Jack of Hearts

by Diane Capri

“He helped me once before.” Eleanor shrugged. “That’s all I can say.”

  “Perhaps he is here, then. Even if we can’t see him at the moment,” Jade replied, thinking about what little she’d seen of their current prison.

  She hadn’t seen Reacher anywhere. Nor Petey Burns. No sign of their white Audi, either.

  If Reacher was out there, he’d hidden himself well.

  Jade nodded, placed a finger over her lips, and moved into a corner where she could shield her actions from prying cameras.

  She reached down into her boot and pulled a burner cell phone she’d safely hidden in an interior pocket.

  She said a silent prayer before she fired it up and dialed a number she had committed to memory. She’d never expected to use it again after that day on the bridge.

  When he answered, speaking quickly and quietly in Thai, she told him how Rossi had kidnapped them all.

  “Where are you now?” her brother asked.

  “I’m not sure. In a warehouse somewhere in the desert north of Las Vegas, I think,” Jade replied.

  “I’ll be there soon,” Alan Chen said.

  “You know where we are?” she asked breathlessly, tears of joy flooding her eyes.

  “Not yet. Rossi will tell me.” After a moment’s silence, he added, “They won’t harm you. Rossi will kill them if they do.”

  “Are you sure?” Jade asked, still worried.

  But her brother had already hung up.

  CHAPTER 38

  Wednesday, May 18

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  7:30 p.m.

  When the helo set down at the landing pad atop one of the best hotels in Las Vegas, Kim was more than ready to set her feet onto the solid concrete and keep them there. She bent at the waist and hurried away from the helicopter’s relentless assault on her hearing.

  Once Kim was clear, the helo lifted again and flew away from the strip, like a bird released from a cage. Her stomach had been doing backflips for the whole three-hour trip. Not something she wanted to do again soon.

  She needed a shower and clean clothes and then her laptop to access the files Gaspar had sent to her secure server.

  In that order.

  Which meant finding Burke and retrieving her bags from the Navigator as her first priority. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket, fired it up, and punched the redial.

  Burke’s phone rang several times before her call went to voicemail. She left a brief message telling him where she was and asking him to return the call.

  Kim went into the hotel and took the elevator to the first floor, where she checked in. At one of the shops in the lobby, she found an outrageously priced black suit she could wear.

  At the room rates this place charged, the hotel would certainly supply toiletries and a toothbrush, so she skipped those, but she added underwear to the pile.

  As she signed the credit card bill, she grinned. The Boss would have a heart attack when he saw her expense report. Served him right.

  Twenty minutes after she’d landed on the roof, she was standing under a showerhead the size of a dinner plate with her face turned toward a warm, pulsing stream. She felt the sand wash from her pores as her skin began to rehydrate.

  Kim lathered up with an expensive body wash and shampooed her hair. The scent of jasmine filled the room. She was tempted to stay in the warm spray forever. This was possibly the best shower of her life.

  When she stepped out of the rain room, she felt better than she’d felt in days. Humidity was a wonderful thing.

  She toweled off and wrapped one of the hotel’s luxurious robes around her and grabbed a bottle of water that cost more than her entire meal back at the Chuck Wagon. She swigged half of it, soaking up the lifesaving liquid like a shriveled sponge.

  Kim walked to the bed where she’d tossed the contents of her pockets and looked at her phone. Burke had not returned her call.

  Thinking about Burke, wondering where he was and why he wasn’t answering, she sipped the water a bit more slowly as she placed a call to Gaspar on the new burner she’d bought for that specific purpose.

  “That’s some pricey real estate you’re enjoying there, Suzy Wong,” Gaspar said with a smile in his voice when he picked up.

  “Never underestimate the healing power of a great shower and high thread count linens, Chico,” she replied cheerfully and enjoyed hearing him laugh. “Where’s Burke? Any idea? I tried calling. He didn’t pick up.”

  “Yeah, he arrived about an hour before you. His working theory is that Reacher is following that limo, the one that abducted you and Eleanor Duncan,” Gaspar said. “He’s followed the SUV to a warehouse north of town and staked it out.”

