Wild Card (Leaving Las Vegas)

by Aleah Barley

  It wasn’t exactly the safest way to ride, but he didn’t want to risk another smart-ass traffic cop comment by pointing it out.

  A familiar copper scent stained the air. Hell’s bells. The cuts and bruises on her arms were bad, but they wouldn’t account for all the blood. “You’re hurt?”

  “Some glass hit me in the crash. I’ve had worse.”

  Damn. Finn might not be all touchy-feely, but that didn’t mean he liked to hear about women getting hurt. It was one of the reasons he’d become a cop in the first place.

  Of course, after he’d flamed out in Chicago, the police were the only ones who would take him. Even then, he’d had to move all the way to Las Vegas to avoid constant reminders of his past. He’d tried so hard to serve people—to do what was right—but with a man’s blood on his hands, there weren’t many people who would trust him.

  They were probably right.

  He was a powder keg just waiting to go off. A wild card—just like his boss said—a joker.

  His grip tightened on the steering wheel at the memory. “You going to bleed out on my upholstery?”

  “Not today.”

  “Then we’ll put some distance between us and the bad guys.”

  There was a first-aid kit in the truck bed. He wanted to pull off to the side of the road and peel that pretty pink shirt off her so he could look at the dark lace and damaged flesh underneath. His fingers itched to skim across her creamy skin. It wasn’t sexual—really, he didn’t do that—he just wanted to hold her tight and ease her pain.

  “Water,” he finally said. It wasn’t a first-aid kit, but at least she could clean herself off. “There should be a bottle of water under the seat.”

  “Thanks.” Gina bent over and fished around until she found what she was looking for. She pulled out two bottles of water and placed one on the seat between them. The second bottle was cracked open and she took two quick swallows before splashing some water across her face.

  Cool droplets sprayed over Finn’s arm. Liquid poured down onto her pale pink shirt. After a second splash of water, he could make out the dark lace of her bra under her clothes.

  His teeth ground together. The last time he’d noticed a woman’s body was high school. The head cheerleader had blown his mind in gym class, shimmying underneath her slinky black tank top. After that he’d been busy with classes, seminary…Chicago.

  He’d made vows.

  But he’d forsaken those years ago. These days, he was a police officer, and the only promises he made were to his captain. Still, that didn’t mean he could forget his past. His cheerleader ambitions were long over. He’d been in Las Vegas for six years. In his line of work, he’d met cocktail waitresses, showgirls, and more than a few strippers—women who oozed sexuality on a professional basis—but he hadn’t gone on a single date.

  Maybe there was just something special about Gina.

  He didn’t like it.

  His life was simple. He had a career he liked and an apartment he didn’t hate. The last thing he needed was a woman messing everything up. If he needed companionship, he’d get a damn dog. Something from the pound—cast-off and unwanted—just like him.

  At least a dog wouldn’t be too hurt when he eventually let it down. Dogs were forgiving that way. Not that he deserved forgiveness.

  She wiped her face clean on the edge of her shirt and let out a happy moan.

  The noise went straight to his cock, making him half hard. Un-freaking-believable. He ground his teeth together and kept his gaze fixed on the road.

  “Why were you looking for me?” Gina asked.

  “There was a break-in at the Rollio last night. Your badge was the last one swiped.”

  “And police cross state lines for that?” She snorted. “Clearly, you guys need more to do.”

  Technically, Finn was still on leave. He shrugged. “You might try thanking me sometime soon. I did just pull your butt out of a firefight.”

  “I would have figured it out.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I’m not sure.” She considered it for a long moment. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. She smoothed her shirt down over her hips. “I took a self-defense class once. The instructor told us where a man is vulnerable. Had he caught me again, I would have put that knowledge to good use.”

  That killed any possible resurgence in Finn’s libido. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Thanks for putting that image in my head.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her laughter was warm and throaty. For the first time since she’d climbed into his truck, she looked comfortable in her own skin.

