Lucky Stiff (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 2)

by Deborah Coonts

  I clutched at the ledge, but my fingers couldn’t find any purchase. Slowly, they slipped. I couldn’t hold on.

  With one arm under my shoulder, Glinda pulled, helping me scramble back onto the roof.

  For once I was glad she was even stronger than she looked.

  She jerked me to my feet, the gun pressed to my side.

  “What do you want him to tell us?” I asked, shaking now. Cold, scared, and really, really pissed, I tried to keep my voice calm, conversational—a Herculean feat—the bitch was getting really tiresome.

  “He’s responsible for it all—for Numbers,” Glinda’s voice cracked, and she swallowed hard. “For the money, the bets... everything.”

  “Then why’d you kidnap Jimmy G?” I kept prying, prodding, trying to distract her and keep her talking, as I waited for the right moment.

  “As leverage.”

  “Leverage?” I tried to ease away from the edge, but Glinda yanked me back.

  “To get Daniel to talk. Those two, they’re thick as thieves.” A high-pitched giggle escaped her. “Oh yeah, Daniel would do anything for my dear old dad.”

  “Even lie to get him back?” I asked, poking a hole in her thin logic.

  She jerked at the slap of reality.

  “I heard Numbers was doing you and doing your husband on the sly,” I said, using the only weapon I had. Despite the cold wind, sweat trickled down my body. My breaths came in quick, shallow gasps.

  Glinda’s veneer cracked. She laughed, then—a laugh tinged with madness. “The bitch played me alright. And she thought she was playing Daniel.” She stiffened as her focus shifted to her husband. “But she was fucking the Devil himself.”

  “And she was a great lay,” Daniel said, his voice flat, emotionless.

  Apparently Glinda didn’t expect that. For the briefest instant, she dropped her guard.

  I balled my fist and hit her in the face with the back of my hand as hard as I could.

  She staggered, absorbing the blow. But she loosened her grasp.

  I ducked out of her arms. I threw myself sideways toward Dane.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Glinda raise the gun.

  In that instant, Daniel launched himself at his wife.

  A report shattered the stillness of the night.

  Dane caught me and we both fell to the rooftop. Scrambling, we whirled around.

  Thrown backward, Daniel lay on his back. He moaned and struggled to move.

  Glinda, her mouth forming a silent scream, teetered on the edge of the building. Still clutching the gun, her arms whirled as she tried to regain her balance.

  As one, Dane and I pushed ourselves to our feet and leapt for her, but we were too late.

  With a panicked look at us, she fell backward and disappeared into the night.

  Time froze, burning that instant into my memory.

  Then, the world refocused, and I rushed to Daniel. Dropping to my knees beside him, I gently pressed him back on the ground.

  Dane leaned over the edge of the building and peered down. I saw him reach for his phone, but I couldn’t hear what he was saying as I turned my attention fully to Daniel.

  He groaned, and then his eyes found mine as they struggled to focus. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice a hoarse rasp.

  “I’m fine. Be quiet. Let me have a look at you.” Gently, I ran my hands over him, feeling for the warm dampness of blood. I found it on his right shoulder. Hooking my finger through the tear in his shirt, I ripped the fabric, pulling it away.

  Daniel grunted.

  A dark slash cut the outer muscle of his shoulder. Oozing blood, it looked grisly in the dim light, and probably hurt like hell. I probed the area, feeling for worse damage.

  His breath hissed through his teeth as he sucked it in. He tensed against the pain, but said nothing.

  He’d gotten lucky—the neat little gouge was the extent of his injury.

  Dane dropped to his knees beside me. “How bad is it?” he asked.

  “She just winged him.” Raising my eyebrows, I looked at Dane.

  He shook his head. Glinda hadn’t been as lucky as her husband.

  “I called the cops,” Dane said. “Actually I called Romeo and told him what had happened, and he said he’d bring the cavalry.”

  “And the paramedics?” I asked, as I tore a piece of Daniel’s shirt and pressed it to his wound. I had no idea whether that was the right thing to do, but it couldn’t hurt.

