They entered the Paris casino and stopped to watch a slots tournament in progress. A square, created by rows of slot machines, contained players pounding the spin buttons as fast as possible. A DJ encouraged the contestants to “spin, baby, spin.” A couple of blue-jacketed casino employees walked the rows of machines, apparently to verify that bionic hands weren’t hitting the button. Quinn stopped walking and watched the tournament with narrowed eyes.
She leaned over to him, whispered in his ear. “Look at the woman sitting at the end of the last row.” She pointed to the last row of slots. “Doesn’t she look like Rebecca?”
TWELVE
Friday, 1:32 P.M.
Logan nodded after following Quinn’s gaze across the rows of slot machines. He motioned with a pointed finger for her to head to the right and he’d go around the left side of the roped-off machines. They set off in opposite directions along the perimeter of the tournament.
As she walked, Quinn’s eyes drilled into the blonde, whose head stayed down. Unfortunately, she failed to notice a cocktail waitress carrying a tray of drinks and ran smack into her. Wine, beer, and plastic cups rained down. The tray rolled along the carpet and clattered against the stool of a tournament player. He barely glanced at the commotion.
“I’m so sorry,” Quinn whispered.
She scooped up cups leaking on the carpet and trotted after the tray. Once it was retrieved, she turned back and witnessed a small crowd gathered around the waitress.
“Are you okay?” she asked the young woman. “I’m usually not so clumsy.”
“No problem, ma’am.” The woman reclaimed the tray and cups from Quinn’s hands. “This happens once a week.” She moved through the crowd and disappeared around a corner.
Quinn did her best to shrug off the incident — humiliating to disrupt the delivery of free drinks. She moved along the outside of the tournament and scanned the area where she last saw the Rebecca look-alike.
The stool was empty. Dammit.
She ran toward it and collided with Logan. Her heart galloped. “Did you see her leave?”
“No. I was watching you and the tray of exploding drinks.”
“Wonderful, just wonderful. Our timing stinks.”
“You do have a gift for running into liquids,” he said.
She rolled her eyes and swallowed a smart response — play nice. They began to question people standing next to the ropes. No one had noticed a blonde slip under them due to the drink fiasco. The DJ declared a five-minute break. Players stood, stretched their arms and wiggled their fingers. She didn’t envy their stiff fingers or the stress.
A casino blue-coat moved past them.
“Sir, sir,” Quinn said, hurrying after him. “May I ask you a question?”
“Sure, but the tournament is closed.” He looked about twenty-five with a sexy grin.
“I think I saw an old friend who taught my daughter kindergarten. She moved away and we lost touch. She was sitting at that stool.” Quinn pointed to the look-a-like’s stool. “Do you have a list of players I could look at so I’d know for sure it was her?”
“Ma’am, that’s not information we normally share with our guests.” He planted himself in front of her, spread his legs, and moved his arms and a clipboard to his back.
“Please. It would mean so much to me.” Logan appeared at Quinn’s side, she hugged his arm. “Honey, tell him how upsetting this is to me.”
“She’s been a little, you know.” He lowered his voice, “Hormonal if you know what I mean.”
“I understand, sir.” The blue-coat grinned. “I have three sisters. What’s the name?” He pulled the clipboard from behind his back.
“Rebecca Holland. But she may have gotten married,” Quinn said.
“Let’s see,” he mumbled as he scanned a paper. “No Rebecca.”
What was the name on the Cayman bank account?
She snapped her fingers. “Holly? Her nickname was Holly.”
The blue-coat reviewed the paper again. “There is a Holly. But the last name is Barry. Sorry, it’s not your friend. Enjoy your stay at the Paris Casino.” He melted between rows of slots.
Why would the woman leave during the break? She’d be disqualified. Maybe she went to the restroom, or was hungry, or recognized her coworker from the finance office.
Quinn turned to Logan, pushed him gently forward. “Let’s go. We need to check the casino floor. She might still be here.”
