by Sara Rosett
Zoe sagged against the iron, suddenly feeling every minute of lost sleep. Her eyes felt gritty, and the coffee had left a bitter taste in her mouth. A gondola floated by, the gondolier in his striped shirt and round straw-hat singing O Sole Mio over a bride and groom snuggled together.
Zoe felt that disoriented feeling she got in the fun house at the fair when she was a kid. What kind of crazy place was this? This recreated, reconstructed reality was just a rip-off of another tourist destination. They had a river on the second floor of the building with water the same color as the painted sky (complete with wispy clouds) overhead. Zoe shook her head and pushed away from the balustrade and wandered through the casino aimlessly for a while.
Eventually she came to a bar and hoisted herself up on a high table in the corner. The waitress, a thirtyish woman with jet-black hair that matched her heavy eyeliner, asked what she’d like. At this point, alcohol would wipe her out, so Zoe ordered a ginger ale and an appetizer of fried mozzarella cheese off the bar menu. She moved her glass around on the napkin, creating concentric rings as she contemplated what to do. Driving back to Dallas was at the bottom of her list, but where else could she go? Not to her mom. No help there. Her mom would issue a press release and begin setting up interviews with all the 24-hour cable news channels.
Aunt Amanda was a possibility. She was sensible and smart. The fact that she was in Sarasota, Florida depressed her. Zoe was about as far away from Sarasota as she could be and still be in the United States. Her food arrived. She didn’t realize how hungry she was until the aroma of fried mozzarella wafted up from the plate. The marinara sauce was excellent. By the time she scooped up the last of it, she’d nixed Aunt Amanda from her list.
If Zoe showed up on her doorstep, she’d pull Aunt Amanda into this investigation, and she didn’t want to do that. The FBI would eventually find Aunt Amanda and ask her what she knew. There was no need for Zoe to hurry things along. She pushed her plate away with a sigh, realizing that going to Helen was out, too. Investigators probably knew about Helen already since they were watching Zoe’s house. They probably would have tracked down anyone who came inside, so the less contact Zoe had with Helen, the better. Zoe could hear Helen’s voice arguing with her in her head, but she ignored it as she removed some of the debris from her messenger bag and set it on the table, digging some cash out of the bottom to pay the bill.
As the waitress slid the money off the table, she said, “Oh, that’s not a good sign, honey.”
“What?” Zoe looked up from the depths of her bag. The waitress was pointing to the mess of lip gloss, sunglasses, and receipts on the tabletop.
A shiny red fingernail touched one of the playing cards that Zoe picked up from Jack’s car. “An eight of Spades—that means danger. And this,” she lined up the other card, “A two of Spades. That’s deceit.”
“Really?”
“My mom taught me,” she said with a half shrug.
Zoe flipped the card over. The sturdy bell tower from St. Mark’s Square filled the space over the words THE VENETIAN HOTEL. Zoe checked all the cards. They were the same. “Are these from the casino?”
“No, I used to work the floor. That’s a souvenir deck from the shops.” She removed the plate. She hesitated, her head cocked to one side, “You look really familiar. Have you been on TV or something?” Before Zoe could reply, she snapped her fingers. “Smith Family Robinson. You were the girl on that reality show, the one about an average family surviving on a tropical island.”
“I get that sometimes,” Zoe said with a little shrug. “I just have one of those faces, I guess.” Sometimes people did recognize her, but she tried to brush off any interest the show generated. She especially didn’t want someone recognizing her here.
“Oh, okay. Well, you be careful,” she said.
Zoe stacked the cards carefully, trying to remember exactly how Jack’s car interior looked when she stood on the road above the bank of the river. She closed her eyes and ran her fingers over the glossy coating on the cards. Everything had been jumbled up after Jack’s car had been towed to the house, but that first time she glanced in the window the cards were on the passenger seat, laid out in a row, face up, with their edges tucked under the phone, as if someone had placed them there and used the phone to anchor them. Had Jack done that? Or someone else? Or was it a coincidence?
