Elusive (On The Run Book #1) (10 page)

She settled against a balustrade
and tried to look as though she were waiting for someone. She had to move on
after about an hour when a woman with blunt bangs and a short pageboy took an
interest in her. Zoe figured she was hotel security. She moved, pacing along
the canal, then moved to a new vantage point and watched from a distance as
Eddie flittered among the customers, restocked shelves, and cleaned the
fingerprints from the glass doors and display counters. After two hours of
cruising the shopping area like a teen on Friday night, she took a table at one
of the restaurants. She ordered a panini and told the waiter she wasn’t in a
hurry. Of course, the moment her food arrived, Eddie waved to the other
employee and slipped her purse onto her shoulder.

Zoe threw the last of her twenties
from Kiki’s rent money on the table and wrapped her panini in a paper napkin.
She followed Eddie out of the hotel into the glaring sunlight of The Strip
where people crushed together on the sidewalks in a slow moving parade. Zoe
took a few hurried bites of the panini—so good—then ditched it in a trashcan and
merged into the crowd, trying to keep Eddie’s fair head in sight. It wasn’t
easy because the crowds shifted and swirled like water.

Zoe dodged around people handing
out flyers for shows and other more exotic entertainment. She sidestepped
slowpoke tourists gawking at casino exteriors or slurping colorful liquids from
straws attached to enormous plastic cups. The vehicles on The Strip weren’t
moving much faster than the pedestrian traffic, and a constant blare of horns
filled the air. Zoe barely noticed the dry, scorching afternoon heat that
seemed to make the air waver when she looked into the distance.

They came even with Caesar’s
Palace, which was on the other side of the street, and Eddie stepped onto one
of the escalators that lead to a bridge to cross to the other side of the
street. Zoe took the steps two at a time and reached the top in time to see
Eddie take the stairs on the other side down to street level.

Pushing through the crowd, Zoe
hurried to get to the street. Eddie headed away from Caesar’s and took another
trip up and over a second pedestrian bridge. Cool air washed over Zoe, chilling
her as she followed Eddie through the cool, sumptuous setting of the Bellagio
Casino. But apparently this was only a short detour because in a few minutes, Eddie
went back outside toward The Strip.

The fountains of The Bellagio
danced in front of her. Water sprayed in time to the voice of Frank Sinatra
singing
Fly Me To The Moon
as Eddie headed for the shady stretch of sidewalk in front of the fountains.
Zoe stopped abruptly as Eddie’s pace slowed in front of the fountains. She
gazed at them for a few seconds, her hands resting lightly on the balustrade,
then she turned and walked back toward Zoe. Zoe turned her back to Eddie and
tried to blend in with a family pushing a stroller. Zoe shadowed the family,
trying to keep out of Eddie’s line of sight. Water shot into the air with the
music’s crescendo, and all eyes were on the fountains, except for Zoe’s. She
watched Eddie, who was making tracks back the way she’d come.

Zoe frowned, glancing back at the
place where Eddie had paused to watch the fountains. She’d come all this way to
watch them for a few seconds? There was a heavy-set guy with vintage style
Ray-Bans, a baseball cap, and a T-shirt with the classic Welcome to Las Vegas
sign standing where Eddie had stood. A short grandma elbowed the man out of the
way, so she could get a clear photo of the fountains. Zoe gazed out over the
palm trees lining the median of The Strip and up to the replica of the Eiffel Tower
and was overcome with an Alice-in-Wonderland kind of feeling.

Zoe turned her attention back to
Eddie’s blond head. Zoe gave Eddie a few more paces, then merged back into the
crowd and followed her.

Well,
that was useless
, Zoe thought as she trailed behind Eddie all the
way back to the square brick clock tower that was reproduced on the cards in
her messenger bag. Eddie disappeared inside the casino. Zoe swept in through
the glass doors and walked along the edge of the corridor, keeping a few paces
behind Eddie.

A hand gripped her elbow. A low,
male voice whispered in her ear, “Don’t make a sound.”

––––––––

Las Vegas

Friday, 3:35 p.m.