  Finn snagged the spare water bottle and uncapped it. He took a sip. “It wouldn’t have worked anyway. Someone else was driving the car.”

  “That doesn’t mean I couldn’t have figured it out.” Her head cocked to the side. “I was doing all right on my own.”

  “You made it a whole twelve hours on the run. You should be proud of yourself.”

  “This isn’t my first time skipping town,” Gina said archly. “I can take care of myself.”

  Interesting. Finn raised an eyebrow. “You want to tell me about it?”

  “When I was nineteen, I quit my job, burned my bridges, and took off for Las Vegas with less than fifty bucks in my pocket.” She blew out a long gust of air. “If I hadn’t aced my interview at the Rollio, I would have been screwed. Instead, I slept in my car for two weeks until I could deposit my first paycheck.”

  It was an interesting story, but it didn’t tell Finn why she’d just been run down on the road. It didn’t explain the blood or the terror in her eyes when he’d called out her name. “Why don’t you tell me about what happened last night?”

  She nodded slowly. “I guess that’s why you’re here.”

  Finn had tracked Gina down intending to drag her back to Las Vegas…in handcuffs if necessary.

  But that had been before the SUV had run her down. Now, his plan was a little less fixed in stone. He needed to get Gina somewhere secure and figure out what was going on. Whether that meant taking her to a safe house in Las Vegas or holing up in a motel on the road, he didn’t know. He needed time to think, but—more importantly—he needed to know why someone wanted Gina dead.

  “You went back to the Rollio after the show,” he prompted. “Why?”

  There was a long pause. Gina stared out the window at the passing countryside. It wasn’t much to look at. Parts of Colorado were lush and beautiful, but they were in the backwoods, where there was nothing to see but faded grass, dirt, and the occasional irrigated field.

  Of course, with the drought making water so expensive, most of the fields were fallow. The only sign the land had ever been used was the gangly remnants of water towers on the horizon.

  Gina sighed. “I left my wallet in the dressing room. It was a dumb-ass thing to do, though it’s not like I keep much cash in it. Anyway, I figured it’d take two minutes to snag. No trouble. My mistake.”

  “What did you see when you went back for it?”

  “What makes you think I saw something?”

  Should he tell her about the dead cop in the desert? Finn frowned. “You ran away in the middle of the night, Miss Malloy. People are chasing you. You saw something.”

  “You can call me Gina.” She sighed. “Maybe I’m just taking a vacation.”

  “And you chose Grand Junction, Colorado? You’re from California.”

  “Not anymore.” Her gaze dropped slightly. “Maybe I just wanted to see the mountains.”

  A sermon on the evils of lies and half truths danced on the tip of Finn’s tongue. He swallowed it back down. Gina didn’t need lectures. She needed understanding. “I can help you. Whatever you’re afraid of…you don’t need to face it by yourself.”

  She snorted in disgust. “That usually work?”

  “You’d be surprised. People find me trustworthy.”

  “Sure, you’ve got a pretty face, a great body, and your voice…” She sighed. “You’ve got
a great voice. I bet women fall over themselves to throw panties in your direction.”

  “Not really.”

  “Try smiling sometime. It’d help.” She stretched her long legs out in front of her. “There were two men backstage. They got in a fight over something. One of them—he had a gun. I ran. I’ve been running ever since.”

  It wasn’t much, but it was a good start. “Do you know what they were fighting over?”

  “No.” Her grip tightened on her purse. She’d mentioned a bag earlier. Was that what she was talking about? “I don’t know anything. I don’t need your help. You can drop me off at the nearest bus stop.”

  Over his dead and rotting body. Gina might not trust him—she had good instincts—but that didn’t mean he was going to just leave her on the side of the road. He saw a traffic sign up ahead and made a decision.

