Sin City Hunter
by Maddie Cochere
Copyright 2012 by Maddie Cochere.
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions therof in any form whatsoever except as provided by US copyright Law.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
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Jacket design by Gillian Soltis of Columbus, Ohio
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
“Hey, beautiful, do you have any blue underwear?”
“I saw her first! Come on, sweetheart, give me your underwear.”
“How about a clip-on belly button ring? Do you have a belly button ring?”
Three college students were standing in front of me as they jostled each other and begged for items to complete their scavenger hunt lists. I had already given out all of my business cards, all of my hair scrunchies and barrettes, a movie ticket stub, a cancelled stamp, and I had composed three poems.
“I’m not giving out my underwear, and I don’t have a belly button ring, clip-on or otherwise,” I told them with a giggle. My purse was gaping open, and I was digging through the contents. “What else do you need?”
Two girls joined the three guys. The funky redhead with spiked hair and freckles scanned her list and said, “I need something naughty. Do you have anything naughty in there?”
I laughed. “No, nothing naughty in here.”
The pretty brunette with her long hair in a loose braid asked, “How about a picture of a hunky guy?”
“Ooh,” I said. “I definitely have one of those.” I pulled out my wallet and handed a picture of my fiance, Mick, to her. The picture didn’t show his 5’10”, fantastic, athlete’s body, but it did showcase his gorgeous hazel-green eyes, thick dark hair with a hint of a curl, and his more-than-pleasant features.
“Wow!” she said. “Hunky is right. This would work for something naughty, too. Did this come with your wallet, or do you know him?”
I held up my left hand and wiggled my fingers showing off my engagement ring. I couldn’t contain the huge smile as it spread across my face. “I know him,” I said with excitement. “We’re getting married in June.”
Mrs. Mick Raines flashed across my mind. I would no longer be Susan Hunter; I would be Susan Raines. I thought about my new name often, and it always made me smile.
The guys rushed off to find more items, and the girls sat down for a minute to admire the ring. “That is absolutely gorgeous,” said the brunette, emphasizing each word as she spoke. The redhead was turning my hand making the ring sparkle in the bright overhead lighting.
I pulled another picture from my wallet and said, “Here’s another hunky guy.” This one was of Darby, my best guyfriend and neighbor across the hall in my apartment building. Not quite 5’ 8”, he had sandy-colored hair which he kept in a permanently tousled state. Tanned, lean but not skinny, he had blue eyes with a mischievous twinkle. Darby was eye candy and looked like he should be surfing off the coast of California rather than residing in Ohio.
The redhead snatched Darby’s picture for her list. “Holy cow! Do you know this guy, too?” she asked. “If I give you my number, will you put him in touch with me?”
“I do know him,” I said. “He’s my neighbor at home, but he doesn’t play on our team.” I smiled and winked at the girls.
“Oh, boo,” said the redhead as she practically drooled over the picture.
“Thanks for the help,” the brunette said cheerfully. Both girls waved as they ran off to search for more items.
We were all currently stranded at O’Hare Airport in Chicago. Our non-stop flight from Cleveland to Las Vegas hit extreme turbulence 30 minutes into our flight, and we were quickly diverted to Chicago. I overheard a flight attendant make a comment about checking the airplane for structural damage.
It had to be one of the worst flights ever recorded that didn’t crash.
My best girlfriend and racquetball doubles partner, Samantha, had driven me to the Cleveland Airport earlier in the day. My flight was at 10:00 A.M., and with the time zone difference, I was scheduled to land in Las Vegas at 11:30 A.M.
Traffic held us up more than expected, and I was rushing as I arrived at the gate. Boarding had just been called, but there wasn’t a mad dash for the doorway, and I was able to walk on and take my window seat with ease.
Most of the college students were behind me and headed for their seats at the back of the plane. A few individuals and several couples boarded, followed by members of a professional hockey team. One of the hockey players plopped into the seat beside me and declared, “I want to sit next to you.” He was super attractive and grinning from ear to ear. A light scar across his cheek gave him a dangerous and sexy aura on top of his obvious good looks. I was pretty sure he was going to make for a fun and interesting flight.
After learning his name was Dell Grady, and striking up a pleasant conversation with him, an old man with bushy eyebrows tapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re in my seat,” he said with a scowl on his face.
Dell looked at me and made a pout face. “Sorry, Susan,” he said. “Looks like I have to move on to my rightful seat. Maybe I’ll see you on the ground in Vegas. We’ll be in town for a few days.”
He stepped out and moved back the aisle. The old man slumped into his seat beside me. He started grumbling under his breath right away. “People got no respect takin’ other people’s seats,” he muttered. He started fidgeting and continued to grumble, “Seats too small. Cramped. Where’s stewardess? Pillows?” He was craning his neck to look around. Now he was mumbling swear words under his breath. Oh my gosh! I was sitting next to an honest-to-goodness curmudgeon. I had to suppress a giggle.
