“I’ll be in the bar,” he said and stormed off.
“Nice guy,” the officer said.
Welcome to the hospitality business. She turned back to him, checked his nametag. “Officer Jackson, what can I do?”
“If we could get a look at your security footage, maybe there’s something there.”
She nodded. “I’ll take you upstairs.”
After ushering the police to the security control room, she phoned the victimized guest and offered the use of the hotel’s fleet of cars for as long as necessary. For tonight, she’d need to track down a driver.
The elevator doors opened just as her phone chirped. Kurt, her assistant hotel manager. She waved the people inside the elevator to continue without her “Hi, Kurt.”
“We have a problem.”
For the second time, Kristen strode through the lobby doors and, thanks to the popularity of the two nightclubs in the hotel, ran into a crush of people. A gust of night wind blew her hair in front of her face and she tucked it behind her ear. She sidestepped, found Kurt waiting for her and guided him from milling guests.
“You’re telling me,” she said, her voice strained with forced control, “in addition to the stolen guest’s car, one of our Bentleys and a Mercedes are gone?”
“Yes,” Kurt said.
“How did this happen?”
“We don’t know. Both sets of keys were locked in the safe.”
“Were the cars taken out tonight?”
“Yes, the Bentley was out twice and the Mercedes once.”
“And there were no issues?”
Kurt held his hands palm up. “Not a one. Both drivers turned in the keys and went home.”
“The police are upstairs in the control room. Do they know?”
“Yes. They’re reviewing the tapes.”
Kristen’s phone beeped with a text. The auction of the diamond necklace was about to start. She should get in there.
A second squad car, lights flashing, entered the circular drive already bumper to bumper with cars. Nothing like causing a scene. What a damned night. Kristen and Kurt rushed to greet the officers and waited for them to join her on the sidewalk.
The older officer stood eye to eye with her, while she towered over the shorter one. “Hello, officers. I’m Kristen Dante.”
“Ms. Dante, I’m Officer Burns,” the bigger one said. “This is my partner, Officer Sams. Busy night here.”
Kristen nodded. “Yes, we have a large function in the ballroom and the nightclubs, well, they draw a crowd most nights.”
“Okay. Any witnesses come forward?”
“Not yet,” Kurt said.
Burns’s radio crackled and he stepped away.
“The other two officers are upstairs copying the security footage,” Kristen said. “What now?”
Sams nodded. “We called for a detective. Someone will come down and follow up. Meantime, we’ll do a BOLO—be on the lookout—for the stolen cars. Maybe something will pop. Most stolen cars go to certain locations. We’ll concentrate on those areas. Any idea what time this happened?”
“Yes,” Kurt said. “Both cars had been taken out this evening between seven and eight. The Bentley was signed back in at 8:45 p.m. and the Mercedes at nine. The keys were put in the safe. One of the valets noticed the cars missing at 10:15 p.m. when he parked a car in the area.”
“When was the guest’s car stolen?”
Kurt shrugged. “He hadn’t moved the car since he checked in yesterday, but went back this evening around 9:45 p.m. to retrieve something and the car was gone.”
Kristen turned to the officer. “Maybe all the cars were taken at the same time.”
If that were the case, something would have to be on the security footage. And the hotel was busy tonight. Wouldn’t someone have seen something?
Burns finished his call and joined them. “A detective is on the way.”
“What are the chances we’ll recover the cars?” Kristen asked.
“If these guys are any good, they know how to disable the factory antitheft devices. You have LoJack or anything?”
Kristen shook her head, almost embarrassed by it, but between the cost of the cars, the upkeep and the insurance, maintaining a fleet was expensive. With her father’s approval, they had avoided the expense of installing additional tracking systems. Now she wondered if that risk had been worth it.
They’d gambled. And lost.
“No tracking. We’d hoped the standard antitheft systems would do the job.”
The officer shrugged. “You never know. You could get lucky.”
Somehow, he didn’t sound as if he believed it.
