by Beth Yarnall
Of all the hotels in all of Las Vegas, I find a key card from the Raine? My luck. It sucked. So very, very bad. And my idiotic, suspicious, conspiracy-crazy mind automatically clicked to the possibility that this key card…from that hotel…could have fallen out of Jun’s pocket during the cab ride.
No. Jun was staying at the Excalibur not the Raine. Someone else must have lost it. It could be anyone’s.
But what if it wasn’t? What if it was the key to either Trinity’s or Dhane’s suite? And what if Jun had used it when he killed one or both of them?
No. Not possible.
But…he could have. He had means…the key. It was possible that either Dhane or Trinity could have given him the key to their suite. Opportunity…I had no idea where he’d been when either one of them was killed. Motive? What would’ve been his motive? They were his friends. They were the family he’d created in place of the one he’d lost. He’d been devastated by their deaths. Especially Trinity’s.
I sucked in a breath. What if the killer had planted it on him? Tried to set him up? The police wouldn’t have searched him when they’d brought him in for questioning, but they probably would have when they restrained him after his breakdown. They might not have given a second thought to finding a hotel key card on him. Or maybe they didn’t find it at all.
I fretted until I broke out in a sweat, my mind spinning one possible scenario after another. I’d worked myself up so much that I began to imagine the key card had been planted in the cab or on Jun for me to find like my flower in Trinity’s hand. It might be another message. Maybe somebody, maybe the killer, was watching me right now to see what I’d do with it.
I spun in my seat, looking over my right, then left shoulder. All I saw was a sea of anonymous faces focused on the teacher of the workshop, not on me. Facing front again, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. My paranoia soared until my armpits and palms were moist and tingly and I was positive that the murderer had me in his or her sights.
Suddenly the thought of standing next to a bleeding poster with Alex was much more appealing than sitting here with eyes, maybe the eyes of a killer, on me. Watching…waiting.
I jumped up out of my seat and excused my way down the row until I hit the door at a run. I kept on running back down the hall, through the lobby, and straight at Alex.
He caught me, pulling me in and away. Turning his body to protect me, he made a motion toward the gun he’d normally be carrying if was on duty, prepared to battle whatever or whoever was chasing me. “What happened? What’s the matter?”
I clung to him, shaking like a drug addict in her third day of detox.
“Azalea, answer me.”
“I…” I what? I found a key card and freaked out for no reason? In the presence of Alex’s practical solidity, I felt completely stupid. I’d let my paranoia run away with my reason, conjuring up one ridiculous scenario after another. I was losing it for sure. It was bound to happen, really. I’d endured maximum exposure to some major whack jobs and now insanity had me in its insidious grip. Or maybe I was just overly stressed and sleep deprived.
I decided to go with option two.
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m fine. Just a little tired and stressed out, I guess.”
“I don’t think so. I know panic when I see it. What happened?”
“Nothing outside my own head. I’m fine, I promise. How much longer until Kennedy’s guy shows up?”
“Could be five minutes or an hour.” He searched my gaze, maybe looking for the truth or something less definable, like my sanity. After a few moments, he seemed satisfied. Relaxing, he released me from his embrace but stayed tethered to me by our joined hands.
Twenty minutes later, Kennedy’s guy showed up, asked us a few questions, then did his thing with the poster, taking it with him when he left. It was all very anticlimactic and rather boring, not at all like TV.
“What now?” Alex asked.
I checked the time on my phone. “We’ve got a few hours until the awards show. Let’s grab some food and take it back to the room. I’m going to need all that time to get ready.”
We headed toward the front of the convention center to grab a taxi.
“All that time?”
I propped my hands on my hips. “You’ve never lived with a woman, have you?”
“I have three sisters.”
“Three? Wow. Older or younger?”
“Older.”
“How much older?”
“There’s eleven years between me and my youngest sister. I was kind of a surprise.”
