“Yeah, somewhere near Vegas. Not half-way across the world.” And then I realized. “You thought this would be a great bribe.”
Jack shook his head. “No, I thought this would be a great date.”
I stared at him. “You want to date me?”
“Of course I do.”
I was surprised and flattered for only a split second, and then my anger returned with a vengeance and I crossed my arms against my chest. “This isn’t a date. You can’t just drag someone somewhere and call it a date. And I don’t want to date you.”
Jack raised one eyebrow. “You don’t?”
The rational part of me was silently screaming to shut up. But I didn’t.
“I don’t,” I told him. “I think you’re behind the Van Gogh theft and I don’t want to date a criminal.”
“I’m not a criminal. My lawyers will tell you that.”
I glared at him, about to tell him just what I thought of him and his lawyers, when my phone rang. It was Stone.
“What?” I said, sounding more annoyed than I meant to.
“Do you know you’re in Amsterdam?”
He sounded surprised and I scowled. “Yes, of course I know! How do you know?”
“Remember how, during the Ethan Becker murder investigation, I installed tracking software on your phone? I said I’d taken it off, but I didn’t.”
I inhaled sharply. “I cannot believe you! That is such an invasion of privacy!”
“It saved your life, once.”
“I don’t care! I mean, I do, but you need to stop tracking me! I can take care of myself! And I have a new bodyguard now, Ian.”
Stone was silent for a few seconds and then he said, “Fine. I hope Ian’s experienced?”
“Of course he is,” I fibbed. “Why don’t you leave me to deal with my life?”
I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Stone’s been a good friend to me, and he’s looked out for me more than I deserved. He’d just called at the wrong time.
“Ok,” Stone said. “Have a good time in Amsterdam. Call me if you need anything.”
He hung up, and I looked at the phone sadly, wishing I hadn’t yelled at Stone.
Beside me, Jack was silent for a few minutes, and then he said, “Who was that?”
“Just a friend.”
I didn’t feel like explaining, and Jack didn’t press it.
The phone rang again, and I looked down. It wasn’t a number I knew, so I decided to save some money on roaming fees and not answer it.
“How long are we staying here?” I asked Jack. “I didn’t pack anything.”
“I thought we’d go through the museum and leave, in which case we’ll be back in Vegas tonight. Unless you want to stay longer, of course.”
I shook my head. Leaving Vegas and flying to Amsterdam was crazy. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole thing yet, but I knew I didn’t want to stay overnight.
We pulled up in front of a large building whose side was covered with blown up replicas of Van Gogh’s most famous works, and as we stepped out of the car, I reminded Jack, “This isn’t a date.”
“I understand that,” he said, and I followed him as we bypassed the line, showed the guard our passports, and stepped inside.
“There’s no-one else here,” I said, looking around.
Jack grinned. “I booked out the whole place for us.”
I tried not to feel overwhelmed. This would’ve been a great date if it was a date.
“This isn’t a date,” I said, more for my own benefit than Jack’s.
He smiled and we looked over at a smartly dressed brunette walking toward us.
“I am Carina,” she told us, with a slightly Eastern European accent, “I will guide you through the museum today.” She turned to Jack and said, “Thank you for your generous support of the foundation.”
Jack replied gracefully, while I thought to myself, What foundation? The things I didn’t know about Jack Weber seemed to be endless.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I felt slightly exhausted as the plane took off and I was pushed back against my seat.
The last three hours had been one long walk through the museum, listening to Carina discuss interesting facts about the artist’s life and his style of art, coupled with the overwhelming sensation of seeing so many gorgeous paintings all at once.
“That was fun,” I told Jack weakly, unable to get over my sheer disbelief of what we’d just done.
“Thanks. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime? Another day, another trip?”
I looked into his eyes and an involuntary shiver ran through my body. The man was mind-blowingly handsome, wealthier than anyone I’d met, and he wanted to spend that wealth doing fun things with me. His dark green eyes stared into mine with a mixture of confidence and hope. More than anything else, I wanted to say “yes” to his offer.
But I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure you’re a criminal,” I said, as much to myself as to him, and he leaned back in his seat with a smile.
The plane had finished its ascent, and was now cruising steadily. Jack said, “Isn’t being a private investigator all about being open to different explanations of what might’ve happened?”
“It is, but right now, all explanations point toward you.”
Jack shook his head. “How’d you become a PI, anyway?”
I smiled. “How’d you become such a successful businessman?”
“I asked you first.”
“What is this, first grade?”
“You started it.”
“Did not.”
We smiled at each other, and Jack began to tell me about his work. He’d gotten into the casino business by accident – he’d started out as a valet, managing his own investments on the side. But over time, his investments did better, his company grew, and he wound up buying large shares in casinos.
I was surprised that he hadn’t been born into money. His parents had been immigrants from Germany, and he’d gone to public schools all his life.
“It’s your turn now,” he said, after a while. I didn’t have any excuse for being secretive – or any reason, really, so I told him about being a casino dealer who was trying to get more meaningful work as an investigator.
