His brother whistled low, breaking the silence. “Man, Caden, you’ve got style. That is some sweet ride, bro.”
“Glad I’m leaving it in good hands. Sweetened the pot with your sergeant by agreeing he’d keep the Aston for a week—though he did seem thrilled to get you out on a case and out of his hair. To have been a fly on the precinct wall while you were confined to that cubicle...” He took out his cell phone to make the necessary arrangements through Harold.
A jingling noise made him look to his right. The keys to the Aston swung from his brother’s pointed finger. “Need a bit of sweetness in my own damn pot.” Without missing a beat, he unlocked the car and settled down into the driver’s seat.
Caden arched an eyebrow, but kept his mouth shut. Moving around the car, he climbed in.
Seconds later, they were en route to Vegas.
“As much as I’m going to enjoy bringing these fuckhead drug pushers down, there’s something else I need you to do,” Bracken commented softly, breaking the silence. “You’ve come this far. Something for yourself, more than for me.”
“Yeah. I’m all ears.” Caden played it off, yet mentally prepared for a well-deserved reprimand. Things could have flipped and gone bad, for both of them, and all because of him.
Bracken turned his way and his lips rose into something that closely resembled a smile. “Win that motherfucking championship.”
* * *
The biggest sinner alive had at long last arrived in Sin City. He’d check into the MGM Grand last night, two nights behind schedule. Or so Sal had informed Sophie earlier this morning. Terrific. Just the kind of lying cheat she didn’t want to see around the hotel. Another reason to revisit her plan and stay at a more affordable place, somewhere off the strip and as far away from Caden Kelly as possible.
Sophie had been battling with her conscience ever since Caden had been hauled off in the police car. Her journalistic-minded side screamed inside scoop. To go rogue, report the story and get herself on every network station, every news channel around the globe.
Performance-enhancing drugs seemed to be the scandalous flavor of the year, from cyclists to baseball players alike. It would stand to reason that a few mixed martial arts fighters had also be benefiting from a quick fix.
Jaysin Bouvine had been holding three identical duffel bags, her reporter instincts reminded her, and I have it on tape.
Caden wasn’t acting alone in this.
She bit her lip, wondering at her surprise. Bit down harder, thinking about what a silly fool she’d been, falling in love with a handsome-faced liar.
For some unknown reason, the police had released him. Plus, he was still on the list of fighters vying for Tetnus. Sal had squeezed the list through, his curiosity apparent even within the inch of space created before she’d shut the door on his busybody ways.
Deep down, she was thankful knowing Caden wasn’t stewing away in jail. On the surface, she felt like taking a bullhorn to the Vegas Boulevard and revealing to the world what a dishonest, heart-trashing liar he was.
But she’d kept her lips shut.
Sal had been pretty darn persistent in prodding her with questions, like a dog on the scent of some hopelessly wounded animal. The series of knocks on her hotel room door confirmed it. Sal wasn’t going to leave her be. Two visits this morning had been two too many.
“Brought someone with me to cheer you up,” the old-timer announced, entering the room and taking a long look around. “Jeez, did your surly personality cause the maids to bail on you this morning?”
Sophie tugged her complimentary MGM robe tighter, and with surly eyes, noted how Anthony had followed Sal into her room. The look on his face said that he’d watched The Hangover one too many times—it was like he expected a tiger to jump out at him. Heck, she wished one might, and put an end to her worrying about paying for this room, with little choice but to use the dirty drug money Caden had given her. She’d contacted Pittsburgh Trust, but they wanted her there in person and with two forms of ID. She felt like kicking herself for making a stink about their weak identity theft protection policies. Clearly, progress had been made.
Both men turned and stared at her, appalled. It was evident in the way they eyed her from her messy, knot-haired head to her bare toes.
“What the hell happened to her?” Anthony demanded, as if she weren’t in the room and the subject of his concerned amusement.
“Dunno. Won’t tell me a thing, but I think Caden’s to blame. Pulled his typical M.O.O.”
