He jumped at the sound of my voice then shook his head. “You have no idea.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “That woman. She’s a bloody cow.”
“Can you speak American rather than Australian?” Actually, I’d sit and listen to the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock speak Swahili if he wanted—those brown eyes flecked with gold, the wavy hair begging to be touched, the dimples, the perpetual tan, the great ass, the delicious accent.... If he and I weren’t both already spoken for, I could definitely embarrass myself in his presence.
His dimples flashed then disappeared.
“Rubbed you the wrong way, did she?” I asked. “She has a habit of doing that. For all the years I’ve known her, I’ve been convinced she sees no reflection when she looks in the mirror.” I took a good look at Jeremy. He looked whipped and more than a little peeved. “Is she involved in one of your investigations?”
“Up to her pretty little neck. I just can’t prove it... yet. She’s as cunning as a shithouse rat.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I glanced at my watch—almost three hours into the new day. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, but thanks.
I didn’t think he’d accept—client confidentiality and all of that—but he looked so miserable I had to offer. “You look beat. Are you going home?”
“No, I’m bunking with your right-hand man these days.”
“I’m not sure I’d put it quite that way. Somebody might get the wrong impression.”
Clearly too tired to smile, Jeremy gave me a peck on each cheek and an unenthusiastic little wave as he turned to go.
I watched him until he disappeared into the casino.
I spent the next hour wandering among the tables and slot machines as the gambling day wound down. A cloud of smoke hovered above the thinning crowd. Having abandoned the rows of empty slots, the cocktail waitresses lurked near the few tables still hosting some action. At the beginning of the evening, the waitresses wore broad smiles and little else. Now the smiles were nowhere to be found, and the women looked cold and miserable as they shifted from one foot to another. I marveled at their composure. A long night in the mandatory stilettos would have reduced me to tears.
A small crowd of Babylon employees clustered around a lone slot machine. Paxton Dane, a long, tall drink of Texas charm and the Gaming Control Board’s expert on cheating—actually he was an expert on lying and cheating, but that’s another story—was holding forth on all the latest ways to rig slot machines for a large payout. The required presentations to the staff were always held at four o’clock in the morning, when the fewest number of quarter-pushers were around. While the gambler might sleep, the hotel staff merely changed shifts. Which reminded me, my shift was almost over.
Just when I was actually beginning to believe I might escape on time, my push-to-talk called my name. I flipped it open, glanced at the number, then said, “Hey, Jer. Whatcha got?” Jerry was my counterpart in Security.
“What’d you do, draw the short straw or something? How come the boss is working the graveyard?”
“You know how I like to be in the thick of the action.”
“Right,” he snorted. “Your main squeeze working tonight?”
“Playing piano in Delilah’s Bar.”
“Thought as much. I got a call you need to take.”
“Sure,” I said, with a sinking heart. The possibility of some shut-eye before dawn was diminishing by the second.
“A guy in 12410 locked himself out of his room. The typical story—he was heading for the bathroom in the dark and went out the wrong door. Apparently he’s buck naked and hiding in the laundry room.”
“You checked his name against our registration records?” I asked, my brain switching to autopilot.
“Yeah, they jibe.”
“How am I supposed to ask him for ID before I give him the key?” I really didn’t want to go into a room alone with a naked guy who was most likely three sheets to the wind.
“His name is Lovato. I think you can put two and two together.”
I whistled low. “Interesting. How’d he get hold of you?” “Employee intercom.” “On my way.”
* * *
AFTER a stop at the front desk to get a new key programmed for room 12410, I headed for the elevators. Standing in front of the main elevator bank and its shiny brass doors, I took stock of my reflection. A recent makeover had converted me from bottle-blonde to my natural light brown. Although I liked the transformation, I still wasn’t used to the new old me.
I even wore a bit of makeup to accentuate my blue eyes and those darn cheekbones that had to be coaxed out of hiding. Still tall, I’d lost a few pounds—one of the effects of falling in love—that was recent, too. My mother told me I lost the weight because now I had something else to do with my hands. My mother, Mona, ran a bordello in Pahrump. Subtlety and gentility were not two of her stronger suits.