  “Has he actually laid eyes on Reacher?” While they talked, she stuffed her clothes into a laundry bag and sent them off with the valet for cleaning. Later, she’d collect everything cleaned, pressed, and ready to wear.

  “Dunno. Haven’t heard anything since he got there,” Gaspar replied.

  She nodded, taking another swig of the water. The bottle was almost empty. “What about the facial recognition on the driver and the passenger in the limo?”

  “Just came in. Looks like the driver is one Thaddeus Sydney. The passenger is Joey Prime Callo.” Gaspar paused as if the next line of the report was serious, and he didn’t want her to miss it. “Both men are known associates of Roberto Rossi.”

  “Roberto ‘The Elephant’ Rossi? Seriously?” Kim whistled low and slow and plopped down on the side of the bed.

  “The very same.”

  Every FBI agent knew the name and criminal history. Roberto Rossi had been one of the top ten organized crime bosses on the most wanted list for years.

  Law enforcement agencies were never able to charge him with serious crimes that would stick. But he was believed to be responsible for dozens of crimes they couldn’t prove.

  Kim mused aloud. “What would a mob boss like Rossi want with a Nebraska housewife like Eleanor Duncan and a bunch of Thai restaurant servers?”

  “Could be anything. Gambling, drugs, ponies, sports, counterfeits. Who knows? Rossi’s got his fingers in every illegal pie there is,” Gaspar replied. “And with the internet being one big cesspool, recruiting a housewife in Nebraska isn’t as difficult these days as it was twenty years ago, either.”

  “So, the trouble Eleanor Duncan was in, the thing that made Reacher rush to Denver to rescue her, that was Rossi. He was the problem,” Kim said, thinking aloud as she drained the last of the water and tossed the empty bottle into the recycle bin next to the bed.

  “Seems like a solid hypothesis.”

  “Which probably means Rossi was involved in whatever was going on with Reacher back in Duncan, Nebraska, seven years ago.” Kim cocked her head. “Because that’s where Reacher met Eleanor. The one and only thing they have in common.”

  “The odds on that theory are pretty short, too,” Gaspar agreed.

  “So, seven years ago, Reacher leaves South Dakota. He hitches a ride to Duncan, Nebraska. He gets involved in some big trouble with Rossi. That trouble leads to the usual murder and mayhem,” Kim said, walking through the theory, testing each link along the chain.

  Gaspar picked up the thread. “With Reacher’s help, Eleanor escapes and leaves town. Moves to Denver. Opens a Thai restaurant. All is pot stickers and yum beef salad for seven years.”

  Her stomach growled when he mentioned her favorite Thai dishes. She hadn’t felt hungry before. A quick grin stole across her mouth and disappeared.

  “And then Eleanor is in trouble again. Rossi’s back. She gets word to her friends in Nebraska. They get word to Reacher,” Kim said, still walking it through and taking a long breath when she got to a pausing point. “And Reacher’s still pissed at Rossi. So he goes running to Denver to finish what he started.”

  “Could make sense,” Gaspar replied. “Or not.”

  “Rossi is based here in Vegas now, right?”

  “Last I heard. Hang on,” Gaspar said, clicking th
e keys on his keyboard. “Yep. Owns the Snake Eyes Casino. Lives there. Runs his business operations from an office there.”

  “Rossi’s been around a long time. His business interests are, as you said, wide-ranging,” Kim said, still massaging the new intel, trying to fit the pieces together.

  After she’d paused for a good long time, Gaspar said, “What are you thinking, Suzy Wong? I can hear the wheels turning in your head, even from Miami.”

  Kim pursed her lips and then she said, “Eleanor Duncan’s life was quiet. Until something happened to kick off this whole Rossi thing. Got Rossi riled up. Sent him to burn down her bistro and then kidnap her and every employee she had.”

  “Right,” Gaspar said, elongating the word the way his teenagers did.

  Kim cocked her head. “What was that thing? The thing that got Rossi riled up?”