  “Them, too. And I alerted Security that we had things under control up here.”

  “Under control? That’s rare,” I said, but was unable to conjure a smile. My teeth chattered. Suddenly, I was cold... so cold.

  “And I released the elevators. Apparently, after we arrived. Glinda turned them off from up here so they couldn’t go back down,” Dane added.

  “I was wondering why the cavalry hadn’t showed up.” I could feel the wet warmth as Daniel’s blood soaked the thin, cotton wad I pressed over his wound.

  Dane put his arm around me, and pulled me tight against his chest. Then he kissed my temple. “Pretty stupid thing you did there. You could’ve been killed. I would not have been able to handle that.”

  His arms felt nice, strong and safe. I relaxed as the adrenaline eased its hold on me, and I started shaking. “I figured that could happen either way, so I picked my poison.”

  “Are you okay?” he whispered against my hair as he pulled me tighter.

  I nodded, but couldn’t stop trembling. Glinda had died. And she’d almost taken Daniel and me with her.

  “Tell me one thing, was she right?” Daniel asked, his eyes clear and focused now. “Do you have Jimmy G?”

  “Jeremy Whitlock found him,” I replied. “He’s okay.”

  Daniel lay back and shut his eyes, surrendering.

  I thought I saw the glint of a tear leak out of his eye and I wondered if Daniel fully appreciated the fact that the man who had saved his father-in-law was the man Daniel himself had worked so hard to put in jail.

  At that moment, the elevator doors burst open, shedding a cone of blinding light into our near-darkness.

  “Lucky?” Teddie shouted, his voice tight. “Where are you?”

  I pulled away and gave Dane a weak smile. “Over here,” I called.

  Dane let his arm fall from my shoulder as the sound of running footsteps came closer.

  Teddie dropped to his knees beside me. “Are you alright? Security told me what was going on. I damn near died waiting for the friggin’ elevator.”

  “I’m okay.” I took Dane’s hand and pressed it over the scrap of shirt covering Daniel’s wound.

  Looking into Teddie’s face, all my emotions bubbled up. I shook my head. “No, I’m not okay.” I buried my face in his shoulder.

  Stroking my hair, he held me until the shaking stopped.

  * * *

  THE next thirty minutes passed in a flurry of activity. The police arrived with the paramedics. Teddie found my shirt and I covered myself. He didn’t ask why I had taken it off; I guess it really didn’t matter.

  Waiting on the edge of the chaos, I was ready to give my statement to Romeo when I heard the call go out over the security channel.

  There was an emergency. The paramedics were needed immediately.

  Tortilla Padilla had collapsed.

  * * *

  MY heart in my throat, I turned and ran. Teddie and Dane jumped through the open doors of the waiting elevator after me. We rode in silence, the seconds stretching to interminable minutes.

  We bolted through the service area and into the casino, now packed with the fight crowd, juking and dodging our way against the tide of people streaming out of the Arena.

  My heart pounded. Oh please, let him be okay. The children’s faces swam in front of me.

  The fight was over, the Arena half-empty when I hit the entrance and threw myself down the stairs, Teddie and Dane on my heels. Torti wasn’t in the ring. He had to be in the locker room. Security motio
ned us through.

  The room was hushed and reeked of ammonia. A tight cluster of people circled the training table in the center of the room.

  Elbowing my way, I pushed to the front.

  The doctor from the Nevada Athletic Commission bent over the red, white, and blue clad body lying on the table. Holding the fighter’s eyes open with his fingers, he shined a penlight into first one then the other.

  Torti’s hands, still bound into his gloves, hung toward the floor. They didn’t move.

  No one spoke. I couldn’t breathe.

  The Big Boss glanced up at me from the other side of the table, his eyes concerned, his mouth a grim line. Jordan gripped Rudy’s elbow, their faces blank as they stared at the prone body.

  Crash stood at the edge of the group. Tears streaked his face.

  I didn’t see Carmen.

  Closing my eyes, I willed the fighter to move.

  Teddie gripped one hand, Dane the other.

  The big clock above the door ticked off the seconds.