Once an elevator arrived, the ride was brief. I found the laundry room halfway down the hall on the right. I paused in front of the door. Should I knock? Feeling magnanimous, I decided I should.
Two taps and a voice called out, “You better goddamn well have my key. I’m freezing my butt off in here.”
I paused, savoring the moment—I didn’t get this sort of opportunity very often and I wasn’t above making the most of it. This made staying up way past my bedtime almost worth it. I opened the door and froze in mid-stride.
Scrunched into the far corner of the small closet, swathed in white, with a scowl on his face, sat Las Vegas’s own district attorney, Daniel Lovato. Most people called him Lovie—a nickname he well deserved—but Lovie Lovato the Lothario was too alliterative for me, so I stuck with Daniel.
“Daniel! Isn’t this interesting?” My shit-eating grin would have been impossible to hide, so I didn’t even try.
“0h, Jesus, O’Toole. What are you doing here?” Lovie gathered the folds of sheet around him. “Shut the damn door.”
“Does Glinda know you’re here?” I shut the door behind me, then leaned against it, arms crossed across my chest. Glinda, in a fit of bad judgment I still didn’t understand, married Daniel years ago. The fact that she hadn’t killed him by now was a true testament to her self-control.
“I’m here with the bi—my wife.” Daniel lowered his gaze and glared at me from under his bushy black eyebrows, which matched his thick black hair. Handsome, yes, but charming? To my knowledge, no one had ever accused him of that. “I beat on the door, but I couldn’t wake her up. Now give me the damn key.”
He extended his arm imperiously. With a sheet draped across his lap and over one shoulder, he looked just like a Roman Emperor—except the throne from which Lovie ruled was a pile of dirty laundry. Where was my camera when I needed it? Even my push-to-talk didn’t have a camera feature. I resolved to do something about that.
I handed him the key. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. People will start to talk, and I don’t want to get on Glinda’s bad side.” Glinda was a bodybuilder and she scared me.
Daniel grabbed the key. Wrapping the folds of sheet around him, he levered himself to his feet, then brushed past me through the door.
“You’re welcome,” I said as I watched him stalk down the hall.
Here with his wife? And I’m Mother Theresa. When our great district attorney was out of earshot, I keyed security.
Jerry answered immediately. “You okay? Any problems with the naked guy?”
“Everything’s fine, but do me a favor. Keep the last twenty-four hours of video from the hallway in front of 12410.” I paused as I watched the district attorney let himself into his room. “And you’d better keep the next twenty-four hours as well. I don’t know what games are going on up here, but I have a hunch we had better do some prophylactic CYA.”
* * *
“MY day is officially over,” I announced to no one as I rode the elevator to the lobby. Teddie would still be in Delilah’s Bar tinkling the ivories, so I headed in that direction. Time t
o round him up and hit the trail.
Two months ago Teddie became the new man in my life. Actually, that’s not really true. Two months ago he became the new man in my bed (not that there was an old one). Prior to that we’d been platonic best friends. Then, out of the blue, Teddie got a wild hair and kissed me right in the middle of Delilah’s Bar. That kiss had changed everything.
Delilah’s Bar—an oasis in a vast forest of machines and table games designed to relieve gamblers of their money—sat under a colorful tent on a raised platform in the center of the casino. Flowering bougainvillea streamed from latticework suspended between columns. Water gurgled from fountains and trickled down the wall behind the long bar. Thankfully, the televisions had been turned off. One lone patron, a cigarette dangling from his lips, played video poker at the far end of the counter.
Our head bartender, Sean, wiped down a glass with a bar rag. He nodded and smiled as I climbed the steps. “Your man’s a real hit.”
I took a seat on a stool and turned my full attention to Teddie, who was seated at the baby grand.
