Hearts in Vegas (Harlequin Superromance) (28 page)

She gulped a calming breath, still stunned at the surreal events that had transpired in the last fifteen minutes. Things had only begun to normalize when, moments after Detective Parks walked away, Braxton had appeared and folded her into his arms.

Walking to the backstage area, their arms still around each other, she told him about the crazy woman charging her, the won tons, her wild sucker punch, and now, as they sat on folding chairs behind the stage, the latest twist in the case.

“Remember my telling you about that goofy undercover cop who sang country songs while driving me to that first meeting with Dmitri in the limo?”

He nodded. “The dirty cop on Dmitri’s payroll.”

“Except he’s not dirty. His name’s Detective Parks, and he heads up the Las Vegas police department’s narcotics section. They’ve been investigating Ulyana’s involvement in a drug distribution ring.”

“He knows you work for Vanderbilt?”

She nodded. “After he dropped me off at my car following my limo meeting with Dmitri, Parks ran my ID through some government databases and learned about my real job.”

“Did he call Charlie?”

“No. Parks said that he wanted to contact me directly because of the sensitivity of his case. He didn’t feel comfortable calling me or showing up at my condo in case Dmitri was keeping tabs on me, so he followed me here to talk about his investigation and how we might help each other.”

“Does he know about me?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t arrest that nutcase who started the fight.”

“He didn’t see how it started and I didn’t tell him. Besides, if he’d gotten caught up in making an arrest, he and I wouldn’t have had a chance to talk. Plus, that woman’s friends were taking her home, so it’s not like she was going to hassle anyone else.”

“So, is this Ulyana case too sensitive to discuss with me?”

“You’re my Vanderbilt coinvestigator, so I can tell you. They suspect the dealers work in gift shops that sell those Russian chocolates.”

Braxton thought about that for a moment. “I’m going to guess those guys who talk to her at the Bally’s sports book are runners placing orders. They go to the shops, get the numbers, come back and give them to her.”

“Drug Order Central.”

“Right. The gift shop employees never meet her, just the runners.”

“Runners go with her to each casino?” she asked.

“Probably. So Detective Parks is investigating her involvement, but not Dima’s?”

“He said they can’t tell yet if she’s running her own operation, or if Dmitri’s involved.”

A group of laughing teenage girls walked past, a collage of creamy, perfect skin, glossy hair, long limbs. Several ate thick slices of pizza, the smell of melting cheese and tomato sauce doing a wicked number on Frances’s concentration. Even with the craziness of the past few hours, and the other things she should be focusing on, all she could think about was a deep-dish pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza, heavy on the sauce, and a diet cola with lots of ice.

“I’m starved,” she said. “Shall we continue this over pizza?”

“We’re back!” boomed the announcer’s voice.

Frances jumped.

“We apologize for the break in the evening’s festivities, but now we’re ready to continue. Are you ready, ladies, to start bidding for a date with a hunk?”

Squeals and clapping.

“Our next Manwich is Li’l Bit Goes a Long Way....”

She watched Li’l Bit head to the stage in a robe and flip-flops.

“He’s not dressed,” she murmured.

“No, that’s his costume.”

She got it. “The Dude.”

“Who else?”

“They’re going to eat him alive.” She half-shrugged. “Or love him to death. Whatever happens, we need to give him our support, then get pizza.”

“Sure.” He took her hand. “C’mon, I’ll take you to a spot where we can watch.”

As they walked, Frances thought about Braxton’s lack of enthusiasm. She had heard his grudging tone, saw a put-upon look cross his features, and wondered again what his issue was with Li’l Bit. Granted, she didn’t know Li’l Bit all that well, but he seemed close to Braxton’s family. Maybe he was a bit eccentric, too hung up on
The Big Lebowski,
but there were worse things in life to get hung up on.

Last night, she’d heard Li’l Bit get choked up when he told Braxton he wanted to be his brother. His triplet. He’d sounded like a child asking to be accepted, to be loved.

Braxton had offered to be friends instead. But she knew him well enough to hear that he didn’t mean it.

She hadn’t grown up with a sibling, so she didn’t understand all the complexities in those relationships. But she understood loneliness as much as she understood putting up walls. Which was the real dance those two were acting out.

