THE FRONT door to my office opened, and a heartbeat later Miss Patterson appeared in my doorway. Today, she wore brown slacks and a dusty-blue silk shirt, sexy heels and a single diamond drop around her neck, which matched the ones in her ears. Her short blonde ‘do looked hip and fun. Her eyes shone brightly—even after only a few hours of sleep. Every time I looked at her, it was a bit of a shock—I still wasn’t used to the total transformation.
“Whoa! How long have you been here?” She glanced around, taking in my uncluttered desk—you could now see the top—a rich, finely grained black walnut.
I held up my finger for her to wait a moment as I scanned down the page in my hand, signed my name, then carefully placed the paper on the top of a stack that was now at least six inches high. “All of those are ready to go.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. Nine-thirty. “I’ve been here three hours or so. It’s amazing how much you can get done when the office is quiet.”
“How’s The Big Boss?”
“The doctor awakened me at four thirty, just after they’d finished. The surgery went well. According to him, The Big Boss will be better than new—eventually. His recuperation could take a bit. Knowing The Big Boss, he’ll love that.”
I didn’t tell her I’d left Mona in recovery holding The Big Boss’s hand and waiting for him to wake up. I’d had to threaten all kinds of legal action and bodily harm to convince the staff to allow Mona in there, but The Big Boss would get his wish.
I also didn’t tell her I’d left Teddie sleeping—I hadn’t had the heart to wake him when the doctor came to get me. Of course, Teddie might not thank me for leaving him there—in that bed by himself, he was in danger of having some nurse walk in and jab a thermometer into an orifice. His problem, not mine. Right now, I had enough of my own.
I levered myself out of the chair. My butt was numb—I hadn’t sat that long in forever. Stepping around the desk, I checked my appearance in the mirror—it was amazing what a hot shower and a change of clothes could do. Dark Chanel suit, red silk camisole to match my red Stuart Weitzman heels, enough gold and diamonds to impress the money crowd, soft hair, very little makeup, and, for once, no dark circles. I was ready. “Time to do battle.”
The boardroom occupied a prime corner on the top floor, just down the hall from The Big Boss’s suite. As I readied myself, I couldn’t remember a time I had been there without The Big Boss. Even though I knew I wouldn’t find him. I still looked for him among the thirteen suits—four of them women—seated at the big oval table when I pushed through the door, then closed it behind me. Among the faces that turned toward me, I found Irv Gittings and gave him a smile.
He winked at me.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Rothstein will not be here today. For those of you I haven’t met before, I am Lucky O’Toole, an executive of this hotel, and I will be serving in his stead. In the packet of papers in front of each of you, you will find the proper documentation to allow me to do that.” I took The Big Boss’s seat at the head of the table. “Before we begin, are there any questions?”
No one said a word as I glanced from face to face—some were old, some young, some pretty, some bland. Five directors were from New York and represented our corporate minority shareholders. Seven directors were local and generally sided with The Big Boss, the Babylon’s controlling shareholder. Two of those seven were technically my superiors at the Babylon—the director of operations and the treasurer—although in actuality, I reported directly to The Big Boss. I nodded to them. Not being a director, Irv sat to the side.
“Very well then, let’s begin.” I watched the faces watching me as we went through the whole Robert’s Rules of Order thing, calling the meeting to order and reciting the list of attendees, making sure we had a quorum. That out of the way, I dove into the meat of the meeting. “As you may have noticed, we have a guest, Mr. Irv Gittings.” I watched the faces, looking for signs of Irv’s coconspirators. I didn’t know if he had infiltrated our board or not, but I suspected he’d at least made forays in that direction. And The Big Boss always told me to know my enemies.
“Mr. Gittings has asked to address the board, so, before we get down to business, I suggest we listen to what he has to say.” I motioned to Irv. “Mr. Gittings.”
Heads swiveled as Irv rose and walked over to my side.
Dressed in an exquisitely tailored gunmetal-gray suit, with the tiniest silver pinstripe, gray tie and light lavender shirt, Irv was the personification of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He rested his hand on my shoulder as he turned to address the assemblage.
“Gentlemen, I’m sure you’re wondering why Mr. Rothstein isn’t here today. I’m wondering the same thing, but I think I have an explanation for you.” He pulled a DVD out of his coat pocket and held it up for the room to see. “This is video footage of the young woman falling to her death last weekend from a helicopter owned by this hotel. I’m sure you are all aware of the incident.” He paused, looking at each director in turn for signs of assent.
Getting them, he squeezed my shoulder, and continued. “You may not know that the police have evidence that strongly suggests the young woman was murdered.”