As Teddie played, he studiously ignored his audience of one, a lady seated close to him who had kicked off one shoe and was running her bare foot up his leg. In this day and age of rampant plastic surgery, I couldn’t hazard a guess as to how old she was, but she was clearly trolling—and she had taken a shine to my man.
She had good taste—he was beautiful. Spiked blond hair, chiseled features, sparkling blue eyes surrounded by lashes females would kill for, broad shoulders, small waist, perfect ass. When near him, I found it next to impossible to keep my hands to myself.
Teddie’s real name is Ted Kowalski, but when I brought his show to the Babylon, he was known as the Great Teddie Divine—Las Vegas’s foremost female impersonator. Everybody assumed he was gay, but they were wrong big time. He’s not even bisexual, which makes it nice for me.
Now Teddie busies himself writing songs and hoping for a music career. Julliard-trained with a Harvard MBA, I had no doubt he’d get it. But in the meantime, he wrote music when the spirit moved him and played the piano in Delilah’s on the nights I worked the graveyard. In addition, he still had his hand in the female impersonating thing—he now produced the show and was the headliner’s understudy in case of an emergency.
I’d never tell Teddie this, but secretly I was glad when he hung up his dress. Having a lover who looked better in my clothes than I did was more pressure than I thought it would be. In addition, now I was the beneficiary of all his hand-me-downs—another plus.
His baby-blues closed as he sang an old Frank Sinatra ballad, Teddie wore his ubiquitous blue jeans. Tight, but not too, they always got my attention. In place of his favorite Harvard sweatshirt, he wore an open-collared shirt, the top several buttons undone. I could see the hint of chest hair, which I sorta liked. For a long time he waxed on a regular basis—chest hair and his Oscar de la Renta gown with the plunging neckline would not have been pretty.
Mid-ballad, Teddie stopped. “Mrs. Hitzelberger—”
“Norma,” said the lady with her foot wedged up the leg of his blue jeans.
“Mrs. Hitzelberger,” Teddie countered, this time a bit more forcefully.
Before he could continue, I slid onto the piano bench next to him. “Hey, handsome.” With one hand, I turned his face fully toward me and gave him the very best kiss I could muster at almost four a.m.
Mrs. Hitzelberger grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away. “Honey, I was here first. This one’s mine.”
Like a flea trying to move an elephant, she had zero chance of pulling me away from Teddie—especially since he was kissing me back.
“Theodore,” Mrs. Hitzelberger said imperiously, “Would a thousand dollars buy a few hours alone with you in my room?”
Words prevailed where force had failed—Teddie and I broke the kiss and turned to look at her, unsure whether we’d heard what we thought we’d heard.
“What?” Teddie asked.
“A cool grand for a few hours with you.”
“What makes you think he’s for sale?” I asked when I finally found my voice.
“Honey, everything in this place is for sale.” Mrs. Hitzelberger waved her hand dismissively. “The only thing left to determine is the price.”
I wasn’t going to argue—she was closer to the truth than I cared to think about. “If that’s the case, this one . . .” I shrugged toward Teddie, “... was bought and paid for long ago.”
Mrs. Hitzelberger sized me up for a moment. Then she drained her drink and slid off her stool as she worked her foot back into its shoe. “Lucky you.” Se gave me a squeeze on the shoulder, then turned and headed for the bar.
“Truer words were never spoken,” I said as I leaned into Teddie. “Play something for me.”
He cocked his head at me. Then, a smile tugging at his mouth, he began to play. Frank Sinatra gave way to Bryan Adams.
I put my head on his shoulder as he sang a beautiful song about lovers who had started out as friends. Closing my eyes, I smiled—the guy had a song for every occasion.
* * *
AFTER I’d turned over the reins of power to my youngest assistant, Brandy, home beckoned. With Teddie’s song in my heart and his hand firmly in mine, I pushed through the front door of the hotel and out into the cool night air. A few bees still buzzed against the glass. Thankfully, they ignored us.
