helped her off the stool, she leaned on his strong arms a little longer than absolutely necessary, and he tucked a hand under her elbow while they walked to the door.
“How about a tour of old Las Vegas?” he asked.
* * *
Ruby leaned her head back to stare up at the canopy that soared above Fremont Street. Beside her, Sam chuckled. He put a hand against the small of her back to steady her.
“I had no idea you were such a tourist.”
“I’m from a small town in northern Ontario. What did you expect? Oh, look at that!” A prone body raced along a zip line overhead. Ruby jumped from one foot to another as the rider whooshed by. “Can we do that?”
Sam swiveled his head to look at the line and his lips twitched in a smile.
“Maybe not after drinking.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Lets have a nightcap instead.”
Ruby tucked a hand under his arm, leaning against him as they walked into the Golden Nugget. Sam pulled out a chair for her, ordered two shots of tequila, then sat down opposite her. He leaned his elbows on the table and grinned.
“You said that you were worried about the wire work at the studio, and just now you wanted to try a zip line? I think you’ll do fine.”
“But you’ll be there, won’t you, Sam? For the new stuff?”
“Definitely. I can’t let you mess up the new fights, can I?”
Ruby decided not to rise to the bait. She smiled and lounged against her chair while the server brought their shots, placed a dish of lemon wedges between them, and walked away.
“What made you think that I wouldn’t be there?” Sam asked.
“Felicity said you’re starting a new business.”
“Did she? I didn’t think she was paying attention.”
“Why wouldn’t she? Felicity thinks a lot of you.”
“Sure she does.” He sucked on a slice of lemon, tossed back the tequila and wiped his mouth. “When she thinks of me at all.”
Ruby tilted her head, remembering their conversation at the gym in Los Angeles. We’ve met. It was a long time ago.
“I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“No problem. And I am starting a business. A chain of fitness centers with a martial arts component. I’m actually in town to meet with investors. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “I expect to hear from them tonight.”
“Isn’t it a little late for a business meeting?”
“This is about something else. A personal matter.”
“Your business sounds great. I’d use a fitness center run by Sam Mitchell.”
“Felicity probably thinks I don’t know how to run a startup venture.”
“So what? She keeps telling me I shouldn’t be in business, either. But she’s wrong. I like it.”
“You mean your business with Hari?” Sam rested his arms on the table and bent over them. “You guys investigate frauds, right?”
As his brown eyes gazed into hers, butterflies fluttered in her stomach and for a second she forgot to breathe. She shook her head and forced a laugh.
“Yes, and I ran into a case right here in Las Vegas.” She lifted her shoulders and screwed up her face. “Sorry, bad pun.”
Sam wasn’t smiling. He reached out to put a hand over hers.
“I thought we agreed that wasn’t a good idea.”
“We did no such thing.” Ruby laughed, but left her hand where it was. “Or were you referring to the pun?”
“Does your partner know?”
“I haven’t seen Hari in months. He went to London after our last case. He was depressed, I thought.” She snorted. “I’m an idiot.”
Sam caressed her hand with a languid smile.
“You’re smart and sexy and a loyal friend. If anybody’s an idiot, it’s him.”
Ruby waited for the butterflies to settle.
“Thanks. But Hari and I are just friends.”
“That’s good news,” he said, running his fingers along her forearm.
“Sam—”
He took his hand away and held it up in a gesture of surrender.
“I’ve seen that look often enough to know what it means.”
“Sorry.”
“So, you were in L.A., he was in London—that’s tough. Are you going to see him while he’s here?”
Ruby twirled her cellphone on the table, watching it spin.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” she said. “We still have the business, I guess.”
“You’ll have to talk, then. Sort it out.”
“Did that work with you and Felicity?”
“Felicity doesn’t know what she wants. Unless it’s wearing an expensive suit and driving a Bentley.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry, I forgot that you two are friends. You’re not much alike.”
“Did you mean it when you said it was over between you and Felicity?”
He gave her a wistful look, then leaned over the table.
“Did you mean it when you said that you and Hari are only friends?”
She shivered. The butterflies were back.
“One more for the road?” Sam asked. “The night’s still young.”
“Not for me. I’d better get going.”
He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked out onto the street, with Ruby a little unsteady on her feet. At the curb, she pulled her hand from his arm and turned to face him. She rested her hands on his chest, on those powerful muscles she’d faced so many times in the gym. Not like this, though. She lifted her chin.
“Thanks for tonight, Sam. Are you heading back to L.A. tomorrow?”
He slid an arm around her back, his eyes burning into hers.
“Not necessarily.”
Her heart raced as she pushed weakly against his chest. The mixed scent of tequila and cologne teased her nose and she rose on tiptoe to whisper into his ear.
“I have to say good night, Sam.”