They spent the next half hour trekking through the rows of slots and gambling tables, staring at women with blonde hair. Quinn checked every stall in three ladies’ rooms surrounding the casino area then stamped her feet in frustration. The Rebecca clone had disappeared.
Unconvinced, they circled the casino again. The crowds had increased along with the noise level. The only item of interest was an ant-sized woman jumping next to a silver Mercedes Benz. The orange light on a slot machine sliced through the crowd engulfing her and reminding gamblers that jackpots were real.
Their search culminated along a row of dollar slot machines.
“She’s not here.” Logan flashed a lop-sided grin. “Let’s regroup and mull over our next move.”
“You’re right, let’s mull.” She plopped on the stool of the nearest machine and considered why Rebecca had ventured to Las Vegas in the first place. Gambling, shows, hanging out at a pool?
“What’s next?”
“I’ve been considering why Rebecca came to Las Vegas in the first place.” She frowned. “There has to be something worth the risk for her to come here.”
“I agree.” Logan leaned against a Blue Diamond machine. “Maybe she was meeting someone. Surely she wouldn’t travel commercially without having a very good reason.”
“Or … she wanted to flaunt it.” Quinn warmed up to that. “By not simply disappearing to say, Mexico or Japan, she’s showing how smart she is and that she’s not afraid of getting caught.” Her enthusiasm for the theory grew. “Maybe she’s playing a game with us.”
“Not likely. She doesn’t know we’re looking for her.”
“But she knows I’m working with the police on behalf of HCU. I told her that last Monday. If she is the slots blonde, then she knows I’m in Vegas.”
Logan rubbed his chin with nicely manicured fingers. “If I suddenly had unlimited funds … . ”
She chuckled at that comment.
“… I’d probably do some serious shopping. Human nature, don’t you think?”
“Now you’re talking. What would you buy?”
“Probably a very large boat or a fully loaded SUV.”
Was he a guy’s guy or what? “Very nice, Logan.” She leaned toward him. “But Rebecca’s a sweet Southern girl. I can’t see her driving around in a Hummer.”
“Good point,” he said.
She leaned back in the stool, imagining a credit card without a dollar limit. “I’d shop for chunky diamond earrings, a very fancy handbag, and Chanel sunglasses. And those cute girly shoes, Jimmy Choo.”
Logan rose. “Okay, I’m convinced.” He held a hand out. “Let’s go shopping.”
When a man says he wants to go shopping, Quinn wasn’t one to dilly-dally. They exited the casino back to Las Vegas Boulevard.
Logan led the way. “Since the Bellagio is across the street and has high-end stores, let’s start there. We’ll ask if any of the clerks have seen her.”
They crossed the street via the overhead walkway and entered the hotel shops through the same set of doors as last night. Quinn stopped a few feet inside to get her bearings. Logan bumped against her and she skipped to the side, the less contact with him, the better. He was starting to grow on her, especially after declaring the fake email a fraud.
Her eyes turned away from his chest and she considered the high-end sto
res where Rebecca might celebrate her new riches. Hmm, what would Rebecca buy first? Something extravagant but not too-over-the-top. Quinn snapped her fingers — Rebecca wore a scarf nearly every time Quinn had seen her on campus. And, who was famous for beautiful scarves?
A minute later, they entered the Hermes store. A solitary customer browsed the rich leather handbags and wallets, and colorful scarves elegantly arranged on glass shelves. Price tags were discreetly out of sight. A salesclerk busied herself behind a counter and that was where they headed.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes.” Quinn dug in her purse for the HCU directory, opened it to the picture of Rebecca, and placed it on the glass counter. “We’re looking for this woman. Have you seen her?”
“Why?” The salesclerk looked first at Quinn, then Logan. She smiled.
“She’s my sister. Left her groom at the alter a couple days ago in Des Moines. We need to make sure she’s okay.”
