I sat bolt upright, smoothing my hair and straightening my pajamas for some odd reason. "Hi, I'm awake." Now.
"I wanted to be the one to tell you. We had to let Weston go."
"What?!" I shouted. I consciously lowered my voice so I didn't wake Britton, then added, "Why?"
"Weston has video of himself at the casino, time stamped and everything, for the time of the struggle and Leo Cannetti's murder." He breathed a defeated sigh directly into the phone. "We couldn't keep him."
"Leo Cannetti?" My groggy brain tried to keep up.
"Oh, the Joe Pesci guy."
I couldn't believe it. Weston was a sure thing. "What about the fingerprints?"
"It's Weston's casino. His prints are all over it." I could hear the defeat in his voice.
"And the fabric at the scene? Wasn't it from Weston's shirt?"
"Hard to tell," Ryder said. "The crime lab is comparing the two, but it will be awhile before we have anything conclusive. In the meantime, Weston's a free man. Sorry, Tessie," he said, and I had a feeling he truly was.
I hung up and checked the glaring red numbers of my alarm clock telling me that everyone else was sound asleep. First sign of sunlight, I was chatting with Weston myself. I, for one, didn't need a warrant.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After the phone call from Ryder in the wee hours of the morning, I'd accomplished nothing more than tossing and turning until I knew the Java Joust was open for business. I'd grabbed a quick shower, then thrown on a pair of grey slacks and my white blouse. (Which had miraculously been cleaned by the very efficient penthouse staff. If I wasn't careful I could really get used to someone else doing my laundry.) I needed to be out of the penthouse before Britton woke and wanted to tag along. There was no way that woman could keep her cool around Weston, and cool was one thing this interrogation was going to require. I mindlessly turned my new earrings in my lobes as I slammed shots of espresso and people-watched. Early risers shuffled through the lobby, entirely too cheery and bubbly for the time of day. Tate's voice caught my attention, rising above the hum of conversation.
I finished my drink and popped a mint into my mouth before walking out into the lobby to find him. I had expected to see him behind the desk. Instead, he was leaning against the wall by the elevators talking to three women in employee uniforms.
He caught my eye as I approached. Then he clutched his chest and gave me a wide-eyed stare. "Well, Tessie King, as I live and breathe. You do know it's not even eight in the morning, right? What are you doing up with the roosters, girl?"
"Ha. Ha. Very funny," I said, joining him. As a teenager, I hadn't particularly been known for being a morning person. Truth be told, I'd been more of a crack-of-noon person. In my defense, I'd been a teenager.
"I was just telling these ladies about my Michael," Tate said, then released a heady sigh, his eyes glistening with that far off, dreamy look.
"Pick out a china pattern yet?" I teased.
"Practically," one employee, a short red-haired girl, said. "He's making us all jealous."
"Hey, don't hate on a playah," Tate piped up.
Which resulted in a round of giggles from his posse, before the red-haired girl checked her phone. "Dang, I gotta get back to the front desk. Call me later, Tate," she said as she and the other women wandered off to their respective posts. I'd like to think it was because my employees were all so punctual, though a small part of me wondered if hanging with the boss didn't make them nervous.
"So, seriously," Tate said. "What act of God propelled you from bed before lunch?"
"Agent Ryder called me last night."
Tate squealed. "Ohemgee, Tessie, I knew you were holding out on me with that hottie."
I shook my head and waved a hand between us. "No, not even close to being that kind of call." I filled him in on the details of Weston, his almost arrest, and subsequent release. "He has to be in on it all. I mean, it's too coincidental for him not to be. I saw him handing off a payment to those two guys. And I plan to find out why."
Tate pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing.
"What?" I asked.
"I don't think this is such a hot idea, Tessie. I mean, you were attacked last night," he said, emphasizing the word with drama worthy of a Broadway stage.
"Weston isn't going to attack me in broad daylight."
"Honey, Weston doesn't go into broad daylight. He stays in his casino cave with the other slimy insects."
"Wow, you have about the same love for him that Britton does," I observed.
