Wanna Get Lucky? (6 page)

I noted his name and put the card in my pocket. “Ladies, I must go. Meeting you has restored my faith in humanity. Please, order anything you want from the restaurant or partake of any of the spa treatments, on the house, with my compliments.”

I
ducked into my office. A change of shoes was definitely in order.

As I suspected, Miss Patterson still manned her desk. Her eyes twinkled as she handed me my flats. “I trust everything went smoothly with Mr. Fujikara?”

I nodded and with a grateful sigh, I sank into the chair opposite her desk. “A bit more expensive than I thought it would be. Can you believe the little shyster tagged me for two bottles of very nice wine
and
a bottle of Dom Perignon?”

“I could take lessons from him,” she said.

I snorted. “Be careful. You just might clever yourself right out of a job.” We both knew it was a hollow threat.

“I’ve spent the last hour cleaning up your e-mail. You had another
job offer from the Athena. The salary and benefits they’re offering border on the obscene.”

“My salary is already off the charts. The Big Boss will have to fire me if he wants to get rid of me. This is my home; I’m here to stay.”

She visibly sighed with relief. “I prepared your response, but I haven’t sent it.”

“A simple ‘thank you, but, hell no’ will do.”

She smiled. “I figured that’s what you’d say.”

My feet practically shouted with glee as I tucked them back into my comfy flats. “You know me well. Now, go home. I don’t want to see your frowning face for at least twelve hours.”

“Are you going home as well?”

“Soon, God willing, but I have to swing by the airport first. Oh, before you leave could you have Paolo meet us down front?” Paolo drove one of the company limos, and he usually worked the graveyard shift.

“Us?”

“Paxton Dane is going with me. Paolo can be my chaperone.” I had no intention of riding around Vegas at this hour of the morning alone with Paxton Dane—like I said, after midnight I have no self-control.

“I see.” Miss Patterson’s expression didn’t change. “That could salvage the evening. Mr. Dane
is
a tasty bit of eye candy.”

“I think I’ll leave that comment alone.” Weak, I know, but my skills suffer when I’m low on fuel and it’s late in the game.

With a bland expression, but victory in her eyes, Miss Patterson handed me the satchel I called my purse. It actually was a prized possession—a Hermès Birkin bag. Obscenely expensive, sickeningly fashionable, it had been a gift from The Big Boss. “Jerry’s package is in your bag, and the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock will be by tomorrow afternoon around two.”

“Right. Thanks. And what about Felicia Reilly? I assume she isn’t on the property or she would be here.”

“She called in sick.”

“When was her shift to start?”

“Midnight.”

“I see,” I replied, but I didn’t see at all. Another piece to the puzzle, but I had no idea how it fit. “Thanks again. And remember, twelve hours. Go home. Get some rest.”

I charged through the office door and raced for the elevator.

PAXTON
Dane was waiting just outside the front entrance. He gave me the once-over as I walked up. “Your car or mine? And, for the record, I liked the other shoes better.”

“You don’t have to walk in them.” I breezed past him and motioned to Paolo. “You probably drive an old pickup with a gun rack and a coonhound slobbering out the window. Let’s take the company car.” I didn’t look at Dane as he stepped to the curb beside me. Something about the man kept me just a bit off balance. He practically oozed sex. I remembered the feel of his chest, his hands on my arms, his breath on my cheek.

I may have sworn off men, but my body apparently hadn’t gotten the memo. My mind wasn’t exactly cooperating either.

A sleek, black limo eased to a stop in front of us. Paolo jumped out and ran around the car to greet us. “Ms. O’Toole, what a pleasure!”

I liked Paolo, but, like a bright light, I could take him only in small doses. Dark and Latin, he had so much energy he seemed to bounce when he walked. Sporting an ever-ready smile, he opened the back door with the flourish of a matador taunting a bull.

“Paolo, how’re Maria and little Javier?”

“Ms. O’Toole, you are so kind to remember my family,” Paolo gushed. “They are wonderful. Thank you.”

I ducked inside the cavernous automobile. I’ve never felt comfortable in the back of a limo—they were for celebrities and people trying to attract attention—and I struck out on both counts.

Dane took the seat directly across from me. So now I had to look at him or out the window. Great.

Before Paolo could shut the door, I remembered the little elephant The Big Boss had given me. I pulled it out of my pocket. “Here’s something for Javier.”

Paolo took it gently. “Thank you, Ms. O’Toole!”

“You’re welcome. We need to go to the control tower at the airport. Do you have any idea how to get there?”

“I will find it. You can trust Paolo!”

As the car eased away from the curb, I leaned back and shut my eyes—that way I avoided looking at anything. The little headache that was forming earlier behind my right eye had bloomed into a thumper, the whiskey had left a bilious brew in the pit of my stomach, and I was hungry. I bet the three were related.

Without opening my eyes, I found the intercom button. “Paolo, are we too late to make a swing through In-N-Out before they close?”

“They turn out the lights at one thirty. We should be able to get to the one on Maryland Parkway by then.”

“See if you can make it, I’m starved.” I opened one eye and looked at Dane. He was watching me with a bemused expression on his face. “What? You don’t mind, do you?”

“Now that you ask, no.”

The lights were still on when we pulled into the drive-thru. Maybe my luck was turning—I was about due for something to go my way. I pressed the intercom switch. “Paolo, I want a combo with a large Diet Coke. Oh, and make it animal-style.” I let off the switch. “Dane, what do you want?”

