“AM I interrupting?”
The Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock sprang to his feet from his perch on the corner of Miss Patterson’s desk, guilt written across his reddening features.
Miss Patterson busied herself rearranging the papers on her desk. She didn’t meet my eyes immediately, but when she did, I caught a reddening in her face as well. Without a word, she handed me my Nextel.
“Ah, my ball and chain. Thanks.” Stifling a smile, I glanced at the offending device—twenty-seven messages. I tried to scowl at Miss Patterson as I handed the damn thing back to her.
Miss Patterson gave me a goofy grin, which ruined any chance I had at mustering that scowl. Had a guy ever put that look on my face? Maybe, but white knights and good guys were the stuff of grade-school crushes, and that had been a long time ago.
I pointed to Jeremy, then cocked my head toward my office. “You, in there.”
He bolted in ahead of me and immediately retreated to a chair opposite my desk.
I shut the door behind me, then settled into my chair. The desk between us, I leveled my gaze on the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock. This time, I mustered that scowl.
Shaggy brown hair, baleful golden brown eyes, chiseled features and a lopsided grin, his name fit—under any definition of the term, Jeremy was definitely beautiful. Not many women were cold to his outward charms, but, if they were, when he opened his mouth, they were toast. Handsome men with Australian accents had a magnetism that American women—present company excluded, of course—seemed unable to resist.
He flashed that grin at me, then said in his delicious accent, “You summoned me?”
“I’m not sure I’d put it quite that way.” Although, I had to admit, the thought of having the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock at my beck and call did have some appeal. “Before we get down to business, a word to the wise. Miss Patterson may work for me, but she is also my friend. Break her heart with all that Aussie surfer-boy charm, and I’m all over you. Got it?”
Jeremy opened his arms wide, his face falling into a mask of innocence. “Hey, I like her. She’s got moxie, and some smarts, too. That’s more than I can say about all the bubble-brains who parade around here hoping to catch big money with their plastic tits.”
I crossed my arms, leaned back in my chair, and took in all of the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock. Miss Patterson might have a great bullshit meter, but I’d learned, when it comes to personal stuff, those meters can give you false readings. She was my friend; I had her back.
He squirmed under my perusal. “She’s fair dinkum, and certainly no dog.”
Even though I had only the vaguest idea of what he just said, he wasn’t registering on my meter. He could live another day.
“A real nice lady, you know?” he said, each word pregnant with sincerity.
“I know. I’m just making sure you know.”
“Of course I know. I know everything. How do you think I got rated the best private investigator in all of Las Vegas by the Review-Journal last year?”
“It certainly wasn’t your emphasis on keeping a low profile.”
“You can’t get business if nobody knows who you are.” Apparently satisfied I wasn’t going to skin him alive, Jeremy settled back into the chair. Crossing one foot over the other knee, he held his leg in place with both hands while his foot bounced with nervous energy.
“A valid point. And, speaking of business—” I sifted through the pile of papers in front of me and found the pictures I had requested. I extended one set to him. “Here are photos of three of our employees—Felicia Reilly, Willie the Weasel, and Paxton Dane. I want you to input them into your magic machine, then tell me if any of these folks show up, where they appear, and where they go.”
“So, you actually believe my—let me see, what did you call it?” He flashed that damn grin again. “I remember. I believe you called it my ‘hocus-pocus machine.’ So now you think it works?”
“I’m willing to suspend disbelief. And it’s not so much that it doesn’t work, it’s that it seems so…personally violating.”
He laughed. Unfortunately, he had a deep, throaty, wonderfully male laugh. A laugh that seemed to imply we were both in on a secret.
I shifted in my chair. Okay, I lied. I’m not immune to the whole Aussie thing. I chanted, All men are pigs, over and over in my head. It didn’t work this time either.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Jeremy continued. “The NSA is using the same software. They actually take pictures of all of us through cameras strategically located in most of the major cities, then compare us to an international database of known bad guys.”
“Jesus, George Orwell was right. And, come to think of it, so was I.”