Tate wrinkled up his nose. "After talking to Michael, yes, I do. He says, Weston makes them work overtime, then fudges their time cards so he doesn't have to pay extra. And he skimps on everything from health insurance to TP in the men's bathroom."
"Jerk."
"I know, right!"
"Which is all the more reason to think he's involved."
But Tate shook his head vehemently from side to side. "No way, honey. It's all the more reason to leave this to Agent Hottie Pants and keep yourself out of harm's way."
I blinked at him. "Wow, really? I expected you to be the last man in my life trying to play macho and send me to the spa."
Tate's forehead wrinkled. "Not that a spa day doesn't sound divine, but there is nothing here being macho," he said, running a hand over his skin tight slacks.
I had to stifle a giggle. He was so right.
"I just don't want to see you get hurt," Tate concluded.
"I know. Sorry, overreaction. I've just had it up to here with the old boy's club around here."
"Welcome to casino life," Tate mumbled. "But seriously, if you are set on going to talk to Weston...I'll go with you. I'll be your bodyguard." He puffed out his chest and widened his stance, trying to pull off a menacing look. I didn't have the heart to tell him it just made him look constipated.
"Thanks," I told him.
"And, if we need backup, I can call Michael. I have him on my favorites list." Tate shoved his phone in my face as though I needed proof he really had Michael's number.
"Sounds like I'm covered, then."
"Wait." Tate put on his wireless phone earpiece, cued up Michael's number, and tucked the phone into his pocket. "Now, all I have to do is push this little button." He hovered a finger over his earpiece and led me out the front doors.
He nodded toward the valets. "'Sup?"
I pushed down his pinky.
Entering the Deep Blue, it was business as usual on the gaming floor. Slots dinged, roulette balls clattered, and the ever-present smoke filled the air in a thin haze. In fact, the only sign that anything sinister had happened here yesterday was the hole in the top of the fish tank and some yellow crime scene tape fluttering on the fifth floor balcony like leftover party streamers. My eyes scanned the giant tank, unable to see it through a menacing tint now. There were no dead bodies floating, but, from now on, I'd always check.
One of the Deep Blue staff touched Tate's arm. He yelped, pushing the button on his headset.
The clerk turned wide eyes toward me. "I didn't mean to scare you. You just looked lost. Can I help you folks find your room or something?"
Tate frantically shook his head. "No, we are…" Then his eyes lit up as a voice sounded in his ear. Turning toward me, he mouth Michael's name. "Hello, handsome," he cooed, walking over to the aquarium. "Did I wake you?"
So much for my bodyguard.
I smiled at the man in the Deep Blue Casino polo. "I need to speak with Mr. Weston, please."
The pleasant expression faltered for a moment. "Of course. May I ask your name?"
I followed him to concierge desk. "Tessie King. I'm the new owner of the Royal Palace." I expected a glimmer of recognition, but his facial expression remained professionally pleasant.
"I'd be happy to take your contact information down and pass it along to Mr. Weston."
"No, you don't understand. I'd like to see him. Now."
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Weston is not taking any meetings today. We've had a bit o
f a tragedy here," he said, his voice going low as his eyes shot to the aquarium.
I nodded. "I know. That's what I wanted to talk to him about."
"Well, I'm sure he'll be delighted to know that you stopped by, Ms. King. I'll deliver the message to him personally."
I opened my mouth to protest, but I realized it was a lost cause. This guy was polished, professional, and probably a lifer at the Deep Blue. No guest—even the owner of the casino across the street—was going to trump the instructions of his boss.
"Thanks a lot," I mumbled, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
Okay, I didn't try all that hard.
I turned and leaned back against the counter, praying a Plan B came to me.
Tate was still circling the aquarium, his cheeks pink, his eyes bright, his hands waving in the air as he talked. Ah, young love. To his right was a bank of glass elevators. I followed the line of their travel upward. The first six floors of the casino were built atrium style, while the top tower rooms were more private—the suites where the high rollers stayed. If I had to take a guess, I'd say Weston occupied the penthouse, just as my father had.
