Especially his wife…
* * *
It was almost time.
Creeping to the back of the building, the shadows offered the coverage needed. The first woman out would be the one who died.
By now, Randall Mason would be watching the world he created, thinking he was king.
But he was very wrong.
His majesty was about to be dethroned.
Thirty years ago, he took something that wasn’t his. Randall Mason used his strength and money to alter fate and ruin so many lives to follow.
Now, it was time for karma to make an appearance. Mason was about to reap what he had sown. One moment he’d be at the top, and in the end Randall would be nothing more than one of the broken showgirls lying in the dirt and filth of the alley.
All the powerful were here tonight and they’d be privy to watching the mighty topple.
It was all about revenge for a woman whose voice he stole, whose dreams he shattered, and for the life he forever altered.
Tonight had been written in the stars.
Fate was a vicious cold bitch and she was on the hunt.
* * *
Emma sat beside her husband and admired him as he watched the show. The lights in the balcony were low, but they still caught the speckling of gray above his ears. What she wouldn’t give to run her fingers through it, and sit in his lap at that moment.
Whenever near him, she only wanted to trace a trail across his body and follow the path she loved. As if he knew she was thinking about him, his gaze moved to her and away from the dancers below. Her breath caught in her chest as the molten silver gaze bore directly into her soul.
Greyson had been scanning the crowd and measuring the possibility that someone could get to Emma up here in the private balcony of the theater. He’d noticed more than her eyes on him. Beside them in the opposing space was another private balcony. It housed Randall Mason and wife hopeful number six. He was watching them and measuring him up, and it made Croft uneasy.
If the man wanted to gauge his role in the game, that was fine. He didn't mind a little speculation by the other pawns, but his wife was off limits.
Then there was Dyer Mason.
The man was outwardly leering at Emma as if she was a snack on the menu.
Over his dead body.
Already, he knew there was trouble brewing on the horizon, and it was only a matter of time before the confrontation occurred.
Turning his focus to his wife, his eyes locked with hers. Greyson found peace in their gentle green sparkle. Whenever gazing into them, he could breathe again. He could let everything fall away and be the man he was beneath it all.
Greyson Croft was simply Emma’s husband.
She could see the emotion and stress playing across his handsome features. She would give anything to help him find peace. Placing her palm on his cheek, her heart skipped when he turned his head and laid a gentle kiss there.
As the lights came up, it was time for intermission.
Briggs stood. “I’m going to take a sweep through the lobby to check things out,” he said, knowing the killer would pick a time where people were milling about.
“I’ll go with you.” Detective Westmore stood, taking her date’s hand. “We’ll be back.”
Croft took the opportunity to finally kiss his wife. The feather light chaste pecks on the cheek were making him completely crazy. Pulling her roughly to his mouth, he kissed her like she was the last vestige of sanity on the planet, and he needed to connect with her to survive.
Someone moaned and he was pretty sure it was him.
Emma’s hands went to his chest and grabbed the lapels of his tux to hold him to her. Oh, what he wouldn’t give for a door, some blinds, and twenty minutes alone.
A throat being cleared drew his attention.
Greyson took his time in breaking the kiss. The person interrupting them needed to be aware that they were not in any hurry to break apart. This was a moment reserved for the husband and wife on their night out as a couple, and not as the law.
When his focus was finally on the person waiting for his attention, he turned and Emma joined him at his side. Without hesitation, she locked them together with twined fingers.
“I hope I’m not disturbing anything,” said the man.
Emma made the introductions. “Greyson, this is Randall Mason.”
He only released Emma’s hand for that handshake, and then immediately reconnected them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Mason. I appreciate the invitation to tonight’s gala.”
The man nodded. “I’m glad you were available. I know how busy the FBI director can be. I used to invite the previous one, but he was always out collecting his fees.” He alluded to the bribes that the prior Fed had succumbed to that cost him his job.
“I can assure you, I won’t have that problem. I plan on running the FBI by the letter of the law. I don’t cheat at life or any games I play.” He threw it back out there that he wasn’t for sale.
Mason nodded. “I must say, your Emma is absolutely stunning. She reminds me of my first wife.”
Croft wasn’t impressed. “I’ve heard there’ve been a few.”
“Five,” he said, shrugging. “This is Vegas. Marriage and divorce are the norm in this city. The woman in my box is vying to be number six, but I have bad news for her. I’m not really into blondes. I prefer a different type.”
He didn't like how the man was staring at Emma as if she could become a potential candidate. The man had to be close to seventy, and if he wanted to marry fifteen more women that was his choice, but his Emma wasn’t ever going to be one of them. “I don’t plan on ever having more than one.”
He laughed. “Who plans? Women come and women go. They are a fickle breed to keep happy.”
Croft tensed and squeezed her hand.
“What gives you pleasure, Emma?” he asked.
If there was one thing that pissed her off, it was when someone baited her husband’s temper. It made her want to go to war and slay the offender. “Greyson does,” she replied as she placed her head on his shoulder, “as does my job and pointing out when someone’s crossed the line and offended me.” Emma stared right at the man.
He started laughing. “I love a kitten with claws.”
