Hey Big Spender

by Gemma Halliday

  I felt my knee start to jiggle up and down as a knock sounded at the door, followed by Agent Ryder's broad frame.

  "Oh, thank God," Britton said, pouncing at him like the leopard she resembled. "You have to help us. LeAnna is missing."

  Ryder cleared his throat, nodding stiffly in my direction. "So you said on the phone."

  "Can you find her?" she implored.

  "Uh, well, that all depends," he answered, sitting opposite me in one of the leather chairs.

  "On what?" I jumped in.

  "On whether or not she wants to be found."

  "What does that mean?" Britton asked, her eyelashes doing their hummingbird imitation again.

  He did another throat-clearing thing. "It's not uncommon for suspects to flee if they feel law enforcement is closing in on them."

  "No, no, no, no!" Britton shouted, resuming her pacing with a vengeance. "You have got this all wrong."

  Ryder raised an eyebrow her direction. "Okay, let's start at the beginning. Why do you think she's missing and not simply just window shopping at Heavenly Village?"

  "Because her phone is off. It's never off."

  He shot me a questioning look.

  "It's true. It's like an appendage to her," I agreed.

  "And her bed hasn't been slept in," Britton added.

  "Isn't it possible," Ryder started slowly, "that LeAnna may have slept elsewhere?"

  Britton scoffed. "She's a grieving widow!"

  Ryder and I shared a look that told me he had the same thoughts on that subject as I did.

  "Okay, tell me this: When was the last time you saw her?"

  "Last night," Britton responded. "We had dinner together, and then she said she wanted to go out, so we split up."

  "When was that?" Ryder asked, pulling out his trusty little notebook.

  "I don't know. Maybe nine or so?"

  "And that was the last time you saw her?"

  Britton nodded.

  "You didn't call or text her after that?"

  "Not last night. I, uh, had plans. I was busy."

  I narrowed my eyes, again wondering at these plans she wasn't elaborating on.

  "But I know she wouldn't just leave," Britton added. Tears started to puddle in her eyes, threatening a mascara spill. "Look, I've learned some things about her today that I'm sure she's not proud of." She pushed her shoulders back, her spine straightening. "But, I still know she didn't kill Gerald."

  "So where do you think she is now?" he asked.

  She threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know. That's why we called you!" She shot him a well, duh look.

  Ryder sighed deeply and turned to me. "Have you tried calling her today?"

  "Of course we've tried calling," Britton shot back, not waiting for me to answer. "She won't answer my texts, and calls go right to voice mail." The tears spilled over her cheeks. "And it's totes full now!"

  I stood and ran a comforting hand down Britton's fuzz-covered arm as I addressed Ryder. "LeAnna was seen at that new club next to Harrah's with Mr. Taylor's son last night. It sounds like he's the last one to have seen her."

  "He totally abandoned her," Britton spat, clutching my hand in hers.

  Ryder nodded and stood. "Okay. I'll get a statement from him."

  I meekly raised a finger, clearing my throat. "We, uh, already did. That's why I called you."

  His jaw clenched, and he released another sigh. "And why didn't you call me before talking to him?"

  "Isn't a missing person more of a local police department thing?" I asked, doing my best to evade the question.

  He glared. "In a normal case? Yes. But in this case LeAnna is being investigated in her husband's murder…"

  "She didn't do it!" Britton cried, punctuating her statement with a productive sniffle.

  Ryder ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Whether or not she did it isn't a relative point in this particular conversation."

  She shook her head. "It totally is."

  His hand shot out between them. "She's already in our database, so the local guys aren't supposed to…" He craned his head to the side, his neck popping several times before he straightened it. "Bottom line, this is my job. Okay?"

  Britton sniffed again. "But can't you check her phone records or something and see where she's been?"

  "I'm not sure that LeAnna not coming home this morning is enough to warrant that invasion of privacy," Ryder argued.