––––––––

ALMOST in the same instant that
the man spoke, he steered her through a nearby door. Instinctively, Zoe fought
him, writhing as a rush of adrenaline kicked through her body, but he’d grabbed
her so suddenly, she was through the door and into the small room almost before
she’d realized what had happened.

Bathroom
registered in her mind.
Empty
bathroom.

Not
good
.

The door hissed closed behind
them. Zoe caught a glimpse of the man in the mirror. Baseball cap and black Las
Vegas T-shirt—the guy she’d seen at the fountains.

His grip on her elbow loosened
slightly. Zoe took half a step forward with her right foot and thought of all
those drills they’d done in martial arts class. She leaned forward, then
delivered the hardest back kick she could, aiming low.

The heel of her foot connected
with his abdomen.

Thank you, Master Paul, Zoe
thought, as he tumbled backward and crashed into a trashcan beside the door.
The impact had vibrated up her foot and into her leg. A real live person was
much more solid than all those pads they’d used in class. And it had been years
since she’d practiced those kicks. She rushed to the door.

He wheezed something.

Zoe paused, her hand wrapped
around the door handle. Had he said her name?

He had one hand braced on his
stomach as he fought to get his breath back. “So I take it...” he paused to suck
in a breath, “you’d rather I was dead.” He pulled off the baseball cap and
sunglasses.

Zoe, breathing hard from the
adrenaline rush, frowned at him. The body was wrong—too soft and fat, but...dark,
wavy hair. Silver-blue eyes. And through the stubble on his squared jaw, she
could see a tiny white scar slightly off-center on his chin. She gripped the
door handle. “I’d hit you, if you weren’t already on the ground,” she said, a
wash of relief and fury surging through her.

“Got that message already,” he
said.

She tried to sort through her
emotions. She was mad, but there was something else, too. Could she really be
glad to see him? After this stunt he’d just pulled? And after he’d deceived her
so thoroughly? “What were you doing,” she asked, settling on fury. It felt
better. “Were you trying to scare me out of my mind?”

“What are you doing here, Zoe?” he
asked, standing up slowly, his tone calm.

“What are
you
doing here?”

“Trying to find out why someone
killed Connor, framed me for it, and then tried to kill me,” he said, leaning
down. He picked up the trashcan, but checked his movement, wincing and favoring
his left side.

“Are you hurt?” Zoe asked
dispassionately, crossing her arms and leaning her hip against the sink.

“Nothing that won’t heal.”

They stood for a few seconds
looking at each other, finally he said, “You should go home. Forget you ever
saw me.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m a person of interest in the
investigation into Connor’s death, and I need some answers from you about GRS
stock for the FBI.”

He dipped his head. “I see.”

The door opened and a woman in a
blazer cautiously checked inside. A plastic wire ran from her plain white shirt
collar to an earpiece almost hidden behind her short curly hair. “Have we got a
problem in here?” she asked.

Jack settled the baseball cap on
his head. As he slipped on his sunglasses, he shot a glance at Zoe over the
frames. Zoe could turn him in right now. A few words would bring more security,
and eventually he’d be on his way back to Dallas. There was something in his
jaw, a set firmness that told her he was braced for the worst. He pushed the
sunglasses up. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she felt his gaze on her.

Zoe licked her lips and said, “No,
just one too many cocktails. Come on, honey, let’s get you home.” Zoe moved to
him and took his arm.

The security woman stepped back
and held the door for them.

“Thanks,
darling’
,” Jack said in a
loud voice and swayed against Zoe. His side felt squishy against her arm. As
they retraced their steps and exited the hotel, he lowered his voice so that
only Zoe could hear, “Thanks.”

“I only did it because I want some
answers. If I turn you in, I doubt I’ll get them.”

He nodded. “Is she following?”

Zoe glanced back. “No.”

“No one else in a blazer like
hers?”

“No,” Zoe said as they threaded
their way through the valet parking. Jack kept up his slightly unsteady gait as
they walked through the shadow cast by the brilliantly white Rialto Bridge.
Jack stopped leaning on her so heavily, but he was moving in a way Zoe had
never seen. Instead of his easy long-legged gate, he’d shortened his stride and
slumped his shoulders. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Anywhere away from here,” he
said.

