Deadly Odds

by Adrienne Giordano

  Kate sipped her tea, let the heat and instant shot of caffeine buzz her system. The Sunnyside and hot tea. Life was normal for the first time all week.

  And, to boot, John was late. She had to laugh. This really was her normal. Her old normal anyway.

  The bells on the door jangled and she glanced up. John stood in the doorway, his long, lean body in his typical jeans and T-shirt under an open cotton shirt. His .45 and badge sat just above his right hip and he scanned each table, doing that cop thing of checking the room before he entered. She hadn’t seen him in at least a month, but nothing had changed.

  Nothing ever changed with John. A blessing and a curse.

  Thirty seconds later, he spotted her and approached. When he reached the table he leaned down and it hit her, that moment when his usual greeting of a peck on the cheek no longer fit the situation.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when I see you.” Still smiling, he held out his hand. “Shake hands?”

  “You cannot be serious.” She slid out of the booth and, yes, hugged him, taking in the clean scent of the bar soap he’d been using since she’d known him. “I’m not shaking your hand. That’s just ridiculous.”

  They both sat and Della came by, sliding a mug of coffee in front of John as she cruised by. “Thanks, Dell.”

  “You got it, handsome. I’ll be back for orders.”

  John took a sip and rested his head back. “Best damned coffee ever.” Then he looked across at her, his eyes a little sad. “Old habits, huh?”

  “The Sunnyside, a cup of tea and coffee you’d like to mainline. Yes, I’d say these are old habits.”

  “How’ve you been? You said on the phone you need help with a case.”

  “I do. And I’m sorry to have to call you.”

  “Kate?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up. We broke up. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help. We suck as a couple, but whatever you need, any time, you call me. What have you got?”

  “Couple of things. Anything you can tell me about the Dominion dealer who was murdered?”

  He puckered his lips. “I didn’t catch that case. It’s Logan’s. I wanted it though.”

  Homicide detectives. So competitive over cases. “Sorry. Have you heard anything about the dealer?”

  “You think it’s connected to something you’re working on?”

  “I don’t know. Something is definitely off at Fortuna. The mini-bac numbers are down and Don Sickler is so on edge he’s going to give himself a heart attack trying to catch a cheat. I can’t find a thing. I’m wondering if maybe that dealer at Dominion was…”

  “Bad?”

  She shrugged. The man had just been murdered, had a family in mourning and her mind automatically went to him being crooked. She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was worth asking.”

  “Like I said, I’m not in the loop. From what I’ve heard, they’re still checking him out. If I hear anything, and I’m able to share, I’ll let you know. What else?”

  “Someone broke into my room at Fortuna the other night.”

  John’s eyebrows shot straight up. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t in the room.” She didn’t need to go into details. She dug her phone out of her purse, tapped the screen and enlarged the photo of the bloody handprint. “When I got to the room, I found this. Someone left it.”

  “What the hell? How’d they get in?”

  “A woman called the front desk pretending to be me and told them my husband would be coming by to pick up a key. Of course, the staff had no way of knowing it wasn’t me, so when the guy showed up and didn’t have ID they”—she made air quotes, —“called me.”

  “Crap. Any video?”

  “Yes. It’s two different men. One asked for the key and the other left me the note. I didn’t recognize either one of them. The guy who broke into the room wore a hoodie. He’s smart. Kept his head down.”

  She took the phone, minimized the photo of the hand print and pulled the video of the hoodie guy entering her room. She handed John the phone again. “The PD sent the handprint to the lab, but they weren’t able to identify any of the prints. Whoever left it, isn’t in the system or wore gloves. We’re waiting on DNA.”

  John watched the video, paused it, studied it then played it back again. “Email me this and the photo. I’ll ask around, see if anything shakes loose. The bloody handprint might be something someone remembers from another case.”

  “Thank you.”

  Just as she was about to stow her phone, a text from Angel popped in telling her to check her email.