“Huh?”
“Big Brother really is watching.” I found that little bit of reality totally depressing. “Talk about personal violation!”
“You have no idea.” Jeremy nodded, his eyes big—their gold flecks catching the light, momentarily distracting me. “This is just the tip of the iceberg. Don’t get me started on cell phones used as listening and tracking devices. And then there are satellites. Did you know they can read your license plate using those things?”
I held up my hands. “You mean they can see our faces, our…everything?”
The Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock nodded, a serious look on his face, but a twinkle in those gold-flecked eyes. “Takes voyeurism to a whole new level, doesn’t it?”
Why I ever leave the house in the morning, I don’t know. “Are they allowed to do that?”
“Are we?”
I shrugged. “You have a point.”
Jeremy nodded. “Anyway, we all have a unique set of facial measurements. The machine compares them, that’s all.”
“Like fingerprints.”
“Exactly, but now Big Brother doesn’t have to stop everyone on the street and ask them to roll ink on their fingers. In fact, we don’t have to ask them for permission at all.”
“People on the streets or everyone in a casino.”
“Precisely.” Jeremy nodded.
“Scary.”
“But helpful.”
“I’ll go along, but only if they take pictures of everybody else.” Call me morally corrupt, but I wasn’t above letting the end justify the means—as long as I was the one pulling the strings.
“I do this for all of the casinos. The images come right from their security videos. It actually works quite well. We’ve caught a fair number of cheats and card counters. No terrorists, yet.” He actually sounded disappointed about the terrorist part. “But, if it makes you feel better, I’ll make a note—no pictures of Lucky O’Toole.”
“Please do.”
“You got it.” Jeremy flashed that grin again as he took the pictures and stood.
Damn, he even had dimples. What was it with me lately? A handsome guy flashes me a grin, and I melt into a puddle. And a handsome guy who was off limits at that—I would never pull the rug out from under Miss Patterson. I must be hormonal.
“The normal fee?”
“There’s a bonus in it if you start right away.”
“That important?” He looked like he was going to perch on the corner of my desk, then thought better of it. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain helicopter, would it?”
“This has everything to do with that frigging helicopter.”
“Right. I’ll fossick through all the feeds myself. I’ll let you know when I have something.” Jeremy hurried out. He didn’t linger in the outer office.
The man sure had a way with words.
For a fleeting moment I felt bad siccing Jeremy on Paxton Dane. Although Dane was charming, and I wanted him to be one of us good guys, he’d lied once—that I knew of. Lies were sorta like cockroaches: where you saw one, there were probably a thousand lurking out of sight. What was that old adage my mother pounded me with? Fall for it once, shame on you. Fall for it twice, shame on me. I took another set of the three pictures, folded them, and stuffed them in my pocket.
I was just rising to leave when Miss Patterson peeked around the doorway. “Could I have a minute? I won’t take long. I know you have the Hollywood crowd in about a half hour.”
I sank back into my chair and motioned for her to take a seat.
Like a bird at a feeder, Miss Patterson perched on the edge of the chair, which probably still held the warmth from the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock’s butt. I squeezed my eyes shut in an effort to block the images that thought conjured up.
“Do you have a headache? There’s some aspirin in the cabinet. I could get you some.”
I sneaked one eye open. No mental images of Jeremy’s butt. I eased open the other eye. Miss Patterson, her feet and knees demurely touching, her hands resting in her lap, was the very picture of propriety. Concern clouded her eyes.
“Aspirin wouldn’t put a dent in the kind of headaches I’m dealing with.”
“Oh, am I going to have to lock up all the weapons again?”
I couldn’t even muster a smile.
She started to rise. “I’ve caught you at a bad time.”
“Sit. Sit.” I rubbed my temples and took a deep breath. “You know how I get after a trip to Mother’s.”
“She does seem to dampen your normal effervescence.”
Effervescence. I don’t think I had ever before heard anyone use that word and my name in the same sentence. My smile fought with my foul humor. My smile won.