“Thanks for letting me know you’re
not dead, by the way,” Zoe said.

“You were worried?” His tone was
heavy with skepticism.

“Of course I was worried. We were
married once. What did you expect me to do when the police showed up at my door
and said you were missing, probably dead? Shrug my shoulders and say, not my
problem?”

“Well, yes. That’s about how I
thought it would go.”

Zoe stopped walking and stared at
him. “You’re not serious?”

He gripped her arm and pulled her
along. “It’s wonderful to know you care, but right now we’ve got to keep
moving.”

Zoe planted her feet. “No, Jack.
Not another inch until you tell me what happened.”

He pulled on her arm. Zoe stood
firm. She eyed the crowds and said, “I can yell. We’re still on the casino
property. I’m sure there’s security around here, too.”

“Fine.” He leaned close, moved his
sunglasses to the bill of his cap, and fastened his gaze on her. Despite the
crowds swirling around them, Zoe felt as if she and Jack were encapsulated from
them. The noise of people talking, the honk of car horns, the wind rattling
through the dry palm fronds overhead, all seemed to fade as Jack said quietly,
“I came back from lunch and found Connor dead in his office. I was about to do
the good citizen thing and call the police when a man came through the front
door with a gun aimed at me.”

His face was as earnest and as
open as she’d ever seen it. “What did you do?”

“I took the gun away,” Jack said
as if that was the most logical thing in the world.

“Okay. Then why the disappearing
act?” Zoe asked, flinging her hands out in frustration. “All this mess could
have been avoided. That guy probably killed Connor—”

“Because,” Jack cut in, “I didn’t
see the other guy behind me. He hit me over the head and knocked me out. Never
saw it coming,” he said. “Stupid on my part.”

“So there were two men, not just
one?”

“Yes, two,” he said tightly. “Now
that I’ve had time to think about it, the second guy must have come in the
window of the bathroom because I looked there, and I hadn’t seen anyone
earlier. It’s the only way he could have gotten in.”

A woman in three-inch heels and a
tight pink tank top stumbled into us. She apologized and backed away as she
giggled and slapped her companion, a lanky guy wearing a baseball cap turned
the wrong way.

Jack pressed on Zoe’s shoulder,
and they rejoined the ebb and flow of people. “When I came to, the two guys
were standing over me, discussing what to do with me—specifically where they
should leave my body and how I should be posed to realistically portray a
successful suicide attempt.”

Zoe’s steps tangled. “Suicide?”

“Yes,” Jack said, catching her
elbow. “Apparently, I killed Connor and was immediately overcome with remorse
and killed myself.”

Zoe’s steps slowed again, and she
struggled to take it all in. “But...that’s...” words failed her.

“Crazy? Improbable?” Jack said. “I
know. My thoughts exactly, and if my ex-wife is asking herself if what I’m
saying could really be true, you can see why I was reluctant to go to the
police with the story.”

“It is rather...far-fetched, but if
it’s the truth—”

“Of course, I never was able to
fully weigh the pros and cons of that course of action because they were going
to kill me.”

Zoe looked at him doubtfully.

“Zoe,” Jack spun her toward him
and gripped her upper arms. “They were going to kill me.
Kill me
.” His hands tightened
on her arms, emphasizing his words. “Not rough me up a bit and walk away. I was
their job. Their assignment. I heard it all while I had my face planted in the
carpet under Sharon’s desk while they argued.”

Zoe stared at him, processing his
words. Finally, she said, “But you got away.”

“Yes.” He released her, and they
walked again. “Barely,” he said, his hand moving to his side.

“And the two guys...what happened
with them?” Zoe edged away slightly. She didn’t know this man. It wasn’t only
his physical appearance that had changed. Under the stubble and the weird
clothes, he had a hard edge, an intensity that she’d never seen. He’d always
been focused, especially when he was working business deals, but his manner
then seemed mild compared to the single-minded concentration radiating off him
now.