“I bet you were. Well, that certainly explains it.”
“What?” He seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Why you have no idea how long it takes a woman to get ready for a special occasion. There’s hair time, makeup time, getting dressed time, getting undressed time, getting redressed time, trying on multiple pairs of shoes time, and primping and posing time followed by last-minute changes time. Plus you have to account for forgetting and going back for something time.”
“I’m glad I’m a guy,” he mumbled as he climbed into the cab with me.
“Speaking of, what are you wearing tonight?” I eyed his button-down shirt and slacks, doubting he’d brought anything more fancy than that. “It’s formal.”
“I have a dark suit. Is that formal enough?”
“You brought a dark suit to Las Vegas?”
“I always bring a suit,” he defended with a shrug. “You never know.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“I bet you pay your bills as soon as you get them.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You probably fold your underwear, too.”
“So?”
“Let me guess, you change your oil every three thousand miles and never have less than a quarter of a tank of gas. You change the batteries in your smoke detectors on the same day every year. You don’t cheat on your taxes. Your mother gets flowers every Mother’s Day. And you’re never late to an appointment.”
He glared at me like I’d caught him under the covers with a Victoria’s Secret catalog. “Is that a crime?”
“Nerd alert.”
He folded his arms over his chest and huffed. Apparently, I’d deeply offended him, when in reality I found his nerd status kind of sexy.
“If you have a well-worn library card in your wallet and could get rid of the thousand and one viruses on my computer, I’d probably jump you right now.”
His smile crept in slowly, getting wickeder and wickeder as it grew. He pulled his wallet out and handed me a library card so worn it was nearly transparent. “And the answer is yes, if the motherboard isn’t shot, I could probably fix your computer.”
“Oh my God, that’s so hot,” I breathed, edging closer until I had him pressed up against the door. I toyed with a button on his shirt. “Um, how many majors did you have in college?”
“Three.”
I bit my lip and let out a whimper.
“I speak four languages.”
I leaned in, running a hand up his leg. “Tell me more,” I whispered in his ear, then bit his earlobe.
“I, uh, my IQ is one forty-three.”
“Oh, God.” I crawled up into his lap, my hands fisting in his hair. “More.” I licked the edge of his ear and rubbed up against him.
“Uh…yeah…I, mmm, qualify for, ah, Mensa.”
That snapped it. I dove in, kissing him with a hot, hungry abandon I hadn’t felt in forever. Maybe never. He lowered me down on the seat, kissing me back. We rolled around and some clothing may have gotten dislodged, hands seeking the feel of flesh on flesh.
“You want me to drive around a little more, or you wanna take that upstairs?”
Breathing hard, Alex and I turned our heads to find the cab driver watching us over the back of the seat. Alex leveraged himself off me and fumbled around for his wallet, which must have gotten lost during our mad make-out session. I scram
bled to sit up, yanked my clothing back in place, and opened the cab door, hoping for a quick exit.
Finally locating his wallet on the floor, Alex lifted my foot to grab it, nearly sending me out the door headfirst. He reached for my hand and tugged me back upright. “Sorry.”
He paid the driver and we found ourselves standing on the curb in awkward silence, watching the taxi drive off.
Alex ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it back into place, his gaze everywhere but on me. “We, ah, forgot to get food.”
I rubbed at my forehead. “Oh, yeah.”
“I can go get some.” He glanced around as though he were unsure how to accomplish the task. “I’ll just go. Find food.” He strode away, leaving me to gape at his retreating back.
Had he just walked away? Oh my God. I covered my face, mortified. What was wrong with me? I’d backed him into a corner and threw myself at him. He probably hated me now, couldn’t wait to get away from me. I whirled around and walked into the hotel, embarrassment burning my cheeks.
I half jogged to the elevator bank and jabbed a finger at the call button.
“Just so you know…” Alex said from behind me, causing me to jump and spin.
Flattening myself against the elevator doors, I looked at him with wide, unblinking eyes.
