Hell on Heels (9 page)

“It's nothing big, really, but we'll talk about it later. The time's not right yet anyway,” she answered cryptically. “In the meantime, why don't I make a few calls?”

“You can knock yourself out, but it doesn't mean I'm agreeing to any of this.”

“You don't have to, but at least you'll know your options. It never hurts to explore options, Ty.”

 

Monica went to see Tom first thing the next morning. She was happy to note that this time he at least looked up when she walked into the room. “Good morning, Tom.” She bent to kiss his cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

Tom reached for the iPad. He typed back.
No. Want to go home.

“You know that's not possible. At least not yet. You're still recovering and need medical support. Maybe in time, when you get your speech back.”

“Maybe not, but we can still hope, right?”

Tom's mouth turned down.
Ty back yet?

“No.” She sat down beside him on the bed. “He only flew out yesterday. I don't expect he'll be back for a couple more days.”

“Well enough, I suppose.” She sighed. “This whole thing has been hard on all of us.”

“Of course I'm staying.” She clasped his hand. “I'd never leave you like this. I'll be here as long as you need me. Tom, I didn't want to trouble you with this, but there's something I really need to know.”

Although she felt a wave of guilt for broaching anything business-related, how could she ever know the truth otherwise? “Did you agree to rebuild the hotel?”

“I don't understand,” she said. “Why not just sell the property? You and Ty could both pocket millions.”

Not about the money. Ty needs it.
Tom squeezed her hand and shut his eyes.

Taking the cue, Monica kissed his weathered cheek for a second time, then quietly slipped out.

Shit.
As she'd feared, she had been completely in the wrong to accuse Ty of causing Tom's stroke. She never should have come on so strong, but she'd acted on what she'd known at the time—and the facts were highly incriminating. She was only trying to protect Tom. Now she wondered if she'd done the completely wrong thing for all the right reasons.

T
he phone rang for the umpteenth time in less than an hour since she'd arrived in her office. Monica glared, willing it to die a slow and agonizing death. It was barely noon, and all she'd done was deal with fires, including an actual fire alarm that someone had pulled up on the third floor as a prank. She half wished the blaze had been real. She could then have walked away with a clear conscience and a nice insurance check.

The phone continued to buzz. With a resigned sigh, she snatched it up. “This is Monica Brandt.”

“Ms. Brandt, this is Sheila in housekeeping. I've got a problem.”

“I'd like to know who in this place doesn't,” Monica bit back.

“Excuse me?” Sheila replied.

“I'm sorry, Sheila. I didn't mean to snap at you. What is it?”

“Our linen hasn't been delivered yet. We have a full house this weekend due to the national bull riding championships, and we can't make up the rooms. What do you want me to do?”

“Have you called the linen supplier?” Monica asked.

“No, ma'am. Not yet.”

“Then I suggest you begin there. It could be as simple as the delivery truck breaking down. Let's find out first and then see what has to be done.”

“Sure. I'll keep you posted.”

“I'm sure you will,” Monica said dryly. Was everyone at the Hotel Rodeo totally incompetent? Or was Ty such a tyrant that his employees couldn't make the simplest decisions on their own? She'd no sooner hung up with housekeeping before the phone buzzed again.

“Ms. Brandt, this is Samantha at the front desk. It's an hour past checkout, and we have a couple of rooms that refuse to vacate.”

“Then charge them for another night . . . and make it full price.”

“But they're comps. Cowboys in town for a rodeo.”

“Comps? And they refuse to leave?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Call security,” Monica said. “They'll boot the freeloaders, right?”

“Um. We don't really have any official security here, Ms. Brandt. Ty usually handles this kind of thing.”

“Well, Ty isn't here, so I suggest you phone the police.”

“Er . . . that might not be such a good idea either . . . not with the women involved.”

“Women? What women?” Monica demanded. “What are you talking about?”

“Um . . . They brought a few female . . . companions . . . back with them last night. If they're still in there this morning, we could get cited for running a brothel.”

“Then I'll just have to deal with this myself.” Monica slammed down the phone. Now she had to evict a bunch of drunk cowboys and prostitutes? Fighting the urge to beat her head on the desk blotter, she let loose a shriek instead.

“Damn you, Ty Morgan! And damn this place to hell!” Monica snatched up the phone and punched the extension for the bar.

“Last Chance Saloon. Gabby speaking.”

