“What’s your favorite number?”
At her abrupt question, he frowned. “Seven.”
“Then seven it is.”
She placed her remaining chips on his lucky number.
David stiffened. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Don’t worry. If I lose, I won’t come after you.”
David swallowed. Another innuendo. This one worse than the last. If he kept this up—
Jesus. There he went again—
“Watch,” she urged in a whisper.
David did. The ball tumbled and clattered around the roulette wheel. As the wheel slowed, the ball landed on seven and quivered as if struggling against some invisible force. The wheel whispered to a stop and the ball stilled and remained on...seven.
Just like that. She’d recovered her losses and added a couple of thousand to her pot.
“That’s amazing!” he exclaimed. And strange. The odds of something like that occurring were astronomical. “By God. Talk about luck!”
“You think it’s luck?” She searched his face, her expression growing serious.
“What else could it be?”
“I thought you might know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
At the sudden, unnerving intensity of her gaze, David tensed, feeling strangely vulnerable.
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” She shook her head and looked disappointed as she collected her chips. “I’ll see you around.”
She planned on cashing in, and David hadn’t even gotten her name. “Hey, don’t go yet. How about a drink?”
“Not tonight.”
She turned and didn’t give him another glance.
“Hey, tell me your name,” he called after her as he stood, acting completely out of character. He didn’t chase after women. And he sure the hell didn’t yell after them either.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder. Their gazes caught.
“It’s Skye Hunter.”
Her name hit David as if someone slammed a fist into his face. He stood unmoving, unable to catch his breath, think or respond as he watched her turn back around and walk away. Sudden sweat filmed across his brow and sent a chill racing across his flesh. For a wild second, he thought he was going to pass out. He shivered and frantically searched his pockets. He pulled out a roll of antacid tablets and stuffed two down his throat.
Skye Hunter.
Just saying the name in his head launched his heart rate into overdrive. The crazy part of the whole thing—he didn’t know why. He’d never heard it until she’d told him seconds before.
So then, why in God’s name did her name bother him so much?
Chapter 3
After she left the main floor of the casino, Skye double-checked to see if Bishop followed before she turned into a marble entryway and slipped into the elevator to her room. All she wanted to do was get out of her clothes before picking Tyler up from Jamie’s place. She was convinced the high heels she’d crammed her feet into hours before were some sick and vindictive torture device invented by the male species.
The elevator door sighed open, and she stepped into the hall and onto the eighth floor. No one followed her into the empty hall. Head bent, exhausted from her encounter with Bishop, she searched inside her purse for her hotel’s card key.
She looked up several feet from her room. On the opposite side of her door, a figure edged out from a deep alcove where she knew a table and plant rested, almost as if he’d been lurking, waiting for her. She froze. Tension cut into her limbs and her heart pounded inside her chest.
Skye didn’t move from her spot in the hall as she slipped her hand from inside her purse and asked, “How did you find me?”
“I do still have a couple of friends on the force. Even so, it took a while to figure out what alias you were going under. Mary Ann Summers from Gilligan’s Island? Hell. I knew you liked the show, even collected some memorabilia. I just didn’t figure out how much.”
She stared at her ex-husband with a jumble of emotions she couldn’t even begin to define.
“What? No smile of greeting?” Jay grinned and stepped closer.
The bastard was just as attractive as ever. If his tall, wiry physique didn’t get a woman, his smile always did. It lit up his blue eyes and brought out his killer dimples. Sad part—he knew exactly how to screw over a woman with that smile and a few glib words.
“Why would I do that?”
“I guess it was worth a shot.”
Her wits or her memory hadn’t dulled since their last meeting. “You haven’t told anyone we’re in Vegas, have you?” She glanced down both ends of the hall. “I hope you didn’t have anyone follow you here.”
Jay frowned. Then a look of disgust washed over his face. “I thought we were through with all that paranoia crap. What with the damn psychiatrist to get your head on straight. You must have pulled one on her if she gave everyone the thumbs up.”
“I’m not paranoid.” Skye hoped she sounded confident as she glanced over at her door. Thank God Tyler was over at Jamie’s apartment.
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
At his condescending tone, Skye’s gaze narrowed. “What’s so important that you left Boston and tracked me here?”
When a couple appeared from an intersecting hallway and moved their way, they both stepped to the side for them to pass.
“Can we talk inside?” When she hesitated, he nodded to the couple further down the hall. “Unless you want anyone walking by to hear our business.”
She forced herself to relax. Jay might have a vicious tongue, but he’d never grown violent. “Sure.”
Skye opened her door and stepped aside, giving Jay enough room to pass without touching her, but not far enough away to miss the smell of stale alcohol. She snapped on the light by the door, and he followed her into the small sitting area where she turned on a floor lamp beside a leather, maroon chair.
The furnishings and non-descript wood coffee and end tables looked clean and adequate, nothing like the luxurious surroundings of some of the other suites in the hotel. She’d never see the interior of those rooms with her income. If not for the gambling, she’d be struggling to find a one-room apartment in a safe neighborhood.
