Wanna Get Lucky? (16 page)

I kissed him back.

The world disappeared.

He pulled back. His lips next to my ear, he whispered, “Lucky, my love. I’ll make love to you anytime you want, and I can assure you, it will not be casual.”

With that, he backed off his stool and strolled away.

Trying to catch my breath, I watched him go. I sat perfectly still as my heart pounded.

What had gotten into him? And me? I felt a grin tickle my lips. Typical guy. Where finesse was needed, brute force was applied. Why dismantle a wall brick by brick when you can run a bulldozer right through it?

Then my smile faded as reality reared its ugly head. I liked my life just the way it was. I liked my friendship with Teddie, our ease around each other. Sex just complicated things. I didn’t want complicated. Especially not with Teddie.

Teddie dodged a group of women who all turned and looked at him, their admiration evident, their lust poorly concealed. He seemed oblivious as he walked down the steps, out of the bar, and shouldered right past Paxton Dane.

Dane didn’t watch Teddie as he left. Instead he stared right at me.

Terrific. I whirled around to face the bar.

Dane parked himself on the empty stool recently vacated by Teddie. “Wasn’t that that Theodore guy we saw earlier? You told Mr. Jones that Theodore had had a late night, then he showed up. Right?”

“Yup.” I refused to look at Dane. This day had morphed from just plain weird to totally out of control. My hand shook as I brushed my hair out of my eyes.

“How’d you know he had a late night?”

“He was coming in as I was leaving this morning.”

“You live together?”

“Yeah.” I gave Dane the wickedest smile I could muster. “Same building.”

He seemed to accept that. “Bartender, give me a Bud Light.” Dane rooted around in his pocket.

I put my hand on his arm, stopping him. “Sean, put the beer on my tab.”

“You got it.” Sean grabbed a bottle out of the cooler, twisted off the cap, then slid the bottle down the bar where it stopped, still upright, in front of Dane. Amazed, I wondered how much practice that skill had taken.

Dane grabbed the bottle, tipped it in my direction. “Thanks.” He took a long pull. “You’re having quite a day, Ms. O’Toole. You blow the head off a snake, making fools out of all the men in the room, by the way. Then you make out with your boyfriend in the bar. Then, when he leaves, you buy another guy a drink. Impressive.”

“He’s just a friend.”

“You treat your friends well. Where can I sign up?”

“It’s a select list—handpicked. Very difficult to earn your way on.”

“I like a challenge.”

I gave him what I hoped was a dirty look as I pushed myself to my feet. “None of this is any of your business. And I don’t like being thought of as a game you’re going to play.”

“I’m very good at games.” Leaving the bottle on the bar, he rose. He stood close to me, too close. I started to take a step back, but he grabbed my arm, holding me tight against him. “Want to play?”

“Does that line really work for you?” I raised my eyes to meet his. “What is up with all you men today? Is it a full moon? Did you overdose on testosterone? What?” I slapped his hand away. “I’ve been assaulted enough today.”

He stepped back as if stung. “Excuse me.”

“Damned straight. And a simple ‘I’m sorry’ will do.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked chagrined and half mad, a weird combination. “I really am. I don’t know what got into me. Seeing you with that guy . . .” He looked as confused as I felt.

“Dane, go home. Your shift is over. It’s been a long . . . weird . . . day. Get some sleep. God knows there won’t be much time for rest later in the week.”

Absentmindedly, he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. See you tomorrow. You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here.”

If I didn’t shoot myself first.

M
iss Patterson still manned her desk when I pushed through my office door and sagged into a chair across from her. She looked at me over the top of her cheaters, which perched precariously on the end of her nose. Today her readers were white with black zebra stripes. Or was it black with white stripes? Who knew? Regardless, they matched her outfit, which also sported large patches of black-and-white zebra motif. Fairly daring for Miss Patterson.

“Well, you certainly cut a wide swath today,” she announced after I had settled myself.

I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. Kicking off my shoes, I stretched my legs out in front of me. Teddie’s kiss had sent an electric shock down the length of my body, and every nerve still vibrated. Bits and pieces of the day raced through my
head—Mother, Lyda Sue, Subway Jones, snakes and swingers. Dane. Teddie. All of that on three hours sleep. “You know those days where everything seems to be telling you to go home, get in bed, pull the covers over your head, and wait until tomorrow?”

When Miss Patterson didn’t respond, I lifted my head and looked at her. She just sat there looking at me with a bemused expression.

“Today is one of those days.” I leaned back again and shut my eyes.

“There’s a rumor going around that some of the employees are starting a collection. They want to get the snake stuffed and give it to you.”

“Like my golden cockroach trophy?”

“Mmm.”

“A stuffed snake in my office wouldn’t do much for my relationship with the PETA folks.”

“What relationship?” she scoffed. “They threatened to shoot you on sight after the little incident with that actor and the farm animals, remember?”

Only too well. A practical joke gone very bad, it had made the front page of the morning paper. The actor had come out smelling like a rose, albeit with a kinky bit added to his reputation. As the representative for the hotel, I had been the scapegoat. I smiled at my own pun. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“There’s also another rumor going around.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not. Were you and Theodore playing tonsil hockey in Delilah’s Bar?”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If I stay here and keep my eyes closed, none of this will be real, will it? And you won’t have used the term ‘tonsil hockey.’ ”

“I’m quoting the rumor mill,” she huffed. “You want to talk about it?”

