“I can use the money to buy somethin’ nice for the boy,” he said somberly. “You take care now, Mr. Baron. These roads can be slippery in the rain.”
He waited until the door closed after the attorney. Then he sank down on the banquette.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Did the man really think he’d fallen for that lie about a music box, or that he’d bought him off with a hundred bucks? There was lots more to this story. Nobody, especially not a lawyer from—Harman glared at the card—from New York City, came all this distance to tell a woman her grandpa had left her a wind-up toy.
Dawn had come into money, and probably one hell of a lot of it.
Harman got to his feet, walked to the counter and slid onto a stool. “Gimme two eggs,” he said to the waitress, “over easy. Bacon. Flapjacks.” He leaned toward her. “And more coffee, only it better not be this crap from the bottom of the pot, you understand?”
The girl damn near clicked her heels, which was just as it should be. The bible said it best. A woman was meant to obey. Wives, especially. And what a wife possessed belonged to her husband. Her body. Her spawn. All her earthly possessions.
Harman scowled as the waitress put a cup in front of him.
Dawn was coming into an inheritance, and it was only right and proper he was there to take care of it for her, and to take care of the boy, too, see he was raised up proper. It was time to find the bitch and put her four years of loose living at an end.
* * *
Outside, in the parking lot, Gray got behind the wheel of the rental car and drove a couple of miles north before he pulled onto the shoulder of the road, took out his cell phone and dialed Jack Ballard.
“Jack? Gray Baron here. I just met with Harman Kitteridge. Oh, yeah. He’s just what his rap sheet suggests. Mean. And stupid as the day is long, except when he thinks he smells money. Nope. He hasn’t a clue as to where Dawn is. Trust me, Jack. I had him salivating. If he knew, he’d have—You did?” Gray smiled and gave the steering wheel a light tap with his fist. “Las Vegas, huh? Terrific. Too bad you didn’t call me. I’d have been able to skip my scintillating meeting with Kitter—Oh. Did you? Well, I was in a diner at the ass end of nowhere, which is probably why your call wouldn’t go through. In fact, I’m losing you now. Jack? Jack…”
The line went dead. Gray put the phone into his pocket, felt something papery and took out the photo of Dawn Lincoln Kitteridge. She didn’t look much like a woman who would walk out on a man and a child, but that only went to show you how misleading a picture could be. He had a photo of his own mother tucked away at the bottom of a drawer. He’d found it years ago, when he was ten or eleven, and she hadn’t looked like a woman who would have done those things, either…but she had.
Gray checked his mirror, did a U-turn, sped straight through Queen City and headed south, to Flagstaff and the airport. Forget staying on for a few days. Ballard had found the woman. He’d fly home, put things on hold for a week, then fly to Vegas and check out Dawn Kitteridge, though it wouldn’t take much checking before he’d know what to tell Jonas. How much doubt could there be as to the morals of a woman who slept around and then deserted her son, and never mind the way she looked in that photo.
He knew all about women like that. His own mother had slept her way through Brazos Springs before she’d walked away, left him behind and never once looked back.
Gray stepped down hard on the gas. Soon, very soon, he’d be able to put this entire incident behind him and get on with his own life.
CHAPTER FOUR
Las Vegas, Nevada
DAWN’S alarm was set for six but when she opened her eyes, the bright green numbers on the clock’s face read 5:03.
Her heart pounded as she sat up and looked around her tiny bedroom. What had awakened her? Footsteps? A voice? The sound of someone outside the window? She held her breath and listened but she couldn’t hear anything. Nothing but silence.
She exhaled and fell back against the pillows with relief. That was what had awakened her. Not a noise. The silence. The AC had shut off. The unit was old and noisy. It died with startling regularity and when it did, the lack of sound was like an assault on her eardrums.