“Hah! I knew you were in there somewhere hiding behind that scowl.” Miss Patterson looked triumphant.
“You’ve done your good deed for the day. They’ll be proud of you at the next Girl Scout meeting. Are you working toward a good deed badge or something?”
“If they had such a thing, my chest would be covered with them by now.”
“And you’d be well on your way to sainthood. So, you don’t really think I’m effervescent?”
“Not today.”
“A diplomat to the end. So what can this lowly grump do for you?”
“I need some advice.”
“It’ll be worth what you pay for it.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“It’s your funeral.”
“Would you stop?” Miss Patterson finally threw up her hands in submission. “I don’t want your bad mood, but that’s what I’m going to get if you keep up this verbal parrying.”
“It takes two to play,” I mumbled.
She smoothed her skirt and harrumphed a bit more. “You can be so difficult.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Anyway, I came to ask your opinion.”
Opinion. I hated that word. My mother once gave me a tee shirt that said, “Everyone is entitled to my opinion.” She said it was so me—opinions were my best thing. All these years later, I’m still trying to figure out what she meant by that. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? Why did I care? “It’s Jeremy, isn’t it?”
“Is it that obvious?” She looked embarrassed.
“Only to me,” I lied.
“Good.” She picked at an invisible piece of lint on her skirt. “Do you think I’m…overreaching?”
Miss Patterson, a cougar? Wow. An image of a wolf in sheep’s clothing popped into my head, but the wolf was a she. The tables were turned. I liked it.
I tried to keep my face arranged in a benign expression. “Absolutely not!”
She went to work on that invisible piece of lint again. After a moment, she raised her eyes to meet mine.
I’d never noticed her pale blue eyes; the glasses didn’t do much to bring them out. Her hair was a pretty color of brown. We could get rid of the few traces of early gray…Those changes, coupled with her peaches-and-cream skin, impish smile, and maybe a new wardrobe and she’d be in business. A makeover—that would be fun! Yes, we should start with the hair.
“I was going to ask you to make me an appointment with Linda,” I said, as if I’d been thinking about it all along. “She’s a magician when it comes to hair. Would you like her to look at yours as well?”
“She’s the most expensive in town.”
“Because she’s the best. What do you say? My treat?”
Miss Patterson nodded, a smile tickling her lips.
“You book it. And make it soon, I think birds have come home to roost in my hair.” I rose. Miss Patterson followed my lead. “Clear my schedule, and we will drink champagne while Linda makes us beautiful.”
Lost in thought, Miss Patterson seemed to float out of my office.
I heard her on the phone making our appointments. Next, I hoped she would tackle the accumulated messages on my Nextel. I thought about leaving, but the pile of papers on my desk called to me. The damned things seemed to propagate every time I turned my back. If I didn’t at least try tackling them now, there’d be twice as many to deal with tomorrow. I had twenty minutes before I was due out front. That should be enough time to at least make a dent.
I hadn’t even gotten started, when Miss Patterson buzzed me. “Yeah.”
“Detective Romeo to see you. I told him you are very busy.”
First the morning with my mother, now the afternoon with the police. God was punishing me. “Five minutes, that’s all I’ve got.”
I didn’t even look up as he walked in the door.
“You must’ve gone home. You’ve changed clothes.” As greetings go, his was certainly unique.
I looked up and motioned for him to take a seat. “No need to go home. I just step into the nearest phone booth and, voilà, a new set of civilian clothes.”
Romeo crossed one leg over the other, his foot resting on his knee. “Handy.”
I leaned back in my chair and tented my fingers as I gave him the once-over. Young, wet behind the ears, cute in a puppy-dog kind of way, and, while I had changed my clothes, he looked as though he’d slept in his. “You look like you could use one of my phone booths. Have you even been to sleep?”
“Not yet.”
Next to his night, my measly three hours of sleep looked positively self-indulgent. “So, what can I do for you?”
He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. Earnest was the only way to describe him. “I came to apologize for Detective Richards. He was a bit abrasive last night.”
