by Ann Aguirre
Well, that’s better than nothing.
While Kyra took care of check-in, Reyes found the men’s room. Immediately, he dug out his cell phone and dialed Foster. The man answered on the third ring every time without fail.
“I trust you have something to report,” Foster said in lieu of greeting.
“I hope to shortly. Trust takes time, as I’ve told you before. I have a question. Did you hire anyone else to locate Ms. Beckwith?”
There was a weighty silence. “Do I need to?”
“No,” Reyes said. “But it seems as though we’ve picked up a tail along the way. I wanted to find out if he’s one of yours before I neutralized him.”
“If my employer has done this, he did not discuss it with me,” Foster said. “Therefore, anything that befalls the man would be a result of poor planning.”
That would be tacit permission to off the guy. “Are you positive your employer lets you in on every move he makes?”
“I am sure of nothing, but I consider this ninety-nine percent. I must warn you, however . . . my employer lacks both subtlety and patience. You have a week at most to finish the job.”
Shit. Serrano had reached the point where he wanted results ahead of method. It wouldn’t matter to him if Reyes had to torture the woman extensively or beat her into ground chuck to get the information out of her. Fear spiked through him.
“I’ll deliver,” he said. “I always do.”
Foster made a brief sound of amusement. “I know. That’s why I hired you.”
He hit “end” on the phone and leaned his head against the cool tile. Reyes had to face it. Somewhere along the way, he’d gotten emotionally attached. He didn’t do that; he never did that. Though he didn’t like killing women, he’d done four in his career. He’d walked away from more offers than he’d taken; he didn’t want a payday that came from offing some guy’s middle-aged wife so the asshole could marry the mistress without worrying about alimony.
“Fuck,” he bit out.
Reyes fought the urge to punch something. He didn’t want to forfeit his reputation, but he didn’t want to kill her, either. Not anymore. Not since she’d come beneath his fingers, his name stretched into a sweet little cry. Maybe he was every bit as much of a sucker for her as Serrano had been, but he couldn’t muster up any indignation. He just wanted to make love to her again.
Rock, meet hard place.
By the time he came out of the bathroom, he’d managed to compose himself, phone tucked away into its secret hiding spot. Paranoid to a fault, he kept it turned off when he wasn’t using it. Kyra had finished, and she stood with the key cards in their little envelopes, chatting with the clerk.
“Just pool halls . . .” Maria was saying. “Umm. Rack ’Em in Aurora is good for pool. Or you could try Pete’s on East Colfax.”
Kyra nodded. “Great, thanks.”
“You ready?” He didn’t know whether she’d want to go out tonight after driving all day. It was sobering to realize how short a time he’d known her, relatively speaking.
“Yep.” She headed back to the Marquis.
Reyes walked behind her, scanning the parking lot for trouble. The red Kawasaki was still there, but he didn’t see the bearded guy. Maybe he was just visiting somebody here—or meeting someone. People often didn’t want to have affairs on their home turf, so they’d meet up in a town where nobody knew either of them. The biker might’ve come from New Mexico to meet his piece on the side. They might be upstairs right now, doing the horizontal mambo, moaning over how much sharper and more exciting it was to do it when it felt like they were getting away with something.
She cut him a look as she demanded the car keys. “I’ll pull around back. We’re on the other side, upstairs.”
“Thanks. I hate ground-floor rooms.” Not that he’d stayed in such places for years. He had a gorgeous condo in Long Beach that he hadn’t seen in weeks.
Ducking her head, she looked a little shy. “I know. I remembered.”
“So you booked upstairs for me?” Damn. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken note of his personal preference and tried to accommodate. A weird sensation made his chest feel like it was too small.
“I guess. It’s no big.”
It was, but he didn’t embarrass her by pursuing it. “What numbers?”
“Two-ten and two-eleven. We’re in adjoining rooms. I hope that’s okay.”
Reyes raised a brow. “Planning to visit me?”
“I dunno.” She shrugged. “Maybe.”