  “Okay. Hang on. Just got a text from Angel. Let’s see what this is.”

  She tapped the screen again, brought up an email from an hour ago, right after she’d left Fortuna. She read the message.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Whatcha got?” John asked.

  “She sent me a photo.” Kate leaned in, kept her voice low. “It’s a guy picked up by a traffic light camera in the area where Mark was murdered.”

  “Maybe she’s got something. Which, would be good because nothing is popping on our side. A dead agent? You know we’re all working this one.”

  Not a surprise. No matter what branch of law enforcement, when one of their own was murdered, everyone helped.

  She set the phone on the table between them and tapped the attachment. A grainy black and white photo popped up. The image had been shot from overhead and captured a man wearing a hoodie walking down the street. It was obviously daytime, but outside of that, the zoom was too tight and there was nothing else to see in the photo. Nothing to indicate the area where it was taken.

  Using two fingers, she zoomed in, enlarging the area around the man’s head. As he walked he peered down at the ground, further obscuring his face, but—wait.

  The nose.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

  A burst of tension exploded at the base of her skull and her eyes throbbed.

  “What is it?”

  Disregarding her makeup, she pressed her fingers into her eyes, waited a few seconds for the lancing pain to subside, then went back to John. “I think I saw this guy at Fortuna the day Mark was murdered.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Mark was at Fortuna that first morning,” Kate said. “Working undercover. I hadn’t yet introduced myself to the executives there and was playing blackjack, just getting a feel for the place. Mark spotted me and we met in the lounge for a few minutes. He asked if I knew anything about one of the Dominion dealers. Dale Cousins.”

  John sat forward. “The dealer they found in the alley.”

  “Yes. Mark was working a case and Dale Cousins was on his radar. And, before you ask, no, nothing about the meeting seemed odd to me. Not at the time.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “From where Mark and I were sitting, I saw a guy fiddling with his phone.” She tapped her nose. “He had a weird nose. It hooked. Sort of.” She pointed at the photo on her own phone still on the table between them. “Look at his nose. I’m not positive, but I think it’s the same guy from Fortuna. The one with the phone.”

  John rubbed his free hand over his mouth. “Oh, hell. You met with Mark, who tells you about a dealer he’s watching and within hours both men are dead. And then some guy in a hoodie—like the one in that picture Angel just sent you—breaks into your hotel room.”

  “Yes. The dealer was found before I met with Mark.”

  “And you told Angel all of this?”

  “I did. She’s on it.”

  John sat back, fiddling with the spoon in front of him. “I don’t like any of this. Are you okay up at Fortuna? Did you change rooms?”

  “They offered. What’s the point? He found me the first time. He’ll just find me again. The room was re-keyed, though, so I’m fine. But I’ll look at the video again from when my room was broken into. His face was obscured, but they have a shot of him in the elevator getting my room
key from the second man. It’s the only full face shot we have of him. At the time, I didn’t put it together, the crooked nose belonging to the man from the lounge.”

  “Kate. Come on.”

  She held up her hands. “I know. I was distracted. We were in a meeting and dealing with another issue. And, honestly, he was dressed differently in the lounge. Not casual and wearing a different jacket.”

  “Put all the images you have side by side. See if it’s the same guy. And, goddamnit, Kate, send me everything. And reconsider that room change until we figure out if the guy in these photos is the guy you saw messing with his phone. Because if it is, he may have murdered a dealer and a federal agent.”

  * * *

  Outside the diner, the late morning sun drove away the early chill and Kate tilted her head up, soaking in the warmth as the realization struck that she didn’t know when she’d see John again. Sure, she’d speak to him, but sitting down face-to-face? Who knew?

  Theoretically, she might never see him again. A sad thought, but in a city this size it could happen. She looked up at him, found him studying her, those blue eyes she knew so well focused on her. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  “Yes, you have. You’re a good man, John Nawson. I hope you find someone who will love you the way you deserved to be loved.”

