He glanced up and his face rearranged into a smile as he stood. “You look beautiful, Carly.”
“Thank you. You look nice, too. Everything okay?”
He smiled. “Never better.”
The hotel lobby was abuzz with activity, but as soon as they walked outside they were immersed in the full teeth-jarring spectacle of Vegas. Carlotta’s senses were assailed by blaring noise, blazing lights, and a barrage of motion. The crush of bodies was overwhelming. Flamboyant street entertainers vied for attention amid the cacophony of ringing slot machines and jackpot bells from children’s games. The smells of cooking food blasted them from all directions. The range of people milling around them was mind-boggling: young, old, older…male, female, unisex…cowboys, sheiks, showgirls.
They found a Japanese seafood restaurant overlooking an outdoor plaza and ordered a sushi platter to share. When the sumptuous rolls were set in front of them, Carlotta’s mouth watered. No way would Jack eat sushi—
Under the table, she snapped her elastic bracelet.
“What do you think of Vegas so far?” Peter asked, using chopsticks like a pro.
“It’s…shiny,” she said, watching a jester juggle jumbo sparklers for a gathering crowd. “I see the appeal. It looks like everyone here is happy.”
“That’s probably true when people arrive,” he said, polishing off a morsel. “Unfortunately, some people leave a lot worse off.”
Thinking of the task ahead of her, Carlotta chewed slowly, hoping his words weren’t prophetic. Recalling how worried he’d looked when she walked upon him at the hotel, she angled her head. “Is something bothering you, Peter?”
“No. I don’t mean to be a downer, but in my line of work, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fielded a call from a client saying they lost a bundle of their retirement fund at the craps table.”
“Yikes.”
“On the other hand,” he said, nodding to a bride and groom strolling along the courtyard below them in white gown and black tux, “some people come to Vegas to change their life.”
Carlotta smiled at the glowing couple, but something she’d detected in Peter’s voice made her look back to him.
He was holding a red ring box containing a familiar Cartier ring. It was the ring he’d first given her when they were young. After her father’s scandal had broken and Peter had ended their engagement, she had kept the ring for years, pining for him, until she’d been forced to sell it to a pawn shop. By that time Peter was back in her life and had hunted down the ring, then upped the ante by adding a large glittering diamond on either side of the center solitaire. Since then he’d been trying to convince her to wear it.
“Do you remember our agreement?” he asked.
Her throat was tight, so she nodded. When Randolph had returned unexpectedly, she’d suggested to Peter they spend some time apart so their relationship wouldn’t be a conflict of interest for him at work. He had agreed, but only if she promised to use the separation to consider wearing his ring.
“So, now that you’ve had time to think about us…will you wear my ring, Carly?”
Her heart flapped around in her chest. How could she not be dazzled by the amazing piece of jewelry? And flattered that Peter had created it solely for her? But she wanted to know what meaning would be attached to it, what he would expect of her.
“What are you asking, Peter?”
“This isn’t exactly the way I’d planned to do this, but…” He slid out of his chair and down on one knee. “Carlotta Wren, will you marry me and make me the happiest man alive?”
Gasps sounded around them and she realized they were garnering a lot of attention from other diners.
“Say yes!” a woman shouted, setting off a chorus of encouragement from all around the room, including the servers.
“Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!”
Carlotta swallowed hard as a hot flush crept up her face. Her pulse raced and she was having trouble breathing. Peter looked so handsome and so hopeful. He would love her and give her a good life. They could be happy—if only she would stop punishing him for a youthful mistake. Besides, how did the classic song go?
If you can’t be with the one you love…
“Yes,” she said on an exhale.
Peter whooped with pleasure as he removed the ring to slide onto her finger. The restaurant erupted in applause. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her heartily. Peter’s happiness was contagious, and her chest welled with deep affection for him and all they’d been through. She laughed and waved to the people sitting around them, thanking them. As the cheers subsided, she and Peter reclaimed their seats. Her stomach rolled from all the excitement, and her palms were moist. She stared at the ring, its many carats sparkling under the lights.
“It’s awesome,” their waitress said, her voice wistful. “And a step up from that plastic bracelet, for sure.”
Carlotta frowned.
“But I wouldn’t be showing it off, if you know what I mean.” As the woman turned away, she jerked her head toward another table.
Carlotta glanced over to see a pair of questionable-looking men fixated on her ring and exchanging knowing looks.
“Right,” Peter added quietly. “Vegas is riddled with pickpockets and thieves. As soon as we get back to the room, we’ll store it in one of the safes.”
“Okay.”
“By the way, I wasn’t going to say anything about the bracelet, but it doesn’t seem like something you’d wear. Is it sentimental?”
“Not really,” she hedged, covering the cheap pink beads with her hand. “It’s…to remind me of something. It’s…not important.”
He grinned wide. “So we’re engaged.”
“Again,” she added without thinking. When his smile faded a bit, she said, “I’m sorry. This is a new beginning.”
“A new beginning,” he agreed, his eyes darkening with desire. “Let’s get out of here.”