  Britton rolled her eyes. "Oh please. I watch prime-time TV. I know that the first thing you cops do when someone is a suspect is pull their phone records. So if you already have them, it's not an invasion, right?"

  Ryder let out a long breath, like this conversation was taking years off his life. He took a step toward her, his expression an emotionless mask. "Look, I know you want to think the best of your friend. But you want the most likely scenario? She's taken off, possibly ditched her phone, and doesn't want to be found. I've seen this more times than I can count."

  Britton's shoulders sagged farther and farther down with each of his words.

  I placed a protective arm around her, suddenly feeling a mama-bear vibe on her behalf. While Britton might have some misplaced loyalty toward LeAnna, she wasn't stupid. She knew LeAnna, and I had to admit, I put more credence in Britton's version of events than Ryder's.

  "Well, I don't think the best of LeAnna," I said defiantly.

  He turned his expressionless fed face toward me. "You don't?"

  "Tess!" Britton flashed me a hurt look.

  Glancing between the two, I explained, "LeAnna has always been a mean, spoiled, childish, irresponsible, vindictive…"

  Ryder made a circular motion with his hand in a gesture to move me forward. I'd obviously used enough unpleasant adjectives to get my point across.

  Popping one more in just for funsies, I continued, "And a tacky-dressing woman-child. I'm still sticking with that. However, I know her phone is practically attached to her hand. She would answer her texts and check her messages even if she was sprawled on her death bed, let alone out on the lam. LeAnna would even glitter about it." My posture straightened with pride in my newfound social media lingo prowess. "So I agree with Britton."

  Britton smiled, linking her arm through mine in solidarity. "See?" she told Ryder.

  Ryder muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like a curse word and pulled out his phone. "You win." He sighed, typing something in.

  "I do?" I couldn't help the lift of surprise in my voice. I'd outfought the big bad federal agent? Go me.

  Ryder nodded. "I'm having someone at the main office send over her phone records." He glanced up at the two of us. "Happy?"

  "Ecstatic," Britton answered for us both.

  "Good." He glanced my way just long enough for me to see the hint of a smile curling his lip before he bent his head over his phone again. "They'll need to send it as a secure email attachment that I'd rather see on a bigger screen." He scanned the office, finally settling on my rather barren desk. "Is there a computer I can use to view the report?"

  I scurried around to the other side of the desk, unlocked the side drawer, and pulled out my laptop. Rolling back the cushy executive chair, I waved my hand across the seat. "It's all yours."

  He sat at the desk, filling out the large leather chair very well, where I always felt like my feet never quite touched the floor. He slid open the laptop then crooked a finger at me, motioning me to his side. I resisted the urge to perch myself on the edge of the desk, cross my legs, and play sexy secretary with him.

  Pointing to the screen, he said, "I need your password."

  "Oh." I bobbed my head and leaned over his arm. The intoxicating scent of his cologne made me do a mental girly sigh and nearly melt into his lap. My fingers punched clumsily at the keys. On my third try, I got the password correct. As I backed away, he looked at me through his lashes, his blue eyes dark with something I couldn't read.

  "What?" I asked.

  He cleared his throat and shi
fted in his seat. "Uh, nothing." Was it my imagination or did his eyes stray to the region of my not-quite-Britton-quality cleavage?

  "How long will this take?" Britton asked, nervously chewing on the tip of a manicured nail.

  "Not long," Ryder promised, directing his attention back to the screen.

  I took a seat in the other chair across the desk from Ryder and straightened my blouse as I watched Britton pace again. She had to be burning a thousand calories going back and forth in those heels.

  We waited for what felt like forever, but in reality it was just a few minutes before Ryder finally said, "Got it."

  Britton jumped behind him to stare at the screen, and I leaned forward in my seat.

  "Well?" I couldn't help asking.

  "Well," he responded, "she was at the club last night. That was the last ping on her phone. She either shut it off or it died."

  Britton sucked in a breath and put a hand over her mouth.

  "It's just her phone," I tried to comfort her. "This isn't confirmation of anything other than that."