“I thought this whole good cop/bad cop thing was supposed to be done as a tag team.” I felt the edges of that bad mood start to wrap around me again.
He looked wounded. “Is it just me, or do you throw darts at everyone?”
“Everyone with a badge in his pocket.”
“We’re the good guys, remember?” He really was as young as he seemed.
“I keep trying to remember that,” I explained. The kid was overdue for a dose of the real world. “But look at it from where I’m sitting. I found the helicopter. You can’t seem to deliver the pilot. You take up not only my time, but other employees’ time as well, not to mention the chilling effect your skulking around has on our guests. If you have some info, you won’t share it with me.”
The hangdog look on his face told me I was getting through.
“And, if—and that’s a big if—you solve the case, I’ll find out about it by reading the morning newspaper. So, tell me, why am I supposed to be happy to see you?”
Deflated, he sank back into the deep chair. “Well, when you put it that way…”
“I’ll tell you what, Romeo. I like you. I really do. What do you say we work together to solve this thing? I think, between the two of us, we could do it.”
He perked right up. “You think so?”
Like taking candy from a baby. “I know so.”
At my beckoning, he leaned in closer.
“I’ve got something I need you to do,” I told him.
The chaos in the lobby had ratcheted up at least three notches by the time I had sent Romeo on his way, then hit the stairwell door and added my body to the teeming mass of humanity. I pushed my way through, then stepped back into an alcove near the front doors, flipped open my cell and hit the number two key.
Teddie answered on the first ring. “Yo.”
“If you’re not awake, you should be.”
“Hello to you, Miss Sunshine. I’ll have you know I’m up, dressed, and actually heading out the door to come find you. What’s up?”
A scrum of intoxicated males invaded my alcove, laughing and high-fiving each other. They seemed unaware of my existence as I pressed back against the wall.
“I’ve got a mission for you,” I shouted.
“A what? Speak up. You sound like you’re in a riot. Where are you and what am I missing?”
I cupped my hand around my mouth and the phone, which was pressed tightly to my lips. “I’m in the lobby. If you get here quick, you’ll be in time to greet the Hollywood crowd.”
“They’re worth the price of admission. I’ll hurry.”
“Great, but I want you to think about something, and it’s a secret.”
His voice took on a conspiratorial timbre. “What did you have in mind?”
At the stroke of three, a bus pulled up out front, whipping the crowd to a fevered pitch. Caught in a rip current of humanity, I elbowed and shoved, but couldn’t make any headway from my alcove near the front door toward the bus.
“Here, let me.” Paxton Dane appeared at my side. He grabbed my elbow and eased me forward. “This is one of my strengths, remember?”
He didn’t say a word and magically the sea of people parted.
“Where’d you learn how to do that?”
“Chivalry school.”
“So, chivalry isn’t dead?”
“Not in Texas, and most certainly not in my mother’s house.” Dane stepped over the rope holding the crowd back and deposited me curbside at the unopened door of the bus.
“Your mother sounds like my kind of woman.”
“She’d like you, too. You two are more alike than you could imagine.”
I’m not sure if that was a good thing or not. I guess it depended on how Dane felt about his mother. And how I felt about Dane.
I had no time to dwell on it as the door of the bus opened.
A roar from the crowd greeted Subway Jones as he appeared on the top step.
Everything about Subway was average—well, not everything. Everything about his appearance was average. Average height, average weight, brown hair, brown eyes, pasty white skin that still bore the ravages of a serious teenage acne problem. Not yet forty, he had the beginnings of a slight paunch. Dressed in a loud Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and sandals, he looked like an insurance salesman from Duluth.
He did an exaggerated bump and grind, and I thought several of the girls at the front of the crowd were in danger of fainting.
“Who’s that?” Dane shouted into my ear.
“Subway Jones.”
The look on Dane’s face was truly a Kodak moment.
I grabbed his shirt and pulled him down so I could shout into his ear. “Being a porn star is like being a writer—only one talent is needed, and nobody cares what you look like.”