Anthony stepped forward, kindly intending to offer her a consolatory hug. She dodged him, ducking under his arm and moving over to the window. Tugging the curtains open, the room filled with light so quickly, she blinked. Darn, that hurt.
“Wanna know how many women he’s slept with? Too many to—”
“Not particularly. Don’t say another word, Sal.”
Anthony chimed in. “What kind of question is that? No woman wants to hear about her, uh, boyfriend’s sexcapades. And Caden, man, he’s a force to be reckoned with.”
It took the sound of a heavy wrought iron lamp rolling across the tiled portion of the floor for both men to shut the hell up. She stared, making sure her message was clear—end of discussion. Almost.
“For the record, he isn’t, and will never be, my boyfriend.”
Seconds passed. Then, Sal softly stated, “Looks like you need one.” His head turned and his gaze shifted around the room once more.
“What? I’ve made it this far on my own...”
“A friend, I’m talking about. Like good ole Sal here.” He patted his stomach.
Sophie snorted, indelicately. “Yeah, well you know the expression. With friends like you...”
Sal bent and scooped up a pillow from the floor. “Told you she was full of sass.” Moving to the sofa, he replaced the pillow and sat down. He patted the cushion next to him. “Sit. Anthony wants to fill you in on what’s happening downstairs with the Tetnus preparations.”
“If you still care,” Anthony added.
Care? She frowned. A weaker woman would have rolled over and booked a flight back to Pittsburgh. Not Sophie. Not now. Not when she’d been a teen, questioning her decision to tattle on the creep who’d tried to take away her innocence. Tattle—yeah, right. That’s what the local media and the good town folk of Hawley had called it.
They’d turned on her. How dare she accuse their wealthiest—and only—philanthropist of attempted rape. As if the fingerprints on her neck and breasts didn’t matter. Money...now, that is what counted. The pain of their betrayal still hurt. Something Sophie knew how to deal with. Or so she’d thought, until Caden came along and put a different kind of hurting on her. The broken hearted kind.
She’d found the strength to survive Hawley, and that same strength would pull her through this.
Sophie Morelle wasn’t a quitter—she’d just taken a hiatus to regroup. Besides, it’d given her time to think about other things, namely that jerk Jaysin and what his duffel bags full of drugs meant. Just like any good investigative reporter, she was going to get to the bottom of it all. Including or excluding Caden’s involvement.
Combing her fingers through her hair in a delayed attempt at fixing her appearance, she straightened and squared her shoulders. She had work to do.
“I’ll get the video camera.” Anthony marched over to the bedside table and retrieved the camera bag lying next to it.
“There is coffee on the table, and some clean cups...somewhere. Give me ten minutes to freshen up. In the meantime, I want you to come up with some interesting facts about Tetnus. The last minute preparations fighters perform in order to become top dog, information like that.”
Two weeks and counting, she thought to herself as she grabbed a blouse and her last remaining unwrinkled pair of shorts from the pile of clothing du
mped on the bed.
Time enough to get this film rolling.
Time enough to reinvent herself.
Time enough for her Sophie Morelle persona to eat dust—a good old mouthful of it.
Caden, too. She hoped the Las Vegas dust coming his way tasted saltier than the tears she’d shed over him. A little farewell present from the real Sophie Morelle.
Chapter Eighteen
DOUBLE-LEG TAKE DOWN: What happens when you wrap one long leg around a fighter’s calf, weave your other leg around his shin, and follow with a strategically-placed push to his chest
Vegas must have been a great deal in July. Booking Tetnus this time of year reeked of slimeball Jerry’s tight-fisted touch. Five days and the temperature hadn’t fallen below one hundred ten. A dry heat. Yeah, whatever—tell that to her darn armpits. Aside from the heat, by successfully avoiding the Double Jerks and having had to suffer through only one Caden sighting, Sophie considered her luck on the upswing.
