Wanna Get Lucky? (20 page)

“Yeah. You know your guy we talked about last night? He never reappeared on any of the floors. I checked every one.”

That could mean only one thing. “He went all the way to the top, then.”

“Right. The elevator stops at Mr. Irv Gittings’s office suite. He owns the Athena.”

“I
know
who owns the Athena—I’ve only been in this business half a lifetime.” Why can’t a man resist telling me stuff I already know, as if my IQ drops a hundred points when I’m in his presence? “Why would Dane go see him?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m so used to talking to the blondes around here—most of whom are bimbos and flakes—the Vegas cliché.”

“You’re digging yourself a hole here.” I glared at him.

“And after seeing the look on your face, I’m considering jumping in it.” He shot me that dimpled grin. “Charming smart women—one of my many talents.”

My bad mood began to melt as I started to get all gooey inside. One grin and I was a mess. I really needed to stifle myself. Why is it when your mind opens the door to sex that’s all you can think about? Nothing like being betrayed by your own body part—several of them actually. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I don’t know why your boy would go visit the competition, but I intend to find out. Could you get a copy of the background check you guys run on all new hires?”

“I’ve got something even better.” I rooted in my bag for the papers Romeo had given me. “Security keeps all the checks, for obvious reasons. Since Dane works in Security, I didn’t want to go that route. So, I asked another source to run one for me. He gave it to me this morning.” I waved the papers at Jeremy, then smoothed them out on the nearest empty craps table. We hunched over them.

Jeremy whistled low when he realized what he was looking at. “Where did you get a copy of a police report and background check on Paxton Dane?”

“I have low friends in high places.”

“Impressive.”

Romeo had been thorough. I read through it twice. One glaring fact leapt out: Dane didn’t have a kid sister. So why did he tell
Mother and me he did? What game was he playing? And, whose side was he on?

A
half hour later I was still wandering aimlessly through the casino lost in thought. Jeremy had scurried off to visit Miss Patterson before heading home for some sleep, leaving me to worry by myself. All I had were bits and pieces of the puzzle, but so far, none of them fit together. Lyda Sue was dead, The Big Boss was in trouble, Willie the Weasel and his female buddy were blackmailing half the guests at the Babylon, the new Security guy—with access to everything—was lying to everybody, Security tapes were disappearing, my best friend wanted to be my lover, and I couldn’t get my libido under control.

Somehow, life had gotten away from me.

“You know, if you keep scowling like that, you’ll get those little lines between your eyes. Then you’ll look like you’re a hundred.” Subway Jones, sporting a day’s worth of stubble and still dressed in his Hawaiian shirt, khakis and sandals from yesterday, stepped in front of me.

“Now there’s a happy thought.” Teddie said I’d
be
too old to get what I wanted. Subway told me I’d
look
too old. I sensed a theme.

He hooked his arm through mine and steered me toward the lobby. “You look way too serious. Let’s go watch Miranda’s interview with CNBC.”

“CNBC? The stock market channel?”

“She’s a media mogul. Didn’t you know? An American success story.” Subway gave me a sly chuckle. “I don’t know what those stock nerds are thinking—Miranda eats little boys like that for breakfast.” At my startled look he continued. “Not literally, of course.”

With Miranda, one never knew.

We had given the media several conference rooms on the mezzanine for their base of operations. CNBC had set up shop in the Golden Fleece room, which somehow seemed appropriate.

Miranda preened at all the attention. She had traded her black Lycra number from yesterday for a blue pinstripe suit. Trying to
look professional, I guess. Of course, her five-inch-long skirt and the sheer camisole with no bra kept respectability at bay. I sympathized with the guy who was following her around, trying to figure out where to attach her mike.

She caught sight of us and rushed over, trailed by the guy with the mike, a girl with a makeup kit, and another girl I thought might be the producer. They all came to a stop in front of us.

“Lucky, you came to watch my interview. How wonderful of you, darling!” I didn’t know who she was channeling, but she sounded like Greta Garbo. Miranda was clearly going to make the most of her latest fifteen minutes of fame.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said.

“You are such a dear. Stuffy, but a real dear.” With that, she caught sight of her interviewer and glided off in his direction, still trailed by her minions.

The two of them, Miranda and the interviewer—shark and bait—settled into chairs opposite each other. The mike guy waved the little device over her chest clearly at a loss. Miranda grabbed the thing from him with a frown and attached it to her left boob, then lifted her face for a dusting by the makeup artist.

The temperature in the small space rose rapidly, fueled by the bright lights and the sheer number of people crammed in there. Subway and I pressed up against the back wall by the door, taking it all in.

Subway watched his wife, his eyes alight. “This is going to be good,” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Miranda tends to suck the witty right out of the repartee.”

Subway laughed. “Yes, but the girl does know a sound bite.”

The interview started with a seemingly innocuous question: “So Miranda, how did you get into the adult movie business?”

Miranda leaned into her young questioner, the full force of her cleavage displayed for the camera. She placed a hand on his knee and purred, “Well, I really, really love to screw.”

Every man in the room was instantly struck dumb.

Every man except Subway, who whispered in my ear, “Sound bite number one.”

THE
interview went downhill from there. Actually, I think CNBC got what they wanted—I just wasn’t sure they could show the whole thing on national TV.