  I heard a faint cough. Then another. One of Torti’s hands moved, I was sure of it.

  The ice around my heart began to melt.

  Then a weak torrent of Spanish, and I grinned.

  “What’d he say?” Teddie asked, his voice a whisper in my ear.

  “Nothing I’d repeat in polite company.” If the guy could cuss, he had to be okay.

  “Out of my face,” Torti ordered, this time in English, his voice stronger.

  The doctor backed off. One of the paramedics helped pull the fighter to a seated position as he swung his legs over the side. Steadying himself, he lifted his head.

  For the first time, I got a good look at his face. One eye was swollen completely shut, the other a mere slit. The right side of his upper lip was swollen and an angry bruise covered his right cheekbone.

  A smile lifted the good side of his mouth as he looked at me through the slit of his one good eye. “I won,” he said, simply.

  After a moment, the small crowd erupted—everyone backslapping and high-fiving anyone within reach.

  I hugged Torti and whispered in his ear. “This is your last fight. I’m not going through this again.”

  “You sound just like my wife.” He shot me that grin again even though it looked like it hurt.

  “The voice of reason.” I backed away as the crowd parted and I saw Carmen hurrying toward her husband.

  She launched herself into his arms.

  I tapped the doctor on the shoulder. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

  The guy folded his stethoscope as he eyed me. “He’s healthy as a horse. Just dehydrated and probably a bit overexcited.”

  Overexcited? I could identify. At least my pulse was returning to normal—whatever that was—and my heart no longer threatened to burst through my chest.

  “Do me a favor,” the doctor continued as he stuffed his equipment back in his emergency kit. “Force-feed him Gatorade and water before he starts on the champagne.”

  * * *

  WALKING through the casino, hand in hand with Teddie, I was trying to make sense of the evening—and failing miserably. Like the rope in a game of tug-of-war, my emotions pulled me one way then the other. Glinda had died. Somehow, I couldn’t work up too much sympathy. Daniel had been shot—I’m probably just one of a good-sized crowd who thought he had it coming.

  I’d hung over the edge and looked into the abyss—which would probably give me a serious case of post-traumatic stress disorder. Did workman’s comp cover that? And if it did, would it pay for a suite at the Ritz while I recovered?

  Love had reduced Jordan to irrationality, and he seemed totally unconcerned. Teddie was morphing into a rock star, Dane was campaigning to take his place in my life, Mother was acting stranger than usual and the Big Boss was one unhappy camper.

  The lone bright spot was that Torti had survived a pummeling.

  And I wasn’t sure any of it mattered. My give-a-damn had finally bit the big one.

  God help me. I needed a vacation. But who had the time?

  “Damn.” I braked to a stop in the middle of the party that was Saturday night in the casino. “What time is it?” I flipped my phone open and looked at the digital readout—accurate to one millionth of a second, or so they said. Eleven o’clock! “Teddie! You’ve got to go!”

  The party had started without him.

  “It’s okay,” he assured me, patting my hand and giving me a worried look. “This is more important.”

  “You act like I’m some kind of pansy-ass.” I hated being patronized and worried over—he knew that. “I am not going back to the roof to fling myself off, if that’s what you think.” I pulled my hand from his and gave him an encouraging push toward the elevators.

  “Go. I’ve gotten by just fine for thirty some-odd years without you, I’ll get by fine when you leave.” Ouch. I cringed, but the words had already escaped. Bad timing. Clearly I had lost my grip.

  Teddie whirled on me. “Is that what you think? That I’m just going to walk right out of your life?”

  “Of course not.” I lied. My tenuous control on life had completely unraveled. I didn’t understand anything anymore. Not even myself. “I promised Romeo I’d give him my statement. I’ll be there for your set, okay?”

  He brushed the hair out of my eyes, then gave me a very sweet kiss.

  No doubt about it, he was one of the good guys.

  But where would he be the next time I needed him?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  WHEN I returned to the roof, I found Detective Romeo barking orders like a drill sergeant. While I waited, I took a seat on a mechanical box on the roof. It was probably some electrical thing and would zap me in the ass with fifty thousand volts. I couldn’t work myself up to caring.