* * *
Billy checked the time again. In a few minutes, the necklace would be sold to the highest bidder and he could get the hell out of here. The last bid had been two-and-a-half mil. That, he had to admit, was fudging impressive.
Monk sidled up to him. “Something is happening out front.”
A familiar buzz that he’d savored since childhood sparked. Had there ever been a time when he’d been able to resist the call of adventure? Nope. “What is it?”
“If I knew, I’d have told you. I heard one of the guests say there’s two Miami-Dade squads out front.” Monk jerked his head toward the door. “I’ll throw you a bone. Go check it out. See if Kristen needs help.”
“Have I mentioned I love you?”
“Not recently.”
Considering he and Monk were working their way back from what the head shrinkers would call interpersonal conflict, Billy decided not to pursue the conversation. Besides, two squads out front would be a whole lot more fun.
He strolled to the ballroom doors and once out of sight, picked up the pace to the elevator bank. No sense running down thirty flights when he wasn’t even sure there was an emergency.
Minutes later, the automatic lobby doors opened for him and he stepped into a mosh pit of people. Yikes. Busy place for a Thursday.
He scanned left, then right, and spotted Madame Hotness conferring with two uniforms. M.H. held her hands folded in front of her, her head dipped so she could hear the shorter cop. Billy laughed. Suddenly, he had a thing for tall women.
M.H. pointed to the door, nodded and turned away from the officers. She headed in his general direction, so Billy put himself in her path. “Can I help with something?”
Lurching to a stop, she wobbled on her sky-high heels and he reached to steady her. She clasped his arm and they stood for a second while Billy’s mind went all the places it shouldn’t. Now if this woman had slipped him her number… Yow.
She stepped out of his grasp. “Is the auction over?”
“Just about. We heard something was up. You need anything?”
“Uh, no. I’m fine. Well, as fine as can be with three cars stolen.”
Shazam. “Three? In one night?”
“Two hotel cars and one belonging to a guest. These officers just got here and two others are up in the security office reviewing camera footage. I think they can handle it. You can head back upstairs. Thank you, though.”
Dismissed. Not fun. But three cars boosted in one night? That was enough of a visceral hit to satisfy his jones for excitement. Maybe this hotel gig wasn’t so bad after all.
Sirens and then a loud, repetitive beep blared behind him, and he turned to see an ambulance backing onto the sidewalk.
“What is this now?” M.H. hustled to the ambulance and Billy followed.
“I’m the hotel general manager,” Kristen said to the paramedics as they hauled a gurney out of the back end of the bus. “What’s happening?”
“Possible heart attack, eighteen-oh-two.”
M.H. paddled her hands forward. “Go!”
The paramedics tore through the lobby doors, screaming at people to give way, and she turned back to Billy. “I cannot believe this night.”
He cocked his head. “It’s a humdinger.”
And then she did something he’d never forget. In the midst o
f the raging chaos in her very expensive hotel, she laughed. The sound of it settled inside him and a burst of heat drilled into his chest. He had to have this woman.
“I have to go,” she said. “If someone dies in my hotel, I’ll kill myself.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. South Beach in December. Yep. Not so bad. He pulled his phone from his suit pocket.
“What’s up?” Monk said.
“Three cars boosted.”
“No shit?”
“I’m gonna get on this. See what I can find out.”
“No. Get back up here.”
Not so fast, pal. This was the most fun Billy had seen all damned night. He made crackling noises into the phone. “What? Speak up.”
“I know you can hear me. Get. Your. Ass. Back. Here.”
“I got a bad connection. I’ll call you back.” He clicked off and wandered toward the parking lot for a sneak and peek.
After snooping around the crime scene and making friends with the cashier in the valet office, his phone rang. Bobby V. Billy stepped into the lobby, suddenly teeming with people, and assumed the fundraiser must be over. The valets would be hopping now.
Billy stuck his finger in his ear to muffle the noise. “Yo.”
“Duck and cover. Monk is headed your way.”