He pulled her closer, tilting his head. Slowly, without looking away, he twined his fingers around the back of her neck and into her hair. He bent over her and she closed her eyes. His kiss was hard, and wet, and held the promise of so much more. Without intending to, she relaxed into his strong arms as Fremont Street swirled away. Warmth flooded through her. Part of her wanted to give in, but the rest of her wanted something else. Someone else.
She pushed Sam away and stepped back, breathless, placing both palms flat on his chest while shaking her head.
“Are you sure?” he asked, running his fingertips lightly along her arms.
“I don’t think Felicity would like it,” she whispered.
Sam held her at arm’s length for a moment and then dropped his hands.
Ruby’s face felt impossibly hot. She gave his chest a playful poke before adding, “And don’t you dare say, ‘any ship in a storm.’”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“No?”
“Not out loud.” They both laughed.
“Let’s get you home before I forget myself.” Sam stepped to the curb, hailed a cab and opened the back door for her. “The Starlight Hotel,” he said to the driver.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In the hall outside the Andromeda Suite, Hari tucked the Glock into his waistband, covered it with his jacket, and headed for the elevator. Find Zeke Turner,
Watson had demanded. Sure, no problem. Maybe he could track down Elvis, too. And Jimmy Hoffa.
Hari got out at the ground floor and made his way through the casino, swerving around a server in a shimmery green minidress who balanced a drinks tray on one hand. He paused. A beverage might get this hopeless search off to a good start.
In the dimly lit Starship Lounge he took a seat at the back, drumming his fingers on the table. If I was Zeke Turner, where would I go? A server walked up and Hari ordered a shot of Macallan. He had never been a heavy drinker, and watching Ruby struggle with it after her sister’s death had not encouraged him to change that. But sometimes, a guy needed a drink. And besides, it fit his new persona as Mr. Yanez, high roller.
He dropped a few bills on the table when the server placed his glass on a coaster.
“Keep the change,” he said. She picked up the cash with a smile and walked away.
He took a sip, savoring the warmth. He was going to miss twenty-five-year-old single malt when this case was over. Hell, he was going to miss a lot about this assignment. The penthouse suite with the breathtaking views, the private plane with the complementary silk pajamas—which he had tossed carelessly on the seat when the flight was over—the bespoke suits, the custom shirts, the Prada shoes. He enjoyed the way onlookers stared when he and Ana walked through the casino, dropping hundred-dollar chips in the slot machines on a whim, and the way the other players roared around the craps table when he hit his bets.
The Scotch went down easy. Too easy. He centered the glass on its coaster. Was he really so shallow? After the trial, when the bailiffs cleaned out his Tribeca apartment, Ruby had squeezed his arm and said, ‘It doesn’t matter, Hari. It’s only stuff.’ He had agreed with her then. Was he now a hypocrite? He picked up the glass and took another swig. No, a realist. Why wish for something you can’t have?
Anyway, who was Ruby to talk? Did she hang around for even five minutes to find out why he was in Las Vegas? He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her. Why didn’t she know that? With a scowl, he drained his glass and stood up. Time to move on.
Tourists and partiers swarmed the hotel entrance and he ducked around them, pausing at the curb. If I was Zeke Turner, where would I be? Not here. He waved away a waiting cab and walked down the Strip, hands in his pockets, swerving around the more boisterous partiers and ignoring the rest. He needed to think, but the streaming traffic, the music blaring from every storefront and restaurant, and the shouts of drunken tourists merged into a cacophony that penetrated his every thought.
Outside a revue theater, a Cher lookalike held back an impressive feathered headdress with one hand and leaned in for a selfie with two middle-aged women. Two Elvis wannabes traded insults across the intersection. And a svelte young woman in spandex draped a disinterested python around her torso. The snake twisted its head and looked directly at Hari as if to say, ‘It’s a jungle out here.’
Hari watched the snake coil around its owner’s body, occasionally flicking its tongue. The python did its owner’s bidding and was fed and protected in return. Was that enough? Hari idly wondered if pythons liked twenty-five-year-old Scotch.
Watson had sent him on a pointless quest. If the police couldn’t find Zeke Turner, how could he? If Ruby was working this case with him, she would know how to find Zeke. She had a way of getting people to open up to her. Even people who wouldn’t talk to the authorities would confide in Ruby. Pain stung the back of his throat when the look on her face in the casino flashed before him. The look that came before the anger.
A middle-aged man by the curb held out a business card. Hari took it absently and was about to flick it into the gutter with the other discarded cards when the words on it caught his eye and he drew his hand back. SureShot Shooting Range. Best prices in Vegas. A buxom young woman in skin-tight leather pants and clingy shirt pointed a handgun at the reader.
Hari hailed a cab and handed the driver the card.
The clerk at the shooting range wore a brown vest with a SureShot logo on the chest.
“Do you need to rent a weapon?” he asked.
Hari pulled Ana’s Glock from his waistband and placed it on the counter next to Daniel Yanez’s credit card. “I brought my own. I’ll need more ammo, though. A box of fifty, please.”
The clerk handed Hari ear muffs and plugs, then inclined his head at a soundproof door that led to the indoor range at the back.
