I willed my body to silence and, for once, it complied.
Craning my neck, I hazarded a peek around the corner. Thirty feet, no more, a man moved from shadow to shadow. A long coat hid his form. I slithered around the edge of the building and followed.
One weak bulb cast a tight shadow around a doorway—the painted sign long since faded to illegible. The man skirted the light, but I could see just enough to make out his outline. The coat looked like Romeo’s. The man was thin, angular, perhaps a bit taller, but it was hard to tell. Romeo or Reynolds? His walk gave him away—he shuffled rather than walked on his toes.
Reynolds. But it was hard to tell in the darkness.
Left to my own devices, I’d just point and shoot—sort of like sailing past asking for permission to simply ask for forgiveness later. But in this case, forgiveness would probably involve incarceration, so I needed to make sure it’d be worth it.
Reynolds.
I knew I’d shoot him someday, or I’d break his nose then choke the life out of him. But I could wait. Like buying a car, the anticipation would be way better than the fulfillment.
Keeping a decent distance, but ready to shoot should the need arise, I followed the man using the deeper darkness of the shadows. The fact that I accepted this as normal, just a part of my usual day, should have me worried. Or, at least, I thought it should. I knew other people’s lives were a bit more mundane and usually didn’t involve the regular use of firearms, or so the media would have me believe.
But, these days, that wasn’t entirely true.
There was something wrong, very wrong, at the heart of our country. An anger that seethed and sometimes exploded. And while it was my problem to help solve, it wasn’t what was driving my current situation.
Maybe Reynolds was angry; most likely he was—folks with the least talent often expected the greatest rewards. Misplaced arrogance of epic proportions—not unusual, but always distasteful. One thing I did know: Reynolds was going about it the wrong way.
Bad guys posing as protectors offended me on every level.
As quickly as I could without drawing attention, I closed the distance, but it took time, dodging from shadow to shadow, pausing when Reynolds did so he didn’t hear me behind him.
Games. I hated games—even of the cat-and-mouse variety.
Twenty feet. Stop. Don’t breathe. Breathe. Fifteen feet. Stop. Don’t breathe.
At ten feet, I was timing my leap when Reynolds pounced on someone I hadn’t seen hiding in the shadows.
The two men fell to the ground. Rolling. Fighting.
I stayed hidden, waiting, biding my time.
As they tumbled and rolled, I strained to see. Which one was Reynolds? Who was the other guy?
I squinted. Moving in the dark, I worked for a better view.
Tangled together, the men stopped rolling. One had gained an advantage, pinning the other with his weight.
He raised a fist, bringing it down hard.
It landed.
The man on the bottom went limp.
The guy on top pushed himself off and staggered to his feet. Reaching down with both hands, he fisted fabric and pulled the dazed man up against him.
Together, they staggered into the light and I could see.
With an arm around his throat, Reynolds held Romeo against him. Two bodies glued together by desperation.
I’d waited too long.
Life, nothing but a timing issue, and mine sucked.
Romeo’s knees were weak; his body sagged, but his legs held his weight.
Reynolds didn’t seem surprised to see me when I stepped out of the shadows.
“I’ll let you have the kid here, but I walk.” Reynolds’s gun hovered, ready to shoot either me or Romeo.
Where was Jeremy?
While I didn’t think he would bring me an advantage as Reynolds held the trump card, I still wished for the moral support. Holding the pistol at the ready, I eased around to see better, moving imperceptibly closer. The kid’s eyes stopped rolling around in his head, a bit more light returning.
“What makes you think I want the kid?” I asked Reynolds.
“Right. He’s like your own personal butt boy.” He thought I was bluffing.
“You’re crass but consistent, Reynolds.” With a steady hand and a cold heart that surprised me, I raised my gun. My heart tripped along at a lazy pace. My vision telescoped.
“Lucky, if you turn me in, I’m toast,” Romeo said. “Let him walk. We’ll get him next time.”
I closed one eye, my arms straight in front of me, the gun steady.