Braxton led her to the side of the stage and stopped. “We can see everything from here.”

In the center of the stage, Li’l Bit stood duck-footed in his flip-flops, the sunglasses perched on his nose. The robe hung open to reveal his baggy plaid shorts and tee. He was a furrier, chunkier version of The Dude, but with the same life-goes-on-man Zen.

“Honey, did you take out the trash?” someone yelled, followed by laughter.

An ominous guitar riff screeched over the speakers.

“Can’t believe he chose this song,” Braxton muttered.

A heavy guitar riff kicked in. Li’l Bit began snapping his fingers and rolling his shoulders.

“Bring back the firefighter!” a woman shouted.

Unfazed, Li’l Bit kept swaying and snapping, his entire body getting into the movement.

At the exact instant a wailing guitar and growling singer crescendoed, Li’l Bit whipped off his robe, and began swirling his hips, slowly, purposefully, his arms stretched out as though ready to hold and swirl with each and every one of them.

Hands started waving money. A pair of red-and-black panties flew through the air onto the stage.

“Damn,” murmured Braxton, “swirling really does drive women crazy.”

As a guitar wailed and jungle drums hit a pounding frenzy, Li’l Bit suddenly stopped, his eyes wide open, his arms reaching, as though frozen in time and space.

Then he fell back like a mighty redwood, crashing onto the stage floor.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

B
RAXTON
AND
F
RANCES
stood in a corner of the stage, watching the paramedics carefully lift Li’l Bit onto a gurney. As one adjusted the IV bag, the other quietly spoke to Li’l Bit, who lay with a strap over his forehead that kept his head immobile.

As Li’l Bit’s lips moved, the paramedic leaned closer, listening attentively.

“I can’t hear him,” Braxton murmured.

Frances squeezed his hand. “Your grandmother’s here,” she said quietly.

He looked out at the audience of women, some of whom were holding up lights and saw his grandmother drive up to the edge of the stage in her wheelchair, his mom walking alongside.

“Be right back,” he said quietly.

He headed to the edge of the stage and crouched down to talk to them.

“How is he?” his grandmother asked, tears welling in her eyes.

“He’s able to talk to the paramedics.”

He didn’t want to say there was concern he might have suffered a cervical spine fracture. Li’l Bit was able to blink and talk, but the rest of his body was still, motionless.

“Do they have his insurance information?” his mom asked, her face etched with worry.

“Yes. He’s alert, and was able to tell them where to find his wallet.”

He heard a clattering sound, turned to see the paramedics pushing the gurney off the stage.

“Gotta go,” he said, standing.

“I’m driving Grams home,” Dorothy said. “It’s been a long day, and she needs to rest. Richmond’s out of town tonight, so I’d like to stay with her.”

“I’ll call when I have news.”

Heading back across the stage, he spied Li’l Bit’s robe where it had landed during the dance. He picked it up and gently draped the soft robe over his arm, choking back a teary laugh at its scents of popcorn and ganja, regretting all the times he hadn’t been kinder.

Braxton caught up to the paramedics as they were gently lowering the gurney off the back end of the stage onto the marble lobby floor below, aided by several Manwiches who murmured words of encouragement to Li’l Bit, still lying motionless, his shiny eyes staring at the ceiling.

As the paramedics pushed the gurney, Braxton jogged alongside.

“You’re gonna be okay, man,” he said, forcing himself to sound a helluva lot more together than he felt.

Li’l Bit slid his eyes to look at Braxton.

“Got your robe,” he said with a smile, holding it up.

Li’l Bit blinked. Twice.

Braxton flashed on a TV drama he saw years ago. A guy was paralyzed from the neck down and could only communicate through blinks.

At least Li’l Bit can still speak.

Like that’ll give him comfort when he has to deal with all this crap.

Then it dawned on Braxton that Li’l Bit’s life wasn’t about “dealing” with things, but accepting them. And he’d find a way to live with a dude dignity other people wished they had.

What Braxton was finally learning was that it wasn’t about getting, but loving.

As the clattering gurney approached the main casino doors, doormen opened them while hotel security directed crowds to step back.

One of the paramedics ran ahead to open the ambulance’s back doors, while the other slowly navigated the gurney.

Walking alongside, Braxton placed his hand on Li’l Bit’s, startled at how cool it felt.