“I’m not leaving because I didn’t like what happened in that taxi,” he said, frustration and anger deepening his voice.
“Okay.”
He began to pace. “I thought… With everything that’s happened to you I thought…” He stopped and glared at me, all rumpled and sweaty, his brows lowered. “I think it’s best if we don’t get carried away just yet. Understand?”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” No, I didn’t understand at all. Not at freaking all.
He nodded as if some great decision had been made. “Okay. I’ll go get the food, then.” He turned and marched away.
The elevator pinged, and before I could think to move, the doors opened. Losing my balance, arms pinwheeling, I fell back, taking out an older couple. We landed in a pile of twisting, grumbling bodies. Coins from their gambling cups flew everywhere, pelting us, as we lay sprawled on the floor. The other occupants tiptoed around us and off the elevator. I thought I saw one guy scoop up some coins on his way out. Jerk.
I rolled to the side and assisted the couple to their feet, helping them pick up as many coins as we could find. The man complained about the ones that had likely fallen down the elevator shaft, so I gave him a twenty and wished them luck in their gambling.
Trudging down the hall to my room, I was so busy trying to decipher what Alex had said that I didn’t notice the man walking toward me from the other end of the hall until we were almost even. He watched me, blatantly staring, but not in a sinister or sexual way. He looked at me like you would a palm tree or office art.
We came even. He didn’t smile or speak, just stared. I turned as he passed, not trusting enough to put my back to him. He maintained eye contact for another moment or two, then turned away and continued on. I stopped and watched him until he disappeared down the corridor to the elevators.
Weird.
My curiosity piqued, I jogged after him, holding my big bag to my body so it wouldn’t rattle and give me away. Peeking around the corner, I was shocked to find he’d disappeared. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. After a moment they closed and the elevator was on its way again. I tiptoed around, trying to figure out where the man had gone, and came upon another hallway. I held my breath and peered around the corner. Nothing. Just an empty hall dotted with doors.
I headed back to my room, questioning my mental faculties. Hello? Paranoid much? I’d just made the turn down the hall to my room when…there the man was again! Still staring, headed my way. We passed each other as we’d done before, but this time after he passed, I hightailed it to my room, swiped my key card, and ducked inside.
I leaned against the closed door, clutching my chest, trying to calm myself down. What was that man doing, patrolling the halls? Walking off energy? Maybe he had a strange kind of OCD. I looked through the peephole of the door and waited. There he was again, looking right at my door as he went by!
I flipped the lock on the door and made a beeline for the mini fridge. I pulled out one of the juice-box-sized wines I’d sneaked onto the plane, punched a hole in the top, and drank straight from the container. Who needed a glass when you had the finest fermented grapes ever packaged in cardboard? I glugged a little more, then gave the door a sideways glance, completely positive the man wasn’t just out for a stroll.
My phone rang, keeping me from indulging my curiosity. Juan Carlos.
“Hello?” I answered.
“What are you wearing tonight? It’d better be good because we’re going to be bridesmaids. I can’t be documented for posterity standing next to you decked out in one of those lacy, vintagey dresses you think look Victorian, but really look like you wrapped yourself in my aunt Mabel’s good tablecloth. And do something with your hair for once. Wait! Never mind. I’ll be right over.”
He hung up before I could ask him what the hell he was talking about. A minute later there was a knock at my door. I checked the peephole before opening the door to Juan Carlos.
I started to speak, but before I could get a word out, Juan Carlos brushed past me, mouth running like a legislator midfilibuster.
“You’re not dressed? We’re going to be late! Look at you. Oh my God. We’ve got so much work to do.” He ran his gaze over me. “You look like you got into a hot and heavy backseat tumble.”
I put my back to him, trying to hide my flaming cheeks. Dang Juan Carlos! Why did he always have to be so observant?