  “You’ve been through a lot.” He patted her arm. “You should rest. I’ll stop in a little while and we can clean up your shoulder.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  Finn took a chance and glanced in her direction. Gina’s face was pale. Her auburn hair cascaded across her shoulders in riotous waves. Her body had relaxed slightly, but her teeth dug into her bottom lip, revealing her continued anguish. Every breath she took was audible in the closed cab of the pickup truck.

  She never relaxed her grip on her purse.

  What did she have in there?

  He took another sip of water then screwed the lid back on. He dropped the bottle onto the floor, and his free hand slid down to rest on Gina’s knee. His fingers stroked across her bare skin.

  “The man…the man on the road…” Gina was so quiet he almost didn’t hear what she was saying. “He said he was going to kill me.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “He…he asked me if I liked it rough. He said he was going to do things to me.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” Finn repeated. He’d kill the bastards first.

  There wasn’t time to stop at a motel for a shower and a rest. He couldn’t get out the first-aid kit and patch up her wounds, but at least he could put her mind at ease. He eased his truck off the highway and onto the shoulder, putting it in park so he could turn to look Gina directly in the eyes.

  “I will protect you,” he told her, making promises despite himself. “Whatever it takes, do you understand me? I won’t let anything happen. Trust me.”

  Chapter Four

  Gina nodded. “Okay.” She still didn’t know whether she wanted to tell him about the bag. In the rush to flee Las Vegas, she hadn’t taken the time to look at the contents. They could be dangerous. They could be illegal. Either way, she was going to wait and see.

  She might as well wait with Detective G. Finn.

  The truck rumbled back to life and pulled out onto the freeway. She flipped on the stereo system and classical music spilled out into the pickup’s cab. “You’re an opera fan?”

  “Choral hymns.”

  “Exciting.” She fiddled with the switches until she found an alternative rock station. The adrenaline that had been pumping through her veins half an hour earlier was gone. She was exhausted. Her knees hurt, and her arm felt like it was going to fall off. She wanted to curl up and die. Instead, she forced herself to concentrate on her breathing, using the same techniques she’d learned in Pilates.

  One. Two. Three…

  One… Two… Three…

  Her eyelids fluttered shut. She napped on and off until the truck finally pulled off the highway a few hours later. Stones clattered against the undercarriage, and she jolted forward.

  “Easy.” Finn’s hand was firm on her knee. “Easy. I need to look at your shoulder, and we both need to clean up.”

  “Coffee.” Gina choked on the word. She grabbed for the half-empty bottle of water, unscrewed the lid, and took a swallow. “Coffee,” she repeated. “Can we find some coffee? I’m a total addict.”

  “At least it’s not booze or pills.” He pulled into a restaurant parking lot and stopped the truck. The driver’s door creaked as he got out. “I’ll get the coffee.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Gina slid her feet into her high heels, opened the door, and slipped out onto the pavement. The sun was beating down hard against her skin. She stretched carefully, wincing when the cuts on her back screamed.

  “Go clean up in the bathroom,” he ordered.

  Right. She rolled her eyes.

  Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked into the restaurant, bypassing a teenage hostess and a busboy with prying eyes on her way to the single-stall bathroom. The place was cramped, but the door locked firmly and the white tile floors gleamed.

  Gina looked at herself in the mirror.

  Damn. No wonder Finn hadn’t given her a second look. She looked like an extra in a disaster movie, an escapee from the Avengers’ Battle of New York.

  The makeup she’d worn the night before was streaked across her face. Her shirt was in tatters, and her knees were caked with dirt. She cleaned her legs off as best she could then washed her face twice. It hurt to lift her arms, but she managed to corral her hair up into a loose ponytail.

  She dipped into her bag and swiped on some mascara, followed by a smidge of leave-in conditioner and a swipe of ruby lipstick. She blotted the lipstick on a paper towel and took another look in the mirror.

  Not bad.

  She wasn’t going to win any prizes, but at least she wouldn’t embarrass herself in front of the Sir Galahad look-alike. With a quick roll of her shoulders, her shirt slipped down to show off her cleavage.

