Something Sinful This Way Comes [McQueen Was My Valley 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (17 page)

“Guests?” Xandra shrieked a bit louder than she should have. Nathan made a “quiet” gesture with his free hand. “Guests?” Xandra whispered. “Sure, he probably
paid
for a room, Sol. But he’s also broken into
my
suite three times.”

Julian added, “He’s also a known consort of a known drug lord. If we’re smart we can get him on something else, too. And by the way.
I
want to be Bruce Willis.”

“Look here, Bruce,” Sol said, “we don’t even know where this guy
is
right now. Cass just heard him blather to Xandra’s ex about having the photo in his possession—we just couldn’t figure out
where
he was—”

Xandra interrupted. “Well, how hard can it be, Sol? I know what the idiot looks like. I’ll just go down to Marcus’s security room and look at all his little screens—”

Abruptly, Nathan tossed down his pen and stood, slapping the pistol at his side as if to make sure it was still there. “We got him. Come on, Julian.”

He looked warningly at Xandra, and she knew that sharp, commanding look. “Yes,” she agreed, hangdog. “I’ll stay here.”

Xandra, Cass, and Sol all sighed deeply, watching the two men leave the suite. Xandra sighed because she was lost in the sight of their rounded rumps as they departed so manfully, full of purpose. Cass probably sighed for the same reason.

Sol sighed because he was probably picturing the newspaper headlines. “Worldwide Drug Cartel Arrest at Triple Play Lodge.”

Cass asked dreamily, “So Julian is my date for tonight?”

Xandra looked sideways at her. “Just a date, Cass. And just for tonight.”

“Oh, you’re so greedy,” said Cass. “You have to have both of them.”

Sol slapped his forehead. “
Both
of them? Xandra, you’re the
owner
of this lodge! You have to conduct yourself in a manner appropriate to the decorum of a lodge owner!”

“Don’t panic, Sol,” said Xandra, still staring at the closed suite door. “I’m discreet. No one knows about it.”

Sol’s voice rose to an almost female register. “What exactly does ‘knows about’ mean? Doesn’t know you drove in the same truck together, or doesn’t know you banged them both at the same time?”

“Neither,” said Xandra. But Sol had planted a fear in her head.

Nathan had heard Ozzy talking to a fisherman. He’d discerned they were at the Neon Cocktail from the clinking of glasses over the wire, and the ordering of Black and Tans.

“Why didn’t he just leave Utah once he got the photo?” Julian asked as they strode down the corridor. It was thrilling to be working with a partner again on an important case. He’d been working alone for so many years, he’d forgotten how exciting and stimulating it was to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Julian always had to ask himself the questions, as well as provide himself the answers. There were fellow conservation officers operating out of Ogden, Vernal, and a few other towns, but they only got together for a couple of annual banquets and wildlife shindigs. They’d call each other if there was some particularly sticky situation with a batshit poacher, but that was about it.

“As Xandra said, he seems a bit of a knuckle dragger. I think in the first place he wanted a few drinks. Then I confirmed he’s hitting up anglers to sell some meth he’s got on his person.”

“Did he have any takers?”

“One guy sounds interested. They’re talking about heading back to the fisherman’s room to complete the transaction.”

“How are you going to know which two they are? There must be a hundred fishermen in there.”

Nathan didn’t break his stride, but quirked a grin sideways at Julian. “Fisherman Axel is from Germany, wanting to experience the typical American lifestyle. Axel commented on Ozzy’s overly-warm fleece-lined parka.”

Julian had to grin, too. “Plus, Ozzy obviously has his bag with the photo in it, ready to leave town. What’s your game plan?”

They were nearly to the entrance of the Neon Cocktail, where a greeter kept out the riffraff, so they had to pause. “I’ll go in and put the sting on him, tell him I want meth, too,” said Nathan. “He probably only saw me for a split second when he was threatening Xandra, and I look like less of a cop than you, even though you’re not wearing your wildlife uniform.”

“Less of a cop? I can’t imagine anyone looking like
more
of a cop than you. You might as well be wearing mirrored shades, you look like such a cop. Besides, we don’t need to do a sting. He’s obviously got the meth on him because he gave up his room.”