Dane’s mouth, which had been hanging open, snapped shut, and he swallowed hard.
The boy was clearly in over his head.
Subway’s eyes zeroed in on me, and I braced myself.
He launched himself down the steps. “Lucky!” He grabbed me and, to the roar of the crowd, planted a big kiss on my lips as he dipped me over his bended knee. After a few moments milking the crowd, he righted me. “How the hell are ya?”
“Never better.”
He held me at arm’s length. “Woman, you look fabulous.”
“Liar.” I motioned toward Dane, who was standing next to me like a dumbstruck child. “Subway, I’d like you to meet Paxton Dane, one of our new Security guys.”
The men shook hands, but Subway barely gave Dane a glance before turning his attention back to me. Subway had little time for men taller and more handsome than himself, which meant he spent most of his time in the company of women. He hooked his arm through mine. “Where’s Theodore?”
“He’ll be here any minute.” Security held back the crowd as we made our way to the lobby. I felt Dane right behind me. “He had a late night last night.”
“Theodore?” Dane asked.
As if on cue, Teddie materialized in front of us.
“Hands off my woman!”
Subway dropped my arm and grabbed Teddie in a bear hug. “Theodore!”
Beside me, Dane leaned in, his mouth close to my ear. “How could you let that man kiss you?”
“Jealous?” His cologne was subtle, masculine, intoxicating. I tried holding my breath, but that was a short-term resistance method. I could do it only so long before fainting, so I quit.
“Now, that’s a loaded question. Sorta damned if I do, damned if I don’t kind of thing.” He reddened and ground to a halt.
Amused, I crossed my arms and waited. I’d be damned if I was going to rescue him.
Dane took a deep breath. “It’s just, well…you don’t know where his lips have been.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I stopped for a moment. “If you think about it, Subway doesn’t do anything without a camera rolling, so everybody knows exactly where his lips have been.”
“That’s precisely my point.” Dane spread his arms wide, hitting a tall redhead smack in the boobs. He retracted his arm as if he’d been burned. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his face flushed in embarrassment.
She gave him a withering stare, then moved on.
“If I’m to catch a dreaded disease, it’ll have to be from someone else. Miranda would kill him if he put his lips anywhere she hadn’t fully vetted. He’s still walking and talking, so I feel pretty safe in assuming he’s been a good boy.”
“Who’s Miranda?”
“Subway’s wife.”
“He has a wife?”
“Well, more like a keeper than a wife.”
We both watched Subway as he wiggled and squirmed for the women, then pinched one little blonde on the ass. She giggled then lifted her shirt, showing off perfect, surgically mounted, EEE cantaloupes. The crowd roared its approval.
Dane shook his head. “If I pinched that girl on the ass, she’d break my nose.”
“Nobody said life was fair. You’re beautiful, he’s…good—apparently.”
Dane leaned down, looking me right in the eye, his voice low and seductive. “How do you know I’m not…good?”
Miranda Jones, who had appeared at my side, answered the question, rescuing me from my own stupidity. “Cowboy, in our business, good means you have a twelve-inch dick, can get it up on demand in front of a crowd, and keep it up until we’ve finished doing whatever we want with it.”
Dane straightened as if he’d been touched with a cattle prod. “Well…” He swallowed hard, then clamped his mouth shut.
I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t have known how to respond either.
Miranda continued. “You have no idea how long it took me to find him—Subway, I mean. I auditioned probably over a thousand guys.” She put her hand on Dane’s arm. I thought I saw him flinch. “Do you know how I met the little creep? In the produce aisle at the Piggly Wiggly! Can you believe it?”
Mute, we both shook our heads.
I could only imagine how an audition for a porn film would go. I had never found the courage to ask her, so I was left with my imaginings. The mental images were impossible to chase away. It was a good thing I’d already had lunch. One look at Dane’s colorless face and I knew he was thinking the same thing.