  Even better.

  She opened her purse again. The bag she’d stolen the night before was on top. She reached for it—

  Bang. A hand slammed against the door, making her jump. “You doing okay?” Finn asked from outside the room. There was another bang. “Let me in. Now.”

  Jerk. Gina unlocked the door and moved out of the way. “I’m fine.”

  “I’ll make sure of that.” He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  The bathroom went from cramped to claustrophobic. Heat rolled across Gina’s skin. She held herself perfectly still as the detective’s hands skimmed across her back, tugging at her shirt to get a better view of the wound on her shoulder.

  “You should have told me it was hurting.” He reached past her to get a damp paper towel.

  “I’ve had worse. You should try working the VIP room during a bachelor party.”

  “Showgirls work VIP rooms?”

  “I wasn’t always a showgirl.” She shuddered under his hand as he began to clean the debris from her shoulder. “I used to do another sort of dancing.”

  “Not ballet.”

  Gina snorted. The clients at the Beavertail would have rioted if any of the girls ever did ballet onstage. “I was a stripper, Detective. G-strings and pasties.” She’d spent a year and a half taking off her clothes for money. Right up until the club’s manager had tried to get a little too up close and personal. Then she’d quit in a way that made sure she wouldn’t be welcome back. “Think less of me?”

  Finn’s touch was gentle. His hands never stopped moving. “I’m not one to judge. I could tell you what I did before I joined the police force, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  Wasn’t that a tantalizing thought? Gina grinned as she pictured the square-jawed detective as a trash collector. Maybe he’d done ballet. Finn would look good in tights.

  Pain lanced across her back, and she stumbled forward against the sink. “Damn it.”

  “I’ve never been to a strip club—at least, not during business hours.” Every word he spoke sent a gust of hot air across her neck. “The customers can touch the dancers?”

  “During a lap dance? Sure. In the VIP room, they can do a little more than that. It wasn’t the customers I had a problem with. It was the manager. That’s why I quit.” She watched him carefully in the mirror
. His shirt hung crisply on his broad shoulders. His sapphire eyes were fixed on his task. His full, kissable lips were pressed together in a thin line.

  The detective was so shiny, he squeaked. What kind of man had never been to a strip club?

  He made one more swipe at her shoulder before tossing the paper towel in the trash. His body pressed firmly against her back, and his arm brushed her side. The movement sent a rush of heat through her body.

  Damn, he was gorgeous.

  Even if he didn’t seem to realize his effect on her body.

  He smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Everything’s going to be okay.” He was so damn strong—so certain—she wanted to just curl into his broad chest and let him keep the rest of the world at bay.

  Her body quivered against his touch. She forced herself to remain still. The detective might be appealing in all sorts of ways—broad shoulders, square jaw, noble attitude—but that didn’t mean she could trust him.

  Trusting a man had never turned out well for her in the past. There was no reason to think Finn would be any different.

  He wouldn’t even tell her his name.

  She forced herself to straighten up and step away, pushing her body up against the cool tiles that covered the bathroom wall. Now, she could face him straight on. No lies. No surprises.

  “Why were you looking for me?” she asked. “Cops don’t cross state lines for petty crime.” Thank God. It was the only thing that had saved her when she’d left California. “Not even dirty ones.”

  Finn inclined his head ever so slightly. “A police officer was shot in Las Vegas last night. They found his body in the desert. That’s not dirty.”

  Donovan’s friend? Gina’s stomach churned. The gunshot had been so damn loud, throwing her back in time to her last night in California and the sounds of armed men coming through the door. Last night, she’d run on instinct. By the time she’d realized what was going on, there’d been no point in calling the cops.

  Still, to hear that the cop had died…

  There was nothing she could have done, she tried to tell herself. If she’d turned back, there would have been two bodies for the police to find instead of just one.