  “Gangsters need a reason?” Gaspar replied. “Rossi’s famous for long, cold revenge. Folklore has it. That’s why they call him The Elephant. Because he never forgets a slight, no matter how minor, and no matter how long it takes.”

  “Right,” Kim said, mimicking his elongated tone.

  Gaspar laughed. “Okay. So maybe he finally got around to dealing with Eleanor. Or maybe he’s been looking for her and somehow she came to his attention again. Something she did back then or something she’s done lately. Who knows?”

  Kim nodded, thinking about it. “Can you check the Nevada news reports for the past month or so? Look for anything odd. Not gangbangers killing each other or hookers arrested for selling sex in the few counties where it’s not legal. But…”

  “This is Vegas. Odd for the rest of the country is ordinary there, don’t forget.” The clicking keys came faster as Gaspar searched the news reports. “Sorry. I’ll keep looking. But nothing screaming weird is jumping off the screen at me.”

  Kim cocked her head. “Try this. When you researched the background on all of Eleanor Duncan’s employees, did you find anything noteworthy?”

  “Such as?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe an ex-wife or girlfriend of Rossi’s? An unusually rich waitress who might have ripped him off?”

  “Nothing remotely like that. No evidence of illegal anything. The employees were eleven females, all of Thai ethnicity, around the same ages. Relatively new immigration visas to the U.S.,” Gaspar replied. “But it was a Thai restaurant. So it makes sense that the workers would fit a similar profile.”

  “Yeah, everybody in this country immigrated at some point,” Kim replied. “My dad brought my mother back from Vietnam as a war bride decades ago. Your family fled Castro in Cuba even further back. Nothing particularly special in that.”

  “Well, keep looking for a trigger. Something that set Rossi off. And I’ll keep thinking.” Kim nodded. “Meanwhile, I’m heading over to the Snake Eyes Casino. I’ll have a chat with Rossi. See what I can find out.”

  “Rossi thinks you died in that canyon in the desert,” Gaspar warned her sternly like The Boss would’ve if he’d been the one on the other end of the line. “He’s not gonna react well when your ghost walks into his office.”

  “I’m not going into Rossi’s office. I’ll find him on the casino floor. He won’t try anything out in the open. Too many witnesses with all those customers around,” Kim said as if she could confidently predict any mobster’s violent behavior. “I’ll tell Burke where I’m going. The Boss will hear my message. He can send backup if I need it.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’ll happen. Maybe it’ll snow in my backyard in August.” Gaspar’s sarcasm carried all the way from Miami. “Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can locate Rossi or his two known associates, Sydney or Joey Prime. Or hell, maybe I can find Reacher. If Burke’s right and Reacher is around, there’s gotta be a million cameras in Vegas. One of them could catch a glimpse of him.”

  “Lotta ifs in that plan, Chico.” Absently Kim nodded as she disconnected the call, tossed the phone on the bed, and headed to the bathroom to get dressed.

  She’d be faster than Rossi in a fight. He was slow and lumbering. She was fast and nimble. But FBI intel was that he always carried a gun and he knew how to use it.

  Marksmanship was always the great equalizer for Kim when she fought against a bigger, stronger opponent.

  But in a gunfight with a man like Rossi, they could both lose.

  CHAPTER 39

  Wednesday, May 18

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  8:00 p.m.

  Rossi’s office was a bloody mess. After a quick call from Sydney, reporting that the women had been delivered to the safe house, he’d ordered Dolly to call in the cleaners. They would get rid of the blood, bullets, and bodies. They’d bleach all the forensics, too.

  He didn’t need to supervise. The cleaners were experienced. Dolly could handle the rest.

  But the scope of the work had required several changes to Rossi’s evening schedule.

  He had planned to watch tonight’s Muay Thai match from his office on the closed-circuit TV. The specially constructed private arena was one of the most sophisticated and secure locations in the building.

  Casual tourists, vacationing gamblers, and everyone else never knew it existed. The basement of the casino was strictly off-limits.

  Entrance to the arena was only allowed when accompanied by one of Rossi’s security team escorts.