At the end of the drive, we stopped to survey the damage. In full turnout gear with hastily rigged veils attached to their helmets and all openings bound with tape, the firefighters still manned the open hoses, washing dead bee bodies into the gutters. A commercial tow truck had righted the cab of the tractor-trailer. Men in white suits and veils worked on the shattered hives. Despite the conspicuous absence of the Metro police, traffic again crept down the Strip.
“What happened here?” Teddie asked.
I gave him a brief summary as I pulled him away from the lights of the Strip and into the velvety cloak of the darkest time of night.
“I was wondering about those red welts on your neck. I knew I hadn’t put them there and you aren’t the type to engage in extracurricular necking.” Teddie wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close.
The guy knew me pretty well. “Bees are going to be the least of my worries this weekend.”
“How can I help?” He gave me a quick kiss on the temple for no apparent reason.
I liked it. “Keep me relaxed.”
“They say sex is one of the great stress relievers.”
“I like the way you think, Mr. Kowalski.” I looped an arm around his waist. With my free hand, I grabbed his hand dangling over my shoulder.
The heat of the summer finally had broken, leaving the air as smooth and refreshing as a fine wine. We strolled the few remaining blocks in silence, savoring the quiet and the dark. Most of the stars had faded in anticipation of dawn, but one or two still twinkled valiantly. Except for a few bats winging in the darkness, the world was still.
Conveniently, home for both Teddie and me was a tower of glass and steel, called the Presidio, located behind the Babylon.
“Your place or mine?” Teddie inquired as he held open the front door for me.
“I like sleeping at your place—waking up in a man’s bedroom makes me feel naughty.”
“Naughty is good.” Teddie shot me a grin as we stepped in the elevator. He inserted his card, and pressed the PH button, then folded me into his arms. “As long as you restrict yourself to this man’s bedroom.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. One man at a time is all I can handle,” I murmured as his mouth closed over mine, setting my every nerve afire. How he did that remained an intoxicating mystery, but as they say, better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
The ride to the top floor passed without notice. At the ding of the bell announcing our arrival, we unclenched and staggered out of the elevator into the middle of Teddie’s great room.
I leaned one hip against the sofa and grabbed Tedd
ie’s shoulder. “Stand there a minute, will you?” I bent over and shucked off a shoe, then shifted feet and shucked the other. “Better.”
“Let me help you.” With a glint in his eye, Teddie boosted me so I was sitting on the back of his sofa, feet not touching the floor. He stepped between my legs and I wrapped them around his waist. He eased off my sweater then went to work on the buttons of my blouse.
I watched as he deftly worked through the lot of them. While the future with Teddie still looked a bit murky, the present was shaping up nicely.
“Woman, you have the most incredible underwear.” He hooked a finger under the strap of my black lace bra and worked it down my arm. His breath caught when the sheer fabric fell away.
“My mother always told me fast cars and short skirts got a guy’s attention, but the lingerie sealed the deal.” His skin on mine shot sparks of warmth to my very core.
“She knew what she was talking about.” Teddie looked at me, his eyes the deepest shade of blue. He looped one arm around my waist.
“She should.” Warming to the game, I snaked my arms around his neck. “But I don’t want to think about my mother right now. I don’t want to think about anything.”
“Have it your way.” My body anchored to his, his arm firmly around my waist, Teddie bent me back.
When his mouth found my exposed breast, rational thought evaporated.
CHAPTER TWO
DON’T you know somebody named Numbers Neidermeyer?” Teddie asked.
I folded aside the sports section of the afternoon paper to look at him. Half submerged on the opposite side of the hot tub, he hid behind what looked to be the front section.
Bright daylight streamed in the windows when we had gotten to sleep. Entwined, we had slept the day away and had almost slumbered through the cocktail hour, which would have been a crime against nature since I didn’t have to work tonight. As the day faded toward night, we had decided champagne and fresh croissants—both to be savored in the hot tub on the deck—were in order. Teddie popped the cork on a bottle of Dom Pérignon, which we sipped from flutes of Steuben crystal while warm bubbles burbled around us. Our larders bare, we’d called out for the croissants, which had yet to arrive.
Lucky Stiff (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 2) Page 2