We stood there for a moment, then I snapped out of it. “Miranda.” I gave her a hug. “So good to see you. You two really know how to liven things up.”
“Honey, that’s our job.” I’d known Miranda since grade school, and she constantly surprised me with her many incarnations. Today, she was the personification of the predatory female. Tall, buff and well-lipoed, she sported jet black hair as straight and as coarse as a horse’s tail, and piercing gray eyes. She changed her hair color and her eye color as often as film stars changed spouses. Miranda had told me that contact lenses allowed her to fully coordinate. I was in awe. Each morning, I found it next to impossible to find a dress and a pair of shoes that matched.
Sporting a shiny black cat suit that adhered to her every curve, long hot pink nails, black stilettos, and makeup that looked like it had been applied by one of Cleopatra’s handmaidens, Miranda liked to think of herself as a Hollywood creation. In my mind, Burbank creation was more like it, but we all have our private little fantasies. She had been an adult star herself, until she realized the money was in producing the films, not performing in them.
While Subway did it for the fun, Miranda did it for the money.
She still had a grip on Dane’s arm. “Honey, who is this beefcake?” She pinched his biceps and narrowed her eyes, as if sizing up a stud horse at auction.
Dane looked like he’d been stung by a scorpion. I half thought about leaving him to be feasted on, but then relented—good security guards are so hard to find.
“Down, girl. I can assure you The Big Boss would take a dim view of one of our Security hunks moonlighting as one of your screwing machines.”
“Pity.” She gave him a little slap on the ass as she looked him up and down. “You let me know if you ever want to change careers, cowboy.” Miranda let go of Dane’s arm.
Once released, Dane bolted toward the casino. He didn’t even say good-bye.
We watched him go. “Miranda, you have got to stop terrorizing the help.”
She looked at me, her eyes wide with innocence, then she burst out laughing.
“And you can drop the Vampira act now,” I added. “Nobody’s looking at you. Subway’s got them all mesmerized.”
“I know, but it’s so much fun.” She twirled in front of me. “What do you think of the outfit? Is it too much?”
“All you’re missing are the whips and chains.”
She giggled then hooked her arm through mine. “I know. Subway loves it. At home, I put this on and—”
I held up my hand. “Whoa. Stop. Too much information, dear. And I shock easily.”
“You always were the Goody Two-shoes.”
“And look how far it’s gotten me.”
“Yes, but you look a bit ragged around the edges.” This time my friend looked me right in the eye, her smile fading a bit. “Not getting any, are you?”
I gave her a dirty look.
“What?” she asked, trying to look innocent, which was about as impossible as Angelina Jolie trying to look virginal. “I know, none of my business. But, are you having any fun?”
“Life’s just shits and giggles.”
“Bullshit,” Teddie announced, as he appeared at my elbow and threw his arm around my shoulder. “Miranda, you talk to our girl here; she’s losing her smile.”
Miranda nodded, her forehead scrunched in concentration. “I can see that.”
I shrugged out from under Teddie’s arm. “Enough out of you two. I’ve got a casino full of people to keep happy, a weasel to locate, and two large parties to coordinate. The Big Boss is riding my ass. And the police are snooping around, spooking the guests.”
“Well, look who’s gone and gotten all grown-up,” Miranda huffed, as she grabbed Teddie’s hand. “Come with me, Peter Pan. Leave old Wendy here to wallow in her worries. I happen to know where the bar is, and I’m in desperate need of some liquid fortification. We’ll put it on Wendy’s tab.” She pulled him with her as she disappeared into the crowd. Neither one of them looked back.
Great, I’d just been told off by a woman who screwed for a living and a guy who looked better in my clothes than I did. I thought I’d hit rock bottom when my Nextel vibrated to life.
“Lucky?” Miss Patterson’s voice sounded a bit strained.
“Right here. Whatcha got?”
“Remember Mr. Ballantine?”
“Ballantine?” I thought for a second, then the light dawned. “The cockroach man?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t tell me he’s back.”
“He’s back all right.” She paused. “And this time he has a snake.”