Double Lucky (49 page)

“Don't worry about me. I'll find something to do.”

“Yeah, if I know you, you'll be heading back to the tables to lose it all.”

“Don't knock it. Besides, there's nothing else to do in Vegas.”

“Yes, there is,” she said crisply. “Shopping.”

“Shopping is a girls' thing.”

“Since when? You love to shop.”

“Not today. Anyway, Kev's arriving this morning, he'll keep me company.”

“Is he coming by himself?”

“Uh, no,” Billy said, dreading the moment he might have to introduce Venus to Ali. “Think he's bringing one of his girls.”

“You make him sound like a pimp.”

“He wishes.”

“Well,” Venus said, preparing to leave, “if you need me, I'll be at rehearsal. I should be back around three. Then I plan on having a full-body massage and taking it easy until my makeup and hair people arrive at four.”

“Got it, babe.”

“Oh yes, and if you feel like buying me that apartment, go right ahead.”

“Never knew you were a comedienne too.”

“Thanks, darling,” she drawled. “A girl's got to try.”

*   *   *

Renee Falcon was always up early, unlike Susie who most days lazed in bed until noon. Renee didn't mind, she genuinely loved her partner. Susie was all the things she wasn't—soft and loving and kind and quite astute in her own way.

The previous night Renee had found to be quite disturbing. Her casino floor manager—always on celebrity alert—had called and informed her that Billy Melina and Venus were in the house. Naturally she'd gone into the casino to personally welcome them to the Cavendish. She had not been expecting to find Lucky Santangelo and Lennie Golden with them. She'd never met Lucky, nor had she wanted to in view of what was to take place the following day.

“We're about to be neighbors,” Lucky had said with a warm smile. “Anytime you want to come over to the Keys, you'll be my guest. Call first—if I'm around, I'll make sure to give you a personal tour.”

Renee was surprised to note that not only was Lucky Santangelo a true beauty—stunning, with her slim figure, wild profusion of jet-black curls, and penetrating dark eyes—she was friendly too. This was a shock after all the vitriolic things Anthony had said about the Santangelo family, Lucky in particular. He'd called her a bitch and a cunt and a murderer. And he'd given Renee the impression there was no more evil woman on earth. Obviously he was lying, or Lucky was the best actress in the world.

Later Susie had joined her in the casino and then they'd all ended up in the lounge having drinks together. Susie had also liked Lucky, and she'd especially enjoyed talking to Lennie, who she soon discovered had once worked with her deceased husband on a movie.

“I'm inviting you both to our opening tomorrow,” Lucky had said before they all left. “There's a reception on the terrace at six, followed by a lingerie show, then Venus's special appearance. I'd be delighted for you both to be my guests.”

“We accept,” Susie had said with a happy nod.

Renee considered Anthony's reaction had he witnessed this cozy little scene. He would've thrown one of his explosive temper tantrums. But who cared about Anthony? Ever since Tasmin's murder, Renee fervently wished she could sever all connections with him. Yes, the Keys would be competition, but what Anthony had persuaded her to put in place was extraordinarily drastic and now she was starting to regret it. Thank God Susie knew nothing, for she'd put an immediate stop to it.

Lately Renee had spent too much of her time keeping Detective Franklin at bay. The detective had a nose for details, and kept on returning to the hotel with more and more questions. She seemed very interested in speaking to Anthony in person.

Renee managed to stonewall her.

“You're wasting both our time,” she'd said. “I've answered all your questions more than once. You've spoken to Mr. Bonar on the phone. I don't understand why you keep coming back.”

“Because this is where the trail ends,” Detective Franklin had answered. “Doesn't it concern you that after Tasmin spent the evening with you and your guests in
your
restaurant at
this
hotel she was never seen again?”

Renee had shrugged. “Sorry, but I can't help you.”