“Are you bloomin’ crazy?” Jeremy’s voice—the voice of reason—sounded so brittle it would crack with a slight blow. Better late than never, he lurked somewhere behind me.
“Crazy?” A slow, growing grin spread across my face. I doubted anyone could see it, which didn’t matter. The grin was for me. “You have to ask?”
My finger tightened. The gun jerked in my hand. The sound of the shot echoed off the buildings surrounding us, reverberating as if I’d shot a fish in a barrel after crawling in after him.
Reynolds yelped and fell to the side. He clutched his foot in both hands. Pain pulled his face into a grimace. He clenched his teeth, fighting it, which saved me from hearing his true opinion of my Annie Oakley skills and probably my heritage and character as well.
Romeo staggered. Without shifting my aim, I leaped to grab his arm and steady him.
Jeremy rushed to contain Reynolds as I kept the gun trained on him.
Romeo pulled himself together. “You turn Reynolds in, he’ll take me down, too.”
“Not even a thank you? Kid, you really are getting on my one last nerve.”
“Dead would be preferable to prison. Do I need to remind you that I’m a cop?”
“No, but clearly, you need to remind yourself.” I lifted my chin toward Reynolds, who was still dancing around holding his foot. “He’s got answers we need.”
Sometimes, by our own actions, we become collateral damage or caught in the trap, or whatever cliché worked. Romeo had stepped in it, and it was my luck that I was the one to deliver the coup de grâce.
Lucky me.
“So, you were the one that put the brass onto me?” Romeo hid his emotion in a flat tone.
“The brass? What’re you talking about?”
“Somebody put the Chief onto me. He knows just enough to want me on a water-board.”
Now it was my turn to be hurt. Seriously? Me? “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know jack.”
“Everyone says that. It’s like the first sure sign of guilt.”
Somewhere in this conversation I didn’t understand lurked an insult. “Says what?”
“They pretend not to know what the cop is asking. But you know enough.”
I gave him a look from under my eyebrows. “Pretend?” As I drug the word out, anger whittled my voice to a sharp edge.
“Look, the Chief knew all of it—the stuff we talked about in the bar. I didn’t share that with anybody but you. You’re the only one who could’ve squealed.”
“Squealed?” That one word, a register lower, held homicide and hurt.
He spread his arms, and his expression closed. “When there’s no other possibility…” His conclusion screamed in the silence.
I swept my free arm toward Reynolds. “There’s another possibility.”
“Seriously? He’s in way deeper than me. He couldn’t have known that stuff anyway.”
I couldn’t argue with the logic, only the fallacy of his assumption. But, to be honest, I couldn’t come up with anyone else who would have ratted him out, so I shut my mouth. Somehow, the truth would rear its ugly little head; it had to.
Jeremy pulled Reynolds to his feet—a red stain grew as blood leaked out of his shoe. He gave me an appreciative nod, sort of a professional acknowledgment. “Nice shot. Impressive, actually.”
Most days I’d preen at an attaboy like that. Not today. Used
to people taking pot-shots at my character, I was surprised that Romeo’s hurt more than I expected. Was he mad at himself and deflecting his anger onto me, or did he really think I’d sell out my partner?
“The shot went through my pant leg.” Romeo bent down and stuck a finger through the hole. “Tiny margin of error.”
“Just lucky, I guess,” I said, not that I would’ve minded shooting him.
TAPPED OUT, I turned toward home. Family, as toxic as they were, held some comfort—they couldn’t turn me away. Okay, not much, but it was something, and right now I’d take anything that might make me feel human.
Romeo had given me an impossible choice. I’d had to turn Reynolds in. We needed answers and we needed them now. Hell, Romeo himself had confirmed that Reynolds was up to his ass in something that had gotten a state senator killed. Somewhere in all of that, there was a line between accomplice and bystander that I didn’t intend to cross. Knowing what I knew, would letting Reynolds walk cross that line? Since I didn’t know the difference between what I knew and what I could prove, I couldn’t answer that.