“Gabby? It's Monica Brandt.”

“Oh, Ms. Brandt. I was just about to call you. Steve Silvestri from the Gaming Commission is here to see you.”

“What? You've got to be kidding me?”

“No. He drops in every so often. It's probably just a routine audit.”

“I don't have time for this.”

“What do you want me to tell him?” Gabby asked.

Struggling against a complete meltdown, Monica took several deep, cleansing breaths. “Please explain that I am new to the hotel, and ask if he can come back when Ty is here.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Brandt. Anything else?”

“Yes, Gabby, I need your help.”

“What can I do for you?”

“We've got a bit of trouble brewing with a bunch of hungover cowboys and hookers, but I've just been informed that the hotel doesn't employ any security personnel. Surely you have some means of dealing with unruly patrons in the bar—don't you?”

“Sure do, Ms. Brandt. Gus takes care of that kind of thing.”

“Gus?”

“Yeah. He's the bouncer down here.”

“Is he here now?”

“As a matter of fact, he just clocked in.”

“Great. I need him to meet me up on the third floor.”

“Ty isn't going to like hearing about this. He usually just turns a blind eye as long as they don't bust up the place.”

“Well, Ty isn't here, is he?”

“No, ma' am.”

“Then send me Gus.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Monica was waiting by the third-floor elevator when the giant stepped out. Her gaze raked him over, from biker boots to shiny bald head, and lingered on the
LOVE
and
HATE
tattoos on his knuckles. “If you're Gus, you'll do very well.”

“Yup.” He nodded. “That would be me.”

She smiled in satisfaction. “Then it's your lucky day. You've just been promoted to head of hotel security. C'mon.” She beckoned. “Our first stop is housekeeping for some ice buckets.”

Twenty minutes later Monica watched with bated breath as Gus herded four very wet and cursing cowboys through the bar entrance. Two hookers followed them out; the second, a redhead, flashed Monica a smile accompanied by a cheeky wink.

“Are they regulars around here?” Monica asked Gabby. If she was truly running things for the next few days, she needed to get the true lay of the land, starting with her first allies, Gabby and Gus.

“Yeah, you might say that,” Gabby replied. “The redhead goes by Tamara.”

“I'm guessing she knows Ty, too?”

Gabby directed her gaze to the bar top. “They might be loosely acquainted.”

“I thought prostitution was prohibited in the city limits.”

“It is, but escorts and private entertainers are perfectly legal.”

Monica frowned. “Then what's to prevent . . .”

“That's kind of hazy territory, Ms. Brandt. Most folks more or less follow the ‘don't ask, don't tell' policy.”

Monica shook her head with a sigh.

“Having a rough day, Ms. Brandt?”

“You might call it the day from hell, actually.” Monica replied with a dry laugh. “Is it always like this? Or am I being hazed?”

Gabby glanced away with a guilty look.

“You know something, don't you, Gabby?”

“This didn't come from me, Ms. Brandt, but I think you may have experienced a bit of hazing.”

Monica's temper flared. “So you're saying Ty's really behind all this—the unruly cowboys, the hookers, the gaming inspector? It was all staged?”

Gabby held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Now I didn't say that . . . exactly.”

“Then what are you saying . . .
exactly
.”

“Only that Ty gave very specific instructions that
everything
was to go through you in his absence.”

“Did he now?” Monica frowned. “That's very enlightening.”

“By the way,” Gabby said, “the gaming inspector will be back on Monday.”

“Oh shit! I forgot all about him!”

“Don't worry. He said he wanted to see Ty anyway. They're poker buddies.”

“The gaming inspector gambles?” Monica asked with surprise.

Gabby chuckled. “Everyone in Vegas gambles, Ms. Brandt.”

Monica didn't gamble, but her next mission would be to educate herself on the Las Vegas gaming laws. She didn't know if the gaming inspector was a part of Ty's prank or not, but she wasn't taking any chances. She refused to let Ty get the upper hand.

Whipping out her phone, she texted:
Hotel shut down for prostitution. Need bail money. Urgent.

She stashed the phone with a chuckle.
That
should make him piss himself.

 

Ty was halfway through New Mexico when he got Monica's text.

Had the whole thing backfired on him? His first reaction was a surge of panic, but it took him only seconds to realize she was playing him, just as he'd played her. He would have heard from someone at the hotel if the cops had really dragged Monica off in handcuffs. Her effort at retaliation had failed but still made him chuckle. Maybe she had a sense of humor, after all? He thought about how he should respond.