A small, thin man with wire frame glasses was the last person to board. He sat down in the aisle seat next to the curmudgeon, pulled out his cell phone, and began alternating between talking and texting. Old cranky pants between us started mumbling again, “Doggone gadgets. Disturbing people. No common sense.”
A flight attendant came over the intercom system and proceeded to make announcements finishing with, “Your seat cushions can be used as a flotation device in case of an emergency crash landing over Lake Mead.” Everyone but the curmudgeon laughed; he did more swearing under his breath.
Once we were in flight, there was a final settling down of the passengers. Pillows were passed out, books and magazines opened, iPods and hand-held video games came out. The thin man on the aisle pulled out his laptop, and the curmudgeon took off his shoes.
It was only a few seconds before the foot odor assaulted my nose, and it was foul
. It took my breath away. The thin man stood and made his way to the lavatory. I rummaged through my purse, spritzed a bit of perfume onto a tissue, and held it to my nose in an attempt to combat the odor.
I turned to look out the window. It was an overcast day, and snow was expected before evening. By the time the bad weather came in, I hoped to be enjoying the Vegas sunshine, where it had been unseasonably warm for over a week now. Other than the curmudgeon’s feet, and a little noise and singing from the college students at the back of the plane, it appeared we were going to have a smooth flight.
Until we hit the turbulence.
I’d never experienced anything like it ever. The captain came over the intercom, announced the turbulence, and told everyone including the flight attendants to take their seats and buckle up for a bumpy ride.
The first several bumps were bad enough, but then it was as though the plane belly-flopped, straight down, hundreds of feet in the sky. The curmudgeon’s shoes flew up, hit the ceiling, and came down hitting him - one on his head, the other on his shoulder. He started swearing again. People weren’t screaming, but the sounds of concern and fear were growing louder by the second.
The nose of the plane was dipping up and down while the fuselage was rolling back and forth. It was barf-bag worthy. I tried to stay calm, but I was having serious thoughts the plane would crash, and I was death-gripping the arm rest. The rolling was followed by a few more hard bounces causing my body to strain against the safety belt, and then, just like that, it was over. The ride was smooth again, and it was quiet in the cabin.
The curmudgeon farted.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
So here we all were at O’Hare Airport.
A little rowdy, but respectful, the college kids were part of a glee club group and seemed like a great bunch. They were still on winter break and planning several days of gambling and partying in downtown Las Vegas before getting back to the grind. The scavenger hunt was taking them all over the airport, and it had been fun to help them with their items.
Someone said the hockey players were in a bar over in Terminal Three. A few passengers made other arrangements to leave the flight altogether, and the rest of us were waiting for information at the gate in Terminal One. I didn’t want to miss the flight, so had opted to stay near the gate.
We were originally told we would only have a short wait while the airplane was inspected, but now we were facing at least a two hour delay while another airplane was prepared and scheduled into the flight rotation.
I was thirsty and decided to go in search of a soft drink. I reached down to pick up the case I had tucked under my chair. Because I was going to be in Las Vegas for ten days, I packed heavy and checked two large suitcases into baggage claim. The only luggage I carried onto the airplane was a small vintage cosmetics case. My hippie Aunt Charlotte on my father’s side had given the case to me many years ago. It was pink, and not only really cute, but it was the perfect size for carrying all of my make-up and a change of clothing.
Now my case wasn’t under the chair. I searched my immediate area and realized it was missing. Someone swiped my case! I stood and walked around the entire gate area. I asked a few people if they had seen it, but no one had other than when it was tucked under my chair. I began walking briskly throughout the airport trying to spot the bright pink case.
O’Hare is a large airport, and it took a while, but I finally spotted it on the K Concourse of Terminal Three. It was nestled up against two ugly, brown carry-on bags, and it stuck out like a sore thumb. The bags were at the feet of an obese woman who was trying to eat a sandwich with one hand while texting with the other. I was infuriated she had the nerve to grab my case and walk off with it. I marched up to her, snatched the case, made an angry “grrr” noise, and stomped off. She didn’t protest or attempt to follow me.
I wasn’t five feet down the concourse when all of the hockey players came pouring out of a bar. One of the guys yelled to me as he passed by, “Our flight’s been called, and they’re boarding!”
Crap! We were a long way from the gate, and I was wearing a new pair of suede boots with 4” heels. They weren’t entirely broken in, and I certainly wouldn’t make good time with the heels. Dell was coming up fast and saw the distressed look on my face. He grabbed my pink case and my purse and handed them off to one of the other hockey players. He flashed a big grin, ducked down and said, “Hop on Susan. I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. At approximately 6’ 2”, he had plenty of room for my slim 5’ 7” frame, and I glommed onto his back. With my arms around his neck, he held me with his arms under my knees, and we were off. There was some embarrassment as I realized his running was jostling me against his back, but I swallowed my pride and went with it. I saw people holding up cell phone cameras as we all flew by, and I had a terrible thought of being on YouTube later in the day.
