Prodigal Son

by Debra Mullins

  “Look—” He paused, flashed her an expectant glance.

  “Vivian,” she offered.

  “Vivian,” he echoed with a smile. “This guy is going to wake up eventually. You saw him pull a knife on me, right?”

  She nodded.

  “He’s dangerous, and I need to get him cuffed so he can’t hurt anyone. You can help me out by calling the cops while I do that.”

  She considered for a moment longer, then nodded. “Okay. But you stay over there, got it? I don’t need you doing some crazy ninja moves on me like you did on that guy. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Her voice quivered, and he could see the doubt in her eyes as she remembered what had happened earlier. “I sure hope you’re the good guy you say you are.”

  So do I. He smiled, trying to project reassurance. “Thank you, Vivian. I appreciate the help.” He ducked beneath the table and stood up again, holding the handcuffs where she could see them. “I’m going to cuff old Jack here, and you can call the police for me.”

  “Guess a bad guy wouldn’t want the police, huh?” She went behind the counter, dumped her purse on the Formica and picked up the phone. Then she paused, her finger poised above the buttons. “So … you got a name or badge number or something I should give them?”

  “My name is Rafe Montana.” He grabbed Jack’s arms and snapped the cuffs in place. “And Vivian, make sure you tell them we’re going to need an ambulance.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As Rafe straightened, the diner tilted, then steadied. He groped for a booth, half fell into the seat. Vivian’s voice seemed to increase in volume as she reported the incident to the cops, though he knew she wasn’t shouting. Then the handset hit the cradle like a sonic boom. The ancient vinyl beneath him creaked like thunder as he started to slump into it. The crystal around his neck faded to warm, then cool.

  “Hey, Rafe Montana, you all right?” Her voice scraped like sandpaper over his whacked-out senses.

  “No,” he muttered, shading his eyes against the suddenly blinding fluorescent lights. “I’m not.”

  Burnout slammed over him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “I won the pool.”

  Cara McGaffigan frowned, pressing her cell phone closer to her ear as she dragged her wheeled carry-on down the airport Jetway. Already the desert heat of Nevada had turned the enclosed passageway into an oven despite the air conditioning, and she was baking in her jeans and sweatshirt. It had been chilly and raining when she’d left New Jersey. “What pool?”

  Maisie, her friend and coworker, chuckled. “The one where we bet how long it would be after you landed before you called the office. I won.”

  Cara stopped. Passengers pushed past her, and she automatically moved to the side, out of the way of traffic. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. I am now eighty dollars richer, thank you very much.”

  Cara sighed, rubbing her temple. She’d been up since four in the morning and hadn’t slept a wink on the plane. “Am I really so predictable?”

  “You are to me, but only because I’m your best buddy in the whole world.”

  A businessman rushed by, jostling her. She scowled after him, then began moving forward again. “Then I guess the margaritas are on you next time we head over to Don Jose’s.”

  “You got it.” Maisie’s tone grew more serious. “So you’re in Las Vegas. Now what?”

  “Get my luggage. Get a cab to Danny’s place.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay to crash there? I mean, I know Danny is your stepbrother and all—”

  “Practically blood,” Cara reminded her.

  “I know. But is it safe? He’s been missing for a while now. What if he was running away from someone, and whoever it is comes looking at his apartment while you’re staying there?”

  Nothing she hadn’t thought of herself. Her throat grew tight. Her stepbrother had been missing for almost three weeks already, but despite the ominous implications, she couldn’t not come, even though the plane ticket had cost her more than she could really afford. She’d put up her condo for his bail, and now he’d disappeared. She’d find him. She had to. “It’s cheaper than staying at a hotel, and Danny might come back. Don’t worry, Maisie. I won’t do anything stupid.”

  “Like you ever do. Did you bring the pepper spray I gave you?”

  “Yes, it’s in my luggage.”

  “Make sure you put it in your purse the minute you get a chance.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Ha-ha. Listen, I care about you.”