I’d leave that to the cops.
I’d waited until the cops had rounded everyone up, and I watched them go. Too late, I realized I had no car, only foot power, which, while unpleasant, wasn’t a bad thing. I took the time to gather myself.
My thoughts had settled a bit, and the walk had soothed the sting of my frayed emotions and Romeo’s betrayal when I strode back to the back gate, stopping in front of the guard.
“Felt weird being without my piece,” he said, apropos of nothing.
If he was trying for a guilt trip, he’d have to try a lot harder. “Yes, since this gate is regularly stormed by the marauding hordes, I’m sure you felt horribly under armed.” I handed him the gun, barrel first, but pointed it at the ground. I never saw the wisdom of handing a gun to someone butt first so all they had to do was grab it and squeeze. Even an accident could result in a nasty gut-shot. That would actually be an improvement over the rest of my evening up to now, but I couldn’t take the time. “I didn’t kill anybody, although the night’s still young.” Of course, I’d perforated a cop’s foot, but, with no time to call the EMTs should the guard stroke out, I left that tidbit out.
It took him several tries to secure the thing in his holster. “At least it won’t be with my gun.”
As I watched him, my blood pressure spiked, and I thought the jury was still out on that. “Let me back in. I have a family firing squad to face.”
As he opened the gate, he plucked a crumpled box of smokes from his breast pocket and shook one out. “Might as well face them with style. You got the bruised and bloodied part already.”
I took the cigarette with a smile and a nod, then he let me back into my carefully controlled little bit of fantasy-land.
Miss P wrung her hands as she wore a trench in the sidewalk, pacing back and forth in front of the entrance to the Kasbah. I saw her before she saw me. “Jeremy’s fine. No one died, but Reynolds took a bullet to a foot.”
“Who shot him?”
“I did.” I gave her a quick and dirty as I escorted her through the large bronze doors, then around to the hall leading to the casino. The Kasbah was quiet. Someone had removed the yellow crime scene tape that had draped the front of Bungalow 7, returning it to stately glory. It dawned on me that the bit of titillating tawdriness provided by the CSIs wasn’t all bad—being close to a bit of criminality amped the chatter and the excitement.
We both fell silent as we entered the casino. Worried and scared, I thought the revelry sounded a sour note. Miss P seemed to feel the same as she crossed her arms and lowered her head, plowing through the crowd.
Lost in thought, I let her lead. To be honest, I was tired of being the one everyone looked to, the one everyone counted on to fix everything. Yes, I was pathological in my need to help, so it stood to reason. Then it dawned on me: fixing everyone’s screw-ups only perpetuated the behavior. They didn’t learn from their mistakes—and they kept making the same ones over and over. Case in point—Mona.
Next chance I got, I vowed to abdicate the throne of Chief Problem Solver.
I needed a life.
But, one more major ass to save and then kick across Clark County.
Romeo. The kid was sending signals so mixed even a CIA decoder couldn’t make sense of it.
What did he want me to do?
No doubt, Reynolds would barter the kid’s complicity in exchange for his own escape. My job was to see that Romeo didn’t take the fall. Trouble was, I had no idea how. Or how the kid would work against my best efforts. It’s like he had an incarceration wish. If he hated his job, this was not the best way to change careers. I mean seriously, making license plates had gone the way of the buggy whip. Wouldn’t it be nice if you really could knock some sense into young males? That would save all of us a world of hurt.
Miss P and I stopped in the middle of the lobby under the soaring birds with joy and excitement whirling around us. I didn’t feel any of it as I sought my safe place in business-mode. “Vivienne’s on her own in Security.”
Miss P looked at me with wide eyes and a blank stare. “What happened to your nose?”
“Your husband broke it.”
She reeled back. “What?”
“Not on purpose. He was being noble; don’t worry. Why did Reynolds bring you here?”
“He didn’t explain. In fact, he didn’t say much, just that I’d be all right.”