While Peter paid the bill, Carlotta snapped a picture of the ring on her finger and texted it to Hannah.
Ten seconds later, Hannah texted back. Is that what I think it is?
Yes.
Fuck. I knew I should’ve gone to Vegas with you.
I didn’t invite you.
Friends don’t let friends get engaged on the rebound.
Carlotta frowned at the screen.
“Something wrong?” Peter asked.
“No,” Carlotta said, stowing the phone. “I was just sharing the good news with Hannah.”
“I know Hannah doesn’t like me.”
“She doesn’t know you.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Goth Girl and I have nothing in common—except you.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Ready?”
Carlotta nodded, biting back a smile. Little did Peter know, Goth Girl was the heir to HAL Properties, a holding company for exclusive hotels. Carlotta had caught Hannah red-handed in designer duds and airbrushed makeup looking downright gorgeous at a business event. Peter would probably change his mind about Hannah if he knew…which disappointed her a little. And she wasn’t ready to tell him Hannah’s family was one of Randolph’s clients who lost big when he was accused of fraud over a decade earlier.
She was still grappling with that news herself.
On the walk back to the hotel, Peter clasped her left hand and smiled every time she caught his glance. But she could tell his body language was tense, and she wondered if he was worried about being intimate with her. Things in that department had nowhere to go but up—literally. But hopefully their new status as a couple would be the catalyst they needed in the bedroom.
When they turned a corner, Carlotta looked back and stiffened.
“Is something wrong?” Peter asked.
She continued walking at a slightly faster pace. “Those men from the restaurant are following us.”
“Where?”
“Don’t look back.”
“I’m calling 9-1-1,” Peter said, his head pivoting. “Where’s a taxi
when you need one?”
“Quick, in here,” she said, pulling him into a souvenir shop.
“But they’ll catch up to us.”
“They won’t know it’s us.” She walked down the aisles, picking up packages as she went. Without breaking stride, she carried the items to the nearest checkout counter. A bewildered Peter paid while she opened the packages.
“Is there a back door?” she asked the guy at the register.
He pointed. “Through the stock room, but once you go out, you can’t get back in.”
“Fine,” she said, already heading that way. She handed a wrinkled white paper jumpsuit and plastic wig to Peter. “Put these on.”
“But—”
“Hurry.”
She pulled a cheap white dress over her head and situated a cottony wig over her dark hair. They’d gone in the front door Carlotta and Peter, and when they went out the back door, they were Marilyn and Elvis.
“This way,” she said, when they exited onto a side street. “We’ll get behind them. How’s 9-1-1 coming?”
“Still on hold,” Peter said, exasperated.
They turned right and right again, then merged with foot traffic on the main thoroughfare.
“There they are up ahead,” Peter said, squeezing her hand. “They’re looking for us.”
“Keep your phone up to hide your face. Be casual.”
A few minutes later, they walked right by the men who were craning and scanning the crowd. Fifteen minutes later, they walked into their hotel lobby.
“Hello?” Peter said into the phone. “Thanks, but never mind.” He ended the call and made a disgusted noise. “What if our lives had been in danger?”
“But they weren’t,” Carlotta said, threading through the bank of slot machines meant to snag guests who had just arrived. Then she laughed at the picture Peter presented—an outraged imitation Elvis. “Look at you.”
He grinned. “Look at you! That was fun. Wait—where did you learn to do that?”
“I improvised,” she said breezily, stabbing the elevator call button.
But he was looking at her sideways. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Newly engaged and you’re already doubting me,” she chided as the elevator doors opened.
He walked on behind her and picked up her beringed hand. “Newly engaged,” he repeated. “That sounds amazing. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too,” she murmured.
While Peter pushed the button for their floor, she snapped the elastic bracelet against her wrist.
As they approached their room, she breathed deeply to calm her nerves. She could tell Peter was nervous, too, from the way his hand shook slightly when he used the key card to open the door. When they walked inside, the room seemed smaller and the bed seemed larger. The cover had been turned down in invitation. Their gazes met…
Carlotta wet her lips.
“Why don’t we get out of these costumes?” he suggested.
Undressing each other sounded sexy to her, but when she took a step toward him, he walked past her.
“I’ll meet you back out here?”
“Oh…okay.”
“Do you want me to put your ring in the safe in my closet?”
“I’ll put it in the one in mine,” she said, trying not to feel deflated.
“Let me know if you need a hand.”
Carlotta frowned after him. She could think of lots of things for his hands to do. She snapped the bracelet on her wrist—hard—then retrieved the red ring box from her bag and went to her walk-in closet. Things would be better between her and Peter once they’d made love. The comforting thought made her quicken her pace.
She tugged on the door of the safe, then realized she’d inadvertently closed the door when she was looking in it before. Since she hadn’t changed the combination, though, the door opened when she pulled up on the handle. Carlotta jumped back when a large object came rolling out. A few seconds passed before she registered the large object was a man’s body dressed in the hotel’s uniform. She screamed.
“Carly?”