Discreet laughter bubbled from the clerk.
“What’s the joke?” Quinn said.
“Sorry.” The clerk rubbed her tongue over her lips. “No joke. This woman was in here yesterday and didn’t seem the least bit unhappy.”
“Why’s that?” Logan said.
“She bought one of our new Birkin handbags.”
Bingo. “Which one?” Quinn asked.
“A black leather tote with diamonds on the closure and studs on the straps. It’s part of our spring collection.”
“Was it expensive?” he asked.
Logan obviously knew nothing about Hermes.
The salesclerk brightened. “Yes sir, well over $100,000 dollars.”
Quinn’s not too-over-the-top theory evaporated. She imagined the gears in Logan’s head crunching to a stop.
“For … a … purse?” he sputtered.
Definitely a sticker-shock moment. Quinn patted his hand then got down to business and convinced the clerk to give her all the information the store had on the buyer. Initially, she wasn’t too keen on the idea. But Logan’s look of disbelief instigated the “be helpful to strangers” button.
The saleslady explained the buyer’s name was Rebecca Holland and she paid for the purchase by credit card around 4:00 P.M. yesterday. That was all. The clerk didn’t know the name of Rebecca’s hotel or much else. Apparently, Rebecca wasn’t a Chatty Cathy while shopping. She just wanted the damned purse.
They expressed their gratitude for the information and strolled out of the store.
“I knew I was right.” Quinn felt like dancing.
“Rebecca isn’t afraid of showing off her money,” Logan said.
Quinn considered that for a moment. Was Rebecca flaunting it or maybe she really didn’t know they were looking for her. She couldn’t know Quinn had started sleuthing with Logan. The woman at the Paris slot tournament was probably just a Rebecca look-alike. Rebecca had no reason to use a false name as she was unaware of their interest in her. Also, a woman who buys a Hermes Birkin handbag wouldn’t be caught dead next to a slot machine. Diamonds were more her style.
And where would one go for diamonds? Tiffany’s, of course.
Quinn punched Logan in the arm. “Come on, Mr. Rice. Let’s go rock hunting.”
She steered him along Via Bellagio past Prada and Dior to Tiffany & Company.
The signature granite façade along with an Atlas clock figure framed the wide entrance to the store. She felt the slightest twinge of anticipation. Tiffany’s could do that to a girl. The interior of the store was modern and elegant in subdued grays and peach.
They marched right over to the cash register. A customer, gingerly carrying a blue bag, turned away from the counter, leaving the salesclerk free. They repeated the Hermes story and once again hit the lottery. This time Rebecca had held back a bit with four-carat diamond studs and a three-carat diamond-and-emerald bracelet.
Now she had fabulous jewelry and an exclusive purse. Did shopping her little black heart out yesterday, mean she was still in Las Vegas today? No.
They walked out of Tiffany’s to Via Bellagio and stopped in the middle of the broad walkway. Quinn put a hand on a hip and stared into space. Knowing Rebecca had been out spending money didn’t get them any closer to finding her.
Logan snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Earth to Quinn. Let’s go find a place in the casino to sit down, relax, and talk. I need to think.”
They continued along Via Bellagio to the casino entrance. Quinn loved the casino’s décor. The cream background with an overlay of rich green plants and colorful flowers seemed lush and elegant. The combination of colors inspired tranquility and relaxation — perfect ambiance for gambling.
They wandered until they came to a cocktail lounge. Quinn naturally headed for the long curved bar rather than the low tables. They chose stools on the left side, providing a clear view of gamblers walking by.
The bartender moseyed over and Logan ordered two cups of coffee. Quinn noticed he didn’t ask her what she wanted to drink, but kept quiet. Had they transitioned from acquaintances to bosom buddies in two days?
Once the coffee arrived, they lapsed into their own thoughts. She thought about a Birkin bag and four-carat diamond studs, if only — Logan interrupted her mental flow.