The only obstacle to getting there would be the hotel security. Currently a pair of guards stood sentinel next to the elevators. I guessed they were supposed to make the guests feel safe staying here despite the crime scene tape. Or keep unwanted nosey reporters (and rival casino owners) away from Weston.
Though, as I recognized one of them as the same guy from the other night at the club, Plan B started to form.
I made my way over to Tate.
"...ohmigod, I love those, too. It's, like, uncanny how much we have in common." He looked up and saw me. I made a wrap it up motion with one hand, and he nodded. "Okay, well, again, so sorry to call so early, but, yes, let's totally do lunch." He paused, listening to Michael on the other end. Whatever he said, it must have been good as Tate blushed like a school girl and giggled. "I can't wait," he squealed. "Ciao!" He pushed a button on his earpiece, then sighed, fanning his face with one hand. "Whew, I think I'm in love."
I couldn't help but grin. "Well, look sharp, loverboy, 'cause I need your help."
He cleared his throat. "Okay, right. I'm in. What do you need?"
"A distraction."
Tate frowned. "What kind of distraction?"
"One big enough to get the attention of those guys over there," I said, gesturing to the two security guards by the elevators. "I need to get to Weston in the penthouse."
Tate groaned, rolling his eyes. "The things I do for you, girl."
I clasped my hands in front of me. "Pretty please, Tate!"
He waved my begging away. "Yes, yes, of course I'll do it. Just give me a minute to prepare."
I gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks!" I called, leaving him in the lobby as I made my way to the gift shop near the elevators. I pretended to scan the magazine rack as I kept one eye on Tate and one on the security duo.
Tate did some pacing, some lip pursing, obviously trying to come up with the perfect plan. Finally he looked up at the huge tank and screamed a blood-curdling, high-pitched thing that had every head in the casino turning his way.
"Oh my God, there's another body in the tank!" He clutched his chest with one hand, pointing up at the blue waters with the other.
That did it.
Obviously dead floating bodies were a touchy subject for Security at the moment, as both guys bolted forward, rushing to Tate's side to scan the tank. Ditto the front desk staff, the concierge, and half the patrons of the casino, some with poker cards still clutched in their hands.
"Where is it?" the security guy from the club asked.
"There!" Tate cried. "At least, I think it was there. Wait, maybe it was just a shark. You know, they look an awful lot like floating people sometimes..."
I didn't waste any time, quickly bolting toward the elevators, stabbing the up button, and waiting an impatient five-count before the carriage arrived and the doors opened. I quickly stepped inside, saying a silent thank you that it was empty, and hit the penthouse button.
My heart was hammering so hard in my chest by the time the doors opened to the penthouse that I thought it might pound right out. I tried to slow my breathing, tell myself I was cool, calm, and in control. When in reality I knew I was going unarmed into a possible murderer's private suite where his team of security could probably make me disappear faster than a guy's paycheck at the slot machines.
I stared at the double doors to Weston's private lair, my finger itching to hit the down button again and scrap this whole mission. I mean, did I really need to talk to Weston that badly?
But muffled voices from inside the suite propelled me forward. I tiptoed closer and pressed my ear to the door, but the voices stopped. I backed up at the sound of the lock turning.
Weston cracked the door, wearing a satiny robe and a befuddled look on his face. I prayed there were pajamas underneath. "You do realize there are cameras trained on the door with a monitor here, right?" He pointed next to him inside his room.
"Uh, yeah," I stammered. I did now.
He grunted but opened the door, revealing a very well-dressed man sitting behind him on an upholstered sofa. "What do you want?" Weston asked.
I licked my lips. I didn't think asking for a confession straight up was going to get me anywhere. "I wanted to talk. About my dad."
Weston snorted. "Sorry, honey, but this ain't free therapy. You want a trip down memory lane, go talk to that stacked step-mother of yours."
I looked behind him. The well-dressed guy was sizing me up, eyes narrowed, stare level and assessing, hand hovering near a tell-tale bulge at his side.