  She nodded, but her hand stayed firmly placed over her mouth.

  "Huh," Ryder mumbled, pulling our attention back to him.

  "What?" I asked.

  "Well, there hasn't been any activity since last night, but I'm going back over her recent history."

  "And?"

  "There's definitely a pattern."

  "Which is…" I prompted. He was killing me here.

  "Well, I'm seeing a lot of calls and texts to one number." He paused. "Which can sometimes be easily explained," he added in Britton's direction. "But when the Bureau runs background checks, this is one of the things that causes a red flag to indicate possible infidelity."

  "Shocker." I couldn't help the sarcasm.

  Britton shook her head. "Or maybe it's her husband's number?" she said, ever the optimist.

  Ryder leaned back in the chair, his hands lacing behind his head, impressive biceps straining against his shirt. "Not unless he's continued to call from the great unknown. The last one was just a few minutes before her phone shut off last night."

  That sickening feeling hit my stomach again. Rafe? Just because it wasn't him at the club didn't mean he was completely innocent. I had seen the bathroom footage, after all. This was how it was all going to come to light. I'm not sure why I even cared, but for some reason, I did. I bit my lower lip.

  Ryder closed the laptop and leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk. "What aren't you telling me, Tess?"

  "Me? What? Nothing."

  He shook his head, eyes narrowing. "That's not a nothing look. You nibble your bottom lip when something's wrong."

  Obviously I'd done an awful job of pulling a poker face. I quickly let my lip go.

  Britton nodded her head while inspecting her manicure. "He's right. You so do that."

  "Look, if you want my help, you've got to honest with me," Ryder said.

  Without showing my cards, I evaded with, "It's a local number. Right?"

  His expression remained the same fed face he'd had on since walking into the room. "What makes you think that?"

  "I, well, just think…"

  "It's not," Britton said, still staring at the screen from her spot behind Ryder.

  Whew. Saved by the blonde.

  Ryder shot her a look over his shoulder like he didn't share in my relief.

  "You sure?" I asked Britton.

  She nodded. "Yep. It's a 707 area code. That's Napa."

  My mental hamster suddenly went into overdrive. Napa? So she was seeing someone local at home. But if she'd been texting him for a ride from the Midnight Tahoe club just before her phone went off, that had to mean her mystery man was here, too. So, who had a Napa number and was in Tahoe right now? Jerry's angry face at the faux beach immediately popped into my mind. Just because he said he'd left her at the club didn't mean he really did. We only had his word for it. No one actually saw who LeAnna left with. Then again, if he'd taken her somewhere last night, where was she now? Clearly not at the beach with him and the redhead.

  Of course, Jerry wasn't the only one with a Napa number. Hadn't LeAnna said that Dubois had a restaurant in Napa where the show sometimes filmed? And she had been a regular on the Battle Buffet set. With her teeny-tiny frame, I took her more for a survive-on-Tic-Tacs-and-water kind of girl than a genuine foodie. Had her interest in the cooking show been more about its star than the dishes? It was possible. Though, it was equally as possible that LeAnna hadn't so much as been charming a celebu-chef as much as being charmed by a handsome, rich, and just a little bit sleazy producer like Sicianni. He seemed to flirt with anything in a skirt, and LeAnna was a prime target for a guy with more cash than moral compass. Considering hers seemed to point just shy of north as well.

  "Earth to Tessie."

  "What?" I shook myself out of my thoughts to find Ryder staring at me.

  Ryder's hooded gaze studied me as he stood deliberately and walked around to my chair, offering his hand. "You really need to work on your poker face, sweetheart."

  "Oh. I was just… Okay." I let him pull me up to stand right in front of him. I found myself trapped between his broad form and the chair, not that I minded. The closeness sent flutters of anticipation through my body.

  "Okay," he repeated, a slow smile snaking across his face, which had danger written all over it.

  I shuddered. In a really good way.