I sat up and forced myself to look at her. Actually, not wanting
to meet her eyes, I focused on a spot on the wall behind her and just to the right of her head, but I didn’t think she could tell. “No.”

“If he’s not in love with you already, he’s well on his way.”

I grabbed a paperweight off the corner of the desk and read the inscription—her ten-year service award. I tossed it from hand to hand.

I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I said no.”

“When you’re ready.”

Which would be never, but I chose not to tell her that. I pushed myself to my feet, and replaced her paperweight carefully on the corner of the desk, arranging it just as it had been. “No use trying to do damage control on the kiss in the bar. I bet somebody has already pulled that from the security tapes, copied it and has it running on the closed circuit. But, please get your hands on the snake and see that it is incinerated. Without a dead body, that story should blow over soon.”

“I doubt it. It’s the stuff legends are made of.”

I went looking for my purse and found it where it should have been—in the bottom of the closet. I extracted the videotape and waved it at Miss Patterson as I headed for the door. “I’ll be in Security if you need me.”

SECURITY
was quiet. Not yet dinnertime, the cocktail hour had just begun. After stepping through the door and closing it silently behind me, I paused for a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dim interior. Security reminded me of the radar control room at McCarran. Rows and rows of monitors encompassed the far wall from desk height to the ceiling. This bank of monitors took feeds from all of the Security cameras throughout the hotel. Seated in front of the monitors, security personnel constantly scanned as the pictures flashed, held for a few seconds, then another picture took its place.

A separate bank of monitors on the adjacent wall took feeds from the casino. Here the scrutiny was more intense as specially trained personnel watched the games in progress, looking for cheaters. Some
of these folks had even been in the business of cheating the casinos themselves—until they had been caught. We hired them for their special insight, but not until they had worked their way through the justice system.

All of the video fed into large recording machines in the back room.

That’s where I found Jerry, alone, leaning back in his chair, his feet on the console of a big computer. Black as night, his head shaved and waxed until it shone, he wore a dark suit fitted to his wiry frame, dark gray shirt, silver tie and Italian loafers. The gold Rolex on his left wrist was a new addition. Jerry puffed on a fake cigarette and eyed me through bloodshot eyes.

“Still trying to quit, I see,” I said.

He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, looked at it, then flipped it in disgust toward the trash can in the corner. He missed. “I don’t have any choice now. They’ve made all the nonpublic portions of the hotel smoke-free. When they finally vote to make the whole damned thing a no-smoking zone, we’re going to lose so many guests this place will be a mausoleum.”

“I’ll try to resist pointing out the irony in that statement.” I waggled the tape at him. “Here’s the video. Let’s see what you can do.”

“If The Big Boss finds out about this, he’s going to fit us both with cement boots and toss us into Lake Mead. He’s been calling down here all day looking for this thing. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I haven’t a clue, but I’ll take the heat if it goes south. What did you tell him?”

“I gave him the runaround, but I don’t think we have much more time. He smells a rat.” Jerry reached in his pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. “And, if there’s any heat, we’ll both take it.”

“He’s not the only one who smells a rat.” I watched Jerry pull a fake cigarette out of the packet. “Those things work?”

“I feel less homicidal when I use them.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’ ” I handed him the tape. “Let’s get a look at this thing.”

He kicked his feet off the console, took the tape, then turned and inserted it in the machine. As he worked he asked, “Did you discover anything from those tapes you asked for?”

“Which ones?”

“The ones I sent down with Dane this morning.”

“He didn’t have any tapes. He told me they’d been lost.”

Jerry and I looked at each other. I could tell he was thinking what I was thinking—The Big Boss was right—something about Dane stunk.

There wasn’t anything we could do about Dane or the missing tapes right now, so we concentrated on the task at hand. A few seconds passed, then the screen came to life. We fast-forwarded through videos of an Asian family standing in front of various points of interest in Vegas.

“This is it,” I said as the camera panned the crowd in front of the Treasure Island, the pirate show ships in the background. “Slow it down.” I grabbed a chair, pushed it in next to Jerry and sat. Elbows on the console, nose inches from the screen, I watched as he advanced the tape frame by frame.

The pirate show progressed in all of its glory of lights, smoke and noise. Scantily clad women brandishing swords leaped from the yardarms. A few women swung on ropes over the crowd. The helicopter came into view at the top of the picture. I pointed to it. “Can you zoom in on that?”

Jerry used the mouse to draw a square around the helicopter, then he worked through a couple of drop-down menus. When he finished, a slightly blurry image replaced the one we had been looking at.

I could make out the helicopter easily, and two people in the front seats. “Can you get the folks in the front seats to come in any clearer?”

“I’ll try, although we’re pushing the envelope. Thankfully the guy taking the video was a techie.” He worked through some more menus.

“How so?” I squinted, trying to make out the features of the two
occupants as Jerry brought the image into increasingly sharper focus.