Zoe opened her eyes and tapped the edge of the cards against the table, her eyes narrowed. She’d eaten and was feeling more clear-headed. Eddie had seemed sincere, as though she really didn’t know Jack, but surely it wasn’t a coincidence that these specific cards were in the car and that they were playing cards from The Venetian. It could be a coincidence, but after the last day or so, the coincidence seemed...unlikely, to say the least.
She’d go back to Eddie’s store and watch. It was all she could think of to do at the moment. She sure wasn’t hitting the road back to Dallas, and since she couldn’t come up with another destination, watching Eddie seemed to be her only option. Zoe heaved her messenger bag onto her shoulder, ducked into a gift shop, and paid an exorbitant amount for a travel toothbrush and a microscopic tube of toothpaste, then walked along the corridors until she found a bathroom. She emerged a few minutes later feeling almost normal. It was amazing how much better food, caffeine, and a little primping could make you feel.
She made her way back to Eddie’s store through the increasing crowds. As the day wore on, the number of strolling tourists grew, but Zoe decided that was a good thing. She wanted to observe without being noticed. She browsed in a store, featuring T-shirts, key chains, and Venetian playing cards that was located directly across from Murano Glassworks, until she was sure that Eddie was still there. Zoe worked her way around the shopping and dining area, keeping the store and Eddie in sight.
She settled against a balustrade and tried to look as though she were waiting for someone. She had to move on after about an hour when a woman with blunt bangs and a short pageboy took an interest in her. Zoe figured she was hotel security. She moved, pacing along the canal, then moved to a new vantage point and watched from a distance as Eddie flittered among the customers, restocked shelves, and cleaned the fingerprints from the glass doors and display counters. After two hours of cruising the shopping area like a teen on Friday night, she took a table at one of the restaurants. She ordered a panini and told the waiter she wasn’t in a hurry. Of course, the moment her food arrived, Eddie waved to the other employee and slipped her purse onto her shoulder.
Zoe threw the last of her twenties from Kiki’s rent money on the table and wrapped her panini in a paper napkin. She followed Eddie out of the hotel into the glaring sunlight of The Strip where people crushed together on the sidewalks in a slow moving parade. Zoe took a few hurried bites of the panini—so good—then ditched it in a trashcan and merged into the crowd, trying to keep Eddie’s fair head in sight. It wasn’t easy because the crowds shifted and swirled like water.
Zoe dodged around people handing out flyers for shows and other more exotic entertainment. She sidestepped slowpoke tourists gawking at casino exteriors or slurping colorful liquids from straws attached to enormous plastic cups. The vehicles on The Strip weren’t moving much faster than the pedestrian traffic, and a constant blare of horns filled the air. Zoe barely noticed the dry, scorching afternoon heat that seemed to make the air waver when she looked into the distance.
They came even with Caesar’s Palace, which was on the other side of the street, and Eddie stepped onto one of the escalators that lead to a bridge to cross to the other side of the street. Zoe took the steps two at a time and reached the top in time to see Eddie take the stairs on the other side down to street level.
Pushing through the crowd, Zoe hurried to get to the street. Eddie headed away from Caesar’s and took another trip up and over a second pedestrian bridge. Cool air washed over Zoe, chilling her as she followed Eddie through the cool, sumptuous setting of the Bellagio Casino. But apparently this was only a short detour becau
se in a few minutes, Eddie went back outside toward The Strip.
The fountains of The Bellagio danced in front of her. Water sprayed in time to the voice of Frank Sinatra singing Fly Me To The Moon as Eddie headed for the shady stretch of sidewalk in front of the fountains. Zoe stopped abruptly as Eddie’s pace slowed in front of the fountains. She gazed at them for a few seconds, her hands resting lightly on the balustrade, then she turned and walked back toward Zoe. Zoe turned her back to Eddie and tried to blend in with a family pushing a stroller. Zoe shadowed the family, trying to keep out of Eddie’s line of sight. Water shot into the air with the music’s crescendo, and all eyes were on the fountains, except for Zoe’s. She watched Eddie, who was making tracks back the way she’d come.