“Don’t look at me like that. They
were breathing when I left. Unconscious, but breathing.”

“I only ask because there was no
one else there when I found Connor,” she said, slowing her pace.

He glanced at her quickly,
frowning...with concern? Zoe wasn’t sure about his expression. “You found him?”

“The next morning. I went by the
office to tell him and Sharon about you—that you were missing. At first glance,
every thing looked normal—aside from Connor, that is.”

“Sorry you saw that,” Jack said
quietly.

“Sharon was there almost as soon
as I found him.”

“Odd that they’d tidy up,” Jack
said. “They didn’t seem the type.”

Zoe wasn’t too interested in what
the men did. They could have waxed the floor for all she cared. “So after you
left the office, you what? Decided to disappear? Make it look as if you were
dead?”

“It was the only thing I could
think of. They weren’t leaving Dallas with me alive—that was clear from their
conversation. They’d already used my gun to kill Connor. It had my fingerprints
on it. And there was the money—I saw the transfer into my account before I
found Connor.”

“You own a gun?” Zoe said
incredulously and so loudly that several people on the sidewalk gave them
curious looks. She’d told the police he didn’t own a gun. It was the one thing
that she’d been so sure of, but now that seemed like a long time ago.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t I ever see it?”

“I kept it in a safe place. It
just never came up.”

Zoe stared at him a few seconds,
then blinked. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the syllables. “Forget the gun for
now. Let’s get back to your disappearance. Your ‘death’ wouldn’t fool them—or
the police—forever.” Zoe glanced back involuntarily as they followed the curve
of the sidewalk and joined the procession of tourists moving up and down The
Strip. No blazer people.

“No, but it protected you. If I’d
gone home...”

She gave him a long look. “Really.
You did it all for me? The whole disappearing act was to protect me?”

He gave her a small smile in
concession to her mocking tone. “And it bought me time, which is what I needed
to clear up any...misunderstanding, shall we say, that the police might have
about my involvement in Connor’s death. I suspected that I wouldn’t have the
freedom of movement to figure out what Connor had gotten into if I went to the
police.”

“So you’re going to figure out why
someone—not you—killed Connor and present it to the police in a tidy package.
They’ll appreciate that.”

“Something like that.”

Zoe felt the back of her neck
prickle and looked over her shoulder. The crowds swirled around them.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know. I just had that
weird feeling someone was staring at me,” she said as she scanned the sea of
faces behind them.

“There’s thousands of people
here,” Jack said, wearily.

“There,” Zoe said, her gaze
locking with a man in a silver sedan a few feet behind them. “The guy in the
silver car.” He was driving, creeping slowly as he exited The Venetian in their
wake. There was something about the intensity of his gaze that made her walk
faster. “Why is he driving so slowly?” Zoe asked. There weren’t any cars in
front of the silver car. “Do you think he’s hotel security?”

Jack glanced at her, then over
his shoulder. A screech cut through the air, then the deep rumble of an engine.
He peeled out
, Zoe
thought, her mind moving much faster than her body. She felt Jack, who still
had a firm grip on her arm, yank her to the other side of the white waist-high
pylons that studded the sidewalk. They stumbled and fell in a tangle of limbs.
Jack’s breath hissed out. An explosive crash sounded, seemingly inches behind
them.

Zoe disengaged herself from Jack
and looked behind them. The car’s grill was squashed into a pylon, which was
almost horizontal. Fluids dripped out of the engine, sending up hisses of steam
as they hit the hot pavement. The airbags had deployed and Zoe couldn’t see the
driver.

Jack used his elbow to roll into a
sitting position then stood up, pulling Zoe with him. His sunglasses were gone.
They’d skittered across the sidewalk. She reached out to pick them up. “Leave
them,” he said, as people closed in around them.

“Are you okay?”

“Should we call an ambulance?”

“Lord, almighty. Did you see that?
He must be drunk as a skunk.”

Jack pushed through the people,
waving off their questions and offers of help. “We’re fine. No harm done,” he
said, cutting a quick glance over his shoulder as they shoved through the
crowds, moving north toward the Treasure Island Casino.