by Harley Slate
Still, she held her breath.
Mel must have turned on her notifications. She messaged back almost instantly.
―Hey you too.
―Can we see the shooting stars again?
―Sure, it goes a few nights. Want me to pick you up in front of the C?
Did Mel think Lana was staying at the Cosmopolitan?
―I'm at the Golden Nugget.
The Nugget was a historic casino in the old downtown on Fremont Street, which was much closer to the northern suburbs. No use making Mel drive all the way to central Strip when Lana knew they were both on the north side at the Dragonhoarde.
―I can be there in an hour.
That was tight for Lana, who would need five minutes just to get to her car in the distant Employees Only parking lot. Then she had a stroke of luck when she spotted the white Dragonhoarde shuttle. Lifting her badge and waving, she got the driver to stop long enough to pick her up. As she climbed in on the front passenger side, she glanced back at his sleepy load of three half-drunk gamblers. “Can you go directly to Fremont Street?”
“Where do you think they're going? They already missed curfew at the nursing home.”
Lana faked a laugh and rode the rest of the way in silence. This was a very bad idea. Hell, meeting Mel the first time had been a very bad idea, but nobody had seen them. Not really. The Ghost Donkey was hidden away, and then they'd been in a hotel room, and then they'd been on some secret mountain road Lana doubted she'd ever find again without Mel's help. Sure, there were cameras all over Las Vegas Boulevard, but there were about a million people on those videos at the time she and Mel were walking around hand in hand.
Nobody will ever know. Nobody will ever put the two of us together.
They better not. Forget about getting another chance with the FBI if she got into anybody's books as the known associate of a con artist.
And yet she couldn't seem to stay away.
The Nugget was a glittering palace that sparkled from the thousands of crystals in its breathtaking chandeliers. Her fellow passengers felt no shame at arriving at these golden gates in a battered white Dragonhoarde shuttle van, but Lana didn't climb out before she glanced around the unloading dock to make sure Mel's Ford Fusion was nowhere to be seen. Inside, she drifted from machine to machine, sometimes hitting a button to read a video poker payout, but never actually investing any cash.
Her phone vibrated.
―ETA 2 minutes.
Lana hurried to the passenger pickup area and arrived right on time to see the locks pop up on the Ford Fusion. Sliding inside, she adjusted her seat harness while Mel hit the gas to speed away.
She'd changed clothes since Lana saw her on the security monitors. The white halter top was a deceptively simple twist of cotton meant to show off graceful arms and a taut belly, and it matched perfectly with yet another pair of form-fitting designer jeans. Had Mel had time to go shopping with her ill-gotten gains, or had she packed the change of clothes in the Fusion?
“Any luck?” Mel asked.
“Um. What?”
She nodded her chin at the rearview mirror, where the receding light of Fremont Street still glittered. “At the Nugget.”
“Oh. Yeah. Nah. I broke even. You know.”
Lana realized she didn't have the Versace top with her. Well, shit. There would have to be yet another meeting. Hmm. They say everybody has a subconscious. But your subconscious isn't always on your side.
“What about you?” Lana asked.
“What about me what?” Driving fast and well, Mel dodged a couple of big rigs and a white sedan, leaving the other vehicles in the proverbial dust like they were standing still.
Ashton wouldn't know Mel had just won a big jackpot or even been in the Dragonhoarde at all. Still, it wasn't such an odd question for Vegas. “You have any luck since you got back in town?”
Mel laughed but didn't quite answer the question. “Maybe a little. I'm glad you messaged me.”
“Well. I'm glad you're glad.”
This was awkward, knowing something about a person she didn't know you knew. Lana was used to being more forthright. What you see is what you get. She wished she'd been at the FBI training academy in Quantico long enough to learn more about the psychology of undercover work. If you watched the movies, you'd think it was easy. Be a good liar. Be a good actor. But lies didn't always come naturally.