Zoe frowned, glancing back at the place where Eddie had paused to watch the fountains. She’d come all this way to watch them for a few seconds? There was a heavy-set guy with vintage style Ray-Bans, a baseball cap, and a T-shirt with the classic Welcome to Las Vegas sign standing where Eddie had stood. A short grandma elbowed the man out of the way, so she could get a clear photo of the fountains. Zoe gazed out over the palm trees lining the median of The Strip and up to the replica of the Eiffel Tower and was overcome with an Alice-in-Wonderland kind of feeling.
Zoe turned her attention back to Eddie’s blond head. Zoe gave Eddie a few more paces, then merged back into the crowd and followed her.
Well, that was useless, Zoe thought as she trailed behind Eddie all the way back to the square brick clock tower that was reproduced on the cards in her messenger bag. Eddie disappeared inside the casino. Zoe swept in through the glass doors and walked along the edge of the corridor, keeping a few paces behind Eddie.
A hand gripped her elbow. A low, male voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t make a sound.”
Chapter Eleven
Las Vegas
Friday, 3:35 p.m.
ALMOST in the same instant that the man spoke, he steered her through a nearby door. Instinctively, Zoe fought him, writhing as a rush of adrenaline kicked through her body, but he’d grabbed her so suddenly, she was through the door and into the small room almost before she’d realized what had happened.
Bathroom registered in her mind. Empty bathroom.
Not good.
The door hissed closed behind them. Zoe caught a glimpse of the man in the mirror. Baseball cap and black Las Vegas T-shirt—the guy she’d seen at the fountains.
His grip on her elbow loosened slightly. Zoe took half a step forward with her right foot and thought of all those drills they’d done in martial arts class. She leaned forward, then delivered the hardest back kick she could, aiming low.
The heel of her foot connected with his abdomen.
Thank you, Master Paul, Zoe thought, as he tumbled backward and crashed into a trashcan beside the door. The impact had vibrated up her foot and into her leg. A real live person was much more solid than all those pads they’d used in class. And it had been years since she’d practiced those kicks. She rushed to the door.
He wheezed something.
Zoe paused, her hand wrapped around the door handle. Had he said her name?
He had one hand braced on his stomach as he fought to get his breath back. “So I take it...” he paused to suck in a breath, “you’d rather I was dead.” He pulled off the baseball cap and sunglasses.
Zoe, breathing hard from the adrenaline rush, frowned at him. The body was wrong—too soft and fat, but...dark, wavy hair. Silver-blue eyes. And through the stubble on his squared jaw, she could see a tiny white scar slightly off-center on his chin. She gripped the door handle. “I’d hit you, if you weren’t already on the ground,” she said, a wash of relief and fury surging through her.
“Got that message already,” he said.
She tried to sort through her emotions. She was mad, but there was something else, too. Could she really be glad to see him? After this stunt he’d just pulled? And after he’d deceived her so thoroughly? “What were you doing,” she asked, settling on fury. It felt better. “Were you trying to scare me out of my mind?”
“What are you doing here, Zoe?” he asked, standing up slowly, his tone calm.
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to find out why someone killed Connor, framed me for it, and then tried to kill me,” he said, leaning down. He picked up the trashcan, but checked his movement, wincing and favoring his left side.
“Are you hurt?” Zoe asked dispassionately, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the sink.
“Nothing that won’t heal.”
They stood for a few seconds looking at each other, finally he said, “You should go home. Forget you ever saw me.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a person of interest in the investigation into Connor’s death, and I need some answers from you about GRS stock for the FBI.”
He dipped his head. “I see.”
The door opened and a woman in a blazer cautiously checked inside. A plastic wire ran from her plain white shirt collar to an earpiece almost hidden behind her short curly hair. “Have we got a problem in here?” she asked.