“Is he going to be all right?” Braxton asked.

A general question. Nothing specific. Didn’t want to scare Li’l Bit.

“I don’t know much,” the paramedic answered, “and I shouldn’t even talk to you unless you’re a family member.”

As the gurney rattled to a stop, Braxton looked down into Li’l Bit’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m his brother.”

Li’l Bit’s eyes moistened. His lips moved.

Braxton leaned over, placing his ear closer.

“Yeah, well, you know,” Li’l Bit whispered hoarsely, “that’s just, like, your opinion, man.”

* * *

T
HIRTY
MINUTES
LATER
, Braxton, who’d changed back into his jeans and sweater, and Frances sat outside the ER treatment room, drinking coffee from paper cups, waiting for news about Li’l Bit. They sat quietly, surrounded by the murmured conversations of other family members and friends waiting for news.

The air had a slight disinfectant smell, reminding Frances of the many days she and her dad had visited her mom in the hospital during those long, long months of her illness. Frances hadn’t been in a hospital since.

Braxton’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

“I called him my brother.”

She knew instantly what he was talking about, of course, although he didn’t know. She also knew from the tone of voice, how deeply Braxton regretted hurting Li’l Bit.

“I haven’t been—” a sorrowful expression settled into his face “—kind to Li’l Bit.”

“Never too late to change,” she said gently. “You and I probably know that better than most people.”

“Last night, he told me I was his brother, and I—”

“Don’t,” she said, not wanting him to beat himself up all over again.

She’d been feeling guilty about her skulking about last night, and had already decided to tell him soon what’d she’d done. Obviously soon had become now.

“I know about your conversation last night,” she continued, “because I was there.”

He stared at her for a beat or two, then gave his head a disbelieving shake. “What?”

“I surveilled you last night.”

“You...followed me after I left your condo?”

She nodded.

“To Li’l Bit’s apartment,” he said, understanding filling his eyes. “Because you didn’t believe my dancing lesson story.” He paused. “Bulky black men’s jacket. Miami Heat baseball cap.”

“I feel so dumb. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should’ve trusted you enough to tell you about the auction. As it was, you were probably meant to be there, meeting up with Detective Parks and all.” He paused. “We left off where you were telling me that they don’t know whether Dmitri’s involved. Did he ask if you’d seen anything suspicious at the office?”

“I told him I haven’t, but that I’d seen Ulyana at Bally’s sports book Thursday afternoon, and suggested he interview Ross. By the way, he says he hasn’t told anyone that I’m an insurance investigator because he doesn’t want to jeopardize my safety. I told him I’m investigating the whereabouts of some coins Vanderbilt thinks Dmitri stole, but didn’t mention the heist. That’s between Vanderbilt and the Palazzo.” She paused. “There’s something else. Remember when I said I found something? It was a GPS device attached to my car.”

His face clouded over. “Dmitri.”

“That was my first thought, too. But who knows. Maybe it was Oleg, although I’m not sure why he would want to track me.”

“Or maybe it was Detective Parks.”

“The thought crossed my mind. I asked him if he knew about the device, but he said no. He seemed genuinely concerned. He offered to trace the registration number on the device, but there isn’t one. I asked if Dmitri had mentioned tracking me, but Parks said they’re not tight and that he knows very little about the day-to-day operations. Apparently, his main ‘dirty cop’ job is to provide Dmitri with information about how many off-duty officers work special events. Altered, of course.”

Braxton frowned slightly, thinking. “Let’s get you another rental tonight that you can drive without worrying about being identified. You can keep driving the Benz to work and back so whoever’s tracking you doesn’t get suspicious.”

“Has to be Dmitri. A scary thought, but could be Ulyana, too.”

“And then there’s Yuri. I think it’s time I pay my old friend a visit.” Braxton straightened. “Here comes the nurse,” he murmured, standing.

A plump Hispanic woman wearing a smock decorated with frolicking cats strode purposefully toward them. She’d introduced herself earlier as Rosa, asked Braxton some questions about his brother, and promised a report as soon as she knew anything.

Frances stood next to Braxton, her arm tight around his back, his wrapped around her shoulder, each giving the other strength.

“Nathan’s condition has stabilized,” Rosa said. “We’ve not yet pinpointed what’s wrong, but the good news is that there’s no cervical fracture and he has feeling in his extremities.”

