by Geneva Lee
“Las Vegas PD is surprisingly easy to bribe,” he continues. “Plus, I think they want to stick it to that FBI agent who thinks she’s running the show.”
“They aren’t the only ones,” I mutter. I skim through the contents of the Nathaniel West case file, glancing away when I reach the crime scene photos.
“He was a bastard, but he didn’t deserve that,” Chamber says thoughtfully.
“No, he didn’t,” I agree. Standing to leave, I assure him that the rest of the agreed upon fee will be arriving shortly. Before I reach the door, he stops me.
“If you don’t mind my asking: what are you going to use it for?”
I flash the detective a coy smile. “Bait.”
Chapter Sixteen
The West Resort and Casino has a lovely afternoon brunch even during weekdays, which is why I choose it for a bite to eat. Plus, it gives me a chance to put my invited guest in her discomfort zone. I need Monroe West if I’m going to use the information I’ve gotten from Dominic Chamber to my advantage. I’m already seated by the time she arrives, and my earliness makes me feel as if I have the upper hand.
Perhaps that’s why my mother always gets to a restaurant thirty minutes in advance.
Monroe’s annoyance radiates from her. While her lacy, navy dress and nude flats make her look the part of the innocent, I know exactly how I got her to meet me today. That’s probably why her sharp blue eyes cast daggers at me from across the dining room.
“Did you have to call my agency?” Monroe hisses as she takes the seat across from me.
I shrug, stirring a packet of sugar into my tea. I’m not certain this is what people mean when they say kill them with sweetness. “It seemed the easiest way to reach you.”
“You have my phone number.” She orders a mimosa from the waiter and then turns her fury back on me.
“I forgot.”
She considers this for a moment, and I hold my ground. Bullies respond to strength, so if I want to bond with my future sister-in-law, I’m going to have to show her exactly what I’m made of.
“So did you miss me or is there a point to this little afternoon tea party?” she asks, lounging into her seat. She’s getting comfortable, which means she’s letting me win this round.
Score one for Emma.
“I received some good news today. I’ve officially been cleared in your father’s murder case.”
“We’ve known that for a while, though.”
I can’t quite hide my surprise. I had no clue that Jameson had shared the DNA issue with the rest of his family.
“Don’t look so shocked,” she says. “We keep each other’s secrets, remember? Although no wonder he was so upset. It would have been pretty fucking twisted if you were his half-sister.”
Score one for Monroe.
“Of course, maybe that gets you off,” she continues, smothering a roll with butter before proceeding to pick at it.
“You’re more of the expert on fetish,” I assure her as I take a sip from my straw.
I don’t miss the slight flinch she tries to hide.
Score two for Emma.
“I thought we could celebrate,” I begin.
“That you aren’t screwing your brother? Sure, why not?” She rolls her eyes and abandons the uneaten roll on her plate.
“That I’m free and clear. Unless there’s a reason we should be concerned about familial involvement.” I don’t hide the implication of my words. I’m calling Monroe’s bluff. I’m not Nathaniel West’s daughter, but she is.
“Don’t be a pervert,” she says flatly. “So you want to have a party.”
I nod, trying not to look too self-satisfied that I’ve gotten her on the same page. “Here.”
“Here?” Monroe repeats. “You mean upstairs? Is that a little tasteless?”
“I had no idea you were so concerned with other people’s opinions. Maybe we should burn the place down and rebuild.” Monroe doesn’t seem to care that her father was murdered in this building. She’s stayed here, conducted business here. Hell, she even threw another party here.
“My mother is concerned with saving face,” she reminds me.
“This is about showing our strength,” I counter, hoping that this fledgling family connection is strong enough to get this done. “To whoever is watching. We own this town and they aren’t going to scare us away.”
“You aren’t a West yet. We might protect you but let’s wait for the prenup before you go claiming to own my family’s empire,” she suggests drolly.
I slide my hand around my glass and lift it so that my engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon sunlight. “Oh honey, I already own it.”
* * *
When I step off the escalators to the lobby, I’m met with half of the hotel’s security team. So much for keeping a low profile. Maddox shrugs through the crowd of suits. We both know that when Jameson wants to make a scene he’s going to.
“Miss Southerly, I’ve been asked to escort you upstairs.” It’s hard to take the man speaking to me seriously given that he’s wearing sunglasses inside the building, but I do my best.
Following him toward the bank of elevators that lead to the business offices, I spot Jameson waiting for me. His tie is still knotted tightly at his throat and his suit is pressed. I’m used to seeing him later in the day when he’s ditched the veneer of respectability. The man standing in front of me is far too respectable and it’s having an undeniable effect on me.
He takes me by the hand, thanking the guard.
“I thought you were staying home,” he whispers. “I have to admit that I was rather enjoying visualizing you naked in bed, waiting for me.”
“Are you disappointed to see me?” I ask, brushing a chaste kiss over his lips.
“Never,” he promises, rubbing the stubble peppering his jaw. Without thinking, I reach up and run a finger along it.
“You need to shave,” I murmur.