Even after four years, she still couldn’t decide what was better, noises that startled you or silence that shook you. No, that wasn’t true. You could get accustomed to noise. Silence was different. If it was too quiet, you started to hear things. A creak that might be a footstep. A tap that might mean someone was at the window. A whisper that could be a voice you prayed you’d never hear again…
“Stop it,” she said, and she sat up and tossed the covers aside.
The creaks were from the floorboards. Her apartment had been carved out of the first floor parlor and maid’s room of an old house, old by Vegas standards, anyway. The only thing tapping at the window was the branch of the indigo bush. She probably should have lopped the branch off when it first started growing toward the house, just as Cassie had suggested, but she was happy letting the Indigo go its own way.
She’d had to plead with the landlord to let her plant it. The woman had looked at her as if she was crazy but she’d finally said yeah, okay, you want an indigo bush? You buy it, plant it, take care of it, you can have it. Dawn had done all that and provided the tough little shrub with the nurturing it needed to gain a foothold, and it had thrived.
The Indigo had the right to grow in any direction it wanted. So did every living thing on the planet.
As for hearing that voice, Harman’s voice, well, it was better to be alert than complacent. Every now and then, she’d see some half-buried item in the paper about a woman who had run from a husband or a boyfriend, been found by him and beaten senseless. Or killed. And even as she’d feel pain for that poor, faceless woman, Dawn would know that what she’d just read was a reminder. She’d have to spend the rest of her life being careful, never letting down her guard, never forgetting that Harman was still out there, hating her because she’d done the unthinkable.
She’d defied him. Worse, she’d left him. That was the worst sin of all.
Her husband had owned a dog when she’d married him, a scared, skinny hound that made the mistake of creeping to her for comfort one day after Harman kicked it. Enraged, he’d beaten the poor thing half-senseless and when it ran away, he’d gone after it, dragged it back to the mountain and shot it.
“Bad enough it weren’t loyal to me,” he’d said, while she’d sobbed and begged him to spare the dog’s life. “What’s mine stays mine till I say otherwise. You got that, bitch?”
She should have left him then, but where would she have gone? She had no money, no job skills. Her mother was dead and even if she’d been alive, Orianna had never been able to help herself when a man abused her. How would she have helped her daughter?
Dawn swung her feet to the floor. What was wrong with her this morning? She hadn’t wasted this much time thinking about Harman in months. It was one thing to be cautious, another thing to be paranoid. Besides, thinking about him, worrying about what he might or might not do, only gave back some of the power he’d once wielded over her. She’d learned that sitting through some counseling sessions at the women’s shelter in Phoenix, the second stop in her flight four years back.
“Remember,” the counselor had said, “the best way to break with the past is to take control of your life. Educate yourself. Make plans. Learn to be independent. You are a whole person, no matter what your abuser wants you to think.”
Dawn had done all that. The proof was in what was going to happen today, her very first day on her own at her new job. That’s what she’d think about, not Harman.
The new job was going to be a challenge, but she was up to it. Keir thought so. Cassie did, too. Even Mary O’Connell had given her a wink a couple of days ago, when she’d breezed past the Special Services office where Dawn was standing at Jean’s shoulder, listening while she phoned to arrange for the Desert Song’s private jet to pick up a VIP and fly him from Bost
on to Vegas.
“Good luck,” Mrs. O’Connell had said softly, which had to mean that even the Duchess was aware she’d taken a more responsible position but then, not much that went on at the Song escaped the Duchess’s attention, even during the months she’d been ill.
“Thank you,” Dawn had replied, and the Duchess had smiled in that way of hers that made you feel as if she really cared about you.
Dawn laid out her clothes for the day. She ran her hand lightly over the blue jacket and beige skirt she’d bought with part of the clothing allowance that went with her new position. She just hoped she’d live up to everybody’s expectations.
“You’re going to be great at this,” Cassie kept saying. Keir had pretty much told her the same thing when he’d interviewed her. By then, she’d already passed the other hurdles: a clean employment record at the Song, votes of approval from Becky, who headed up Special Services, but Keir had the final say and what he’d said was, yes, the job was hers.