  “I know.” The sincerity in Maisie’s words brought a lump to her throat. She let out a shaky breath. Her emotions had been skating close to the surface these past few days. She had to keep it together, at least until she got to Danny’s place. Then she could lose it … when she was alone.

  “Cara? You still there?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced past the bank of slot machines in the middle of the terminal—such a weird sight—spotted the sign for baggage claim, and started in that direction. “Sorry, I’m really beat. I was up before the sun this morning.”

  “I bet. Listen, I was thinking. You sure Danny didn’t just hit the jackpot and take off for Fiji or something? That would be like him.”

  “You’re right. It would.” Despite the grim circumstances, her mouth curved as she thought of her stepbrother—always out for the bigger, better, flashier, get-rich-quickest way to anywhere.

  “So that’s it then. He’s living it up on some tropical island and just forgot to tell you.”

  “I doubt it. He would have called. Especially since August nineteenth has come and gone.” The lump in her throat grew bigger, and she struggled to keep her voice even. “He would never miss that, no matter how big the jackpot.” And I refuse to believe he’d skip out and let me lose my condo.

  “You’re right. I’m so sorry, Cara.”

  Maisie’s sympathetic tone almost destroyed Cara’s fragile control. With relief, she noticed that the baggage claim signs stopped at a monorail. “Listen, I have to get on a train to get to baggage claim, and I’ll probably lose the signal.”

  “Okay. Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  “Oh, just one more thing.” Maisie paused. “Warren came back today.”

  Her gut tensed. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. He was not pleased to find out you’d taken a leave of absence.”

  Too bad. “I talked to Mitch, explained it was a family emergency.”

  “And since the three of you are partners, it shouldn’t be a big deal, I know. But I still get the feeling he’s ticked off about it.” Maisie lowered her voice. “I think he promised you would do a custom job for that new client, the Kirby Company. You know, personally.”

  “He knows he’s not supposed to promise things like that. Things don’t always work out.” Like our engagement.

  “I agree,” Maisie replied. “Family comes first. And Mr. Big-Shot Salesman should know that. I mean, he’s certainly living that philosophy. He handed out invitations to Ashley’s baby shower today—personally! Can you believe that?”

  Cara couldn’t answer past the clog in her throat. She visualized Warren’s wife—five years younger and nearly eight months’ pregnant. That should have been me.

  “Cara? Cara, you still there? Oh, man, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. I’m really sorry. I was just so astonished by his gall.”

  “It’s okay, Maisie.” She took a calming breath. “I don’t have time to think about Warren right now. I have to concentrate on Danny.”

  “That’s a girl. Listen, keep me posted, okay?”

  “I will. Thanks, Maisie. You’re the best.”

  “Remember that the next time I need you to watch my dog.” With a laugh, Maisie disconnected.

  Cara shook her head as she slipped her phone into her bag. What would she have done without Maisie, especially during the past year when she had struggled to work side by side in the same company with the fiancé who’d reject
ed her? The same fiancé who’d promptly married their hot young receptionist Ashley and gotten her pregnant within two months of marriage?

  Cara had always longed for a family of her own, and she’d thought she’d found that with Warren. Knowing he’d used her to get partnership in the company, then dropped her to marry someone younger and prettier, had hit her confidence hard. But Ashley getting pregnant so soon—and trumpeting it all over the office—had decimated her fragile self-esteem to ash. Maisie and her Friday-night margaritas had gotten her through the worst of the nightmare. Ashley had eventually quit her job to be a full-time mom, so at least Cara wouldn’t have to watch her bloom with child with each passing day.

  And be reminded of what she’d lost.

  But Danny was missing, and her problems with Warren shrank in comparison. It was good to have something else to focus on. Her instincts screamed that her stepbrother was in trouble, big trouble, and that she might be the only one who could—or rather, would—help him. She’d learned to listen to her intuition, and now she just prayed that she was in time to bail Danny out of whatever mess he’d gotten into.

  And that his latest fiasco wouldn’t cost her the last living member of her family.