Croft was close to losing it. The man could imply all he wanted, but the kitten in question was all his.
Emma laughed and alleviated some of the stress. “Mr. Mason, you haven’t run into the likes of me before. Your showgirls might find innuendos and promises of whatever it is you offer enticing, but I have everything I want in life. My claws only come out when someone crosses the line and offends my husband.”
“Oh, and you’re a protective one at that. You’re a lucky man, Director. A good woman is very hard to find. Keep her close,” he stated. “I will allow you time alone, but I’ll see you after the show, Mrs. Croft. You entertain me.”
Greyson was fighting to keep his face neutral. As soon as the man left, he wordlessly took his seat. At that moment, there was doubt he could contain the impending explosion.
Her husband’s body spoke to how he was feeling. Emma desperately wished to help him through it. “Mr. Croft, is this seat taken?” Emma asked, pointing at his lap.
He would never turn that down. “It’s always available for you.” He didn't mind if everyone watched as his wife sat there. It would only show them that they were a unified front.
Once seated, her arm circled his shoulders and her lips went to his ear. “He was baiting you. Don’t let him see you upset. I’m not going anywhere.”
Emma knew his biggest fear was he’d come home one day, only to find her gone. They each had scars on their heart, and that was his.
Greyson nodded and rested his forehead against her chin. “I don’t like the man,” he whispered for her ears only. “He’s a womanizing jackass.”
She understood. “Think of it this way, Director Croft,” she purred. “He had to buy his bedmates. Yours wanted
you for you.”
He grinned up at her. “I’m the luckiest man here. You’re all I need in life. I’d give up the job and move back to Celestia in a heartbeat.”
Yeah, like right now. It was sounding like a damn good idea.
“We aren’t moving. You’re very good at being director and I enjoy being a detective. Together, we must make them incredibly nervous. You’re sterling, Grey. You can’t be bought, and that has to make a lot of the seedy element nervous.”
“Good, let them worry.”
The house lights flickered. “It’s almost time for the last half of the show.”
“Good, because I’m bored out of my damn mind,” he said, smiling. “I could be home watching football right now.”
Emma laughed. “There’s the man I married.”
“At least at halftime, I can chase my naked wife around the condo until I catch her.”
When she slid out of his lap, he ran his hand over her ass appreciatively, and then winked at her.
“Just so you know, I let you catch me every time.”
Now, he laughed as a little stress was gone from his face. “Yeah, I know and I appreciate every second of it.”
It was the longest two hours of his life. The only thing that kept him sane was his wife at his side. When he believed he’d fall asleep, she would run her fingers over his thigh and write phrases like, ‘I love you’, or ‘let’s get naked’. It was making it hard to not laugh. Greyson swore then and there, if he ever had to do one of these things alone, he’d decline.
Emma made it fun.
When the curtain dropped, he was infinitely grateful. Pulling his wife up to stand beside him, he whispered in her ear. “If I had to look at one more feather clad showgirl, I would have walked out.”
“Then, I guess you don’t want me wearing feathers in our bedroom then, huh?”
He snickered. “We’ll negotiate later.”
Croft led them out of the balcony and down to the lobby. People were milling around and greeting each other. The night was almost over, and so far nothing had happened. It looked like his profiler was dead wrong.
Thank God.
Emma went up on her toes to whisper in his ear. They had a couple coming towards them.
“Good evening, Detective,” stated the man. “I didn't expect to see you here,” Harrison Tyler stated. “Who is your date?” he asked, checking the man out. Hello good looking.
If the man’s lecherous stares bothered her, she refused to let on. “Mr. Tyler, this is my husband, Greyson Croft.”
The man was surprised. “Oh, you’re married to the new FBI Director! How interesting that must be for you both.”
“I’m sorry, since my partner is being so rude, I’ll do the introductions,” began the gentleman at Harrison’s side. “I’m Jeffery Martin,”
Emma shook his hand warmly. “It’s my pleasure Mr. Martin. Did you enjoy the show?” she inquired.
“It was dreadful, overdone and showed that Randall Mason is indeed a pompous ass.”
This was probably the first person there who Croft agreed with the entire evening. Who knew it would be a gay man?
“Jeffrey! Shhhhhhh. Don’t insult the host!”
He simply rolled his eyes. “So, you’re a detective and you’re the FBI honcho. What a crime fighting duo. How cute!”
Emma started to laugh. “You don’t like Randall Mason do you?” she questioned.
The man made a face. “I’d rather dine with the devil. You can trust him more. Randall is sneaky, underhanded and out to own everything. I really wish someone would knock him down a peg or ten.”
Croft stared at his wife and lifted a brow. His attention was then caught by the commissioner who was signaling to him. There were men surrounding him, and he knew he was being summoned to meet the power behind the Vegas scene. Leaning over, he whispered in his wife’s ear. “I have to schmooze. Stay where I can see you, Emma.”
She kissed him and grinned. “Yes, Grey.”
When he walked away, Harrison continued. “You spoke to my attorney. Are you checking up on me?” he asked as he lowered his voice.
“It’s my job,” she stated, scanning her surroundings.
He didn't say anything else.
