My feet slid as I rounded the desk. I staggered. Stella grabbed my arm and steadied me. I pushed her in front of me, Olivia too, then, bringing up the rear, I put my head down and ran for the doors.
Boudreaux jumped toward us. He wasn’t that close, but too close for comfort—and he had the angle. I pushed the girls, propelling them toward the front doors.
I turned and braced for the fight.
As I feared, Boudreaux, his face an unnatural red and contorted with rage, his fists clenched, moved toward me with the uncanny grace of a feral animal—Security hadn’t been able to hold him. He was wise to my elbow-to-the-nose trick, which left me with few others and none as effective. As I clenched my fists, I glanced at the girls who had slowed in the doorway and were now staring at me in horror. “Go!” I shouted, then I whipped back around. I couldn’t stop him, but I could slow him down.
As he barreled my direction, closing the distance alarmingly fast, my life flashed before me. Not really, I made that up to be overly dramatic. But I did see a long stay in the hospital and maybe a new job.
I cringed, bracing for the blow, but I held my ground.
Ten feet.
I clenched my stomach.
Five feet.
From my left, a hurtling ball of human fury launched herself into Boudreaux. A flying leg kick, then a flurry of punches, fists and elbows flying.
Temperance! Security had arrived with all her MMA skills. Already bloodied, she must’ve been the Security personnel heeding the call, and she appeared to be alone unless we had wounded in the lobby. Had any one of my employees actually read the handbook? Two by two was the rule for Security. But right now I wasn’t going to quibble with her choice.
Boudreaux had her by well over a hundred pounds, but she took out his knee and landed a punch to his nose. I cringed as he staggered back. “Go,” she ordered. “Get them out of here. I got this.”
I took her at her word and didn’t waste a nanosecond. As I hit the doors, I glanced back in time to see Boudreaux stagger to his feet. Favoring his knee, he circled her like a prizefighter. He dodged, but she landed a glancing blow to his already busted knee. He yelled and moved in and flattened her with a left jab to the jaw. With his longer reach, that was his signature gambit with women.
She fell like a stone.
Boudreaux, standing over her body like a victorious gladiator, gave me his slitty eyes and an overconfident grin. He stepped over the inert form of my security guard. Conflicted—I should help her. Standing in the doorway, I looked for the girls out front.
They huddled at the curb, unsure and afraid.
To help any of us, I had to stay alive. One sweep of the cars and I had my plan.
Paolo, his megawatt smile at full brilliance, held the back door of the limo open for a man, his back to me. Several nubile young ladies wearing tube tops pulled to barely cover the important stuff, staggeringly high heels, and long blonde extensions clung to the man’s arms and harbored dreams of avarice, no doubt.
In one leap, I grabbed the girls, shoved them in front of the group moving toward the limo, and pushed them into the back. They scrambled onto the forward-facing row seat. Following, I dove after them.
An iron fist circled my arm jerking me up short. “Not so fast.”
My heart about leaped out of my chest, but the growl wasn’t quite right.
Not Boudreaux.
Fox!
Anger flared. Adrenaline spiked. I let him jerk me toward him. Using his strength and my momentum, I drove my bulk into his. He grunted in surprise. Stepping to the side, I twisted his arm behind him. With one hand on his elbow, I pushed, hard, stretching tendons to the breaking point. His knees weakened. As I felt his muscles slacken, I shoved him into the limo head-first. My anger propelled him most of the way; the girls did the rest. Head-first, I launched myself after him, using his body now wedged between the two rows of seats. Then I rolled to my right, onto the backward-facing bench seat.
Paolo had bolted around the car and now slid behind the driver’s seat as I pulled the back door closed.
“Go! Go! Go!” I shouted at Paolo. I pushed to a seated position, putting my feet on Fox’s chest and applying all the leverage I could.
Stella had the heel of one stiletto pressed into his neck. Wisely, he didn’t move.