“I’ve never done ‘animal-style,’ ” he answered, his face an inscrutable mask.

I’ll bet
. He was just the sort who’d want to do the doggy. God, was my brain determined to stay in the gutter when I was around him? “ ‘Animal-style’ generally means they add grilled onions. What do you want?” I was way too smart to ask him what he wanted to eat.

“What are my choices? I’ve never dined at this fine establishment.”

I leaned back and watched him as he perused the limited menu. “Don’t let appearances deceive you. In-N-Out is a mecca. Three times a day junk food addicts prostrate themselves in front of the counter willing to sell their grandmothers for a burger animal-style.”

“You mean hamburgers aren’t just for breakfast anymore?” he fired back with a grin.

“This is Vegas. We don’t eat meals here; we grab food when we can find it.”

“When in Rome . . .” he said with a smile. “Animal-style it is.”

I depressed the intercom switch again. “Okay, Paolo, make that two combos, animal-style, both with large drinks. Mine’s a Diet Coke, and Dane wants . . .” I cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Do they have Dr Pepper?”

“And Dane’s will be a Dr Pepper. Then order whatever you want. ” I dove into my Birkin, rooting around for my wallet.

Dane stopped me. “Here.” He pulled a crumpled twenty out of his pant’s pocket. “Allow me.”

I
didn’t come up for air until I had inhaled half my burger and almost all of my fries.

“Impressive.” Dane, a half-eaten burger in his hands, watched me with a look of wry amusement and awe.

“Lunch was a long time ago.” I could feel the heat rise in my face. Eating in front of people was hard for me. I’d never been petite, or small, or even medium-sized. In Las Vegas, a city where all the Barbie-sized clothes sell out first, I was a giant living in the land of the munchkins. Of course, when I deigned to shop, I had no trouble finding clothes in my size, which was a plus—literally. A saleslady once told me they stocked my size for the transvestites.

I took another bite of hamburger. “Besides, In-N-Out burgers and fries are two of the four major food groups.”

“And the other two food groups would be . . .?”

“Krispy Kreme doughnuts and any kind of M&M’s.”

Dane threw back his head and laughed. “I like a woman who relishes her food. Those dainty little eaters who order a whole meal then push it around their plate aren’t for me. If you can add barbeque and beer to your list, we could be good friends.”

Damn, now along with lusting after him, I was starting to
like
the guy—for sure he’d turn out to be a bum, it never failed. “A list to horrify a cardiologist—I guess we’ll die young.”

“But happy.” He tucked into his fries with gusto.

McCARRAN
Airport fronted the southern end of the Strip on the east side. The airport worked in opposite rhythm to the city—when night fell, the Strip fired up and the airport wound down. Few flights operated at this time of the morning, although there were the obligatory red-eyes to the East Coast and Hawaii.

Paolo found the control tower in the web of access roads and runways, and pulled into the parking lot. I rolled down my window, stuck my head out and looked at the dark tower looming above us. “So, what do we do? Knock three times and ask to see the wizard?”

“Do you ever turn it off?” Dane asked.

I donned my most innocent expression. “What?”

“Never mind.” Dane wadded up the refuse from his meal and stuffed it back in the sack. “Coming?” he asked, as Paolo opened the door. Dane unfolded himself from the back of the limo and extended his hand to help me out.

I let him help me out of the car on the off chance he might turn out to be one of us good guys.

“We aren’t exactly going up to the tower,” he said. “We are going down to Las Vegas TRACON.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.” Jesus, was I flirting with him?

He shot me a grin.

“And what is TRACON going to tell us?” I asked, forcing my mind back to the business at hand.

He shrugged. “Don’t know. The radar tracking files may show us where our helicopter went after depositing Lyda Sue in the pirates’ lagoon.” He identified himself into a speaker beside the door, then it opened.

I followed him down the stairs to the basement. TRACON was housed in a large, windowless room that reminded me of a huge, darkened theatre. Two banks of computers were arranged in concentric
semicircles. In the dark, I could just make out several hunched-over figures, their faces illuminated by the displays in front of them. The figures spoke into headsets, their voices modulated so they blended into an indistinguishable background murmur. Additional displays hung at intervals on the wall, each showing various symbols that looked to me like Sanskrit . . . or Klingon.

“Beam me up, Scotty,” I muttered, unable to help myself.

“Behave,” Dane whispered through clenched teeth. “These folks take their job seriously.”

“Oh, sorry.” Pricked by his chiding, I feigned sincerity. “I must have missed the No Humor sign.”

“You clearly missed the No Sarcasm sign as well.” Dane shot me a dirty look. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he ordered as he took off like a scalded dog, making straight for a guy sitting behind a desk in the far corner. Clearly Dane thought there was no need to inflict me on an unsuspecting civil servant. Once in a while I had to agree with his judgment.

I held up the wall near the stairs. From here, I could watch Dane unobserved. He was bent over a display, his ass pointed in my direction. My mind was just beginning to wander into forbidden territory when my Nextel vibrated at my hip. I was smart enough to have put it on silent. Its normal wail would shatter the silence in this techie mausoleum. Everyone in the joint would probably have a coronary and planes would fall out of the skies.

I pushed-to-talk as I bounded up the stairs, two at a time. “Hang on,” I whispered. I raced up the stairs and back outside, and stuck a foot between the door and the door jamb so I didn’t get locked out. “O’Toole here.”