  Las Vegas was Danny’s kind of town, an adult playground that encouraged the breaking of rules and the shedding of restrictions. A place of luck and risk—not her style at all. She needed her rules, her habits. She’d never had any interest in Sin City, even for a vacation. The idea of losing her hard-earned money to pure chance didn’t really appeal. But Danny? He’d thrived on the thrill.

  He’d messed up this time, gotten arrested, and she’d bailed him out yet again, this time literally. But this disappearing act? She couldn’t believe he would let her lose her condo, leave her homeless. He was irresponsible, not cruel.

  The monorail arrived, and she shuffled onto the car with the rest of the crowd, finding a corner with a handrail. The train jolted into motion, shooting out of the terminal into the bright, alien landscape of Nevada.

  Back east, September signaled the change of the seasons, and soon the flame of maple leaves turning orange or yellow or red, the advent to cooling temperatures. Here in the desert, the dry, stark heat of September signaled high summer and made a hundred degrees Fahrenheit sound like a pleasant memory.

  Compared to the lush greenery of western New Jersey, the Nevada landscape stretched beige and barren, an emptiness that echoed across her throbbing emotions. The only green here came from the palm trees lined up along the walkways and roads; otherwise earth-toned houses and businesses clustered together amid miles of vast, open sand. Jagged mountains in every shade of brown and tan rose in the distance, the famous Las Vegas strip glittering in front of them, all luxury hotels and snazzy casinos.

  She blew out a long breath. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

  The shuttle ride took only minutes. She got off with the rest of the crowd and made her way to baggage claim. As she scanned the wide area for her carousel number, she spotted a dark-haired man holding a sign with her name on it.

  What the…? She hadn’t called for a limo. She’d set aside those luxuries after the drop in the stock market a few years back had eaten up most of her available cash. Heck, she’d even had to take a pay cut to keep her small computer consulting company afloat. Her budget for this trip sure didn’t include a luxury like a limo or rental car. It was cabs or walking for her, and Danny’s apartment instead of a hotel.

  Maybe someone at the office had set this up? Well, it wouldn’t take more than a moment to clear up the misunderstanding.

  She walked up to the guy, noticing as she got closer that he looked more like a successful businessman than a limo driver. He was attractive in a sleek, urban sort of way, and his suit seemed way too well cut to have been bought off the rack. She stopped in front of him. “Hi. I’m—”

  “Cara McGaffigan?” He smiled, a quick flash of ultra-white teeth in an olive-toned face. “My name is Adrian Gray. I work at the Mesopotamian Resort. Mr. Bartow sent me to pick you up.”

  “Bartow? Artie Bartow?” She took a step back. The guy’s hundred-watt smile and silky baritone overwhelmed her—the same feeling she got every time she walked through a department store and a salesperson ambushed her with a spritz of perfume. “Why would Danny’s old boss send someone to pick me up? And how did you know I was coming, anyway?”

  “We called your office. Why don’t we collect your luggage?” He swept a hand toward the baggage carousels.

  Called her office? Why hadn’t Maisie said anything?

  “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather just catch a cab.” She smiled, hoping her intense desire to flee didn’t show in her face. “I can stop by and see Mr. Bartow later. Or maybe tomorrow.”

  Gray’s smile didn’t dim. “I understand your caution.”

  “Yeah, a girl can’t be too careful these days.” She darted her gaze around. Weren’t there supposed to be security people in the airport?

  “Mr. Bartow wants to talk to you about Danny, about joining forces to find him. Surely that’s worth your time?”

  “Joining forces? I’d think your boss would be really ticked off at my brother right now. Why would he want to join forces?”

  “That’s what he wants to discuss.” Gray indicated the baggage carousels again. “I believe your flight is on number three.”

  “Listen, I’m not going with you, okay? I’m going to take a cab. If your boss wants to talk, I’ll come to the resort to see him. Sorry you made the trip for nothing.” She turned away.

  That honeyed voice wrapped around her. “You will come with me to the resort.”