But then, since their last encounter—verbal brawl might be the better term—Jay’s financial situation hadn’t been any better than her own, and like Skye, he’d taken a financial plunge as deep as the Grand Canyon. A vicious divorce tended to do that.
Both lights glared against Jay’s face and amplified the damages of time she’d missed. Deep lines cut along the sides of his mouth, between his eyebrows and by his eyes. Eyes that now regarded her with an indefinable expression. “Where’s Tyler?”
She straightened, her spine crackling from the base to the nape of her neck. “He’s at the babysitter’s.”
“When can I see him?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Skye fisted her hands at her sides. “You’re not interested in seeing Tyler. The only reason you went after custody in the first place was that you knew how much he meant to me.”
“Save the preaching. You’re not exactly moral yourself.”
“But I wasn’t the one who started it all, making me look like an unfit mother. You threw every imaginable insult until I was forced to retaliate.”
“Is that what you call it? Well, thanks to you, I lost my job, the respect of my co-workers and some of my friends.”
“And I almost lost Tyler!” Skye dug her fingers deeper into her palms.
“It might have been better that way. That way he’d have had a chance at some normal life, because we all know you’re not normal.”
“At least I have a brain. I don’t stick powder up my nose or deal it—” Skye forced herself to calm down, mortified at how the past still managed to shred her self-control, her confidence and her ability to act the mature adult. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. But be honest. You didn’t come to see Tyler. Give me that at least.
”
The lines in his face deepened, and his shoulders dipped as if an added weight settled across them. “I need money.”
Just as she suspected. Jay showing up had nothing to do with his son. “I don’t have any to give.”
“You must. Do you know how hard it is to start over again with worse than nothing? I was a cop for God’s sake! Who’s going to touch a cop who was fired for dealing drugs? Can you tell me that?”
“I’m sorry. But you’re the one who made that choice.”
Jay walked over to the television, drummed his fingers against its top and eyed her purse with suspicion. “I’m just asking for a bit. Enough to get me started in another town.”
“I don’t have it.” She fought back the urge to clutch her purse to her side. Yeah, she could pay him after her winnings tonight, but she had no intention of supplying him with funds, especially when he might be using again.
“But you could get it. All I have to do is look around here and know you’re doing the casinos instead of holding down a real job. You’d be crazy not to. Those slot machines must be like a free teller machine to you.”
“I can’t touch the slots. They have computer chips. Something too sophisticated for me.”
“What about Tyler. He could—”
“No! Absolutely not.”
“Then there’s gotta be other ways. You’re smart enough to figure something out.”
“I can’t help you.”
“You’re such a damned hypocrite.” Jay glared at her.
He wasn’t going to intimidate her. He didn’t have the power or the authority to come after her this time. “I can’t help you. I can barely help myself.”
Another moment of silence. Then he shook his head, strode to the door, but paused. His gaze narrowed and his mouth twisted into a sneer. “You better figure out something, because I need some money.”
He disappeared into the hall, but Skye quickly followed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He didn’t turn around to answer as he passed three women in the hall. Skye bit her lip and thought about following. Then she noticed the curious looks in the women’s eyes. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, and mindful of how frantic she probably looked, she retreated back into her apartment.
After she closed and locked the door, though, she realized the real reason why she hadn’t followed. She’d been too afraid of Jay’s answer.
Fifteen minutes later, changed into a pair of jeans, tank top, and blessed running shoes, she ventured out of her room. After finding Jay nowhere on the floor, she hurried from the hotel and to her truck. For three miles, she glanced in her review mirror for signs of a tail. Seeing none, she backtracked and drove to Jamie’s apartment.
Moments after Skye’s knock, Jamie opened the door, waved her inside and whispered, “I let him fall asleep watching TV, if that’s okay?”
“That’s fine.” She walked into Jamie’s living room. The plants, comforter slung across the back of a chair, and fashion magazines splayed out across a coffee table gave the place the look of a home, unlike Skye’s sterile hotel room. She hated how it magnified her own inadequacies as a mother and inability to give her son the stability only a home could give. “He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”
“God no. The kid’s perfect. A little too serious, but we did get him laughing. We even got a game of Scrabble going.”
The light from the kitchen illuminated the sofa where Tyler lay curled on his side. Seeing him safe, asleep and untroubled, Skye smiled, and the tension and anxiety eased from her muscles.
“Hey, Ty. It’s time to go home.”
Tyler groaned, stretched and lifted his arms in the air. “I don’t want to get up.”
“I don’t think Miss Jamie wants you sleeping on her sofa when she wakes up tomorrow.”
He groaned some more and lifted his hand. “I can’t move. Help me up.”
“You’re getting a little too heavy to be—”
“So you’re saying you’re a little weakling?” He gave her a sleepy grin and waved his fingers in encouragement.
With a grudging smile, Skye shook her head, grabbed his hand and lifted. “Holy cow, Batman.” She dug her heels into the carpet and pulled. “I lied. You’re not heavy. You’re heavier than heavy.”
Tyler bounced to a stand. “You’re just lucky I did most of the work.”