I swallowed hard. "Okay, then let's talk about Brad Dunley. And Leo Cannetti. And Johnny Smith. Though I'm pretty sure that last name was a fake."
Weston's eyes narrowed, his jaw set in a tense line. "You're right," he spat out. "It sounds like we do need to talk."
I wasn't sure if I was relieved or more nervous as Weston stepped aside to let me into his penthouse. I felt cold shivers trail up my spine as he locked the door behind me and his well-dressed friend rose from the sofa. I tried to shake the feeling off, gathering what courage I had left as I faced Weston.
"I saw you giving them money. Now two are missing, and one is dead."
"Goody for you. You can do math," he said, heavy on the sarcasm.
"I think you killed him," I challenged, surprised at how steady my voice came out considering my insides were total jelly.
"Like I give a shit what you think," he spat back.
"Agent Ryder thinks you killed him, too." I had one eye on Weston, one on his goon who was hovering near the window, hand still loose over that bulge.
"Agent Ryder has no proof," Weston told me, sitting on the sofa and crossing one ankle onto the other knee. I was very relieved to see that he had sleep pants on under his robe.
"Not yet."
Weston smiled. "You're assuming there is proof, dollface." He spread his hands wide. "But I'm an innocent man."
I channeled my dad as I prepared to do my best bluff. "Innocent or not, you're going to have Agent Ryder and the rest of the Nevada Organized Crime Task Force crawling all over your casino for months to come. He's not a man who gives up easily. Trust me—the Royal Palace has been his second home for the past week."
Weston's jaw tensed again at that, some of his smile fading.
"Of course," I continued, shrugging, "I guess I should be thanking you. Since Mr. Cannetti decided to take a swim in your tank, Ryder's vacated the Royal Palace. Things are back to normal now. In fact, I heard business doubled overnight." I paused. "Huh, I wonder if some of those sales were from your guests, switching casinos."
Weston's face was practically contorted into a sneer now, his entire body tense. "All right, what do you want?"
"The truth," I told him, sitting on a hard-backed chair across from him. "Why were you paying off Cannetti and the valet?"
Weston glanced at
the well-dressed guy. He gave the barest of nods in agreement. Then Weston turned back to me and took in a deep breath. "I was paying for information."
"What kind of information?" I pressed.
"About a thief at the Royal Palace."
That stopped me. I'd assumed that Weston was the thief. "Wait—you didn't know anything about the thefts?"
Weston uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, both elbows on his thighs. "Look, about a month ago this guy Cannetti comes to me and says he's got some info. He knows something about a scheme at the Royal Palace so big that the scandal would take the whole place down. He wants to know if I'm interested in buying that info. So I says, 'hell, yeah, I am.'"
"So you paid Cannetti to find out what the scheme was?"
Weston nodded. "But the bastard was spoon feeding me information, asking for more money each time we met. He told me they were stealing from guests. They had a crew organized, knew how to block out security footage, and someone on the inside using their pass key. It was all pretty damned genius, I gotta say."
"But Cannetti wasn't the one organizing it."
Weston shook his head. "Nope. That was the kicker. Cannetti said once everyone found out who was behind it, it would take the casino down for sure. Finally I told him I was giving him one more payment, and I wanted to know everything—including who this guy was—or I was gonna break his knees."
I raised an eyebrow his way. "So, you threatened the guy who turned up dead in your fish tank."
Weston put his hands up in a surrender motion. "Hey, he didn't have no broken knees, did he?"
I had to give him that one. "Okay, so what happened? Did Cannetti agree to tell you who was behind it all?"
Weston nodded. "Yeah. That payment you saw at the lounge was the last one. He was supposed to get this guy on tape, setting up the next heist. Irrefutable proof."
"So who was it?" I asked. I was on the edge of my seat now, dying to know.
But Weston sat back, crossing his legs again as he shrugged. "No idea. I was supposed to meet him to get the evidence yesterday."
"That's why he was at the Deep Blue."
Weston nodded. "I was supposed to meet him on the fifth floor balcony. But when I got there, he was already..."
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