He listened thoughtfully for a while, and then he said, “You know, I’ve got a pile of books, up front. There’s an autobiography of a woman who used to be a PI, you might find it interesting.”
I headed toward the shelf he was indicating, and pawed through the piled-up books.
“Why do you have these here?” I asked, holding up two Harlequin romances. I smiled to myself as I imagined Jack reading them. There were at least six more in the pile.
Jack smiled back, and I was struck once again by how charming his smile was. “Sometimes I have female friends riding on the plane with me. Those are for them.”
“Oh.” I turned around so he couldn’t see my expression, and put the books down quickly. Once I found the PI’s autobiography, I headed back to my seat, and pretended to read it, while thinking about all those Harlequin-reading “female friends” that rode on Jack’s plane with him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’ll grab my stuff and head home,” I said to Jack as I stepped out in front of The Tremonte. It was just past two in the morning, and Vegas casino-life was in full swing. Tourists wearing shorts and brightly printed shirts walked in and out of the casinos along the Strip, gawking at the lights and, depending on how their run at the games had been, either grinning maniacally or looking like their dog had died.
Jack gave me a skeptical look. “The room’s already paid for. You might as well stay and enjoy the breakfast buffet tomorrow.”
We stepped inside and the air conditioning hit us, reminding me of the temperature in Amsterdam. Ever since he’d told me about his Harlequin-reading “women friends,” I’d been eager to get away from Jack, but he did have a point. And the siren song of the breakfast buffet was irresistible.
I stifled my sigh. “You’re right.”
As we headed past the lobby, Sam Rampell, the director of Casino Kings, stepped out of the casino with a scowl on his face. The moment he saw us, the scowl disappeared, replaced by a glimmer of surprise when he saw me with Jack. And then the surprise was replaced with a suave, polite friendliness.
“Jack,” he said, coming over to us. “You’re just the man I needed to see. We need to talk about the talent.”
Sam nodded at me politely, and the two men began discussing production costs, actors and the cost to the casino. I tuned out for a few moments, wondering if I should just excuse myself and head to my room. I couldn’t stay on at The Tremonte indefinitely, but I still hadn’t figured out what to do about Mr. Beard. Maybe I could ask Ian to come over to my place and sleep on the couch…
The conversation seemed to be winding down, and then Sam said, “Jack, would you mind if I had a word with Tiffany in private?”
“No, of course not. I was about to head upstairs and get back to work.” He looked at me inquisitively. “If that’s ok with you?”
“Of course.” I looked at him awkwardly. “Thanks for a lovely time, today.”
One corner of Jack’s mouth went up and his eyes looked into mine. “It was nice,” he said. “Thank you.”
He turned and walked away, and I watched him for a few seconds. Next to me, Sam asked, “Did you two just come back from dinner?”
“No. Museum visit.”
The goodbye would’ve been a lot more awkward if Sam hadn’t been there. Maybe Jack would’ve kissed me. Of course, I’d told him it wasn’t a date. My mind began to wander and I imagined how it would be to kiss him.
“So…” Sam was saying slowly. “You two are a thing now.”
I snapped back to reality. “No, we’re not. We’re just friends. Not even friends really.” I shook my head. “I’m just investigating him for something.”
Sam was watching me closely. “Crystal’s murder?”
“No, something else.”
Sam raised one eyebrow. “He’s involved in another crime? He’s financing a lot of this movie, should I be concerned?”
I shook my head again. “No.” I was feeling strangely defensive of Jack, but I couldn’t think of a good explanation. “It’s just… this random thing. Nothing important.”
“Right.” Sam nodded. “And how’s the investigation into Crystal’s death going?”
I made a “so-so” face.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll find something.”
He smiled at me politely, and suddenly I felt a flash of annoyance. Sam must’ve thought I was a clueless Vegas dealer with no investigative skills whatsoever, and you know what? He might’ve been right. Still, I didn’t want him to believe that I hadn’t gotten anywhere with the investigation yet, so I fibbed, “I’ve got a good lead. There was a guy who was constantly hitting on Crystal – her friends think this guy had something to do with her death.”
“Oh.” He looked at me thoughtfully and ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea – I mean. I know who it was, I just didn’t think he was – didn’t think he had…”
He looked at me seriously and his voice trailed off.
“Who was the guy?” I asked.
Sam leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Crystal told me it was Jack.”
Time seemed to slow down. I could see Sam’s dark, serious eyes, and the lights of the casino pit behind him. There was a jangling noise like coins pouring into a pot, and then the sharp sirens of a jackpot win. Around us, people were walking up and down, chatting with each other.
I said weakly, “She told you it was Jack?”
He nodded. “I didn’t tell you earlier because I thought someone else would mention it before me. Jack’s women are his business, and I really need his funding.”
I nodded, as though what he’d just said made sense, but I was only half present. The rest of me was wondering what the hell Jack had been doing with Crystal. It was bad enough that he had women friends who rode on his private jet with him so frequently that he kept books for them. Maybe Crystal read Harlequin romances. She seemed the type.