Nathan looked thoughtful then nodded briskly. “We’ll both go in, but let’s still lure him somewhere else—that outdoor patio, at least. Sol’s got at least some basis for his fears. Don’t want everyone thinking the Triple Play is a hotbed of drug intrigue.”

“But do we look like fishermen?”

Nathan scanned Julian head to toe, seemingly displeased. “Not really. Let’s be a couple of airplane pilots who accidentally booked a room here during a fishing convention.”

Despite the fact that Julian had shoulder-length hair, albeit tied back in a ponytail, he’d always wanted to pretend to be a pilot.

They entered the Neon Cocktail and quickly scanned the room. Fishermen were piled up three deep at the bar. A few were already in their evening attire, their newly acquired tans making them all look like James Bond.

“There,” said Julian, lifting his chin toward the back of the bar. He knew from over a decade of working with tourists that this guy was German, and obviously the guy he chatted with was Latino. Ozzy even matched the height and breadth of the ski-masked fellow on the video assaulting Xandra.

“Right,” agreed Nathan. “Let’s go get a drink.”

So they shoved their way toward the bar through the three layers of outdoorsmen.

“Damn,” said Nathan, squeezing past Ozzy. He even rudely shoved Ozzy by the shoulder to get his attention. “Why the hell did we book this room during a fucking fishing convention?”

“Yeah, I’m dying for a mojito,” Julian agreed. They had to practically yell in order to be heard over the clamor of the sportsmen.

Julian’s tactic to draw attention to himself worked. Ozzy stopped his schmoozing with Axel and gave Julian a bemused snort. “Mojitos are for women,” he said derisively.

Julian regarded Ozzy with what he hoped was a friendly yet world-weary manner. “I just want something strong to pick me up.”

“Yeah,” agreed Nathan. “We caught some wake turbulence and the plane decompressed so fast the rubber jungle came down.”

“That’s right,” Julian agreed as though reminiscing. “People putting on the masks, screaming, writing goodbye notes to their children.”

Nathan continued, “We had to follow an escape route over the Andes. Real harrowing, even for seasoned pilots like us. So yeah, we need something strong.”

Ozzy squirmed around to face the two pilots, completely ignoring poor Axel. Julian had seen the flight bag at Ozzy’s feet, ready for that quick getaway. He hoped Ozzy didn’t notice Nathan’s earbud, but it looked as though Nathan had pocketed it after they had spied Ozzy at the bar. “Pilots, eh? I have something that’ll pick you up pronto. Much more relaxing than a stupid mojito.”

Nathan wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully at Julian. “A pick-me-up sounds good. You mean ice?”

“Ice,” Ozzy agreed serenely. “One hundred twenty.”

Julian presumed that was for a gram, and it was an outrageous price—he dealt a lot with meth-heads who had turned to poaching to supply their habit. It figured that Ozzy would be gouging customers on top of everything else, so Julian cheerfully agreed. “Sounds good. Let’s take an eight-ball. We need ice a lot in our jobs as pilots.”
God, I’m a terrible actor. Let’s leave the acting to Nathan.

Nathan looked as though he cringed at Julian’s acting skills. “Let’s go to our room and settle up.” He pointed at the deck outside the cocktail lounge. “We can cut through there.”

Ozzy bent to pick up his bag, and Axel looked crushed. “Hey. What about our deal?”

Nathan bumped Axel’s hearty German chest with his own heartier one. “Back off, buddy,” he snarled. He was being overly proprietary, but Julian supposed he was just saving Axel from being handcuffed.

They had to mill through the throng like cows to reach the back door. Unfortunately, on this beautiful autumn evening, the deck was nearly as crowded. They were still milling among tipsy fishermen by the time they reached the pathway that connected to a wing of rooms. It really wouldn’t do to put the bracelets on Ozzy in front of this crowd, so Julian wasn’t surprised when Nathan wrenched Ozzy’s free arm into a hammerlock behind his back, snarling something into his ear that sounded like, “Drop the bag.”