  “Kate—”

  She held her hand up. “We don’t need to talk. I just wanted you to know.”

  She turned, stepped off the curb and scooted between two cars on her way to the opposite side of the lot.

  An engine roared from the quiet street and she swung her head left. A giant white pickup barreled around the corner. The passenger’s arm extended out the window and the sun glinted off shiny metal.

  Gun.

  “Kate!” John yelled from somewhere behind her.

  Panic whistled in her head and a blood surge thawed her frozen limbs. The truck, now only a few feet away, flew by. That shiny gun aimed right at her, sunlight bouncing off the weapon and blinding her. Crack!

  Shot.

  Kate leaped sideways, her body moving through the air in agonizing slow motion that had her heading straight for a parked car. Crash. She hit the trunk of the car, her ribcage taking the full blow. She gasped, sucking in a painful breath while rolling sideways. Her head bounced against the car and something flashed.

  She closed her eyes, groaned at the pain in her ribs and again something flashed, blurring her vision.

  “Kate,” John yelled again, closer this time.

  Right there. But God her head hurt. Don’t pass out. Wasn’t that some kind of rule with a head injury? To stay awake. Who knew?

  But, damn, it hurt.

  Her body slipped an inch down the trunk and she scrambled, hoping for traction against the rear of the car. But she continued her slide, rolling sideways now and another stab of agony bolted from her ribs into her chest.

  Her body halted. Stopped mid-slide. Someone’s hands—John—scooped under her arms, gently lowering her to the ground.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  Dirty liar.

  “Are you hit?”

  Good question. One she wasn’t quite sure she could answer. “I don’t think so.”

  “I don’t see any blood. I didn’t get a look at the shooter, but I got the plate. Did you see anything?”

  “No.” She sucked a breath. “Wow, my ribs are killing me.”

  She opened her eyes, stared straight up at the bluest sky she might have ever seen and instantly regretted it. Knifing pain, just a hot, tearing pressure, ripped into her head and she imagined her skull coming apart. “John, if I pass out, I hit my head and my ribs might be fractured.”

  “Sshh,” he said. “Calling it in now. Don’t move. I’ll get an ambulance.”

  * * *

  “Marcia,” Ross called from his office.

  “Yes, master?”

  Smart-ass. He shook his head, let out a half-laugh that maybe, possibly, chipped at a piece of the tension locking up his neck.

  Kate had told him she was leaving the hotel for a meeting and would be back later. Three times he’d tried to call her and three times he’d gotten voicemail. Without a doubt, he was advancing on stalker territory, but after that bloody handprint, his worry-meter had gone nuclear.

  And it had been three hours since she’d left. If she were heading to Vegas, that three hours wouldn’t be a huge deal, but the drive time left room for a return phone call.

  Definitely stalker territory.

  But this feeling, his instinctive restlessness only happened when the shit was about to hit the fan.

  Marcia zoomed into his sight line as she rolled her chair backward. “Ross? What do you need?”

  “Have you seen Kate?”

  “No. Want me to find her?”

  Yes.

  If he’d called her three times and she hadn’t responded, chances were she wouldn’t respond to Marcia either. “I’ll take care of it.”

  He scooped up his desk phone. One more time. Might as well try. Rather than a dial tone, dead air met his ear.

  “Hello?”

  Kate’s voice. Jesus. Finally. “Hi. Where are you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  Maybe that tone wasn’t exactly the right one. “Sorry. I’ve been calling you. After yesterday, I was…concerned.”

  There. Said it. So what? He could sit here and sling some bullcrap about needing something from her, but really, all he needed was to know that she was A-okay.

  “Um…”

  “You sound…off.”

  “I…ah…had a little accident.”

  Ross sat straight. “Where? In the hotel?”

  “No. I had that meeting outside the hotel. I’m in the E.R. waiting to see if I have a concussion. And a broken rib.”

  Holy hell. “Did you fall?”