“I shaved this morning.” His mouth closes over mine before I can continue to critique his appearance. Despite the tension coiling through my limbs, I melt against him. When we finally break apart, I gasp for breath. “Just think of it as friction, Duchess.”
“I like it,” I simper.
He doesn’t mistake the double meaning and without a word, he grabs my hand and strides toward the elevator.
“Are you on a break?” I call, trying to fish my phone out of my bag with my free hand.
“No.” He continues forward and to my surprise, he bypasses the private elevator and steps into one crowded with people. Jameson shifts behind me to make room for another passenger, giving him the opportunity to grab my hips and pull me against him. His dick presses against my butt and my breath hitches. Just imagining what’s about to happen, tightens my stomach and when we step off the elevator a few floors later. I glance around.
“Where are the hotel rooms?” I ask in confusion, staring at a corridor of meeting rooms and banquet halls.
“If I take you near a bed, I won’t get back to work today, and”—he checks his phone— “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” I taunt him, letting my hips sway a bit as I walk.
“Not until you answer a question.” He grabs me around the waist and holds me. Meanwhile I’ve stopped breathing. Jameson didn’t spot me by chance in the hotel lobby. He’d sought me out.
Leading me into a meeting room, he picks me up and sets me on the edge of a table. “What are you doing here?”
“How did you know I was here?” I hate the idea of lying to him, so I counter with a question of my own.
“We were overseeing the implementation of a new security system.” He smiles tightly. I don’t need him to explain why it’s necessary. Jameson has been gradually increasing security around his hotel, his family, and to my annoyance, his girlfriend, since his dad was killed. “Were you hoping to see me?”
He steps between my legs, angling his face to nuzzle my neck. I hook my arms around hi
s neck, my fingers lingering in his mess of auburn hair. “I’m always hoping to see you, but I had lunch with Monroe.”
I’m leaving a few important details out, but I’m not certain he’s going to be thrilled about this party. I need to butter him up first.
“Monroe?” he repeats.
“She wants me to feel like part of the family.” I prop my index finger over his lips when he tries to speak. “Don’t worry. I’m keeping her close without letting her get too close.”
“Smart girl,” he breathes. Jameson is content with my answer or he’s lost his patience. Either way, he’s distracted from his interrogation. His hands creep under my shirt to massage my breasts while he kisses my collarbone. Within a few seconds, I’m practically vibrating under his touch.
“You were saying something about friction, Duchess?” he whispers against my skin before brushing his cheek across my neck. My body answers for me, erupting in goosebumps. Jameson chuckles under his breath. He rocks against me and I clutch his tie, lowering my back to the table. I don’t bother to ask if he’s locked the door, even after he’s stripped me from the waist down. One of the perks of being with the owner of a resort is that no one is calling security if they stumble in. Plus, the idea of getting caught sends a throb traveling between my legs.
Jameson’s jaw trails along the soft inner skin of my thigh, sending a ripple of pleasure that bubbles out of me in giggles.
“Are you ticklish?” He lingers in the spot until I’m laughing and panting, torn between giddiness and anticipation. Finally, his head pops into view, a smug grin plastered on his face. “You sound like a squeak toy.”
I glare at him, too weak from his physical teasing to come up with a retort. My lack of response only encourages him to laugh, too. Hooking his arms around my legs, he drags me to the edge of the table. “Don’t worry, Duchess. I’m not done playing with my toy yet.”
* * *
Arranging my last visit of the day takes a little more finesse. Explaining to Maddox that I want to visit Monroe’s now ex-boyfriend results in a blank stare.
“He got into a fight,” I tell him. “He was beaten up pretty badly, and I wanted to check in on him.”
“That’s considerate of you.” Either Maddox isn’t buying what I’m selling or he’s really more teddy bear than human. I’m happy regardless. As it turns out Maddox is the easy one to appease. Jonas’s mother is far less happy to see me.
I smile broadly when she opens the door. “I came to check on Jonas.”
“He told me company was coming.” It’s clear from the way her lips purse like she accidentally sucked on a lemon wedge that he forgot to mention I was the company.
I take her acknowledgment as an invitation and waltz into the house. Unless they’ve changed things around, I know exactly where his bedroom is. If what Jonas told us was true, then his mom will be thrilled to see a girl going inside.
Well, maybe if that girl was someone other than me. But given my current notoriety, I can’t blame her.
Jonas is strung across his bed, absorbed in a PlayStation game.
“I didn’t know they still made those,” I say. It had been years since I’d played a video game, but, at the moment, I understood the appeal of delaying adolescence.
Jonas looks up and grins. He won’t be smiling for much longer, not when I tell him why I’m here. I clutch my purse a little closer. It feels heavier with the police file inside.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, checking out the deep, purple bruises on his cheek bones. A few have begun to fade to green along the edges.
“Fine,” he promises. “I think Hugo actually gave me some street cred. My Dad says I look like a real man.” Jonas’s smile slips and he forces it back on his face, but it no longer reaches his eyes. We both knew that if his father knew the truth, he wouldn’t be so proud.
“One more year,” I remind him, “and then we can get out of here.”