  Right now, I had a debt to repay. I grabbed my phone, scrolled through the list of numbers, then hit send.

  Flash answered immediately. “Whatcha got, girl?” ‘I’m on the roof. You need to be here... now.” “Where exactly are you?” she asked, her voice dropping into a serious tone.

  “Take the number five service elevator. I’ll clear you through,” I said, then rang off. After I’d talked to Security, I repocketed my phone and casually surveyed the rooftop. Cops crawled over the place like ants. Romeo talked with Dane, taking notes as he listened. The paramedics had Daniel on a gurney as they attended to him. His shoulder bandaged, he looked like he might live—at least for another day.

  Boosting myself from my perch, I wandered over to him. “How’re you doing?”

  Before Daniel could answer my question, one of the paramedics piped up. “Him? He’s one tough nut. We see him at least twice a month for something. Hell, he’s broken those ribs so many times, I’m amazed they don’t have to reattach them with wire and superglue.”

  He chortled as Daniel looked at me with those dark, inscrutable eyes.

  “Rugby,” the paramedic continued, as he shook his head. “Brutal sport. Ought to be outlawed, in my opinion.”

  As they wheeled him off, Daniel broke our gaze only when he disappeared into the elevator.

  What was that about? Daniel didn’t play rugby—he was more of a squash kind of guy.

  No sooner had the doors shut than the set to the second elevator opened and a frantic Jimmy G burst through, followed closely by the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock.

  “Where’s Daniel?” Jimmy G asked when he caught sight of me, rushing in my direction. “My son-in-law, he’s okay, right? That shrew hasn’t finally succeeded in killing him, has she?” Jimmy grabbed me by the arms and stared up at me.

  “Daniel’s fine, Mr. G.” I peeled one of his hands from my arm and led him over to the box I’d been sitting on. How was I supposed to tell him about his daughter? “Sit here.” I patted the spot next to mine.

  “I ain’t interested in sittin’,” the little man growled. Nervous energy pulsed through him as he paced in front of me. “I want to see Daniel. Where is he?”

  “They
’ve taken him to UMC. A bullet carved a nice little groove through the muscle—it’s not bad.”

  Jimmy G stopped his pacing and stared at me. “Glinda shot him?”

  “Grazed him,” I said. “Why’d you think it was her?”

  “She was always after him.” He shrugged as his eyes skittered away from mine and the openness in his face closed down. “Where is she?”

  From the look on his face, I could tell he knew what was coming. “She didn’t make it. I’m real sorry, Mr. G.”

  His face blanched. “Did Daniel kill her?”

  “No. She fell.”

  His eyes met mine and held them. For some odd reason I thought he looked relieved.

  “Do you think one of these guys could give me a ride to UMC?” Mr. G asked, the energy returning to his voice.

  “Why don’t you take the limo.” I nodded at Jeremy, who had been standing to one side. “Jeremy can help you.”

  As Jeremy led Mr. G toward the elevators, Romeo materialized at my shoulder.

  “This has been the weirdest evening,” he announced. “That guy didn’t look too busted up about his daughter.”

  “Just because somebody’s family doesn’t mean you have to like them.”

  Romeo nodded sagely. “Yeah, I’ve got this cousin who’s a real wart on the world’s ass.”

  “There’s one in every family,” I mused out loud, wondering who in my family would qualify. Right now, I didn’t think I wanted to go there. “Is there any other reason your evening has been weird—beside the obvious?”

  “I found that smoking gun,” he said matter-of-factly, as if talking about tomorrow’s weather.

  My head snapped around, my eyes locked onto his. “The atomizer?”

  “It looks like the one from the video, but it’s hard to tell,” he said, as he stared over my shoulder. “We’re pulling fingerprints off it now and looking for matches. The lab is running a sample of the contents. I’d bet you a Ferrari there’s bee venom in there—it didn’t look like perfume to me.”

  “Where’d you find it?”

  “In Mrs. Lovato’s vanity—stuck in the back of the drawer.”