That invited all kind of questions, but she seemed edgy this afternoon, so he didn’t push her. Kyra inserted the key and popped the trunk, but before she could move, he took her things along with his. To his surprise, she didn’t argue; she just shut it, locked all four doors, and headed up behind him.
External stairs, he noticed. No elevator. No security, not even an old bellhop. This place was a disaster waiting to happen. Reyes held the bags lightly. If need be, he could hurl them at an attacker, and disable him in less than five seconds. He was almost disappointed when they made it to their rooms unscathed. She handed him his envelope with the key card in it.
“I’ll take two-ten, if that’s all right.” He’d be better placed to hear anyone coming for her, unless they circled the long way from the other side.
“Sure.” She hesitated, fidgeting, quite unlike herself. “You want to order pizza later and watch a movie on pay-per-view?”
Astonishment swamped him; it was a wonder his mouth didn’t drop open. Was she asking him on a date? He said the first thing that came to mind: “This place has pay-per-view?”
That answered his question about whether she wanted to get right to work. The answer was no. Apparently she wanted another night off . . . with him. Shit, he was in so much trouble . . . because he wanted it, too.
Kyra gave a little huff and smiled. “Yeah, they do. Not the newest releases, I’m sure, but I haven’t been to the movies in years, so they’ll all be new to me.”
“Sounds good. Give me a few minutes to take a shower?” After the long, dusty ride, he needed one.
Her tawny gaze swept his body, making him feel downright naked. “I guess you’re worth waiting for.”
With her looking at him like that, he felt like dragging her into his room and doing her hard, regardless of what she said about it. The little taste in the car hadn’t done anything to diminish his desire. In fact, he could still feel her hands on him whenever he thought about it, her smooth fingers working his cock convulsively, fueled by her own rising orgasm. Heat slammed through him.
“Shower first,” he muttered, nearly undone by her husky laugh as she noticed her effect on him. He handed Kyra her bag. “Cold one. I’ll be there later.”
“I’ll be here.”
“You better be.”
She took a step toward her room, and he focused on the sweet curve of her ass, nicely framed in faded denim. Reyes found himself unable to let her step away without putting his mark on her, claiming her as his. The instinct went deeper than anything he’d ever experienced. It made no sense at all. Not caring who might be watching, he came after her and took her mouth in a deep, fierce kiss.
The hell with this. He wasn’t made for denial. No shower, at least not alone.
“Unlock the door on your side,” he bit out. “Now.”
CHAPTER 13
Gerard Serrano returned to the United States with a minimum of fuss.
It took a day for talk to start circulating, and he eavesdropped on his employees using the technology he’d installed in the break rooms and changing areas, expressly for that purpose. He hadn’t gotten where he was without a deserved reputation for being prepared. If he didn’t know everything about his domain—or at least have the potential to do so—then he deserved whatever happened to him.
Settling into his leather office chair, he powered up his desktop system and input a password. He didn’t keep it written down anywhere. It wasn’t a personal fact that so
meone could guess, and he changed it on a weekly basis. Serrano prided himself on being a careful, methodical man.
Smiling in anticipation, he brought up the streaming feed from the lounge. A couple of security guys whose names he didn’t recall offhand sat at a table covered in the remnants of a fast-food lunch. At first they only talked about things that had happened so far on their shift. They mentioned an elderly couple trying to make off without paying for the breakfast buffet. Serrano shook his head; that was the least of his worries.
While they gossiped like little girls, he looked up their personnel files: Rick Calloway and Dave Brody, both in their late twenties, both a couple of slackers with little to no ambition. Calloway was a tall, thin drink of water, and Dave was just average in every respect. Just as he was about to get bored and attend to more pressing business, the conversation shifted.
Dave leaned in over his cheesy burger wrapper. “You heard yet?”
“Heard what?” Calloway picked at his fries, which looked cold and disgusting even through the grainy feed.
“About Wayne, man. He didn’t come back with the boss.”
