by AR Winters
Jack held my gaze. “You know all about this kind of fraud.”
I nodded. “Usually it’s for stealing public benefits like welfare or that kind of thing. But Stone had lots of money. He didn’t need government handouts.”
Jack made a face. Of course, he was a successful businessman who owned shares in multiple casinos and a number of global enterprises, so his definition of “lots of money” was different from mine.
“Stone wasn’t interested in taking money from the government,” Jack said. “He was hiding from them.”
“Why would—” I didn’t seem to be able to finish my sentences. I thought back to what I’d seen of Stone’s office on the thirty-sixth floor of the Riverbelle Casino. There were layers of security before you could enter, and Stone watched security camera feeds from all over Vegas. He knew what he was doing.
Jack was watching me carefully. He said, “Stone did work for the government—once. In a special antiterrorism unit called the DMA, which split off from the CIA. Stone was in Afghanistan in 1999, but then he went rogue.”
I shook my head. “He wouldn’t go rogue, it’s not like him.”
“He was nineteen at the time. The reports say he must’ve cracked under the pressure.”
“What pressure?”
“Just—not being able to do anything. He was supposed to be there in a monitoring position, not meddling in affairs.”
“Ninety-nine.” I frowned. “What was going on then? Wasn’t that before Bin Laden came onto the scene?”
Jack nodded. “Yep. Back in ninety-nine the Taliban was active, and there was infighting going on in the country. The US thought it was just civil war, but there were also reports that it could be something more serious.”
“So they sent the CIA?”
Jack shook his head no. “The DMA.”
“What’s DMA?”
“Decentralized Monitoring Agency. Their job was to keep an ear to the ground, but not take action. No matter what.”
I frowned. Stone was what you’d call the silent type. He never talked much, just did what needed to be done. I couldn’t imagine him sitting around, not taking action. “So Stone did something.”
“Not something. Some things.”
“What things?” I watched Jack closely, dreading the answer. I knew he was telling the truth—it wasn’t in him to lie about Stone just to make me dislike him.
Jack said, “Well, first, he kidnapped two Afghan women and took them to Pakistan.”
My mouth fell open, and I quickly snapped it shut. I wanted to say that it didn’t sound like something Stone would do. For as long as I’ve known him—which admittedly, isn’t that long—he’s treated all women respectfully. “Why would he do that?”
“That’s when he went rogue. He was working on a team, with two other men, and one of the men disappeared. The other told the DMA he was afraid Stone would come after him as well, and got transferred out to Bangladesh.”
I rubbed my forehead. Jack was speaking in words and sentences and each of those individual words made sense in English, but when they came together, they became a big jumbled mess in my head. This wasn’t the Stone I knew. I said, “You’re trying to tell me Stone kidnapped two women, and killed a man on his own team.”
“His name’s not Stone. It’s Jason Strode.”
I gave Jack another blank look and repeated stupidly, “Jason Strode.”
Jack nodded. “Yes. And that’s what they’re saying. Jason kidnapped two women, killed a man on his team, and deserted his post.”
“I don’t believe this, Jack.”
“So you’re saying—what, exactly? That the Pentagon’s making it all up?”
I shook my head. “No, that doesn’t make sense either. Maybe there’s some sort of misunderstanding.”
“Hard to misunderstand two women being kidnapped and a man being killed.” Jack’s voice was harsh and brittle. “I could always tell that Stone—Jason—was mixed up in all sorts of dangerous stuff. I just didn’t know how dangerous. I wish you’d never met him.”
“I met him when I was in trouble and he helped me out. Just like he helps out all his clients, and even old Mrs. Weebly.”
Jack frowned. “Mrs. Weebly? Who’s—never mind, I don’t want to know.”
I sat silently for a few seconds, trying to think. I didn’t believe what Jack was telling me. But the Pentagon wouldn’t lie, and Stone’s disappearance seemed to indicate his guilt. He’d even told me that he knew he’d have to disappear someday, “again.” However, I refused to think ill of Stone—none of this fit in with what I knew of him. And I couldn’t think of him as “Jason” either; he’d always be Stone to me.
Unless my emotions were getting in the way. Perhaps I liked Stone too much to think about him logically. I remembered the one, single kiss Stone and I had shared; maybe it was time to shake the feeling that the two of us might’ve shared something more.
Jack watched me quietly as he finished his coffee. When I didn’t speak for a long time, he said softly, “I’m sorry, Tiff. I didn’t want it to be this bad.”
“But you wanted it to be bad.”
Jack shook his head. “No, I just didn’t think he’d really been in the CIA.”
I finished my tiramisu wordlessly. I’d read somewhere that sugar is supposed to help your brain work better, but my brain wasn’t coming up with much.
The waitress came by with the bill, and Jack took care of it, despite my offer to split it.
“Are you okay?” Jack said once the waitress had left. “You seem really pale.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“Where are you going from here? I can give you a lift.”
I shook my head no. “I need some air.”
“I’ll walk you home.”
I shook my head again. “Thanks, but I’d like to be alone. Besides, don’t you need to be with your new girlfriend?”