Out into the dark. Up and around the mountain. This time, Lana took greater care to stay awake to memorize the way up the hypnotic winding road.
“It's no good, you know,” Mel said.
“What?”
“It's no good knowing the way. You can't get in without the code.”
What could Lana say? Mel thought she could read Ashton so well, and Ashton wasn't even a real person. They continued in silence until they reached the parking lot. The man with the night vision goggles was still there, although he was only watching one vehicle. Was that a Bugatti Veyron?
“Evening, ma'am,” he said. “Lot nine.”
“Thanks.” Mel passed him a tip Lana couldn't see.
A Ford Fusion could probably get away with tipping the attendant with a twenty. The Bugatti, on the other hand...
They strolled the short hedged path to their garden room. It was quiet tonight. When they sprawled on the sleeping bags and assorted pillows, Lana could see why. There was a high layer of wispy clouds which sharply reduced the number of visible stars.
“We'll still see the brighter ones,” Mel said. “And I bought a flask.”
The silver flask contained a novelty mixed drink― red wine and chocolate liqueur. It wasn't as strong as tequila, but Lana felt dizzy and not because of the alcohol.
A single meteor flashed down. Then another. And another.
Tonight's storm was in slow motion. Only the brightest meteors showed, so there were little pauses in the action while unseen smaller stars continued to tumble down.
She tried to relax, but she couldn't. Mel wasn't telling the truth about who she was, but Lana hadn't told the truth either.
“I've let it go too far,” she said, even as she was letting Mel tug her down onto her back to watch the sky. “We have to talk.”
“Uh oh. Talking's never good.” Mel flicked her tongue in the hollow of her throat. “And you smell so nice.”
Lana lifted her face higher so they were mouth to mouth. The hint of wine and chocolate made their kisses taste like dessert. Already one of Mel's long hands was sliding easily beneath the hem of Lana's shirt. The second one began to ease its way down the front of her jeans. It would be so easy to let this happen first.
I deserve this. Her sweet touch.
But no. She couldn't, she didn't. You can't seduce somebody, use their sweet tongue, long hands, and lithe body, and then threaten them with prison. Groaning, Lana forced herself to squirm away. Sitting up, knees bent, she threw back her head to look at the sky so she wouldn't have to look into Mel's eyes.
“We really do have to talk. I'm sorry, but it's important.”
“All right.” Mel was calm. “Tell me.”
“I work for Dragonhoarde.”
Mel sat up hard. A soft croak of surprise escaped from the back of her throat. She must have thought Lana was going to confess some silly something about a prior relationship, because it was crystal clear she hadn't expected this.
Lana could no longer pretend to be star-gazing. She forced herself to meet Mel's wide-eyed stare. It was dark, but they could both see the little flashes of starlight reflected in each other's eyes. And then Mel reached forward to grasp Lana's chin, to turn it this way and that.
“Fuck,” Mel finally said. “Holy fuck. You're Lana Jones. Fuck.”
“You know my name.”
“I was supposed to know your face too. Fuck. How did that get by me? Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
That comment confirmed one thing. If Mel was supposed to know Lana's face, she had somebody on the inside for sure. And that somebody had likely supplied
her with photos of everybody who worked behind the scenes in Dragonhoarde's security department.
“Who gave you my name? You have to tell me.”
Mel snorted and pushed easily to her feet. Those long legs looked even longer when Lana was sitting while Mel was standing.
“I need to go,” Mel said, but she didn't walk away. They both knew she couldn't leave Lana alone on this mountain.
Well, maybe a real baddie would have left Lana to hike down on her own, but Mel wasn't quite movie-villain caliber after all.
“Hey.” Lana stood up too. Touched Mel on the arm. A light touch, no more than a tap, a sorry substitute for the embraces she'd hoped they would exchange. “I can help you. I really am a Vegas local. I've lived here all my life. That stuff I said about working for my brother the attorney, it isn't all bullshit. He really is an attorney, he can help you. Nothing's happened yet that can't be fixed.”