Rick wasn’t as dumb as he looked because he said, “Shit. He heard about—”
“Totally,” Dave said.
The other man’s hands clenched on the table. “You think he knows our part in it?”
Ah. Interesting. So it had been a team effort. Serrano tapped his fingers against his mahogany desk, thoughtful.
“Nah, man. If he did, he woulda invited us to Sweden and pushed us out of a plane over the ocean somewhere, too.”
Calloway looked nervous. “I dunno. Maybe we should get out of town. I don’t think we should work here anymore. You never know what might happen.”
“C’mon. This is a great job. Where else could I sleep instead of doing real work? As long as nothing catches on fire, it’s cool.”
Serrano narrowed his eyes. So he was paying Brody to slack? He’d tell Foster to ride him like a cheap whore, if he didn’t have the loser killed. He was still considering the angles.
“I’m telling you, Dave, if you’re smart, you’ll get the hell out. Serrano runs this place like he’s Don Corleone. He thinks he can just disappear somebody and nobody will ask questions. Hell, man, think about it. He did.”
Brody shrugged. “It’s not like this is the Wild West. It’s not even old-school Vegas these days. The Feds are everywhere . . . gangsters don’t run the town anymore. I’m not dumb enough to get on a private plane with him, and I’ll watch my back. I’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.” Calloway didn’t sound convinced. “I think it’s time I went to visit my ma in Kissimmee.”
Dave shook his head. “You’re such a puss.”
Shortly thereafter, they left the lounge without cleaning up their mess. That didn’t concern Serrano directly, but it bothered him to know he had such idiots in his employ. They were in charge of supervising things when he was busy elsewhere at a higher level. If they didn’t have Foster riding herd on them, they’d doubtless be happy to let tourists rob Serrano blind.
“That’s the problem,” he said aloud, as Foster came into his office.
“What is?”
The security chief had an unnerving way of knowing when he was needed. Today he wore an impeccably cut, gray pin-striped suit, one that put Serrano in mind of 1930s gangster film. All Foster needed was a fedora and a tommy gun to complete the picture. It galled Serrano that his own clothes didn’t hang as well; he’d done too much manual labor in his youth, packed on too much bulk.
“No loyalty these days.”
“Times have changed,” Foster agreed.
“What do you know about it? You’re little more than a kid yourself.”
Foster didn’t even blink; it was impossible to rile him. “As you say, sir.”
“Great suit. Who’s the designer?” He wondered if the right cut would result in him looking so polished. For once in his life, Serrano thought it might be nice to look like a prince instead of a thug.
“Domenico Vacca.”
The name meant nothing to him. He’d heard of Boss, Lauren, and Armani. That was the limit of his knowledge regarding male couture. “He expensive?”
“Very,” Foster said, as if he didn’t want to talk about money. “I presume you’d like to discuss the future of Brody and Calloway here at the Silver Lady.”
Serrano let it go. He studied the other man, who never sat in his presence unless explicitly invited. Damn if he didn’t like the feeling it gave him, sort of a feudal rush. “Did you know the other two were involved when you gave me Sweet?”
“I did not. I identified Sweet via his IP.”
The particulars doubtless involved a lot of illegal technical nonsense that he didn’t care about. He drew one important conclusion. “So he posted the video from home?”
“Correct.”
“Maybe Brody and Calloway gave him the footage. Do they work those cameras?”
“They’re part of the rotation,” Foster answered without checking the schedule. The man could keep a hundred different balls in the air without breaking a sweat.
“Take a seat,” he invited at last. “Let’s talk about this.”
Foster tugged his pants up as he sat, an old-fashioned gesture that protected the creases. Serrano hadn’t seen anything like it since his grandfather’s day, before wash-and-wear clothing, before permanent press. Serrano shook his head. Foster’s a weird one.
Foster folded his hands in his lap and looked expectant. “What would you have me do, sir? Do you wish to terminate their employment?”
“I’m asking your advice, man-to-man. What would you do, Foster?”