“You’re good with people,” he’d told her. “I think you’re going to be an excellent addition to the Special Services staff.”
Remembering, Dawn let out a breath. She hoped he was right. She really, really wanted this job. Better pay, which she sorely needed. Better hours, which she needed, too, and a bonus she’d never mentioned to anyone but Cassie.
She’d never really liked dealing cards, even though she’d been good at it. She had quick hands, she didn’t get ruffled. It was just that it always felt, well, wrong to be part of a process that separated people from their money, even in the classy area where she’d worked, the casino-within-a-casino at Desert Song, the high stakes tables where most of the players could easily lose tens of thousands of dollars without blinking.
“It’s just wrong,” she’d told Cassie one night over takeout Chinese.
Cassie put down her chopsticks and stared at her. “What’s wrong about it?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
“That’s nuts,” Cassie replied bluntly. “What, are you gonna worry about jerks who have money to throw away?”
“I know,” Dawn said, “but—”
“But you grew up poor, like me.”
“Well, yes. But that’s not all of it. I mean, I know it’s their money. It’s just that it seems so—so—”
“Wong,” Cassie said, so deadpan that Dawn couldn’t help laughing. Cassie had sighed, then dug back into her shrimp with lobster sauce. “You are such a Goody Two-Shoes. Sometimes I wonder what you’re doing in Sin City.”
Hiding, that was what. Of course, Cassie didn’t know that. Nobody did.
Dawn stepped into the shower and lifted her face to the spray. She turned around slowly, let the water beat down on her hair, then worked in a dollop of shampoo.
Hiding right out in the open, because this was the perfect place for it. Las Vegas was always crowded. Phoenix hadn’t been this jammed with people, or even Los Angeles, and certainly not Santa Fe. Heaven knew she’d been in all of them in the days when Orianna bounced from town to town. She’d never seen streets more packed than the Vegas Strip or crowds any more dense than the ones that jammed the casinos. And there was a bonus. Harman wouldn’t come here. Calling Las Vegas “Sin City” was Cassie’s idea of a joke, but her husband would surely believe the devil walked these streets. He’d never come here unless he somehow learned where she was…
“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” Dawn said briskly, and shut off the water.
Why waste any part of this exciting morning on a part of her life that was over and done with? She had to dry her hair, put on makeup, dress…but first, she’d begin her day the way she always did, with a call to the Rocking Horse Ranch so she could say good morning to her baby. Her son. The love of her life, the one good thing, the only good thing, Harman had ever given her.
Dawn reached for the telephone. And when, a few minutes later, she heard Tommy say, “Hello, Mama,” in his sweet, eager voice, she made the same silent vow she made each morning. Someday, she’d find a way to keep her child safe without having to be separated from him, without having to keep him a secret…
“Hello, sweetheart,” she said, and her heart almost overflowed with love.
* * *
By the time she left for work, the temperature had already climbed into the nineties.
She was in luck. Her cranky old car started up right away.
Nothing stirred in the arid brown and beige land that ringed the city. The creatures of the desert took to their nests and burrows during the day, waiting for nightfall and the coolness it would bring, but humans weren’t that sensible. The roads and streets grew more crowded as she got closer to the city’s heart, the area known as the Strip, which was already thronged with people.
Dawn parked in the employees’ lot behind the Desert Song. The security guard at the back entrance touched the brim of his cap as she walked toward him.
“Mornin’, Miss Carter.”
She’d plucked the name from a display of baby clothes in a store. It had taken her months to grow accustomed to it. Now, the name felt as if it had always been hers.
“Morning, Howard.” She smiled at the burly man. “I missed you yesterday. Everything all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The guard grinned. “Took the day off so I could go to the doctor with my wife. Seems as if we’re gonna have a baby.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Impulsively she kissed his cheek. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Got to admit, we’re mighty happy. How about you? You must be feeling pretty good this morning. The word is this is gonna be your first day alone with all those VIPs.”