Ozzy probably thought he was being robbed, and he didn’t drop the bag. “Screw you, you fucking pilot,” he said intelligently. “Why would I give you my stuff in front of a hundred people?”

Nathan seethed, “Because I’ve got a Glock aimed at the back of your heart.”

Julian was surprised to see that Nathan did, indeed, have his pistol jammed between Ozzy’s shoulder blades. How had he drawn so fast Julian didn’t even notice? Luckily Ozzy didn’t seem to want to take a chance on Nathan bluffing and dropped the bag, which Julian scooped up.

“Get down that path and behind that pine tree,” Nathan now instructed.

But just as Ozzy complied and they had moved a couple steps down the path, a fellow with an explosion of blond hair like cauliflower stepped out from behind the piñon pine.

“Hey, Sergeant Longtree, Officer Ladykiller.” Doug Ostrovsky raised an arm in greeting and immediately headed up the path toward them. “Just the peeps I was looking for. Well, Sergeant Longtree, actually. I have no frigging reason to want to talk to
you
, Officer Romeo.”

Ozzy must have discerned that Nathan wouldn’t shoot him in front of the lodge’s General Manager. He no longer gripped his bag, but he was able to lift a foot and kick Nathan’s kneecap. Nathan must have been so taken by surprise that Ozzy was actually able to wrench himself free and dash off down the path past Doug, darting around the pine tree and out of sight.

Doug’s lower jaw hung open. “Who the fuck was
that
?”

Nathan glowered. “The same douche bag you scared out of Xandra’s suite before when I had a gun on him!” and dashed off after Ozzy.

“What’s down there?” Julian asked as he followed.

“Around that corner?” Doug queried. “The door to the laundry.”

The laundry seemed a safe enough place to shoot someone without making a big journalistic clamor. “Hold tight to this bag,” Julian commanded Doug as he tossed him Ozzy’s luggage.

Julian rounded the pine tree just in time to see one of Nathan’s running shoes flash through the heavy windowless door. Julian followed, having also drawn his Glock from where it was jammed in the back of his waistband.

The long white-tiled room looked like an industrial nightclub. One wall was lined with a bank of flashy silver clothes washers, and some were agitating. Another wall had only shiny new front-loading dryers. Nathan had run to the door that connected the laundry to the lodge, but Julian had another idea.

A laundry worker was standing stock-still, staring at one of the dryers. Julian sprinted over and looked at what the worker was gaping at.

Ozzy had secreted himself inside the dryer, somehow managing to close the door behind him.

He was all crunched up into a ball like an armadillo. His snakeskin boots added to the effect.

“Nathan!” Julian bellowed. “Come here!”

Nathan did so, and laughed heartily when he saw the dryer. “Looks like he did our work for us.”

The laundry worker intoned gravely, “He is laundering money, no?”

Julian had to laugh now, mostly with embarrassment that he hadn’t thought of saying that. He was supposed to be a lover of wildlife and therefore soft of heart, but he was thoroughly fed up with this idiot who had made them jump through so many hoops and held a knife to Xandra. Julian went right up to the control panel and looked at it. He looked back at the laundry worker. “Permanent press?”

The worker looked gleeful. “Delicate.”

Ozzy tumbled around like a giant lump of clay when Julian pushed the button. His screams sounded as though coming from an old black and white TV, like something out of
The Twilight Zone
, tinny and canned.

They watched for awhile, having holstered their weapons and crossed their arms.

Doug entered the laundry with the flight bag. “Hey!” he cried. Everyone swiveled their heads to regard him, but he wasn’t protesting their treatment of the prisoner. He only said, “You’re gonna bang up the inside of that machine. They’re not made to take giant lumps like that, and those boots are gonna make dents.”

Nathan looked at the General Manager fondly, for the first time ever. “How long does this cycle take?”

“I swear, Xandra. Julian is the most dashing man in this entire frigging room. And that’s saying a lot in a ballroom of two hundred manly athletes.” Cass towered over Xandra, especially now in her three-inch heels. Her powder-blue evening gown matched her eye shadow, and she had put extra attention into curling her hair. “You’re not dead set on him, are you? I mean, you wouldn’t mind if I sort of
—”