Boudreaux shoved his way through the throng, some waiting for a car, and others moving toward the entrance. He skidded to a stop not five feet from me. Even though metal and glass separated us, I reared back—one of those involuntary self-preservation things that left me feeling sheepish, but victorious.
A phalanx of Security swarmed Boudreaux. True to his IQ, he turned to fight.
“Drive!”
Paolo threw the car in gear and stepped on it.
Tires screeching, fishtailing a bit, the limo clipped a car waiting for a valet to usher it around back. Thankfully, not some exotic iron, but still, my expense account would take a hit.
A small price to pay to cheat death one more time.
“I’m not going to be happy about who we pushed out of the way to commandeer the limo, am I?”
Paolo’s dark eyes stared at me in the rearview until I started to get a bit queasy. “Eyes on the road.”
“Yes, Miss Lucky. And, no, not happy, Miss Lucky.”
“Serious suck-up to fix it?”
“Yes, Miss Lucky.”
I raised a hand. “Don’t tell me. In my weakened state and already sagging under a heavy load, I couldn’t take it.”
His smile lit his eyes. The man was wise to my bullshit but smart enough to know when it held the truth.
When he hit the end of the driveway, Paolo wheeled around a tight turn. I grabbed for the handhold as centrifugal force pulled at me. I did not want to give Fox any opportunity to turn the tables, so I hung on with both hands. The girls rode it out. Fox did the same.
Once established heading north on the Strip, I leaned back a bit and eased my death grip, but I didn’t let go. “Don’t slow too much, but make some turns, so if anyone is trying to follow, it’ll be difficult.”
“Yes, Miss.” Paolo pressed his cap down on his head, then gripped the steering wheel with both hands as he hunched in concentration.
“Oh, and don’t kill anyone and try not to get us arrested.”
“You take away all the fun,” he threw over his shoulder as he wove through traffic.
“Opinions differ.”
“Do you know where we are going, Miss Lucky?”
“No destination until I’m sure we’re not being followed.” I looked down at Fox. “And we get some answers. For that, it’s best to stay in the car where his screams can’t be heard.”
Fox tried to move, but his shoulders were wedged between the seats.
Stella would have none of it. She pressed her advantage, drawing blood. “Next time, Big Boy, I puncture your windpipe.”
“I heard that.” The amused voice of Vivienne emanated from my phone at my hip. Somehow, in the scuffle, I must’ve answered it.
“You need context to fully appreciate my situation.”
“Just one thing,” she asked. “Whose screams?”
“Fox’s.”
“Sweet. The guy’s a douche.” She sucked in a breath. “And I’m on the speaker, right?”
“Not to worry. Mr. Fox, should he live, will no longer be in our employ. And you will get a promotion and a raise due to your exceptional character-judging skills. And, for the record, I agree, he’s a douche.”
“And Boudreaux?” she asked, a hint of relief in her voice.
“He’s a douche, too.”
That got a chuckle. “I’m sure. But what exactly would you like us to do with him?”
“How many people did he hurt?”
“None badly. Brandy jumped in and took him down with that Aikido or whatever it is she’s like a super black belt in. With his broken nose and damaged pride, he started making nice. Detective Romeo was here also, but she didn’t need anyone’s he
lp.”
“And Temperance?”
“Pissed but fine.”
A fact that helped me feel a little better about abandoning her. “Romeo was there?”
“Yeah, looking for you.”
I bet. And I had no idea what to make of that. I figured he’d be singing like a canary down at Headquarters. The guy had as many layers of Teflon as a politician. Who knew?
“Is he there now?”
“No, I told him about your adventure, and he left.”
“Okay.” He didn’t arrest Boudreaux. “Take Boudreaux back to the party.”
“You mean like let him go?” Vivienne tried to maintain a lack of emotion in that comment—she almost succeeded.
The girls across from me did not. Their displeasure was easy to read.