A few minutes later when he pulled over for gas, he typed his reply:
Sorry 'bout all that, Sugar. Got a lawyer? Try 1-800-UR-scrwd.

His phone vibrated almost instantly.
I'm on to you now
,
asshat.

He chuckled, wishing he could have seen her face when she figured out he'd played her.

He typed.
Took you long enough. How R things?

Fine.
She answered.
Now that I'm not running a brothel anymore. When R U back?

Ty pocketed his phone with a grin and paid for the gas.

“What's so funny, Señor Ty?” Rosa asked as he climbed back into the cab.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Why?”

“You were smirking like something amuses you.”

“Was I? I wasn't aware.” He started the engine and pulled back onto the highway.

“How much farther is it?” Rosa asked.

“We're about halfway. We can either stop in Albuquerque for the night and drive the rest of the way tomorrow, or I can grab a few cans of Redbull and keep driving. If we continue, we'll get in late tonight. Your choice, Rosa.”

“It's a very long time driving. Won't you be tired?”

“Makes no difference at all to me,” he said. “I've done this kind of drive hundreds of times before. Hell, I used to live on the road.”

“And that was no proper life for you at all,” she chided. “It ruined your marriage.”

He shook his head with a dry laugh. “That marriage was a train wreck before it began.” He quickly changed the subject. “So what do you want to do? Stop in Albuquerque or keep going?”

“If you are certain, I would prefer to get there sooner. I worry about Tomás.”

“Me too, Rosa.” He realized he was also eager to see Monica again. That thought shook him.

“Señor Ty, where will I be staying once we get there?” Rosa asked.

“That's a good question. I haven't even thought about it, really. You could always stay at the hotel, but I think you'd be much more comfortable at my place, at least until we figure out something better.”

“And you?”

“I'll just stay at the hotel. I spend most of my time there anyway.”

“For how long will I be there?”

“Dunno that either.” Ty shrugged. “If the docs say it's okay and you're willing to supervise his care, I'm hoping Tom might eventually be able to go back home to the ranch. He'll still need a private nurse, of course, but that should be easy enough to arrange.”

“Tomás would be much happier at home.”

“I agree, but all those decisions are in the docs' and his daughter's hands. It might take some persuasion to get Monica to agree to let him go home. Maybe you can talk to her about it? She doesn't listen to anything I say.”

“I will.” Rosa gave a firm nod. “What is she like, this Monica? Is she anything like her papi?”

“Let's see now.” Ty scratched his jaw. “If Tom were thirty-some years younger, eighty pounds lighter, and an attractive female with the temperament of a diamondback rattler, I guess they'd be a lot alike.”

Rosa shook her head with a snort.

“She rubs me the wrong way,” Ty explained.

“But you like her anyway?” Rosa asked.

“I'd never say that,” Ty scoffed. “I s'pose I respect her, though. She's smart as hell.”

“You also said she's attractive.”

“Did I? Don't recall that part,” Ty remarked absently.

“Yes. You did. Just a moment ago.”

“Well, that's not saying much. According to Delaney, I find all females attractive.”

“You and Señora Delaney will never get back together?”

“Me and Delaney? God no!” Ty exclaimed.

“But I think she still cares for you.”

Ty sighed. He should have known Rosa would press the point at her first opportunity. She was stubborn as a rat terrier that way. “Maybe I care about her too, but that doesn't mean I want to live with her. That marriage was a mistake that should never have happened.”

Both statements were true. He did care about Delaney, but he didn't love her. Their relationship had been founded purely on infatuation. Once the initial lust had worn off, and it hadn't taken long, there was nothing left to hold them together. Delaney was spoiled, demanding, and controlling. Maybe it wasn't all her fault. She'd been raised that way, but Ty refused to pamper her. So all they ever did was fuck and fight.

“I think she's lonely out there on the ranch by herself.”

“I never wanted her to stay there,” Ty said. “She insisted on it. If she's lonely now, all she has to do is pack up her stuff and go back to Houston.”

“She wants to be independent. Her family interferes too much.”

“She has a ten-million-dollar trust fund. She can be
independent
wherever she likes. Why she decided to settle herself in rural Oklahoma puzzles the hell out of me.”

“Maybe she thinks you'll eventually come back. Maybe she wants a family of her own.”