“I think we need to regroup.”
“Sure, let’s regroup. What’s your plan?”
“I was thinking, Rebecca has bought girly things, things that create a momentary rush.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you think she’d want to settle down and stay low for a while?” Logan said.
“Seems logical to me. Why make yourself a target for the police?” And HCU and Quinn.
“Exactly. If I were running with that kind of money, I’d get out of the country as quickly as possible, once I had some fun.”
He glanced past her. She could hear arguing, then it moved off. Logan again focused on her. The man had the bluest eyes.
“I’d go where there are lots of Americans, either as residents or tourists,” he said. “Easier to blend in.”
“Like London or Paris?”
“Yes, I think Europe is a better bet than say, South America or Mexico.”
“No sun tanning on the beaches of Rio?”
“I’m not a psychic.” Frustration floated across his face. “All I’m saying is that if I wanted to hide from the authorities, I wouldn’t go where I was odd man out.”
He had a good point. Hide out in the open rather than behind closed doors where the need to be hidden might draw attention. Logan was one logical guy.
“I guess we need to make a list all the cities in Europe with high populations of Americans,” she said.
“Let’s ask J.W. to check the passenger lists of outgoing international flights the last twenty-four hours.”
“Good idea. I wonder if she’s had any hits yet. I’ll give her a jingle.”
Logan made the call instead. It was quick. He slipped the phone in his jacket pocket.
“And?”
“It appears we’ve hired a thorough private investigator. J.W. is already looking at passenger lists for outgoing flights from Las Vegas, both domestic and international.”
“Good. When will we hear back from her?”
“Two to three hours.”
Quinn’s fist pounded the bar. “We have to find Rebecca.”
“Relax. You have to be patient.”
She clenched and unclenched her jaw. “Please, do not tell me to be patient.” She rubbed her chin. “I’m not good at patient.”
Logan shrugged. “Fine. Do your best. There’s not much we can do until we hear back from J.W..”
She chewed on that for about two seconds. “We could look for Scooter.”
“Why?”
“I’m feeling useless, again. I don’t like it. I need to stay busy.” She sighed, heavily. She hadn’t flown to Las Vegas to wait for someone else to find Rebecca. She stood. “I can’t sit here. If I’m walking the Strip and touring casinos, looking at people, at least I’m being useful.”
“You’re right.” Logan threw a bill on the bar. “Let’s walk the Strip back to the Grand. We can keep a look out for Scooter and Rebecca along the way.”
They exited the Bellagio through its main entrance and walked along the lake to Las Vegas Boulevard rather than taking the quicker people mover. The dancing waters show began another set as they were halfway to the street. They stopped to watch.
Logan casually swung an arm over her shoulder and surprisingly, she did not pull away. She wasn’t comfortable with the physical closeness he seemed to find so easy. Yes, she had some sort of hang up about it. If she were analyzing herself, she’d say her problem related to trust, trust of a good-looking and very eligible man. She hardly knew Logan. He could be a habitual heartbreaker for all she knew. He was forty and never married, that had to say something. At least all those magazine quizzes said so.
The water show ended and five minute later they threaded their way through the nonstop swarm of moving bodies in front of Caesar’s Palace. Her eyes searched for a familiar face in the crowd. It wasn’t easy. She had about a second to search for a glimpse of Rebecca or Scooter among the faces rushing past her at warp speed.
They walked slowly, irritating people behind them. Tough. Quinn had nothing but time.
After thirty minutes of strolling, she pulled Logan over to the inner edge of the sidewalk, not far from the Grand. She was hot and frustrated.
“It’s been fun avoiding the hordes of people trying to mow us down.” She wiped sweat off her forehead. “I think we need to switch to plan B. This isn’t working.”
“You’re the one who wanted to walk the Strip and look at people.” Logan swept his arm in a wide arc toward the street. “There’s the people.”
In Hot Pursuit Page 13