Secretly she wished she could, for her thoughts often turned to Tasmin's body buried in the desert where nobody would ever find it, unless she guided them in the right direction. Then she thought about what a smart and beautiful woman Tasmin had been, and how unnecessary her murder was. A true waste of a decent human being who happened to enjoy sex—and thanks to Renee, had gotten herself fixed up with the wrong one-night stand.

Deep down Renee felt responsible. Even though Anthony Bonar had helped her flee Colombia and set her up in Vegas, she wished she'd never set eyes on the murderous son of a bitch. He was a danger to himself and everyone around him.

Too late now. Or was it? Anthony was heading to Vegas and he expected action.

*   *   *

Sitting next to Ace in the passenger seat of his truck on their way to Vegas, Max felt content—a feeling she wasn't used to. Last night they'd stayed up late, talking. Unfortunately for her
just
talking, because she'd desperately wanted him to kiss her, willed him to do so, but he hadn't. Around midnight he'd said, “I'm gonna catch some sleep, we should try to leave early in the morning.”

She'd gone to bed vaguely disappointed, only to be awoken at three
A.M.
by a call from a hysterical Cookie, who'd informed her that Harry had crashed his SUV, totally wrecked it, failed a sobriety test, and subsequently been arrested.

“But he wasn't drunk,” Max had said, struggling to wake up.

“By that time he was,” Cookie admitted. “After you left, we bribed our way into another club where Harry made it his mission to see how many vodka martinis he could chug. You know Harry when he's on a roll.”

“Weren't you
supposed
to be watching out for him?”

“Since when did
I
turn into like a
nursemaid
?” Cookie grumbled. “Y'know,
I
was in the car too. I could've been killed.”

“Are you hurt?”

“A few bruises, nothing major.”

“That's good.”

“Harry's dad was
way
mad—like
totally
pissed. He sent his big-time lawyer to bail number-one son out, so now Harry's grounded, can't come to Vegas.”

“How about you?”

“I figure I'll hitch a ride on my dad's plane an' see you there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Max had said, contemplating whether she should wake Ace, but deciding against it. The next morning she'd filled him in over breakfast.

“That's one screwed-up dude,” Ace had said, not at all surprised. “He was an accident waiting to happen.”

“Guess you were right about not getting in the car with him.”

“It's called instincts,” he'd replied. “Always gotta follow 'em.”

Now they were on their way to Vegas, and as far as she was concerned everything was cool,
especially
as Ace had broken up with his girlfriend. What a bonus!

She stole a sideways glance at him. He was
so
damn handsome, and that cleft in his chin … wow!

Donny, once her reason for getting up in the morning, had faded to a distant memory.

Maybe tonight she'd get that kiss she'd been waiting for.

A girl could hope, couldn't she?

*   *   *

And on the same highway, several hours ahead of them, Henry Whitfield-Simmons drove his mother's sleek royal blue Bentley, estimating that he should be arriving in Las Vegas in less than an hour.

He hummed softly to himself. Everything had turned out exactly as he'd predicted. His mother's lawyer had been wary about not getting on his bad side. The man was a trustee of the estate, and as such he would be making himself a hefty percentage of billions of dollars, so his main desire was to keep Henry happy. He'd come up with the credit card and cash Henry had requested.

Once Henry had the black American Express card in his possession, he'd driven straight to the Beverly Hills Neiman Marcus and purchased an entire new wardrobe of clothes, all the better to impress Maria. Not that he felt she was the type of girl attracted by appearances, but it was only polite to look smart for her.

Now he was in the Bentley on his way to Vegas to claim his rightful prize.

And his prize was Maria.

He knew that once he convinced her it was the right thing to do, she would be happy that he'd come to take her away from the life she was forced to lead with Lucky Santangelo as her mother.

Very happy indeed.