“I see.” My standard response when the opposite was true. “Anyway, find Temperance or someone else you trust to back her up. We need to figure out who’s doing what to whom and quickly.” I started for the elevator then turned back. “Oh, and call the Sheriff. Ask him…never mind. Perhaps it’s best if I talk to him myself. The Sheriff loves to play cowboy. I need info on Reynolds and Romeo and exactly who is pointing at whom and what they are backing it up with, and hopefully where they got the info. As the head cop in town, I expect the Sheriff to give me his best John Wayne little-lady routine. I need some ammo to blow a hole in his bullshit before I get in the ring with him.”
And I knew exactly who to ask.
“I know that look,” Miss P said.
I didn’t ask, but I suspected I looked a bit like a death-row resident waiting for a call from the Governor. “Sometimes, high people love to roll around in low places.”
“Mona.” She shook her head as if to say, “You know better.” I knew better; I just didn’t have better. “This is going to cost you.”
“Romeo’s worth it.” At least the Romeo I used to know was worth it.
“I’m not sure about Reynolds,” Miss P said with a frown.
“Me either.” We parted ways at the stairs. She headed up to the office while I would take solace in the flagellation of my family. What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment. And it was time I dished out a bit of my own.
Bethany had some answering to do.
Ten o’clock. Time flies and all of that. But now I barely had enough time to debrief my newest family member, then go find Teddie and Jordan and deal with whatever horrible costume they planned to parade me around in. With my life devolving into a deep morass, at some point things would come to a head and my tenuous thread of control would snap.
Best I could hope for was a light sentence.
Chase Metcalf caught me lost in the development of an escape plan. “Just the lady I was looking for.” He didn’t sound happy.
I glanced at his reflection in the elevator door. Serious with a hint of mad replaced his normal smile.
Turning to face him confirmed that. “What’s going on?”
“Whoa. Guess I’m not the only one you pissed off tonight.”
I narrowed my eyes at my reflection. Perfect for Halloween. And, as I suspected, I’d made it worse, wiping the blood around my face. “Pissed off. I haven’t even talked to you since I left you in Babel.”
“You been talking to my wife then?”
“Y
our wife? No. I don’t know her, nor would I know where to find her, why?”
“Well, somebody told her about the episode in the elevator. Man she’s seeing red.”
“You’re the second person who has accused me within the last hour of doing something like that, which, for the record, I would never do.”
“Well, only you, me, and the ladies knew about it. And I don’t think the ladies had the wherewithal to get ahold of my wife’s cell number.”
I had to agree with him there. “Her cell?”
“Would it be part of your registration information?” He’d tried and convicted me without giving me a chance to defend myself.
“You provided whatever information we have on record, so that makes your question rhetorical. To be honest, I don’t have access to guest information.” That shaded the truth—I could get it if I needed it. I hadn’t, but once again, without facts, I had no ammunition with which to defend myself. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t tell your wife anything, but I promise I will find out who did. In the meantime, I will send her some Champagne and a nice spread, on me.”
“She’s partial to Beluga and Cristal.” Still no smile.
“So noted.” I pulled a card from the pocket on the back of my phone case and extended it toward him. “Would you forward to my email whatever information was passed on to your wife? If you can send me the original email, text or whatever, that would be great.”
He pocketed the card without looking at it. “Sure. It was a video.”
The elevator doors opened, and I practically leaped inside, but, at the last minute, I managed to retain a modicum of dignity.
My mind whirled as the doors closed on Chase’s unhappy face.
First Romeo, now Chase. Both conversations occurred in the hotel.
My heart fell. Someone had been listening in. And, at least in Chase’s case, they’d also been watching.
This had Fox’s handiwork all over it—indicting videos. But, if Fox was behind this, he was operating outside of his blackmail sandbox. For what purpose? I dialed my direct access to Vivienne.
“Yes?” She sounded guarded.
“Kill the video and audio to this elevator.”
Five seconds, no more, then her voice returned. “Done.”
Lucky Score Page 23