I gave myself a tiny shake – I was jealous of dead woman. And maybe Sam was wrong about the two of them being together. Yes, that made sense. The man had thought Jack and I were together, when clearly we weren’t. So he must be wrong about Crystal.
“Did you ever see them together?” I asked. “Jack told me he never came on set.”
“No, he didn’t,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I never saw them together inside the casino, but I think I saw them having dinner once, some place downtown. And the day before Crystal died, they were standing outside on the Strip, arguing about something.”
My stomach clenched sharply. Jack had told me he didn’t know Crystal, and like a fool, I’d believed him. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”
“No, I was too far away. I don’t think they saw me.”
I nodded. “Well, thanks for telling me this.”
“Of course. I hope you’ll keep it confidential?”
I forced myself to smile. “I’d be a terrible PI if I didn’t.”
I’d already been a terrible PI. I’d trusted Jack; I’d come close to believing that he had nothing to do with the theft. I felt sick thinking that I’d gone to Amsterdam with him – maybe if I’d kicked up a bigger fuss, if I’d told him that the Ferrari number-plate trace linked him to the scene, he would’ve killed me and dumped my body in one of those picturesque canals.
Just like he’d killed Crystal and dumped her body in one of the streets of North Vegas.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By the time I got to my room and closed the door behind me, I was feeling numb inside. I refused to let myself explore the emotions bubbling within me. I’d been played, and I’d come so close to believing that Jack was a nice guy. My memory pulled up images of his charming smile and his dazzling good looks, and I realized he was a textbook sociopath. And I was staying in his hotel.
I hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door, and drew the security chain across. The room was large and well-lit, and the windows reflected it back to me. The silence was almost unbearable, so I switched on the TV. But then I wouldn’t be able to hear anyone approaching. I switched it off again.
My heart was thumping wildly. I checked the windows – they were locked now, but could be unlocked and slid open. I heard footsteps outside in the hall and froze. But then the footsteps passed my room and went away. I breathed again.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted and unable to think straight. The in-room phone rang and I jumped up.
The caller ID said, “Reception,” and I stared at it; I could just not answer. But then Jack would try my cellphone, or worse, he might come to the door.
I picked up, and stayed on the line while the receptionist transferred the call across to Jack.
“Sorry about getting waylaid by Sam,” Jack said. “Just wanted to make sure you made it to the room ok.”
“Yes.” I closed my eyes weakly, knowing he’d seen me come up on the security cameras.
“You sound tired,” he said.
“I am. Thanks for a fun day.” And then inspiration hit. “I’m sorry I thought you were a criminal. You seem like a nice guy.” If Jack didn’t think I suspected him of anything, maybe he wouldn’t bother me.
There was a pause at the other end, and then Jack said, “Really?”
He sounded suspicious, so I decided to add a bright smile to my voice. “Of course! Today was wonderful.”
“Oh.” He still didn’t seem to believe me and said, “Maybe we can go out again, sometime.”
“Uh. I’m not ready to date anyone now.”
“Bullshit.” The answer was sharp and sudden. “I don’t think you really trust me.”
“I, uh, no …” My heart raced furiously, and I couldn’t think of a good excuse.
Jack sighed, and when he spoke ag
ain, he sounded tired and dejected. “Never mind. It’s too late, and I can’t change what I did.”
He hung up, and I stared at the receiver. What had Jack done? Why was he admitting to something now? I glanced at the door, and then at the large, floor-to-ceiling windows. I didn’t want to sleep in here. And I definitely didn’t want to die in here.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I called the one person in the world I knew could keep me safe, no matter what.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier,” I said, when Stone picked up.
He was silent for a few seconds and then he said, “How was the date?”
I didn’t have the energy to scowl. “It wasn’t a date.”
There was some more silence. Stone said, “Your voice sounds funny. Are you ok?”
“I’m fine. What’re you up to, tonight?”
“Finishing up at the office. Do you need anything?”
“Some company would be nice. I don’t feel safe in my room.”
“No-one can get past those Tremonte security cameras. Mr. Beard’s worked in a casino long enough to stay away from there.”
“It’s not Mr. Beard.”
There was another long silence, as Stone thought things out. Finally, he said, “And this guy doesn’t worry about security cameras?”
“No.”
“Go downstairs. Stay in a public spot.”
If I went downstairs and sat by myself, Jack might come and talk to me. But on the bright side, he couldn’t murder me out in public.
I took a deep breath and said, “Will you come and have coffee with me?”
“Is this an apology coffee?”
I smiled. “Yes. And an apology meal, if you’d like. I haven’t had dinner yet.”
***
Stone didn’t eat anything. But he had three mugs of coffee as he sat in the café and watched me go through two club sandwiches. I couldn’t bring myself to order the triple chocolate cupcake because it reminded me of Jack and made me feel sick.
But Jack had nothing to do with any of the other flavors. So I had an orange-lemon cupcake with vanilla frosting, and offered half to Stone. He shook his head, like I’d known he would; it was the only reason I’d offered him some in the first place.
A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 02 - Green Eyes in Las Vegas Page 16