“No paralysis, right?” Braxton asked cautiously.

“That’s right.” Rose smiled, her teeth white in her brown face.

With a whoop of joy, Braxton grabbed Frances in a fierce embrace and crushed her to him. She held on to him, fighting the lump in her throat, not wanting to make a scene in public, but when she heard Brax’s choked sob, she gave up the fight and let her own tears flow.

After a few moments, they pulled apart, silently falling back into their side-by-side position, arms wrapped around each other, as naturally as if they’d done it for years.

“Nathan also shows positive neurological signs,” Rosa continued, “as well as appropriate orientation to time and place.”

Hugging Frances close to him, Braxton laughed. “‘Appropriate orientation to time and place?’ How’d my brother pull that off?”

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
MORNING
,
Braxton knocked on the front door of a stylish stucco row house in a Las Vegas suburb. After a minute or two, a dark-haired, heavily made-up woman in her twenties answered the door.

“How may I help you?” she asked in a thick Russian accent.

“I’d like to talk to Yuri.”

“Your name?”

“Braxton.”

“Wait here.” She shut the door.

Moments later, the door opened. Yuri, his face thinner, but with that same funky Nero hair-cut, stood there. He wore a blue jogging suit and gold chains around his neck.

“Look who’s here,” Yuri said, “Mr. Star Witness for prosecution! Maybe you drop by to see if I have bags packed to go to prison?”

“I have something of mutual interest to discuss with you,” Braxton answered calmly.

“Oh, something of interest! Perhaps the knife you stuck in my back?”

“You want to fight like a couple of old women? Or talk like two men who might be able to help each other. Let me put it another way, Yuri. Yes, I’m the star witness. That means I’m the gatekeeper at the garden of all information in that courtroom. Now, want to invite me inside for a gentlemanly chat?”

A few minutes later, they sat in the living room filled with antique furniture. On a side table sat a copper samovar and old black-and-white family photos, which Braxton guessed to be Russian ancestors. A large flat-screen TV filled one wall. Yuri’s cologne nearly overpowered the smell of boiling cabbage wafting in from the kitchen.

Braxton sat on a faux leather couch.

“Mr. Star Witness Gatekeeper,” Yuri said, sitting in a high-backed chair opposite him, “let me hear about
mutual
interest.
”

“A friend of mine found a GPS device attached to her car. Know anything about this?”

“Oh, sure,” Yuri said sarcastically. He pulled up the cuff on his jogging pant, revealing a heavy black ankle monitor. “As you see, I leave house often to do fun things.”

“Your friends don’t have ankle monitors.”

Yuri barked a laugh. “Not smart for defendant in big government federal case to ask friends to hang GPS on cars.” He frowned. “Why you think I have problem with this friend?”

“This friend is close to Dmitri.”

“Dmitri.” Yuri muttered something in Russian. “He steal gold from dead people’s teeth! I feel sorry for your friend.”

“Dmitri doesn’t seem to like you much, either.”

“How you know? He your new friend?”

Same old Yuri. Baiting, testing. Braxton used to find it irritating, but now it was almost amusing. To his surprise, he felt sorry for Yuri, too. Maybe because he knew how it felt to live so high, then fall so far.

But pity was all Yuri would ever get from him.

“Rumor is he’s keeping an eye on you,” Braxton said.

“On me?” Yuri snorted his disgust. “I should keep an eye on
him.
GPS his...” He smiled, then turned serious. “I tell you why Dmitri not like me. When I go to prison, he wants my businesses on the street.”

That was news to Braxton. He figured Dmitri would be leaving Vegas soon, not staying to take over petty street crime, loan sharking, and protection rackets. On the other hand, those would provide a steady, tax-free income stream.

A thought hit him. Yuri had ears on every street in the Russian community. Maybe somebody knew something about those coins Frances was looking for.

“Have you heard of anyone holding old coins for Dmitri?”

Yuri looked interested. “Why you want to know?”

“Let’s just say...if I had that information, I’d get Dmitri out of the country and away from your turf.” Not that he had any idea how he’d do it...yet.

“Ah, Braxton,” Yuri said with a sly smile, “I have something you want. You have something I want. Let’s talk.”