Pain in the ass. “Are you done upstairs?”
“Yeah. Everyone is gone.”
Just then, Monk stepped out of one of the elevators and his gaze zoomed to Billy.
“I’m out.” Billy hung up and prepared for this latest battle with his coworker.
Monk halted a foot in front of him, arms folded. “I’m sick of asking what you’re doing.”
“Stop asking then. Besides, you told me to check it out.”
“I told you to see if Kristen needed help. I have since spoken with her and she said she told you she didn’t. Where’ve you been?”
Billy flicked two fingers toward a darkened hallway lined with closed shops. He wasn’t about to scream in the middle of that herd of people. He stopped in front of one of the shops and spun to face Monk. “Here’s the deal, we got two hotel cars gone. A Bentley and a Mercedes. A guest’s Range Rover is also in the wind. After the cops got done, I checked out the parking lot. No broken glass anywhere.”
Monk shook his head. “What are you doing?”
Eff’s sake, how many times was he going to ask? “Dude, shut up and listen. I made nice with the shorty in the valet office and she said the Bentley and Mercedes were out tonight. Within an hour after the drivers dropped off the keys, those babies were history.”
Monk did that puffing up his chest thing—the alpha-dog routine—and stepped closer. “This is not our problem. Kristen wants the cops to handle it. Do not piss her off.”
Billy waved him away. “She doesn’t know I’m poking around.”
“And it’ll stay that way. Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I am not babysitting you. Got it?”
Babysitting? The expired passport was definitely his fault, and maybe he’d screwed up with the almost-being-beaten-to-death-by-a-coworker incident, which he’d severely chastised himself over, but he didn’t need someone watching him. What he needed was to figure out this car theft deal and score points with his boss. To get square with Vic and get his life back on track.
“Born to Run” blasted from Monk’s phone and he checked the screen. “Now I’m in trouble.” He picked up the call. “Hey, Iz…Yeah…I’m finishing with Billy. I’ll be right up.”
After ending the call with the super-model clone, he shoved his phone into his suit pocket. “I gotta get upstairs or she’ll murder me. I promised her a vacation and my work time is over.”
“Can we say whipped?”
Monk held up his hands. “It’s bullshit like this that got you guarding jewelry. Now, I’m going to my room. Stay the fuck out of trouble.”
Chapter Two
Late the next morning, Billy stood street side in front of the double towered, thirty-eight story hotel staring at the reflective windows. Such a bizarre color, like aged whiskey. At the very top, stretched Dante in giant gold letters. These people knew how to make an effing statement. A Las Vegas style hotel at the southernmost tip of South Beach. This secluded end of Miami was close enough to the activity of the Art Deco district, but without the chaos. Best of both worlds. Brilliant.
He swung his camera up and snapped a few shots.
An ocean breeze blew and Billy tilted his face skyward. As much as he hadn’t wanted to come here, he might be in love with the climate. Which was saying something since, at thirty-one years old, he hadn’t found the place he wanted to call home. A place that settled his constantly raging mind.
Sure, his family lived in Virginia and he visited a few times a year, but he didn’t see himself moving back there full time. And Chicago? Great city, but he’d yet to even rent an apartment. Why bother when he could stay in an executive suite and not mess with buying furniture. All he had to worry about moving were his clothes and his beloved Nikon.
Not a bad life.
“Hi, baby,” a sexy blonde said as she and her friend wandered down the sidewalk. Billy gave her bikini-clad ass a gander over the top of his sunglasses. Crazy hot women here.
Just ridiculous. But he’d always been a fan of the ridiculous.
Yeah. South Beach in December.
“Yo.”
Billy shifted front and center to see Monk and Izzy walking toward him. Monk wore his typical outfit of cargo shorts, white T-shirt and flip-flops. His head, as usual, was wrapped in one of his many do-rags. Izzy, on the other hand, looked stunning in a white, gauzy cover-up that did a piss poor job of masking the red bikini under it. The wide brim of her hat flopped in the wind and her black sunglasses hid her green eyes.