  “Sort of. I was coming out of the restaurant where my meeting was and I charged into the parking lot.”

  “You got hit by a car?”

  “No. The car was passing by on the street. Someone…well, someone stuck a gun out the passenger window and shot at me.”

  Wait. What? He shook his head. “Someone shot at you?”

  “Who got shot?” Marcia yelled from her desk.

  “He missed,” Kate said. “I jumped out of the way. But I dove into a parked car and hit my head.”

  “And your ribs.”

  “And my ribs.”

  “Who got shot?” Marcia yelled again.

  “Hang on,” Ross said to Marcia. “What hospital?”

  “Mercy General. I’m fine. Really. As soon as I get these test results, I’ll be back. Ooh, a nurse just came in.”

  She pulled the phone away, muffling the conversation on the other end.

  Having had enough of standby mode, Marcia appeared in his doorway. “What happened?”

  “Kate got hurt. Someone took a shot at her from a passing car. They missed but she’s at the hospital getting checked out. Clear my schedule today.”

  “Of course. Whatever you need.”

  “Ross?” Kate said.

  “I’m here.”

  “I need to go. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  Ross dropped the phone into the cradle, grabbed his wallet and car keys from his desk drawer and whipped his suit jacket out of the closet. He shoved his arms into the jacket while walking. Already at her desk, readying to rework his schedule, Marcia glanced up. “Do I need to ask where you’re going?”

  “I’m taking a run to the hospital to check on her. Call if you need me.”

  On a normal day, a trip to Mercy General, a mammoth hospital on the outskirts of Vegas, would take a good hour from Lowville. Today? Forty-two minutes. He might have been overstepping here, but no one should sit in a hospital alone. Ever.

  Particularly a woman who invaded his mind more often than made him comfortable.

  After being directed to the last room—if the oversized cube could
be called a room—on the right, he stopped for a moment to take a breath. He hated hospitals. Didn’t everyone? The stale, antiseptic smell and lack of fresh air was enough to chase people off.

  Before entering Kate’s room, Ross hesitated. Focused on not freaking out. The woman was always so confident and strong and, yeah, he’d admit it…beautiful. He took a second to get his mind straight. To prep himself for the sight of Kate banged up. What would he see when he walked in? Bruises? Gashes?

  If he imagined the worst, he’d be relieved if it wasn’t so bad. Plan for the worst. It worked for him in business. He hoped to hell it worked here.

  He lifted a hand to pull back the curtain.

  “Just got a couple of emails,” a man said from inside the room. “First one says they located the truck the shot came from. Five blocks from the diner. It’s stolen.”

  “We figured that,” Kate said.

  “Yeah. Second message is a photo of the guy you showed me. Different than yours though.”

  “The one from Mark’s crime scene?”

  Mark. The FBI agent she’d told him about.

  “Yeah. Same guy. Different picture. They probably grabbed it off the video.”

  “That’s him,” Kate said.

  “The email says after he turned the corner, the cameras lost him.”

  “This is a different angle. Was this the guy you saw at Fortuna? The pictures are blurry.”

  Ross dropped his hand, stepped back from the curtain like it had blasted him. She’d seen something suspicious at Fortuna, a possible murderer, and she—their hot-shot security consultant—hadn’t bothered to tell him.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “I’m not positive,” she said from inside the room, “but look at that hook nose. How many people have a nose like that? Wait…shoot. I think I saw him at the hotel a second time. When I was in the club.”

  “Seriously? With that nose, you’re just realizing it now? How did you not remember that?”

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m a little off my game. What with two murders. It happens.”

  Then she laughed. He didn’t know at what, but something about that laugh hit Ross sideways. There were plenty of laughs that meant all sorts of things. Laughs humored people, enticed people, pumped an ego. The killer of all laughs, the one Ross loved to hear—most times—was the one that happened just before an attractive woman he admired fell into bed with him. That was the laugh of intimacy. Of long, hot nights.