  He turned to Britton, abruptly breaking the moment. "I'll run down this number and see what we come up with. It could be nothing, but it's worth checking." Then he offered a lopsided smile in my direction. "You'll let me know if you hear from LeAnna?"

  I nodded dumbly, still trying to shake off the effects of his sexy grin.

  Britton flounced toward him, throwing herself into his arms. "Thank you, Agent Ryder."

  That hug so should have been mine. I needed to work on my flouncing.

  * * *

  Britton went back to the penthouse to look through LeAnna's things for any clue to where she might have gone, and I headed back down to the Battle Buffet stage to make sure taping was going smoothly.

  Tate was just leaving and met me in the hall. The second he saw me he made a beeline toward me, wrapping me in a fierce hug.

  "Ohmigod, Tessie, I'm so sorry about last night!"

  "Which part?" I managed to mumble as he squeezed my lungs.

  He pulled back, taking both of my hands in his. "I had no idea that Sicianni would expect a happy ending out of you! Who knew he had prostitutes up there? I thought they were just strippers."

  I shook my head in amazement that gay or straight, all men saw a huge distinction there.

  "Thank God Rafe was there to rescue you!" He hugged me again like a boa constrictor.

  "Hre hidnt hescue he," I mumbled.

  "What?" Tate thankfully took a step back, allowing me to breathe.

  "I said he didn't rescue me," I told him, sucking in deep breaths of air. "I was fine on my own. Sicianni was talking." I paused. "How do you know all this anyway?"

  Tate waved me off. "Honey, nothing goes on in this hotel that I don't know about."

  Clearly.

  "So, what did Sicianni say?" he prompted.

  I quickly filled him in on the fact that there definitely were some shady guys backing Sicianni, who definitely didn't want the cops anywhere near them, and there definitely was a meeting of some sort going on between more than one crime family. Unfortunately, I had a sneaking suspicion it was going on at our VIP dinner tonight.

  "I knew it," Tate said, shaking his head when I finished. "There are wiseguys everywhere."

  "I don't know about everywhere—"

  "That's why you need to protect yourself, Tessie," he cut me off.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

  "I got you something." Tate beamed with pride.

  I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "What sort of something?"

  "Follow me," he said instead of answeri
ng. I reluctantly followed as he trotted toward the front lobby, stopping at the check-in desk. He disappeared behind it and into the back room for just a minute before emerging again with a neon-pink case in his hands. He did a quick glance over each shoulder then motioned me over to the desk with an exaggerated wave.

  "What is this?" I asked. The last time he'd had "something" for me, I'd ended up in Sicianni's lap without my panties. "Wary" didn't even begin to describe my attitude now.

  "Go on. Open it."

  I shook the package, but nothing rattled. I popped the latch, and the box creaked open to reveal a small pistol the same exact color as the case. I slammed it closed. "You have got to be kidding."

  I shoved it back at Tate, but he raised his arms in an effort not to take it. "You need to be able to protect yourself. I got this for you. It's a gift."

  "Where did you get this?" I hissed.

  "I have a friend who works in the hunting and fishing industry."

  I shot him a get real look. "You have friends who hunt and fish?"

  "Well, they sell things that people use to hunt and fish."

  I looked down at the neon pink. I had a hard time picturing this taking down a bear. "I do not need a gun." I pushed it at him again, but he kept his arms in the air. If passersby knew what was in the box, it'd look like a robbery.

  "I think you do!" he countered. "You said yourself that Sicianni all but confirmed we have made men meeting in the casino."

  "Keep your voice down," I warned, watching a mother at the check-in desk pull her adorable little redheaded son a little closer to her skirt as she eyed us. "And he only confirmed that his VIPs were meeting here. For all we know, it could be a meeting of the Food TV workers' union."

  Tate's turn to give me the get real look. "Tess, I will not be able to sleep a wink if I don't know you're safe," he whined.

  "Is this even legal?" I asked, again glancing over my shoulder as if the feds were just waiting to swoop in and slap us with a carrying-concealed fine.

  "Perfectly." Tate paused. "I think."