“Number fifteen. On the right.”
The brightly lit, noisy and crowded range was a far cry from the gentlemen’s club atmosphere of Watson’s basement shooting range in London. Hari slipped off his dinner jacket, slapped in a magazine, lined up the target, and fired. Ana’s Glock had a little more kick than his own, but he welcomed the familiar jolt to his forearm on every shot.
Ruby certainly didn’t hang around long.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Not even five minutes.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
He had a perfectly good reason to be in Las Vegas.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
He stopped to reload periodically, massaging his shoulder and flexing his fingers. How many times had he told himself not to think about Ruby? She hadn’t tried to stop him from going to Mumbai all those years ago. Instead, she stayed behind and married his best friend. And he still couldn’t let it go. Apparently, he wasn’t a realist after all. When the box of bullets was empty, he jammed the loaded Glock into his waistband, put his dinner jacket back on and walked out onto the street.
Hari stood on the sidewalk to think about his next move. Maybe Ana had discovered something new. As he pulled out his phone to text her, it beeped with an incoming email. The decryption program had ended. He stepped under a nearby hotel marquee’s bright lights to click on the message. Pages of names, addresses and numbers appeared. Hundreds of names. Thousands, even. He clicked off the phone and slid it back into his pocket. He had been right. Zeke Turner had stolen credit card numbers and other customer data from the Starlight. But who did he send it to? And where was Zeke now?
If I was Zeke Turner, where would I go? Hari studied the Strip’s flashing lights and milling crowds. Where? As far from here as possible. He stepped into the street and hailed a cab.
“The Starlight Hotel,” he said, climbing into the back seat.
* * *
Sam Mitchell stepped from a doorway and watched the cab pull away. Following Hari Bhatt had been so easy it was insulting. He gave a snort of disgust. What kind of an investigator couldn’t pick up an obvious tail?
He pulled out his phone and tapped in a number.
“He’s gone back to the hotel,” he said, looking at his watch. “Why would he go out again? It’s late. He’s not going to find anybody tonight. Delaney? She’s at the hotel, too. How do I know? Because I put her in the cab myself.” He tapped his foot on the sidewalk. “Okay. I’ll follow him to the hotel to make sure he stays put.”
Sam shoved the phone in his pocket and walked away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Millie’s bank branch was normally dark and deserted at midnight, with only the gleam of streetlights through the front windows to light the interior. But tonight a glass door glowed yellow in the manager’s office where Kingsley Greaves slumped at his desk, desperate to get his hands on another twenty thousand dollars.
He had tapped out his and Alicia’s savings, their credit cards, lines of credit, a second mortgage. There was nothing more. He stared dully at his desk in the deserted bank, trying to think.
His wife was sobbing when she called that afternoon.
“Alicia, what’s happened? Is it Indigo? Is she—?”
“It’s not that,” Alicia said, hiccuping softly as she tried to control her tears. “The clinic wants more money. They say it’s gone, what we gave them.”
“How much more?”
“Twenty thousand.”
The room swirled around him while he struggled to breathe.
“But then that will be it,” she
said. “They won’t need another cent. They promised.”
“Twenty thousand?” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, Kingsley, I tried to get them to take less. They wouldn’t budge,” Alicia said, crying again. “She’s better, you know,” she gasped between sobs, “she’s much better.”
Kingsley Greaves wasn’t as gullible as his wife. He believed the doctors right here in Las Vegas when they told them to take their daughter home to enjoy her final months, but he couldn’t refuse Alicia. Their twelve-year-old daughter Indigo was her whole life—their whole life. When he had seen Indigo yesterday, her eyes were shadowed and her skin was stretched tautly over her cheekbones. Her beautiful hair was gone, replaced with a bright-patterned turban which slid sideways over one ear. When she turned her head on the pillow and smiled at him, his heart had nearly broken.
No one had mentioned money during his visit. He rubbed the heel of his palm across his forehead. The clinic staff had waited until he left for Las Vegas and then approached Alicia, knowing that she wouldn’t say no. Indigo’s treatment at the clinic had cost them two hundred thousand dollars so far, none of it covered by insurance. He hated what he had done to get the last of the money.
And now, as he sat at his desk with his head bowed in the deserted bank late at night, he knew he would do it again.
His phone rang and he pushed the speaker button, hoping it wouldn’t be Alicia. He was barely holding it together.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Greaves? It’s Juliana Edwards. We met earlier today. Millie Havelock’s accountant?”
He struggled to remember, then a prim woman with black hair and a briefcase came to mind.
“What can I do for you?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m surprised you’re still at the office. I intended to leave you a voice mail. I wanted to tell you I’ve found Mrs. Havelock.”
For an instant, Greaves couldn’t believe his luck. He turned off the speaker and picked up the handset.
“That’s good news. Where did you find her?”
“At first I thought she might have gone to a homeless shelter, so I checked as many as I could find. She didn’t, though.”