“Thatta girl, roll those dice,” one of the Boys standing at the side of the craps table hollered.
She downed the shot of tequila, and performed the same exact routine that had helped build her nest of chips. Cupping her hands and shaking the dice over one shoulder then the other and then finally over her head, she sent them sailing down the table.
“Six. Come on Sophie. It’s almost midnight,” the same fighter encouraged.
Jerry had a strict curfew in place for his fighters. Not that they needed it because, much to her surprise, aside from an occasional night down in the casino, she’d never witnessed a more committed group of guys. They worked out constantly, running in the mind-boggling heat and weight lifting and sparring in three different gyms assigned specifically to Tetnus participants. She’d gotten it all, and more, on videotape.
The dealer moved the hockey puck onto the number six, whatever that meant. Sophie knew luck had a lot to do with her pile. It certainly wasn’t her keen sense of craps.
She giggled at the word, or was it the tequila? The dealer handed back the dice.
Anthony took a handful of chips and moved them onto the board. “Come on, Sophie. One more great roll and we’ll party like rock stars after Tetnus is over.”
“No can do. I’ll be somewhere doing correspondence work when this has all ended,” she murmured. The room spun slightly, causing her to regret that last shot. But, she deserved it. Had earned it, so to speak.
In three days, she’d accomplished more than anticipated. The Boys had warmed to her and with Sal’s encouragement and Anthony’s support, they’d filled her in on the ins and outs of mixed martial arts. She had more footage than she knew what to do with. More cuts and edits that needed to be pieced together.
The entire time, the question about Jaysin’s involvement with those pills had nagged at her conscience. The manhandling jerk was up to no good. Before she did another thing, she was going to review the footage she’d shot in Phoenix. There probably wasn’t enough incriminating evidence, just him with the duffel bags. It’d be an entirely different matter to catch him on tape with those green pills. That’s what he was about, right? Dealing drugs to mixed martial arts fighters and wannabe fighters. She straightened at the thought.
Tomorrow, she was going to catch Jaysin red-handed.
But what was Caden’s involvement?
Her throat burned, the lingering tequila adding to her pain.
She hadn’t been able to bring herself to watch the three videos he’d left. Exclusive or not, it was nothing but lies. Lies from lying cheat, from a less-than-credible source. A definite fast-forward, then cut.
Her palms cupped the dice tighter than necessary, and she focused on maintaining tonight’s winning streak. She deserved it.
She repeated her die-rolling routine but this time, the dice hit the table with a bounce. One flipped three times and came to rest showing a one. The second kept rolling. Slowly. Briefly, it tottered toward a five. Five, that’s the number she wanted, right?
All eyes were on the dice. The Boys looked worried. She noticed chips had been placed in front of almost everyone around. Were they piggybacking onto her good luck, luck that seemed about to end?
Sure enough, the die flopped over. Not a five. But a six. Oh, crap, she thought, thinking how the game was appropriately named, and not wanting to shred the thin fibers of trust she’d woven between her and the Boys. Hopefully, one bad roll wouldn’t overshadow her rather fortunate night.
On the next roll, the casino came alive with whoops and hollers so loud, the table shook. Sophie was hoisted into the air. “Five! She rolled five!”
“Just before curfew too,” someone added.
Anthony put her down long enough for her to scoop up her chips and stuff them in her bag. A second later, she was back in this arms and being carried across the casino floor. The Pied Piper to a trail of boisterously happy fighters.
Sophie giggled. It looked like she wouldn’t have to relocate off of Las Vegas Boulevard after all.
“Man, when I saw you the first time on the bus, I thought you were bad luck. Was I ever wrong,” a younger fighter named Billy commented as he came up alongside them. His fist tightened around a bunch of chips and his smile grew even fuller.
Another guy chimed in. “Yeah, after the blow to Caden, and after watching your show, I thought you ate guys like us for dinner. You know, you’re not at all what I expected.”