“Yeah, let him go. He threatened us, but that was it. Besides, everybody in this farce has guilty written all over them. I don’t know what game they’re playing, but let’s give them some rope and see who hangs themselves.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Watch them all. If you need to bring in more sets of eyeballs, do it.”
“On your authority?”
“No, yours. You’re in charge. Can you handle it?”
“No worries. I got this.”
“Let me know if any one of those idiots moves even a muscle.”
“I can’t see inside the Secret Suite.”
“I understand. Just let me know if Boudreaux or Mrs. Ponder leaves. And I want you to hold onto one of our own.” I told her about Ginger, our suspected traitor, and we discussed what to do with her. Vivienne disagreed with my suggestion of firing squad. I deferred to her suggestion—drunk tank, not that I was happy about it.
“Can you take me off speaker?” Vivienne’s voice turned serious.
I hit the button and pressed the device to my ear. “Done, but speak softly.” Somewhere, I’d lost my earbuds.
“I heard a female voice. Would that be one of our panty pushers?”
“Yes.”
“Are both of them there?”
“Yes.” I pretended to look out the window, but I watched the girls’ reflections.
Stella kept her focus on Fox, but Olivia watched me.
“I did some digging on them. I don’t know what it means, but they show up at a ton of NFL events. They could just be working, that’s what they do, so I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting and you should know.”
“Thank you. Great job. Any sign of Mr. Ponder?”
“He’s not in your parents’ suite?”
“According to my mother, he’s gone missing. No sign of him?”
“Negative.”
“Okay, let me know if he shows up or any of the other jokers move. I’ll be a bit busy giving Mr. Fox the treatment he deserves and putting the ladies somewhere safe for tonight, but I’ll be available. After that, I’ll head right back. Something’s going down. I just wish I knew what.”
“Roger.” Vivienne signed off, and I made sure the connection didn’t stay open.
My self-control hanging by a thread and relishing homicide, I glared at Fox. For some reason, I wasn’t even bothered by the fact that my thoughts alone had probably earned me another black mark next to my name on St. Peter’s ledger—assuming he hadn’t crossed me off already. I mean, if Jimmy Carter had sinned simply by having lust in his heart, well, it wasn’t looking too good for me. “Ladies, I’d be willing to bet my virtue that you’re looking at the guy who sold you out to Boudreaux.” Of course, I didn’t have much virtue, but I felt pretty sure he had to be the one. He’d been listening in on all of us.
My little pronouncement landed with the desired effect. Stella put a bit more pressure into the heel on Fox’s carotid. Blood welled around the delicate heel. Olivia drew a derringer out of the front of her G-string, leaving me rather speechless.
Where had she hidden it? It was small but not that small. My perspective, my experience, of course. I shut my brain to examining the possibilities—one thing I did know; I wasn’t touching the thing.
I leaned back, abandoning any impression that I would ride to his aid. “Fox, I’d fess up here pretty quick, but the choice is yours. You gave a video to Boudreaux, one you took of the three of us ladies chatting in the elevator, didn’t you?”
He glanced at the women, then gave me a nod. We all swayed with Paolo’s maneuverings, although he had slowed down.
“Why?” I let go of the handhold but didn’t let my guard down.
His wide eyes took my measure. “I’m doing the same as you, stirring the pot.”
“Because of Lake?”
“He was my boss.” Emotion choked his words.
“And something else, I think. You two go way back. Am I right? To Ely?”
“I met him there, yeah. He gave me a job on his security detail. Guess I had the muscles for it. Then he learned I had the smarts for more.”
Curiously, he left out the football connection. “So you were promoted.”
“The Golden Boy, as they say.” Fox would’ve preened except for the stiletto pressed to his carotid.
“I bet the senator didn’t know about your little sideline—the whole blackmail angle.”
“Know about it? Hell, it was his idea. A way to get political leverage, he said. There wasn’t anything illegal in what we did. We simply traded knowledge for favors.”