Mel stared, her green eyes dark. “Help me? You think a fucking attorney can help me?”
“You know he can, that's what defense attorneys do. They help people who've made a mistake recover from their mistake. You can turn yourself in, cut a deal. He's a great attorney, he can, we can...” Words had never felt so useless. “We can fix this.”
“This is crazy.” Mel was laughing, but there was no humor in it. “Seriously? What the hell makes you think I'm ever turning myself in? For what? Winning more money than you've got in your vaults? Seems to me the crime is offering a prize the casino doesn't intend to pay.”
“There's no point in bluffing me.” Lana swallowed. If only this night could have gone another way. “Look, my boss has the feds looking into the slot machine ripoffs. I don't know how you're making the machines pay off, but you've got both the state and the federal authorities looking at you, and that's just not good. Somebody's going to figure out what you're doing. And if they have to bring you in, it's going to be a lot worse.”
“Your boss.” Mel closed her eyes. “Salvatore Durrell.”
“Sounds like you have access to the entire organizational chart.”
Mel shrugged. “You know what? If they've been following you, now they think you're in on it. Come to think of it, maybe you are in on it. You sure seem to know an awful lot about it.”
“It's just you and me here, Mel. Nobody else followed us up that road.”
She thought about that. Really thought. Her focus seemed to go away somewhere for a minute. “You targeted me, didn't you? That's what this is all about, isn't it? You want a cut of my jackpot.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake. If you really think any of this is about me jacking you for your prize money...” Lana gestured in frustration. Words kept failing her tonight.
“This was a mistake.” Mel was walking away, back through the gap in the hedge toward the car.
Lana had no choice but to follow. “Look, please. Think about what I'm saying. If you turn yourself in before it's too late...”
“Just. Please. Stop. Talking.”
It was an awkward drive back down the mountain and then into north Vegas. Lana realized Mel was going to drop her off where she found her, at the passenger pickup in front of the Golden Nugget.
Probably not the time to share her home address and ask for a taxi ride straight to the door.
“Look.” Mel was the one who broke the extended silence. “I'm sorry, Ash, um, I mean, Lana. I shouldn't have gotten involved with you, I shouldn't have involved myself with anyone but...” She blew out a puff of air. “These are dangerous individuals. You might see me again, and I have to ask you not to put yourself between these people and their money. It wouldn't be healthy.”
“I don't respond to threats,” Lana said. “I have a job, and I intend to do my job.”
As she pulled over, Mel seemed to sag slightly over the wheel. “Hell, Lana. I didn't mean... Fuck. Just take of yourself. Be careful. I don't want you getting hurt.”
Chapter Nine
The saddest sight in the world is red taillights at dawn. Lana watched the Fusion vanish and then watched the empty street. What was she waiting for? She didn't want the car to turn around. She wanted Mel to vanish forever, to escape somehow to a place where she could gaze in freedom at the stars.
You're real FBI material, Jones. Is there any part of this you didn't handle completely wrong?
Inside the glittering jewel box of a casino, she fed a five into a machine and ordered a black coffee from the cocktail waitress. She needed caffeine, and it was faster and not really any more expensive than the buffet or the coffee shop. Whether the coffee was good or bad, she couldn't say. Breakfast was probably a good idea, but she wasn't hungry.
Everything she'd done was wrong. Meeting a big winner alone under any circumstances. Giving her a false name. Hooking up with her. Messaging her for another round. Even telling the truth about her name and job didn't really set things right. She should have been upfront about who she was from the very beginning. Either that, or she should have continued on with the lie until she had enough evidence for the proper authorities to arrest the entire team.
Telling Mel now accomplished nothing. Clearing Lana's conscience wasn't more important than casino security. The Dragonhoarde was on the skids, but it employed a lot of people for as long as it managed to remain open.
Lana crumpled the empty paper cup and left it on the empty machine. The next shuttle back to the Dragonhoarde would be pulling up any minute.