Miss Patterson met me as I headed across the lobby. She looked flustered. “You really do need to get your phone back. I had to ask Security to find you.” She pushed a strand of hair out of her face as she skidded to a stop in front of me.

“Where’s the fire?”

She arched her eyebrows at me. “The Big Boss called. He was upset that he couldn’t reach you on your phone.”

I cringed, hoping Teddie hadn’t answered that call.

“The Big Boss doesn’t understand why Teddie is fielding all of your calls.”

“That makes two of us. What did The Big Boss want?”

“He wants, and I quote, ‘Lucky’s ass in the bar in five minutes.’ That was ten minutes ago.”

My eyes got all slitty. I don’t handle high-handed very well, and I most certainly don’t like being summoned like a disobedient dog. “I assume he was talking about Delilah’s? We only have five bars in this hotel.”

My voice must’ve betrayed my anger, since Miss Patterson took a step back. Clutching her notepad to her chest like a shield, she nodded, then retreated with valor.

THE
Big Boss huddled in the far corner of Delilah’s nursing a Diet Coke. His mouth set in a grim line, he motioned for me to take the seat opposite him. I was ready for a fight, but this didn’t seem like the time or the place, or even the correct opponent, so I did as he asked.

Dispensing with the pleasantries, The Big Boss started in. “A little while ago I got an interesting call from Irv Gittings. He was practically gloating.”

“He has a copy of the tape, doesn’t he?” The pieces were starting to fit together, but I asked just to make sure.

The Big Boss looked surprised. “How’d you know?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t. It fits, though. What did Mr. Gittings say?”

The Big Boss picked up the Diet Coke can and poured the last bit into his glass. Then he put the can on its side and absentmindedly twirled it around. “He’s been trying to get my hotels away from me for a number of years.”

“I had no idea.”

“I’m the last of a dying breed. A holdout against consolidated corporate ownership.”

“You do have the prime location on the Strip.”

He nodded and shrugged. “Now they have the leverage to drive me out.”

I reached over and grabbed the can—the spinning was driving me nuts. “Give me two days.”

“What are you going to accomplish in two days? My guys can’t even find a scent of a trail left by William and his friend.”

I pointed my finger at him. “I knew you were lying when you told me you wouldn’t do anything stupid. And, Boss, it would be real stupid to get rid of Willie and Felicia—they’re your only witnesses.”

“I just want them roughed up a little.”

“I want them roughed up more than a little, but only after we get what we want out of them, okay?”

“You know where they are?” For the first time since I’d sat down he looked hopeful.

“I got a pretty good idea where Willie is. I’ll know more this afternoon.”

“You’ll tell me when you find out?”

I snorted. “Not on a bet.”

I rose to leave, but was stopped short when The Big Boss announced, “By the way, you asked if anyone else was there when I got into the helicopter with Lyda Sue.”

I turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

“Somebody else was there—I’d half forgotten. He did the walk-around with Willie, then helped us get into the helicopter, positioning us for the whole weight-and-balance thing.”

One more piece fell into place.

“Paxton Dane,” I said.

The look on his face told me I was right.

D
ane had a knack for turning up in all the wrong places.

And doing all the wrong things.

I ticked off his sins as I made my way back to the office. Let’s see, he lied to me—twice. First about the videotapes. Second about the kid sister. He was seen having an angry exchange with Felicia Reilly—prime suspect number two. He’d loaded everyone into the helicopter on that fateful night. Then, he’d been caught going to see Irv Gittings at the Athena—who was locked in a duel to the death with The Big Boss.

No doubt about it, Dane had added his name to the suspect list and was working hard to hit numero uno on my shit list.

I should’ve known he’d turn out to be a bum—or worse. Could I pick them or what? Of course I hadn’t actually picked Dane, but I
had felt an attraction to him. Truth be told, I’d been feeling an attraction to almost any male who could walk and talk without drooling on himself. I realized I was in trouble when the gardener, who was married with eight kids and knew four words of English—one of them being “fuck” (which he used with relish)—started looking hot to me. Obviously, the holes in my sieve of discernment had gotten quite large. Perhaps the lack of meaningful sex had something to do with it.

So, the bum meter was malfunctioning a bit. I felt adrift.

But I didn’t need to be a genius to figure out Dane was trouble.

“Lucky! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Dane!

A shiver of fear shot through me. Like I said, he had a knack for turning up in all the wrong places. “You found me.”

He wore a tired look, a green polo shirt that accentuated the color of his eyes, creased jeans and a pair of broken-in cowboy boots made out of some exotic skin. They looked expensive. He stopped in front of me. “Do you know some guy keeps answering your phone? What’s up with that?”

“Of course I know, and nothing is up with that.” He looked sexy as hell. I tried my old trick of repeating
All men are pigs
over and over. This time it worked. I stepped around him and kept marching across the lobby toward the elevators.

He kept pace with me. “Why are you in such an all-fired hurry?” He grabbed my arm, spinning me around and holding me in place. “I need to talk to you.”

Facing him, I yanked my arm out of his grasp. I took a deep breath and tried to arrange my features in a benign expression. Showing him my anger wouldn’t help me see through his little charade. “Sorry, my day took off out of the gate at a full gallop. What can I do for you?”