Jeffery Martin spoke next. “So, give us the dirt. Who do you think is the killer of all those women?”
Emma laughed at his audacity. “Uh, I’m not giving you any information. Just because I’m in a gown, it doesn’t mean I forgot I’m a cop and left my brain at home,” she stated. “But that was a really good try.”
He grinned, and then his attention was pulled away. “Oh, that’s the designer of that suit I was telling you about, Harry! We need to meet him,” he said, pulling him away.
‘Thank God,’ Emma thought. Across the room, she caught sight of her partner and Briggs as they were observing and mingling with the crowd. When she turned her head, her husband was trapped in a circle of men. The hair on the back of her neck stood, and she knew who was approaching. Turning, she found herself face to face with a leering Dyer Mason.
“I was waiting for that big ox of a husband to leave you alone,” he said, snapping the gum in his mouth.
Emma dismissed his comment. “Hello again, Mr. Mason.”
“I hear you’re working on the investigation into the deaths of the women who work for us.”
She nodded. “I am. Is there anything you can tell me about them? Did you know them personally?” Emma asked, wondering if he’d tell her the truth or lie.
“I know a lot of women intimately. Would you like to be one of them?” he teased, moving closer to her. When she didn't move back, he grinned. He had a thing for feisty redheads. What he wouldn’t do to get her naked and in his bed. Dyer was betting the woman was a wildcat in the sack, or her husband wouldn’t be such a guard dog.
“Not particularly. I happen to enjoy the man I’m sleeping with a great deal. I don’t bed hop.”
He laughed at that. “Every woman in this city is out to get to the top, Emma. I’ll be kind enough to let you be on top, all your little heart desires.” Dyer was pretty sure that he could convince her. There wasn’t a woman alive who could resist his charm and money.
“I don’t climb my way to the top by using men. I married an FBI agent and not a director. If anything, Greyson and I will make this journey together.”
Dyer glanced over at the man. Croft was staring at him like he wanted to slice him to pieces. “You’ll get bored with the old man and come running. Once he stops satisfying you in bed, you’ll be at my door.”
Emma didn't need Greyson to hear any of this conversation or he’d lose his mind. “I assure you, that my sex life isn’t any of your business.”
“Are you his property, Emma?” he crooned, suggestively. When she looked confused, he pointed at her throat. “I couldn’t help but notice that necklace you’re wearing,” he said, putting his hand on her ass and giving a squeeze. “Can I borrow you?”
Stepping back, she gave him a look. “Hands off, Dyer.”
“That necklace is very telling to a man like me. It says a lot about what you like in life. Want to come to my place and let me see if it’s true?”
“I’m a cop, thus the handcuffs. I wouldn’t let that mind of yours wander. It might get lost.”
He began laughing. “I like a woman who plays hard to get, so back to that intriguing necklace. Is it because you like to be handcuffed? I have a pair back in my room or you can bring yours. Why don’t you join me and we can take turns?”
Before she could answer, her husband appeared at her side. It was about to get ugly from here on out. There was no question. Greyson Croft had seen his wife getting her ass grabbed.
“The meaning of the necklace is none of your business,” he growled. Right then and there, he wanted to kill. The heat flushed up his body, threatening to reach his brain and take over. If that happened, Dyer Mason was a dead man. There was only one reason he’d ever break the law, and it would be over the woma
n at his side.
Emma took his hand and squeezed it. The tension was still there.
“I’m curious if she’ll admit it out loud. Women are generally easy to break, but your wife isn’t bending.”
Croft took a step forward. “She’s off limits, Mason!” he hissed proprietarily.
Emma hated watching her husband being tortured. “Actually, if you must know, Dyer, the necklace was indeed a gift from my husband. It signifies that I’m his.” She knew what would calm Greyson down. If it meant saving his heart, she’d offer up something private about her.
Dyer immediately looked bored that his fun was over.
“You're too easy,” he answered, letting her take it however she wanted. Her big baboon of a husband wasn’t any of his concern.
Croft was seeing red and in about three seconds, the man was dead
“Why is there never a garbage can when you need one?” he muttered, looking for a place to dump his gum.
“I have a tissue,” she offered as she opened her purse. It was like her best cop day ever. The two men came to her and now one was offering her DNA. Now all she had to do was keep her husband out of jail, and it would be a productive night.
She handed it to him and watched as he fell right into her trap. Yeah, the man may be rich, but he was dumber than a box of rocks. He just willingly disposed of his own DNA. There was no way in hell a court order would come through. She knew that Mason had more than a couple of judges in his pocket. This was like a Christmas present.
An early one!
Depositing his gum, he handed her the tissue. “Be a doll and take care of this for me.” Walking past, he gave her ass a big healthy squeeze. She tried not to flinch or someone was dead.
Croft was quite possibly a man on the edge.
The Mason spawn just put his hands on his wife again, and this time while he stood there. He tried to breathe through it.
Emma needed to regain control. She dropped the chewing gum into her clutch and snapped it shut. Leaning into her husband, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She’d rather have everyone around them watch them share a moment, than her husband beat the hell out of Dyer Mason or worse, kill him.
Vegas is Dying (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 2) Page 34