“Nothing illegal.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement that left me reeling. That kind of thinking messed with everything—it subverted the whole political system, and it messed with my magic. I couldn’t decide which sucked the air out of me faster. “Politics is a dirty business, so why not wallow in the mud with the rest of the swine. Is that it?”
At the insult, his hands clenched.
“Careful, your ego is showing. Don’t let it make you do anything stupid.”
“Yeah,” Stella lowered her voice to a not quite growl that still sounded impressive enough. Of course, she had the advantage at the moment.
As the car swayed, Stella’s stiletto made alternating deeper then shallower indentations in his neck. Wince on a right turn, breathe on a left. He was probably wishing we were on a NASCAR track. “I also figured it would get you off my back.”
As answers go, that one was unexpected. “You ran them over to get to me?”
He flicked a glance at the two women, both of whom looked intent on returning the favor.
“Boudreaux’s a loose cannon. He’s got everything we all wanted, and he’s just pissing it away, screwing the wrong women, hanging with the crowd that is interested in only his money and reflected fame…as long as it lasts.” Fox lost himself for a moment, a distant look clouding his eyes. Stella gave him a jab and he returned. “If you had your hands full, I could do my job.”
The light dawned. “Romeo and Chase?”
“Got you running in circles.”
“I’m beginning to see how this all went down.” And I was. A few tumblers dropped into place. Not enough to open the lock, but a good start. “Romeo’s not in trouble, then.”
It wasn’t a question but Fox answered anyway. “Oh, he’s in trouble. That guy Reynolds has him on a short leash. I just turned up the heat. Easy to do since you took an instant dislike to me.”
“You didn’t pass my gut-check. Something was off, but I couldn’t prove it. Had to goad you a bit to see what you’d do.”
Even though his shoulders were wedged tight, he managed a shrug. “I played you wrong.”
Played me. “I kicked you the ball, and you didn’t even get it out of the end zone.” Boy, the guy was pricking my ego as well. I needed to let that go, or I’d end up wedged in the back of a limo with three people intent on doing me serious bodily harm.
Ego, always there, and most of the time making you call the wrong play.
He forced a grin. “Well, it didn’t turn out all bad. I’m in the company of three beautiful women.”
“When bluster doesn’t work, resort to charm? Serio
usly? With this crowd?” I skewered him with a slitty-eyed look. “You’re in the big leagues here, Fox.”
His eyes narrowed and his face flushed.
“I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?” Fox switched to a half-humble gambit.
“You started off on the wrong foot and have been leading with it ever since. Tell me about the videos.”
“Easy to manipulate and, folks usually cave rather than fight. Easy pickings.”
“Because there’s always a hint of truth in there that needs to be concealed.”
“If you do it right.” Fox could’ve been talking about hopscotch or any other kid’s game.
“And the Ponders’ video?” I tossed the hook, hoping to catch something.
His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then narrowed. “You are so fishing. Better be careful what you catch.”
“If the fish I’ve caught so far are any indication, I’m good.”
“The problem with me, Ms. O’Toole, is you’ve got to get somebody to press charges. How many folks with big secrets want all of that a matter of public record?”
He had a point, but I wasn’t about to let him win.
“Miss Lucky,” Paolo said from the front, saving me from making not-so-idle threats, homicide being the last resort.
“If they are following, then Paolo lost them.” My chauffeur who had a rather awful habit of slipping into the third person when referring to himself sounded triumphant—Patton marching into Paris.
“Good. Let me think.” My adrenaline levels had returned to allow a hint of rational thought. Only one place to stash the girls that would be impenetrable. “Take us to the French Quarter, private entrance. We’re going to call on my aunt.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
T HE FRENCH Quarter occupied one of the lesser locations in town—a “local’s” casino, it was close to the Strip but far enough away to lose the cache and the foot traffic. A perfect metaphor for its owner, my aunt, Darlin’ Delacroix. She wasn’t really my aunt, and Darlin’ wasn’t really her name. Just as Vegas was a creation of fantasy and wishful thinking, so was Darlin’.
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