“Uh-huh.” She held up her hand, showed him her crossed fingers. “Wish me luck.”
“You’ll do fine, Miss Carter. Special’s got to be a fun place to work. Getting to rub shoulders with the rich and famous… The grapevine says that Arab prince is checking in later today.”
“That’s some grapevine,” Dawn said, and laughed. “It knows more than I do. Take care, Howard. And tell your wife I wish her well.”
She stepped through the door, took a deep breath of air so cool it felt like a soothing liquid slipping down her throat, and set off down the corridor. Guests thought of the Desert Song as a fantasyland resort and it was, but it took a small, efficient army to keep it that way. This part of the hotel was very different from the public area. It was given over to administrative services. No blinking lights, no slot machines and their electronic chortles, just the occasional hum of a printer or the soft ringing of a telephone. Offices opened onto both sides of the hallway. The Special Services office—her new office, Dawn thought, and her step quickened—was at the end of the corridor. She stopped at the door, took a deep breath, then stepped inside.
There were five Service Specialists and they all shared an efficient, behind-the-scenes workspace. Dawn had already begun adding her own touches by tacking things on the corkboard that hung over the desk, the small section of it, anyway, that belonged to her. She’d put up a few notes and a calendar with a photo of Tommy beneath it. It was just a small picture and he was only one little cowboy in a bunch of other little cowboys dressed up for one of the Ranch’s monthly cookouts. If anybody happened to see it, which she figured was unlikely, she could always point to one of the other kids and say he was her cousin. It was an awful way to live, but Tommy’s safety was everything.
She paused now, smiled at the picture and touched it lightly with one fingertip.
“Hey there, sunshine,” she whispered. Tommy almost seemed to smile back.
Okay. It was time to get to work. She had—she glanced at her watch, then at the clock on the desk—she had fifteen minutes to read through whatever faxes or e-mails were waiting. The Specialists worked rotating shifts and covered for each other on days off and vacations so that one of them was always available, day or night, to handle the needs of guests like the Arab prince that Howard had mentioned, not that Dawn or any of her sister Specialists would confirm t
hat the rumor was right and the prince was, indeed, arriving today.
Aside from providing guests like the prince the Desert Song’s finest suites and most elegant service at no cost, the hotel also gave them privacy if that was what they wanted, publicity if that was their preference. Part of Dawn’s job was to know when to provide one or encourage the other.
“It’s not easy,” Keir had warned her during the interview. “It sounds glamorous, to hobnob with some of these people, but it isn’t.”
“Oh, I know that,” Dawn had replied. “I’ve been dealing at the high stakes tables for a year. Sometimes it’s fun…”
“And sometimes it’s hell.” He’d grinned, his black eyes snapping with amusement. “By the way, I heard how nicely you handled that little scene the other night. My compliments—but did the senator really try to slide an extra chip across the table after you showed seventeen?”
Dawn had given her boss a wide-eyed smile of innocence. “Surely not. The chip just fell out of his hand when he reached for his drink. Perfectly understandable, don’t you think?”
“Uh-huh.” Keir’s grin had broadened. “Good thinking, Carter.” His expression had turned serious. “Okay, the position is yours. Just remember that we want you to keep our VIPs happy but not at the expense of taking any kind of guff. Do you understand what I mean?”
She did. Men hit on you in this town. Finding ways to put men off, but politely, was a necessity when you worked in a place where the food, the drinks, the good times all seemed not just free but endless.
Cassie was the person who had taught her how to do it.
They’d met right after Dawn passed the test the Song offered employees who wanted to learn to be dealers. Dawn was still a waitress at the Reveille coffee shop; Cassie had just taken a job as a cocktail waitress in the casino after deciding she’d had enough of dancing behind a bar. They’d hit it off so well that Dawn had moved out of her cramped furnished room and into Cassie’s tiny apartment while she looked for a place of her own.
Raising the Stakes Page 7