 

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Irma could not stop shaking—she was in shock—and nobody aboard Anthony's plane cared as it winged its way toward Las Vegas. Not Francesca, her husband's witch of a grandmother, who sat next to her grandson drinking endless cups of black coffee and chain-smoking. Not The Grill, Anthony's giant psycho bodyguard with the blank glassy eyes and expressionless face. Not Emmanuelle, her husband's blond mistress who kept on shooting her filthy looks as she thumbed through a selection of trashy magazines. And certainly not Anthony himself. Her vicious husband. Her worst nightmare.

Yesterday's events were etched into her brain forever. How could she forget the horror of what Anthony had put her through.

It had all started with the movie.…

She'd watched in disbelief as her image had appeared on the screen. Her words. Her gestures. Luis.

Anthony had
everything
on film. Luis touching her, undressing her, making love to her.

Oh God! Every moment of her last assignation was captured in excruciating detail.

She'd watched and cringed and begged Anthony to stop the film. But no, he was having none of it.

“Shut the fuck up, you whore!” he'd screamed at her. “Keep on watchin' that motherfucker's cock rammin' into
my
wife, the
mother
of
my
kids.”

There was a moment when she'd tried to get up and run from his office, desperate to escape the fury she had no doubt would erupt. But as soon as she'd attempted to do so, Anthony had violently slammed her back into the chair, where she'd stayed, watching, until Luis got off the bed, tenderly kissed her, put on his clothes, and left the bedroom.

At last it was over. The TV screen went blank, and there was an ominous silence.

“I'm sorry,” she'd begun, choking over the words.

“You'll be a lot sorrier than this,” he'd warned. “Where'd ya get the balls to cheat on
me
, Anthony Bonar? You fuckin'
puttana whore
.”

“Anthony,” she'd pleaded, hoping that somehow or other she could make him understand. “There was a reason I did it. You haven't touched me in years. I was—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he'd ordered. “Do not say one more fuckin'
word
.”

She'd sat in silence and shame, until the door to his office opened and in walked The Grill.

The big man was not alone; he was dragging Luis with him.
Her
Luis. Her lover, so badly beaten he could barely stand. Both his eyes were blackened, his nose looked like it was broken, his lips were puffed up and split, and there was blood all over his shirt.

Their eyes met for a brief second. “Oh God!” she'd moaned. “What have you done to him, Anthony? It wasn't his fault, it was mine, all mine.
I
seduced
him
. If you have to punish anyone, punish me.”

“You,” Anthony spat. “Why would I punish
you
? Your punishment is watchin' what happens to your fuckin' boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend!” she'd screamed hysterically. “You've done enough. Look at him—he's beaten to a pulp.”

“You think I give a shit? You think I'd allow someone who
works
for
me
to run around sayin' he's fuckin' my wife? You think
that's
the kinda man you're married to? I got news for you,
bitch
. Nobody fucks Anthony Bonar's wife and gets away with it.”

The shaking had started then and it hadn't stopped since.

“You got a choice,” Anthony had said, staring her down. “An' I'm gonna let you decide, Irma, my dear wife, my favorite
cunt
. His cock or his balls—whaddya wanna cut off?”

“Anthony, don't do this,” she'd pleaded.

“I'm givin' you a fuckin' choice, which is kinda big of me,” he'd crowed, fully pleased with himself. “Cock or balls? You pick.”

“You're insane,” she'd moaned.

“Insane? Me? Listen, whore,
I'm
not the one who's bin screwin' another man's wife. This asswipe's the insane one.”

“No,” she'd said, desperately trying to keep it together and fight back. “
You're
the one who has mistresses everywhere. Three, four, I don't know how many women you sleep with. What was I
supposed
to do?”

“I got a suggestion,” he'd said. “Whyn't you fuck the gardener? How's that?”

“If you do anything more to him, I'll go to the police,” she'd gasped.

“You'd do that, wouldja? You'd go to the cops 'cause your husband caught ya fuckin' another man.” He'd shaken his head as if he couldn't believe she'd come out with something so dumb. “This is Mexico, whore. In this town they'd give me a fuckin' medal for beatin' up this prick.”

“It's not just a beating, Anthony, you're threatening more.”