“If Anthony doesn’t put me down, I’m going make him my appetizer.”
“Sounds good to me,” Anthony shot back, his tone changing.
Great, just great. The last thing she needed was his interest. The sweet, bulky mass of a man had been a much-needed friend. And had turned into one of the focal points of her documentary. But, that was it. He didn’t even register on her would-consider-dating radar. She’d learned her lesson about mixing business with pleasure. She had donned her investigative reporter hat and no way was it falling off again.
They’d exited the casino, and had made it down a long carpeted corridor leading to the bank of elevators that would take them up to the hotel level. Anthony pressed the elevator button, his grip on her steadfast. At least they were surrounded by a small gathering of Boys, and not alone. Better do something about the situation, though, before it escalated any further.
“I think the tequila made me nauseous. One more step, and I’m not going to be able to keep it in,” she lied through her teeth. Lightheadedness, perhaps. Giddiness, unfortunately. But Sophie wouldn’t be caught dead barfing in public, not that she was remotely close to doing so.
Mercifully, her exaggeration did the trick, and she found herself out of Anthony’s arms and back on her feet without further argument.
The door chimed and slid open. Hundreds of pounds of muscled fighters, plus a not-so-willing one-hundred-thirty-five-pound journalist, got on. Now, how to shed some weight and ditch them before Anthony and company decided to escort their lucky charm to her room?
She made a theatrical production of looking at her watch, then at her cell. “Golly, my battery must be acting up again. My watch says twelve but according to my cell phone, it’s 12:05.” Her words sounded way too obvious, like a pink neon sign flashing a false advertisement, one that read: “She’s full of shit.”
“Holy crap. Jerry said he’d disqualify anyone found lurking about Las Vegas after curfew.”
“Damn, his room just had to be on the same floor as ours. We’ll have to be super quiet.”
Good luck with that, she thought. Lord help them, with their girth and height, they were going to sound like a stampede of elephants headed down the hallway.
She took out her cell and text a message to Sal:
Call Jerry’s room. The Boys made curfew. Won lots of money.
She shared her text with them. “If we time this right, Jerry will
be checking his phone while you sneak back into your rooms. As soon as the door opens, I’ll send the text. Wait a minute for Sal to call him.”
“Damn, she’s not just lucky but smart.”
“Did she have to tell Jerry we won?”
Sophie grinned.
The door chimed. Sophie hit Send. And Anthony looked like a dog that just had his bone whisked away.
Brother. She needed another tequila and a moment to celebrate her small victory. Alone.
Change of plans. There was a bar one floor above casino level. One drink in celebration of beating the Vegas odds, and bamboozling the Boys into working with her. Tomorrow, she’d secured permission to film sparring matches at the temporary cage set up at the casino next door. Up-close-and-personal footage depicting exactly how an MMA fighter differed from other fighters. Show viewers the self-control and discipline professional fighters had, and balance the brutal footage she’d shot at the motel in Wichita.
The following day, she had some video to preview. Within the comforts of her room, she planned on viewing the material, deciding what to cut and what more she needed. Time to review, reflect and reconstruct her final plan of attack.
Yep, maybe an alcohol-infused mind might shed some light on what to do about Caden, as her rational mind turned to muck every time she thought about him. Should she finish the interview or delete him entirely from the documentary and keep him back in the dirt, in her past, eating her dust? The question continued to plague her as the elevator descended, then stopped.
The door opened.
She stepped forward, nearly tripping over her feet at the sight that greeted her.
Dressed in gray cotton shorts, a ripped white Rolling Stones T-shirt, worn running shoes, and dripping sweat like it was nobody’s business, Caden should have been a sight for sore eyes—except he wasn’t.
With his damp hair and wet T-shirt, he was a cautionary tale about the powers of raw and oh-so-male sex appeal. Heck, the lesson she’d learned was to avoid him like the plague. But despite herself, every nerve in her body shifted into high alert as her eyes unwillingly devoured him.
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