“What is my goal in this situation? To instill fear or command respect?” As he spoke, the security chief’s eyes looked ancient, somehow wrong in his youthful face. Serrano thought he saw dark things stirring beneath the veneer of silvered ice.
“Both, preferably.”
“Then I would kill the one who is stupid enough to remain. Since he betrayed me, he cannot continue to live off my largesse. As for the one who is smart enough to run, I would allow him his life while making sure he learned of Brody’s fate.”
Serrano arched a brow, wondering if Foster was as canny as he seemed. “Why?”
“Sometimes a living man who fears you is more beneficial than ten dead ones.”
“Because he’ll tell other people,” Serrano said. “And your legend spreads.”
“Precisely.”
He smiled. “You’re a smart guy. That’s exactly how I intend to handle this. Do we have someone local for the job?”
Foster nodded. “I’ll take care of it, sir. Will that be all?”
So eager to do my dirty work. Serrano killed a smile before it could blossom. It wouldn’t surprise him a bit if Foster strangled Brody himself.
“Not quite. I’ve been giving this some thought . . . and I’m not sure if doing the girl is going to be enough. We need something big, something to prove I’m still a power in this town. I’m targeting Pasternak and Ricci.” Serrano named the partners who owned the Pair-A-Dice Casino, the shitheads who’d laughed at him a few weeks back. They wouldn’t be laughing when this was over.
“Violence or personal misfortune?”
He considered. “I’m feeling subtle. People already know I’m willing to fit somebody with cement shoes. Now they need to realize I’m smart, too. Dig me up some dirt on them, will you? For instance, I wouldn’t be sad if the IRS took a long, hard look at their books.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Foster stood, evidently sensing his imminent dismissal.
As if he’d let him walk out without an update on that damned bitch. “What’s the story with the guy you hired to retrieve my money?”
For the first time, Foster looked uncomfortable. “He’s having some trouble with her, sir. She still hasn’t confided in him. I gave him a week deadline to wrap it up.”
“I’m not surprised,” Serrano muttered. “She’
s a pro all the way . . . it won’t be easy to get inside her head. If he can’t get the money back, just give him the order to end her. I can afford the loss, and I want this finished, one way or another.”
Foster inclined his head. “I’ll let him know the next time I speak with him.”
Serrano let him get nearly to the door before adding lazily, “Oh . . . and give my regards to that little old lady and the kid, the next time you see them.”
He didn’t turn. His expression would give away his horror. So Foster kept walking and ducked into the first men’s room. This was the executive lounge, all stone tiles and marble countertops fitted with motion-activated gilt spigots. It always smelled of oranges in here, and there were four rock fountains on tiered shelves, intended to drown out the sound of pissing men.
Taking refuge in a stall, he sank down on the toilet and let the shakes come. Nausea boiled up but he wouldn’t let it out. Serrano, that crazy, paranoid bastard, might have the bathrooms bugged, too. He’d have to get himself together in silence.
It’s fine, he told himself. Serrano doesn’t know everything. If he’d put the pieces together, he’d have done something about it. The man had all the finesse of a lawnmower; he lacked the patience for a long-term scheme.
But still, it shook him that the man knew that much. He’d been so sure nobody was watching him. He’d never noticed a tail. As long as he paid the bills, Lexie and Beulah Mae would be fine, but he hated the thought of abandoning them. More importantly, Serrano would take a break in his routine to mean there was something significant in his discovery. He’d remember the two females as Foster’s weakness.
And they were. He battled an overwhelming urge to run for the garage, get his car, and drive like a bat out of hell over to Desert Winds to make sure Serrano hadn’t done anything with his new knowledge. Maybe he’d made a mistake in keeping Lexie close. Grief plucked at his heartstrings, old and familiar as a well-worn pair of shoes. It wasn’t like she knew the difference.
The most alarming aspect was that Serrano might not trust him fully. Serrano might have somebody digging into his background. While Foster didn’t think highly of the man’s acuity, he’d built an empire on brute instinct, and he had the resources to hire good people.