  The audience was limited to fifty attendees, each of whom was carefully vetted. Admission was permitted by invitation only. The attendance fee for tonight was fifty thousand dollars, paid in advance. Gambling minimums were set for each fight and should top out in the millions. Rossi skimmed off the top and collected winnings for the boxers as well.

  Muay Thai boxing to the death had become a bigger moneymaker for Rossi than sex trafficking the boys. He’d made the shift and never looked back.

  All of which meant that Rossi rightfully expected to collect a significant profit tonight, even without the unplanned extras. He should have raised the stakes substantially.

  The Asian gamblers paid big money to see Alan Chen fight to the death.

  Tonight, they would get much more than they expected.

  Chen’s last and most spectacular knockout would terminate three of his opponents, as planned. He would socialize briefly with the customers afterward.

  Those were the elements the gamblers paid big money to watch.

  What they didn’t know was that this would be the last time Chen entered the ring.

  He’d had a good long run. Seven years at the top of the ticket was an exceptional career for a Muay Thai boxer. Many times, Rossi had expected Chen to die. But he’d never been bested.

  Chen had proven himself to be the champion his Thai handlers had claimed all those years ago.

  Rossi was well pleased with his investment. He’d been repaid many times over.

  But all good things must come to an end. Rossi shrugged.

  Tonight, Chen would die.

  Tomorrow, Chen would be replaced with Rossi’s best up-and-comer. A fresh face. Fresh energy. Unknown to the gamblers. Unpredictable. The betting would be wild.

  Rossi grinned. He would make at least a cool million tomorrow night, too. Maybe even more.

  Which was as it should be. He took one hundred percent of the financial risk. Of course, he would collect the rewards.

  Muay Thai boxing was lucrative, as pursuits enjoyed by those with baser instincts tended to be. Bloodlust was common among the patrons willing to pay Rossi’s prices. They cheered while men brutally attacked each other with fists and feet and elbows and knees.

  One or more ended up bloodied and dead by the end of the night. Which meant Rossi needed a constant stream of new boxers. His trafficking operation from Thailand had grown exponentially and focused more on the boys than the girls these days.

  Rossi found the Muay Thai scene beyond distasteful. He kept a wide distance from the fights and the fighters. He never allowed the patrons who enjoyed the brutality to encroach any other areas of the casino. Definitely
not his penthouse or the greenhouse. The boxing was not even available on closed-circuit monitors outside his office.

  Which meant Chen’s last fight would be recorded. Rossi would watch it tomorrow. And then the video would be destroyed.

  He hated delayed gratification. His every whim was always satisfied instantly. But not tonight. Which meant he deserved a special reward for his patience. He would unwrap something he’d been saving for such an occasion.

  Rossi retired to his rooms to delve into the wondrous world promised by a rare text he’d discovered last week. The engrossing history of the Roman province of Dalmatia, from ancient times to the dawn of present-day Montenegro awaited his undivided attention.

  With delicious anticipation sending a thrill up his spine, he changed into his silk pajamas and robe, slipped his feet into fine lambskin loafers, and arranged four bottles of beer chilled to the perfect temperature on the chairside table.

  Rossi opened the first beer, laid the rare book comfortably in his ample lap, and glanced at the clock. The evening’s events in the basement were well underway.

  Boxers of lesser skill would fight first. But the match with the best fighter and the highest money stakes was always last.

  Alan Chen’s fight was slated for midnight.

  He would be dead before dawn.

  “Perfect.” Rossi nodded with satisfaction and opened his book, giving such vexing matters no further attention as he became immersed in fascinating ancient times.

  Too soon, the house phone rang loudly next to his recliner, yanking his attention away from the Romans. After the obnoxious bell blared a third time, he accepted that the only way to make the intruder stop was to answer.

  He scowled, stuck his beefy forefinger between the pages to mark his place, and picked up the receiver before the noise assaulted him again.

  He held the receiver to his ear and waited for the rudely insistent caller to speak.

  “Sir, it’s Siegfried. I’m sorry to disturb you,” his gardener said respectfully, as always.