“Not sticking around?” Of course, Jonas remembers my plan to stay in town and run my dad’s shop. Because regardless of the mistakes he’s made, he’s a genuinely decent guy. I’m counting on that decency to help me out.
“I think I’d prefer to get the hell out of town,” I say with a laugh.
“I’m glad you aren’t staying here,” he says conspiratorially, his chocolate brown eyes rich with concern. “This place will poison you—turn you into someone you aren’t.”
Like someone willing to use anyone and everyone she knows to get what she wants? I try to push my self-disgust down but it keeps rising to the top. If I don’t find out who killed Nathaniel West, I’ll have the crime hanging over my head for the rest of my life. I tell myself it’s not self-service that compels me to use every resource I have to uncover the truth, but rather self-preservation.
“I need your help.” I can’t stomach sitting here and pretending to be a considerate friend regardless.
Jonas sighs and settles back against his bed. He points to his desk chair, and I take a seat. “I was worried you were going to say that.”
“Am I that transparent?” I ask.
“Consider it a good thing. But after all these years, and what I did to you, I don’t deserve a house call. That’s what gave you away.” He winks at me but I see the sorrow hiding in his eyes.
“Maybe you aren’t as bad as you think.” I pull the folder out of my bag and hold it up. “But you’re right I came here for a reason.”
“What is that?” he asks, not bothering to get up. In this town, I wouldn’t take a nondescript folder either.
“The case file on Nathaniel West’s murder.” If this is going to work, I have to be completely honest with him. It’s a leap of faith to spill my plans to another soul, but I was recently told I needed to be a bit more trusting. I believed Jonas when he said he had nothing to do with the murder, but that’s not the reason I’ve come to him.
“And why do you have it?”
“I paid for it.” I toss it on the bed. “You might want to skip the pictures. They’re hard to get out of your head.”
Jonas doesn’t pick it up. “Why are you telling me this, Emma?”
“Because we both know that whoever did this is following your account.”
“I’m not posting anymore,” he says flatly.
“Look, you created The Dealer to restore some karmic balance to Belle Mère.”
“All it did was hurt people,” he stops me.
“Then this is your chance to make things right.”
“How?” he asks.
“By catching the person who killed Nathaniel West once and for all.” I shove a few papers that have fallen out back into the folder. “I’m having a party at the Wests. All I need you to do is post a photo of this in the office.”
“Where he was killed?” Jonas’s face is ashen.
“Whoever did it will know it’s a message. They’ll come looking for the file.”
“And you’ll catch them red-handed.” Jonas pauses to considerate, then he shakes his head. “You can’t be sure they’re still following the account.”
“They are,” I say firmly.
“But how do you know?” He doesn’t share my certainty, but that’s not important.
“I know they’ll come looking for one reason, because they haven’t been caught yet.”
“You aren’t as clever as you think you are,” Maddox says, drawing my attention away from my cell phone after we leave Jonas’s house.
“What?”
“Running around town, whipping everyone into a frenzy. I know you’re up to something.” He keeps his eyes on the road, occasionally checking his blind spots. Maddox is always watching. Of course, he saw through my errands.
I have a choice: keep trying to lie to him or get him on my side. Considering I’m not the one paying his salary, he has no real reason to keep quiet—unless I give him one.
“Fine,” I level with him. “I am up to something, but it’s the only way to clear all our names.”
“And
what happens when you catch who did it? What if it’s one of you?” he asks bluntly.
That’s the second time today I’ve been forced to face that possibility, but it doesn’t lessen my resolve. “It wasn’t me and it wasn’t Jameson.”
He chuckles. “So everyone else is on their own?”
The photos of the crime scene flash through my mind. Jameson found his father like that. No matter what had passed between them, he had faced that gruesome discovery. Someone left his father for him to find, and that person is going to pay.
Chapter Seventeen
Pawnography’s newest sales associate waves to me from behind the counter. There’s something comforting about knowing that she’s here to keep the store in check. The shop is swarming with customers, which is its new normal following the media storm that is my life Suddenly, my impulse to retrieve the Venetian mask I bought ages ago feels foolish. Tugging the tie from my ponytail I let my hair fall like a curtain over my face. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to invest in a wardrobe of over-sized sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats. I ninja through the crowd, careful not to make eye contact with any of the patrons. Most of their attention is on the items under the glass and the girl behind the counter.
I blend in, so no one notices me, but I stop in my tracks when a woman bustles up to Josie at the counter. She’s dressed in a Las Vegas t-shirt that screams tourist. Judging from her mom jeans, she’s a Midwesterner. In my experience Kansans love a good souvenir shirt and a pair of high-waters. I suspect that if she turns around, there will be a fanny pack buckled around her ample waistline.
“Where’s the girl?” she demands.
Josie blinks innocently, but I can tell by how forcefully she stares the woman down that she knows exactly what she’s asking. “I’m sorry?”
“The girl they keep talking about on television and the world-wide web.” The customer twirls her hand impatiently as if a nondescript gesticulation will help clarify her point.
“She doesn’t work her.” Josie smiles as she delivers the bad news, and I want to hug her.