“Peter—come quick!”
Peter burst into the closet. “What the hell?”
“He was in the safe.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes. He’s cold.”
“You touched him? I’m calling security. Come out of there, Carly. I don’t want you involved.”
Too late. Because the dead man’s face was familiar—it was Johnson, the guy renting the house next door to her and Wes’s townhome in Atlanta.
The guy she’d suspected of watching them.
Minus ten. Minus ten. Minus ten.
While Peter was on the phone shouting at hotel security, Carlotta retrieved her phone and reluctantly placed a call of her own.
On the fourth ring, Jack Terry’s groggy voice came on the line. “Carlotta? Do you know what time it is?”
She realized it was way late on the East Coast. “Tell Liz I’m sorry to disturb her beauty sleep.”
“It’s not like that. I’m not… Where are you?”
“In Vegas. And I’m in trouble.”
“You’re supposed to get in trouble in Vegas. It’s Vegas.”
“There’s a dead man in my room.”
He sighed. “Of course there is. Okay, I’m awake. Talk to me.”
Chapter 3
THE BLACK TOWN CAR CIRCLED the parking lot before coming to a stop by the curb. The driver-side window buzzed down, revealing a big, dour face.
“This had better be good, Little Man, to call me on a Sunday.”
Wesley Wren loped over, feeling light and happy for a change. “It is, Mouse. Here.” He handed The Carver’s collection guy a brown paper bag.
Mouse looked wary. “What’s this?”
“See for yourself.”
Mouse opened the bag and peeked inside, then glanced back up. “What the hell?”
“You’ve never seen cash before?”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“That’s enough to clear my debt with The Carver, and a little extra for goodwill. Feel free to skim some off the top for yourself.”
Mouse frowned.
“Not that you skim off the top of collections,” Wes added hastily.
Mouse crunched the bag closed. “What’d you do, rob a bank?”
Wes smiled, reliving the discovery of a bag of cash in the wall of the townhouse in the course of doing repairs. It had taken him a while to count it, but all told, it was more than five hundred thousand dollars. He suspected his father had put it there before he went on the run ten years ago, with the thought of returning for it, or leaving it for his kids to live on in their parents’ absence. But if Randolph had left instructions on where to find the money, they’d gotten waylaid.
Although it had occurred to Wes the instructions might be in the Christmas packages under the tree in the living room he had refused to let Carlotta open. If so, damn.
Or maybe Randolph had simply forgotten about the money. If he’d absconded with as much money as he’d been accused of stealing from Mashburn & Tully, five hundred grand would’ve been a mere oversight.
But it could’ve made a big difference to his life and Carlotta’s over the past ten years. How many times had he seen his sister cry over late bills and failing appliances they couldn’t afford to replace? Plus she could’ve gone to college.
Both of them could have.
It’s why he didn’t feel guilty about spending some of it now to get himself out of a jam, and why he had a tidy sum sewn into the lining of his jacket for his trip.
A snapping sound brought him out of his reverie. Mouse was scowling. “Bank robbery is federal. You don’t mess with that shit.”
Wes stabbed at his glasses. “Relax, I didn’t rob a bank. I just got lucky is all.”
“Won the lottery, huh?”
“Something like that. Gotta run—I have to catch a flight.”
“Where you headed?”
“Vegas.”
“You don’t say?”
“Yeah. My sister and her boyfriend are out there on vacation and invited me to come out. I’m taking a friend.”
“A lady friend?”
“No, my buddy Chance. He loves Vegas.”
Mouse nodded toward the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll give you a ride to the airport.”
“I was planning to take the train.”
“No, really. Get in.”
Wes knew better than to argue. But his feet were heavy as he walked around to climb into the front seat. “Thanks.”
“Nice day for a drive,” Mouse said casually, pulling away from the curb and easing out of the parking lot into traffic. The big man maintained a stoic silence until they merged onto the connector leading south to the airport and put a few miles behind them. “The boss is going to be happy you paid off your debt, but with this much money, he’s going to ask questions.”
“Tell him I won it in a poker game.”
“Were you playing with someone from the Treasury Department? Those are brand new bills.”
Wes swallowed hard and decided not to answer.
“Or maybe it’s reward money from the D.A.’s office for snitching?”
Wes jerked his head around. “What? No!”
“So you haven’t been talking about our headless friend who wound up in the morgue?”
If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget pulling the teeth out of the decapitated head and leaving it in a field for the birds. “You never told me the guy’s name, remember?”
“But you could’ve tagged me for being involved.”
“I didn’t, Mouse. I wouldn’t snitch on you.”
“You don’t have to. I didn’t off the guy.”
Wes gaped. “You didn’t?”
“Nah, it was one of Dillon’s guys.”
“Someone who worked for The Carver’s son? Was it Leonard?” Leonard was the muscle head his probation officer was engaged to.
Mouse looked surprised. “You know Leonard?”
“No.” Wes held up a hand. “Forget I said anything. I don’t want to know.” He already felt guilty about not telling E. Jones her boyfriend was bad news.
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