GARY, HER BROTHER, had taken a Thai cooking class. When did he find the time with a new law practice and an even newer baby in the home?
“Amazing.” Lana jabbed her fork at him, a feeble way to stress her sincerity. Her voice sounded dull even in her own ears. “I'm impressed.”
The chicken panang curry was amazing, identical to a dish she'd eaten in a famous local restaurant. Or maybe that wasn't so amazing, since the chef himself taught the class. In any case, the food wasn't the problem.
After the fried banana rolls, his wife Rita slipped baby Ree into a sling and mumbled something polite about meeting the girls. Gary nodded and said nothing else until they heard the clunk of the front door locking behind her.
“You've obviously got something on your mind.” Gary, three years older, had played the part of all-knowing big brother even when they were children. Tall and intense, with thoughtful crinkles around his brown eyes, he had a way of making you feel he could see right through you.
She shrugged. “Yeah, there's a situation.”
“Your big brother is always here to listen.”
“This might be more than that. This might be a consultation.” She reached in her pocket, pulled out a five. “I'm retaining you as my lawyer.”
He took the bill, not because he cared about petty cash but because he was a stickler for the formalities. “I understand. Everything you tell me now is under the cloak of attorney/client confidentiality.”
If Lana had graduated from the FBI academy, if she'd gone to work for the feds, they'd often be on opposite teams. Gary, a defense lawyer. Lana, a special agent who arrested suspected criminals. It might have made for some interesting family holidays.
Even knowing their conversation was in confidence, she experienced a sudden throb of doubt. Why was it so hard to get started?
“You can talk to me or not, Lana. No pressure either way. You came to me.”
“I know.”
He got up to make some of that powdered green tea that demands a whisk. Japanese, not Thai, Lana thought. Like Mel, he had quick, sure hands, but his fingers were strong and blunt, masculine steel instead of feminine silk. She studied those hands as she thought things through one more time.
Money meant nothing to Gary, not really. With his intelligence, he could have made ten times the salary working in finance or in corporate law.
A hundred times the salary if he'd gone to New York.
Instead, he chose to open his own practice. His own way of dealing with what happened to their mother. He couldn't help her, but he could help
people like her.
Did they deserve to be helped? Or did they deserve to be stopped?
“It's a situation at the Dragonhoarde,” she finally said. “We've got weak machines somebody messed with to pay out more than they should. We know who's picking up the money, but we don't know who else is in on it.”
“All right.” His voice was calm. It usually was. He was good at not projecting judgment.
The green tea wasn't really to Lana's taste, although she supposed a tea drinker might like it. A beer would have been nice, but Gary and Rita didn't drink alcohol.
“I've, um, I've met this person.” She looked at him to see if he needed it all spelled out.
He nodded to encourage her to keep talking. Still no questions and no judgment, although he undoubtedly knew to translate, “I've met this person,” into “I hooked up with this woman.”
“I thought I was the best candidate to get closer to her. To find out what she was doing.” Lana exhaled loudly. “The trouble is, I sort of took the assignment on myself. I probably shouldn't have met with her alone at all.”
Gary took his time about finishing his tea. At last, he put down the empty cup. “Look, I do small-time defense. Impaired driving, drug court, petty embezzling and check-cashing scams. Maybe a scuffle on the casino floor or in the parking lot. You know what I do.”
“Damage control, so people's lives don't get too far off the rails before it's too late.” Lana was repeating words she'd heard him say many times.
“I don't think you've done anything wrong. Meeting a personable woman, having a physical encounter... it isn't ideal if she's under suspicion, but you haven't committed any crime here.”
“I know I haven't committed a crime. I just...”
You just what? Do you even know?
“I just wonder if there's any kind of way I can help if I suspect a person of being pressured into doing something they don't want to do. She doesn't seem like the kind of person who would normally consent to being the bagman for a criminal organization.”