He went to my closet and started sliding hangers, making comments on everything he came across. “Ugly. You look hippy in this. Always hated that color. You spent money on that? I bet the dead presidents cried. Well, well, well. What do we have here?” He pulled Alex’s suit from the closet. “Holy moley, mother-loving designer! Prada,” he said on a pleasured sigh, rubbing a sleeve across his cheek. “Detective Dreamy has the best taste. Can I have him when you’re done? I promise to be good to him. We can dress in matching Prada. We’ll be the Pradettes. No, the Pradettos.”
“Gimme that.” I took the suit and returned it to the closet. I fished around in the closet some, then pulled out the dress I intended to wear. Although now in light of Alex’s Prada—and who brings a Prada suit to Las Vegas?—I wasn’t so sure it was right. “I’m wearing this.” I held up the dress, blocking his face from my view. He went stone silent. I lowered the dress, afraid he hated it so much he’d passed out from too much ugly. “Well?”
“It’s gorgeous,” he whispered hoarsely. I could have sworn he had tears in his eyes, too. “Who picked it out for you? It’s perfect.”
I yanked the dress away from his sight. “I picked it out.”
“Gawd, where’d you get it? Can I touch it?”
“You really like it?”
“Totally. I wish I could wear it. Lemme see.”
I handed the dress over, still not sure it was right.
Juan Carlos took it to the window where the light was better. “Real vintage. The lining, the boning, the construction…they don’t make them like this anymore.” He held it against his body, shaping it to fit his nonexistent curves. “I think for the first time ever I wish I were a girl just so I could wear this. Where ever did you get it? Do they have more? Change that. Do they have men’s clothes?”
“I got it in this little vintage clothing store off the Orange Circle. They have a separate store for men.” I remembered what I wanted to ask him about his phone call. “What were you talking about on the phone about us being bridesmaids?”
“Oh my God! Okay, so I got this phone call from Vivian and you’ll never guess what.” He waved a hand at me. “No, let me tell it. So Richard and I were…well never mind what we were doing. Vivian calls me and she’s all out of breath, squealing like a teenager at a concert, going on about
being in Vegas and what you do in Vegas—”
“She’s getting married?”
“Well, now you spoiled it. But yes! Viv and James were headed down to the courthouse to get their license, and after the awards we’re all going to a chapel to get them hitched. Can you believe it?”
I shook my head.
“That’s not the best part. She wants us to be bridesmaids!”
“Why didn’t she call me?”
“She said she did and you didn’t answer. Anyway.” He held up the dress. “This is so perfect. We’re going to match!”
I must have missed Viv’s call at the convention center. Stupid bad reception. I couldn’t believe it. Vivian and James were getting married. I was so happy for her. “I have to call her.”
“No time. If we’re going to fix you up to look good enough to stand next to me, then we’d better get busy.” He clapped his hands. “Chop, chop. Out of those ratty, old clothes. Put on a robe so you won’t mess up your hair and makeup getting dressed later.” He gave my dress one last lingering caress before hanging it back up. “Gorgeous. I promise you I’ll have her looking good enough to deserve you,” he told the dress. He sighed and turned back to me, eyeing me critically. “You brought, like, eight pairs of Spanx, right? And a good bra? Never mind.” He made a shooing motion. “Go. Change. I have half-a-dozen miracles to perform and not nearly enough time.”
I zipped into the bathroom, stripped down to my bra and panties, and threw on my robe. By the time I came out of the bathroom, Juan Carlos had set up a station, using the desk chair and full-length mirror. He sat in the chair, examining his eyebrows up close in the mirror while talking on the phone.
“That catty little mouse,” he said with some astonishment. “Who knew Plain Jane had it in her to double cross a double cross. Good for her.” He noticed me and held up a finger for me to wait. “I know you’re a genius,” he said into the phone. “That’s why we get along so well. I can’t do anything with the intel, but I still owe you. Okay. Later.” He clicked his phone off.