Jack smiled wryly. “Maybe I need to try harder to get rid of her. I miss you, Tiff. I really do. You’re so smart and special and—”
I cut him off. “Stop. It’s over. You were happy when we ended things.”
“I wasn’t happy, Tiff. I was just trying to figure out what to do.”
Jack looked at me seriously, and I stared into his green eyes. “We broke up because our chemistry died out. And we never got to see each other.”
“Maybe if we spent more time together…?”
I shook my head. “We’re both busy, Jack. It won’t work.”
He looked at me sadly. “I wish…”
“I know.” I smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand. “It was fun while it lasted, and we’re still friends.” Sort of. I wasn’t sure I forgave him for going up to D.C. and ratting Stone out, but I believed him when he said he hadn’t been trying to get Stone into trouble. “It’s better to end like this.”
We said goodbye, and I walked out of the diner.
Except, I wasn’t going back home.
Chapter Four
I speed-walked towards the Strip and gave Cal Anderson a call.
“Cal,” I said. “I know you’re really busy, but I have to see you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I arrived at the Riverbelle Casino in exactly twelve minutes, and as I walked into the lobby, a blast of chilly air greeted me. The entrance to the pit was on my left, and a large reception desk was to my right. A few new guests were checking in as I entered, and when I glanced towards the pit, I could see that the casino was mostly empty at this hour. A low hum of casino noises floated over to the lobby, and every now and then I heard the soft jingle of slot machines. I assumed that most tourists were taking naps at this hour, or maybe doing a bit of quick shopping at the outlets.
I joined the line at reception, and when it was my turn to speak to the petite brunette manning the desk, I told her I needed a pass for the thirty-seventh floor. “Cal Anderson’s expecting me,” I said and gave her my name.
She checked something on her comput
er and handed me a white key card. “You know how to get there?”
I replied in the affirmative and thanked her before walking off with the key card clutched safely in my hands. The elevators that went up to the thirty-seventh floor were at the back, and I swiped my card so that I’d be able to get off at the right floor.
The thirty-seventh floor was where the corporate offices of the Riverbelle Casino were housed. I hadn’t visited this floor in a long, long time, and when I stepped out of the elevator, I remembered the first time I’d come here, on a mission to find out who’d killed Ethan Becker.
The corporate floor looked exactly as it had the last time I’d visited: a small reception counter, a tiny waiting area, and beyond, an open-plan working space, where employees typed away, probably only pretending to work. There were large executive offices beyond the open-plan area, walled off by translucent frosted glass. I knew from my dealings with various casinos that the largest walled-off room was the security team’s workspace, and the medium-sized rooms were conference areas and executive offices.
A stern-looking gray-haired matron manned the reception desk today, and I was about to walk up to her, when Cal Anderson appeared out of nowhere.
“Tiffany,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to see you.”
I shook his hand and smiled politely. Cal Anderson was a tall African-American man whose hair was starting to go gray, presumably from dealing with casino staff and clients all day long. He had a quiet, dignified presence, and I knew he’d been doing well as the new manager of the Riverbelle Casino.
“This way.” He indicated with a nod that I was to follow him.
I suspected that he knew why I was here, and I said nothing until we were safely ensconced in his private office. We sat down at the four-person round glass table in one corner of his room. The table was nestled against a large glass wall, which looked down upon the Strip, and I made sure to sit with my back to the view; I didn’t want anything to distract me during our conversation.
There wasn’t much else in Cal’s room that could distract—it had a typically large executive table with a futuristic-looking chair on one side, and two visitors’ chairs on the other. There was a potted plant with crazily twisted branches in one corner of the room. Next to the plant, a flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall, but it was switched off; I assumed Cal could choose to watch a range of TV channels on it, or surveillance footage from inside the casino.
I looked into Cal’s calm, dark eyes and said, “Do you know why I’m here?”
“I’ve got some idea.”
“Have you spoken to Stone recently?”
Cal leaned back in his chair and gazed out the large glass wall. Instead of answering me directly, he said, “You know I’ve only been manager of this place for the last ten months, right?”
I nodded. “Yes. I’m glad they picked you for the job.”
Cal looked back at me and the corner of his mouth curled up a little. “And it’s certainly been eventful.”
I knew that Cal had been the manager of a small casino on Fremont Street before switching over to the Riverbelle. “Have you known Stone for long?”
Cal nodded. “He did secondary security for most of the places here. Ethan gave him his office on the thirty-sixth floor rent-free, but after he died…”
I nodded. I’d come onto the scene soon after Ethan’s death, and there’d been a major shake-up at the Riverbelle for a while. Of course, until my investigation ended, nobody had known about all the scams—which had been part of the reason Stone was made persona non grata at the Riverbelle for a while.
“Stone closed down his office here when Steven was manager and wanted him out. He worked out of a rented office in the Mandalay for a while, but when they made me manager, I brought him back here.”
“Why?”
Cal’s dark eyes clouded over in reflection. “Stone’s a good guy,” Cal said slowly. “Always quick to catch on to trouble. Which is why Steven wanted him out to begin with.”
I nodded.