“What are you doing?” Monk asked for the millionth time.
“I’m standing here. Is that a crime? Hey, Iz.”
“Billy, I adore you, but you’re horning in on my time with Peter.”
“It’s not me. Tell your boyfriend to lay off.”
“Our room,” Monk said, “faces the street. You’ve been out here half an hour.”
Get a life, man. “Seriously, you are whacked. In my defense, something is bugging me about those cars getting boosted so soon after they got back. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”
Monk puffed his cheeks, blew the air out and turned to Izzy. “This is what happens. Relentless. And he wonders why I beat the crap out of him last summer.”
“Listen to me a sec—”
But Izzy didn’t want to hear it and held up one hand. “I’m going to the beach. Billy, we’re having lunch at one o’clock. Join us if you’d like. By the way, I like your haircut. The long hair was cute, but this is better.” She poked Monk in the chest. “You’ve got ten minutes. Then I find a pool boy to entertain me.”
With his jealous streak, old Monk wouldn’t like that. Billy grinned as she made her way toward the hotel lobby. Love that girl.
“One o’clock?” he called, snatching his phone from his pocket to set a reminder. He had no doubt something, somewhere would distract him and he’d lose track of time.
“One o’clock,” she hollered back. “Peter, you’re down to nine and a half minutes.”
Monk held his hands wide. “Happy now?”
“Absolutely. Hey, you’d better follow her.” And get off my ass. “You don’t have to play daddy all the time. Give it a rest. Besides, I’m gonna talk to the valets. See what’s what when they park the cars.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“I already got to a couple front desk people this morning. I thought maybe they’d know what happens with the keys after the valet office closes.”
“You’re killing me. If you screw this up, Vic will fry your ass. And mine with it.”
“You worry too much.”
Except Vic had told him to go to South Beach and A) get some rest, B) stop screwing up and C) figure out how to not piss people off. Too bad none of those th
ings came easy.
Truth of it was, he didn’t want to be this way. Even when he knew he was about to cross a line, he struggled to control his active brain. He’d spent most of his life trying to manage his need to be the smart-ass cut-up. Sure he liked when people laughed at his jokes, but at some point, he’d learned to thrive on it and the older he got the more he needed it. When it came to attention, he was a heroin addict with a two hundred dollar a day habit. Lately that habit had beaten him down to being so strung out and confused that he didn’t have the energy to stop himself when he screwed up.
And that, he surmised, was how he got here. He had the impression he’d better accomplish all the things Vic had told him to or he’d be waving goodbye to the job he loved.
Still, this car theft thing was juice-a-licious.
He and Monk walked up the covered circular drive where the hotel’s front entry consisted of a large sliding door with four sets of manual doors bookending. A bellman stood off to one side. Security cameras swiveled all around and, of course, Monk the obsessive car lover spotted a silvery-blue convertible sitting on the curve of the driveway.
He whistled. “An Aston Martin V8 Vantage. This is a helluva ride right here.”
“It’s cool,” Billy said.
“Cool?”
He shrugged. “I don’t even own a car. What do you want me to say?” In Billy’s opinion, cars were just another thing to take care of and with his travel schedule, he didn’t need the headache. Besides, he was never around enough to drive anywhere. When he needed one, he rented. Or took public transportation.
“This car is worth a hundred and fifty grand.”
“It’s a great car, so what? We’ve seen tons of them.” He glanced at the license plate. A vanity plate that read Krissy.
Holy crud.
He turned to the valet, Eddie, whom he had spoken to an hour ago. “Is this Kristen Dante’s car?”
Eddie eyeballed Monk. “Who are you?”
Gun-shy after the car thefts. “This is my buddy. We work together at Taylor Security.” Couldn’t hurt to reinforce that they’d been hired to be here. Even if the event they’d been hired for had nothing to do with overall hotel security.
Adrienne Giordano Page 2