By the time we reached the gate, all of the guys were laughing. How often do you get to run at top speed through an airport? Dell set me down and collected my case and purse for me.
“Thanks, Susan,” he said laughing. “That was fun.”
I tried to straighten myself out. My boots and jeans were fine, but my sweater had ridden up a bit and was slightly twisted. “I appreciate the ride, Dell,” I told him with a giggle. “I would have never made it on time on my own.” We were in line now and boarding again.
“We’re all staying at the Bellagio,” Dell said. “If you get bored some evening, call me. I’ll get a ticket for you to the hockey game, or we’ll go out on the town if I’m not playing.”
“Will do,” I told him with a smile as I slipped into my seat.
It was a huge relief when I realized the curmudgeon wouldn’t be boarding again. The empty seat between me and the thin man made for a comfortable flight. We eluded the winter storm heading into the Midwest, and the rest of the flight into McCarran Airport in Las Vegas was uneventful.
Chapter Two
It was 4:00 in the afternoon by the time I was settled in my room at the MGM Grand Hotel.
The room was a standard hotel room with two queen beds, a small table with two chairs, and a desk with a chair. The bathroom, however, was larger than most, and I especially appreciated the large mirrors. The room had been recently remodeled, and everything was new and comfortable.
It had taken about half an hour to unpack and put my things where I wanted them for the week. I glanced at my racquetball gear in the corner of the room. Betsy Ann Tucker, the Human Resources Director for Slimmers Weight Loss, had mentioned there was a group of employees who played racquetball once a week, and she encouraged me to bring my equipment. I hoped there would be time to play.
I propped myself up on pillows on the bed and pulled a pen and a pad of paper from my briefcase. I wanted to make notes and map out an itinerary for the upcoming week. I still enjoyed making lists the old-fashioned way. If I came up with any ideas for work, they could be entered into my tablet later.
Today was Friday and was a travel day for me. I wasn’t due at Slimmers Weight Loss Corporate Offices until Tuesday morning at 10:00 A.M. I was a manager in one of the company’s weight loss centers back home in Carbide City, Ohio, and I recently accepted a position as a division manager. I would be working out of the corporate offices in Las Vegas for four days to learn about my new job duties, the changes to be implemented in the centers, and to meet some of the executives.
I had come out a few days early to relax and have some fun. My parents were flying in tomorrow afternoon from Dallas and would be here for the week as well. And if everything in the universe was perfect this week, Mick would be flying in on Friday night to spend the weekend and meet my parents.
Mick. Just thinking about him made me smile and feel tingly. I admired the one-and-a-half carat ring on my finger and could barely believe we’d be married in five months. Our date was set for June 22, and Mom and I were going to do some serious planning this week.
I visited my parents
over Christmas, but instead of the quiet catching-up time we had expected, there was a whirlwind of guests throughout their home. Many of them were new friends since moving to Texas about a year and a half ago, some were old friends who were traveling for the holidays, and even Aunt Charlotte made an appearance with her new boyfriend who was 23 years her junior. It was all great fun, but the visit didn’t give us the alone time we originally planned. When Mom and Dad found out I would be in Vegas for a week in January, they jumped at the chance to fly in and spend some time with me – in addition to gambling and having fun, of course.
I started to make a list of things to do with my parents over the weekend. First item on the list was the Hoover Dam. We had to make the drive to see the dam because Dad was insisting upon it and had said with excitement, “It’s one of the top ten construction achievements of the 20th Century.” He simply couldn’t understand why Mom and I had both groaned and rolled our eyes.
A couple of shows needed to be added to the list. Possibly one of the Cirque du Soleil shows, and Mom thought maybe we could see ventriloquist Terry Fater, “that nice man who won America’s Got Talent,” she said. We would also need to choose another show for next weekend when Mick arrived.
I added the Bellagio Fountains at night to my list; that was a no-brainer. Dinner at Stratosphere’s Top of the World Restaurant was another must-do item. Dad had also requested a trip to the Gold and Silver Pawn Shop. He was a fanatic of the Pawn Stars television show and wanted to take an old, beat-up comic book to the shop and try to sell it to them. I told him comics lose their value when they have creases and wear, but he seemed to think an old Detective Comics with The Batman in it would be worth something. Maybe Mick could take him to the shop next weekend; it wasn’t high on my priority list.
My stomach rumbled. I had skipped lunch earlier, and I suddenly felt ravenous. I set my pen and paper aside, determined to work on the list later. I showered and changed for the evening. My plan was to stay at the hotel and spend the evening in the casino trying my hand at slots, poker, and craps. Aunt Charlotte hadn’t spent hours upon hours teaching me how to gamble when I was ten years old for it all to go to waste now.
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