“Yes, I’m lucky.” She smiled, liking the happy flush to his cheeks and how hanging with Houston always lightened Tyler’s mood.
At the door, Skye paused with her son. “Thanks for everything. Just let me know when I can return the favor.”
“Oh, believe me. You’ll be repaying me and then some. What with midterms and finals coming up.”
“We’ll probably stop by for dinner tomorrow if you’re working.” Skye followed Tyler outside.
“I’m always working,” Jamie called after them. “That, or I’m studying.”
When they exited the gate leading from the apartment complex and reached the parking lot, Tyler turned and started walking backward beside her. “First one to the car gets dibs on the shower.”
“Hey!”
Tyler whipped around and raced down the sidewalk to their truck. Skye leaped into a run after him, gaining on him with each yard. Then suddenly, the distance between them lengthened as Tyler appeared to get a burst of power and Skye’s body acquired an energy leak.
Her son slammed a hand against the hood. “I win!”
Skye stumbled to a halt, placed both palms against her thighs, and gasped for air. She was getting too old for this. “Only because you cheated.”
“I didn’t cheat.”
The parking lot light illuminated Tyler’s offended expression, and Skye couldn’t help but laugh at the comical look. “I know. That’s the sad part. I remember a time when I made a point of losing.”
“You don’t do that now, do you?”
“No, you won that one all on your own,” she assured, wanting to erase Tyler’s frown. “I think you’ll be winning every time from here on out.”
Tyler walked to the passenger side of the truck and said over the hood, “You know, the person who wins the shower also gets dibs on the TV.”
Arching one brow, she shook her head ruefully. “Let me think about that one.”
“It’s only fair.”
After unlocking both doors, she pulled herself up behind the wheel of the truck with a grunt and more of a struggle than she liked to admit. “Okay. You win that too. You’re just lucky I’m so nice.”
He jumped into the passenger seat from the other side. A big grin spread across his face as he buckled his belt. “I know.”
Seeing his teeth flash in the darkness of the truck’s cab, hearing the pleasure in his voice, Skye clutched the steering wheel. She prayed she’d get to see more of those smiles.
Thank God, he never saw Jay tonight.
Skye wanted to keep it that way. Jay didn’t have empathy for anyone but himself, and he surely didn’t have any paternal feelings for his own son. Tyler didn’t deserve to experience that indifference. To her, having no parent around was better than being exposed to the apathy of one. Indifference ate away at a child’s soul, chipped at his self-confidence and stifled his growth. All she had to remember were the homes she had lived in as a foster child.
Her ex-husband may have given her the best thing in her life, but unlike Tyler, Jay belonged to her past, and she intended to keep it that way.
But another part of her past haunted her thoughts, goaded her every action and had drawn her to Vegas. She’d been going on gut for months now, running from faceless strangers with dark, unfathomable motives, but now by mere chance, a name and face had appeared from her past. David Bishop. He might be the only person with the ability to answer her questions.
Otherwise, she didn’t know what to do, because she couldn’t last on survival mode much longer.
~~*~~
“I want you to get your ass over to Vegas,” Fe
rguson demanded. “She showed up on the local news there.”
Peter paused in the middle of his kitchen and gripped his cell phone harder. “Where in Vegas?”
“I don’t know. One of the newscasts had a segment about dumbest robberies on tape. Her face came up on one of the surveillance tapes.”
“You’re joking? We’re talking Las Vegas. Do you have any idea—”
“Just do it. All you need to do is focus on the roulette wheel. Eventually, you’ll find her hanging around one of them.” A long drawn out sigh came from the other end of the line. “Don’t screw up.”
“I won’t.” With his free hand, Peter pulled the dead rabbit from the kitchen’s sink. The warm, limp body bowed over his hand as he carried it to a large, glass cage where he placed it gently inside.
“Well, just remember Andy. I took care of him two years ago when he made such a mess of things with Hunter.”
At Ferguson’s warning, Peter clenched his jaw. The guy was a prick. If Ferguson wanted to keep Peter in line by threats of him ending up dead like Andy, then the guy was doing it all wrong. Peter didn’t scare easily. Not anymore. He’d lost it all—friends, family, his job and the respect of his coworkers. If Ferguson pushed him too far, he’d soon find out Peter would be the one calling the shots. Peter would sooner kill Ferguson before getting shit on.
“I don’t screw up like Andy.”
“Keep it that way. I want you to get the job done.”
Peter shrugged a shoulder. “That’s what I get paid for.”
“Remember that. Andy didn’t seem to ‘get it.’” A pause of silence followed. “I’ve got another chance with Hunter, and this time everything’s going to go my way. No mistakes. You understand?”
“Gotcha.”
Peter disconnected the line and looked down into the aquarium-like cage. George, his red-tailed boa, had taken the rabbit’s head into his mouth. Over the course of two hours, George would alternatively extend the opposite sides of his face and milk the animal’s body down his esophagus until it disappeared between his extended jaws.
Chapter 4
“What’s so dang interesting behind me?” Gordon Bishop asked.
Identity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance Page 3