“And,” said Cal slowly, pausing as if he wasn’t sure of how much to reveal, “Stone did me a big favor once. Two years ago, my nephew… he was getting into—hanging out with the wrong crowd. Would’ve done time, if he got caught. Stone ran into him once, and I asked him to talk to the kid. He managed to get the kid out of it and helped him move to LA. Got my nephew a good job. Valet at a restaurant. Kid’s going to start college next year.” Cal rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Stone knows his shit. He didn’t have to do all that for my loser nephew. The kid’s got a bright future now, because of Stone. And a year ago, he was about to…”
Cal’s voice trailed off, and he stared out the window silently. When he came back around to the present, he looked at me gravely. “What do you think of Stone?”
I shrugged. Where would I even begin? My last memory of Stone was the brief kiss we’d shared before he drove off, claiming he needed to disappear. During the entire time I’d known him, Stone had been insistent that I keep up with my self-defense classes and shooting practice. He was there whenever I needed any help. “I think he’s great,” I said simply.
Cal agreed. “He’s always going beyond, trying to help everyone out.”
“He’s very quiet. Maybe that’s why people get worried?”
“Maybe. He does seem like a tough guy. And he can be, when he needs to.”
“Have you talked to him recently?” I repeated.
“Stone said I should trust you, and to give you access to whatever you needed.”
“When was this?”
Cal smiled thinly. “Late last night. He came by my place.”
“What else did he say?”
Cal glanced at his desk for a split second, and then at the wall-mounted plasma TV. “He said two CIA men were about to come by.”
I frowned. “Have they?”
Cal shook his head. “No, we’ve been keeping an eye out for them.”
“What happens when they show up?”
Cal’s eyes glimmered with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. “Only a few of my staff know about Stone. Everyone’s been told to deny seeing him recently. There’s no record of him on the payroll, and there’s no record he’s been renting office space from us.”
“But he’ll be on the security tapes.”
“Those are all Stone’s tapes.”
“So you mean…” I left the sentence unfinished. I had no doubt that Stone would be able to access the tapes remotely, and remove all evidence of himself. “Essentially, when the CIA guys turn up…”
“There’s nothing to suggest that Stone was here.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s great.”
“The least we could do.”
“Has anyone accessed Stone’s office since last night?”
Cal shook his head no. “Stone came in for a few minutes. Nobody else since. He must’ve wrapped things up.”
My heart sank at that last sentence. Stone had mentioned that he needed to disappear, but I hadn’t realized the enormity of what that meant.
“Not Zac? Or any of Stone’s other employees?”
“Nobody’s come in.”
“Could I maybe have a look?”
Cal shook his head. “Not now. If the CIA guys check the tapes, I don’t want them to see anything suspicious.”
I nodded. “Okay. That makes sense.”
Cal looked at me kindly. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear from him.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
We said our goodbyes, and I left the casino.
I was halfway home when I realized I’d forgotten to return the swipe card which gave me access to the thirty-seventh floor.
It took me a split second to make my decision—finders keepers. In order to get to Stone’s office in the Riverbelle, you’d need to get off the elevator on the thirty-fifth floor, and then walk up a flight of stairs. I knew that getting off on the thirty-fifth floor would be possible using the swipe card that was
nestled safely in my handbag.
Not that it would be wise, with all the security cameras watching, to try to sneak into Stone’s office. Nor would it be safe, given that the CIA dudes would also check the tapes; seeing me wandering around that floor would give them the wrong idea. But you never knew when something might come in handy…
Chapter Five
As I walked home, I made a few phone calls.
First I called Zac, who was one of Stone’s employees, and the only employee whose phone number I had. My call went straight to voicemail.
Next, I tried calling “Jameson.” Stone had told me that Jameson used to be his handler at the CIA, and had given me his number once. A few days ago, I’d managed to set up an appointment to talk to him. An appointment to which Jameson had never shown up.
Unsurprisingly, my call to Jameson also went straight to voice mail.
By the time I arrived home, I was feeling disenchanted and worried. Stone really had disappeared: in less than twenty-fours, he’d done a great job of covering up all traces of his Vegas existence. There was nobody else I knew who might be privy to Stone’s whereabouts, so I changed reluctantly into my red-and-black dealer’s outfit and stopped by Mrs. Weebly’s apartment on the way out.
I used to think of Mrs. Weebly as my slightly annoying, crotchety old neighbor. But ever since Stone had intercepted a man who’d tried to steal Mrs. Weebly’s handbag, my formerly cantankerous neighbor has been a wellspring of concern and goodwill towards Stone. In fact, she was the one who’d told the CIA men that Stone and I weren’t really friends, and that she couldn’t recall ever seeing him around.
When I knocked on Mrs. Weebly’s door, she opened it and looked at me hopefully. “Hello, dear,” she said. This was the first time she’d ever called me “dear,” and probably the first time she’d greeted me with anything less than a scowl. “Have you talked to Stone yet?”
I nodded. “Yes. He’s lying low for a bit.”
“That seems wise.”
“I suppose so. Would you let me know if he ever comes around when I’m not home?”