Jack settled the baseball cap on his head. As he slipped on his sunglasses, he shot a glance at Zoe over the frames. Zoe could turn him in right now. A few words would bring more security, and eventually he’d be on his way back to Dallas. There was something in his jaw, a set firmness that told her he was braced for the worst. He pushed the sunglasses up. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt his gaze on her.
Zoe licked her lips and said, “No, just one too many cocktails. Come on, honey, let’s get you home.” Zoe moved to him and took his arm.
The security woman stepped back and held the door for them.
“Thanks, darling’,” Jack said in a loud voice and swayed against Zoe. His side felt squishy against her arm. As they retraced their steps and exited the hotel, he lowered his voice so that only Zoe could hear, “Thanks.”
“I only did it because I want some answers. If I turn you in, I doubt I’ll get them.”
He nodded. “Is she following?”
Zoe glanced back. “No.”
“No one else in a blazer like hers?”
“No,” Zoe said as they threaded their way through the valet parking. Jack kept up his slightly unsteady gait as they walked through the shadow cast by the brilliantly white Rialto Bridge. Jack stopped leaning on her so heavily, but he was moving in a way Zoe had never seen. Instead of his easy long-legged gate, he’d shortened his stride and slumped his shoulders. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Anywhere away from here,” he said.
“Thanks for letting me know you’re not dead, by the way,” Zoe said.
“You were worried?” His tone was heavy with skepticism.
“Of course I was worried. We were married once. What did you expect me to do when the police showed up at my door and said you were missing, probably dead? Shrug my shoulders and say, not my problem?”
“Well, yes. That’s about how I thought it would go.”
Zoe stopped walking and stared at him. “You’re not serious?”
He gripped her arm and pulled her along. “It’s wonderful to know you care, but right now we’ve got to keep moving.”
Zoe planted her feet. “No, Jack. Not another inch until you tell me what happened.”
He pulled on her arm. Zoe stood firm. She eyed the crowds and said, “I can yell. We’re still on the casino property. I’m sure there’s security around here, too.”
“Fine.” He leaned close, moved his sunglasses to the bill of his cap, and fastened his gaze on her. Despite the crowds swirling around them, Zoe felt as if she and Jack were encapsulated from them. The noise of people talking, the honk of car horns, the wind rattling through the dry palm fronds overhead, all seemed to fade as Jack said quietly, “I came back from lunch and found Connor dead in his office. I was about to do the good citizen thing and call the police when a man came
through the front door with a gun aimed at me.”
His face was as earnest and as open as she’d ever seen it. “What did you do?”
“I took the gun away,” Jack said as if that was the most logical thing in the world.
“Okay. Then why the disappearing act?” Zoe asked, flinging her hands out in frustration. “All this mess could have been avoided. That guy probably killed Connor—”
“Because,” Jack cut in, “I didn’t see the other guy behind me. He hit me over the head and knocked me out. Never saw it coming,” he said. “Stupid on my part.”
“So there were two men, not just one?”
“Yes, two,” he said tightly. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it, the second guy must have come in the window of the bathroom because I looked there, and I hadn’t seen anyone earlier. It’s the only way he could have gotten in.”
A woman in three-inch heels and a tight pink tank top stumbled into us. She apologized and backed away as she giggled and slapped her companion, a lanky guy wearing a baseball cap turned the wrong way.
Jack pressed on Zoe’s shoulder, and they rejoined the ebb and flow of people. “When I came to, the two guys were standing over me, discussing what to do with me—specifically where they should leave my body and how I should be posed to realistically portray a successful suicide attempt.”
Zoe’s steps tangled. “Suicide?”
“Yes,” Jack said, catching her elbow. “Apparently, I killed Connor and was immediately overcome with remorse and killed myself.”
Zoe’s steps slowed again, and she struggled to take it all in. “But...that’s...” words failed her.
“Crazy? Improbable?” Jack said. “I know. My thoughts exactly, and if my ex-wife is asking herself if what I’m saying could really be true, you can see why I was reluctant to go to the police with the story.”