  A wave of dizziness swept over her. She shook her head to clear it. The early morning flight had really taken a lot out of her. What had she been saying? Oh, yeah. “Sure, I’ll come with you to the resort.”

  Mr. Gray swept an arm toward the baggage carousels. “After you. Carousel number three.”

  Cara moved past him toward the carousels. “My bag is on number three.”

  He fell into step behind her. “Why should you pay for a cab when you can take the limo for free?” he murmured. “Let’s get your bag and go see Mr. Bartow.”

  “I mean, why should I take a cab if you’re offering a limo ride for free?” She stopped at carousel number three and smiled at him. “Let’s grab my bag—the gray one, right there—and go see Mr. Bartow.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” He snagged her suitcase, then steered her toward the exit.

  * * *

  Late-afternoon sun had colored the sky the pinks and oranges of imminent sunset when Rafe walked into Sal Fellone’s bail bonds agency. He’d slept all day since apprehending Jack yesterday, and he’d cleared his frayed senses with a meditation before heading over.

  “You don’t look so bad for a guy who had to be taken away in an ambulance.” Sal came out of his private office and held out a hand to Rafe. “Rumor is you and Jack about killed each other.”

  Rafe’s mouth curled in a half smile as they shook hands. “You should see the other guy.”

  “I did, and he don’t look so good.” The balding Italian gave him a quick once-over. “Still, you look okay for someone who collapsed and had to spend a day in bed.”

  Rafe shrugged. “Sinus infection,” he lied.

  “Really?” Sal shook his head. “Those things will knock you on your ass.”

  “Yeah. That’s exactly what happened.” He glanced at the envelope in Sal’s hand. “That for me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Sal handed Rafe the envelope containing his fee. “Sucks that you had to be the one to bring in Jack.”

  “Someone had to.” Without looking at the amount, Rafe folded the envelope and tucked it away in his shirt pocket. “How’s he doing?”

  “Out of the hospital. In custody waiting for his day in court. No bondsman’s going to touch him after this fiasco.”

  “He made the choice.” Even as he said the words, Rafe realized they had lost their pot
ency. Not words to live by anymore. Just a fact.

  The desperation and self-deception he’d seen in Jack’s eyes last night had shaken him. Jack was right. Rafe lived and breathed the job, and if it were taken from him tomorrow, he would have nothing left, not even the motto that had gotten him through every case. But this was the life he had to live. He couldn’t make the choice, simply because he didn’t have one.

  “So, you ready to go back to work? Or you need a couple more days to rest up?”

  “Depends.” Rafe grinned at the flash of alarm that flickered across Sal’s face. “Don’t panic, Sal. I’m fine. Got any hot ones?” He glanced at the pile of manila folders stacked on the desk of Sal’s currently absent secretary, Darlene.

  “Take a look.” Sal waved a hand. “The open cases are right there. But I don’t know if you’d call any of them hot.”

  Rafe shrugged. “Interesting then.”

  “Pal, with your record you can pull any case you want.” The phone rang. “Damn it. The phone always goes nuts when Darlene’s at lunch. Look through those files while I get this.” He scooped up the phone. “Hello. Badda Bing Bail Bonds.”

  While Sal talked on the phone, Rafe settled on the corner of Darlene’s desk and reached for the top file folder. He flipped it open to the mug shot and opened his newly charged senses. Where is he? The crystal warmed against his flesh. A color image formed in his mind of the skip snoring away in a tiny, weatherworn house. More information rippled in, gifts from the universe. The house was near Laughlin and belonged to the guy’s girlfriend. The skip himself spent all day passed out drunk in front of the TV; it would take about thirty seconds to apprehend him. No challenge there. He tossed the file aside with a mental note to drop Sal a hint about the guy’s location. He sorted through the stack, discarding several more as too easy, a black-and-white vision as dead, and setting aside two others as possibilities. Opened another, looked at the photo.

  Nothing. His mind stayed blank.

  Where is he? He stared harder at the face of the alleged car thief, gazing deeply into the dark eyes that looked so guileless in the police mug shot. But nothing changed.