A collective gasp rose from Irv’s audience. I had to hand it to him—he had them right where he wanted them.
“And…” He waggled the DVD for attention. “This footage shows that Mr. Rothstein was in the helicopter.” With each word, Irv’s voice rose to a final crescendo. “In fact, he was in the back seat of the helicopter with the young woman when she fell.”
The room erupted in a chatter of voices. Irv had a satisfied grin on his face as he looked down at me. I grinned back.
Irv raised his voice to be heard. “In fact, I bet the police are looking for Mr. Rothstein right now. Isn’t that right, Ms. O’Toole?”
That quieted the group, as all heads swiveled in my direction.
“The police don’t tell me what they’re doing,” I said, taking a bit of wind out of Irv’s sails. My Nextel vibrated at my hip. I looked down and smiled to myself as I read the text message.
On a roll, Irv barreled ahead. “Since Mr. Rothstein is up to his ass in alligators, this hotel is without solid stewardship to navigate these turbulent economic times. Therefore, my investors and I plan to make a tender offer for a controlling interest. Together with Ms.—”
“Irv?” I interrupted.
Startled, he looked at me, his eyebrows snapping into a scowl.
I rose from my chair and sidled around him. “Before you continue…” I opened the door and looked into the smiling face of Detective Romeo, two uniforms flanking him. “I believe these gentlemen want a word with you.”
I stepped aside, allowing Romeo and the two cops into the room. Flash Gordon and a photographer followed them.
When in front of Ol’ Irv, Romeo began, “Mr. Gittings, I am arresting you for the murder of Lyda Sue Stalnaker. You have the right to remain silent…”
I stopped listening as Romeo ran through his Miranda spiel. Instead, drinking in the moment, I watched the expressions flash across Irv’s face: disbelief, anger, rage, then—glancing my direction— pure, unadulterated hatred.
My heart soared like a hawk. I had lied about not caring what happened to Irv Gittings. Revenge, as addictive as crack cocaine.
One of the cops fastened Irv’s arms behind his back with a pair of handcuffs.
And Flash and her photographer caught it all.
I gave Romeo a nod and a smile as he led Gittings away.
After all of the non-directors trooped out, I shut the door and I turned to face the board. “That was exciting, wasn’t it?” I grinned, receiving mostly grins in return. Calm replaced the tension. “I apologize for the drama, but sometimes you have to set a trap to catch a rat. Mr. Gittings, the rat in this story, left a few rather pertinent details out of his story.”
I again took my seat and leaned back, savoring my victory. “This morning, Detective Romeo of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department recovered an audiotape from one of the co-conspirators in the plot to kill Miss Stalnaker and to frame Mr. Rothstein for her murder. Mr. Gittings’ voice could be heard on the tape as he planned the crime.”
“Then, where is Mr. Rothstein?” asked one of the New York directors.
“Unfortunately, he was admitted to the hospital yesterday with an irregular heartbeat.” I held up my hand to silence the disquieted murmurings. “He’s fine. He had a pacemaker installed last night. He should be back at the helm in no time.” I left out the part about dying once and the part about the myectomy and the specialist flown in from the Mayo Clinic.
I leaned forward, my hands on the table in front of me. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Feet on my desk, hands behind his head, leaning back in my chair, Teddie was holding court in my office when I arrived. I was aware of a crowd in the room, listening in rapt attention as Teddie regaled them with details of the Trendmakers party—some I was unaware of—but all of them were funny. Probably a bit funnier in the retelling.
Nobody noticed me as I hid in the doorway, shielding myself behind the broad shoulders of the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock—who, I noticed, had his arms around Miss Patterson’s waist, pulling her back against him. The others in the room were hidden from view, but it didn’t matter—my focus was on Teddie.
He was a natural-born entertainer, his expressive face and eyes danced with merriment, holding the interest of his small audience the way the weaving flute of a snake charmer captured the cobra.
He stopped midsentence when his eyes caught mine. Kicking his feet off the desk, he sprang from the chair. “Hey! How’d the meeting go? We’ve all been on pins and needles.”
“I can tell.” In two strides, I was in front of him. I grabbed his shirt in both hands and pulled. “I missed you,” I said, just before my mouth covered his.
He kissed me back. Now my day was perfect.
I pushed him away, and he dramatically flopped back into my chair.
“Do you think you can miss me more often?” he said as he grabbed my hand and pulled until I was sitting in his lap.
“I’ll think about it.” Arms looped around his neck, I scanned the others in my office. Brandy and Dane sat in the two chairs across from the desk. Jerry leaned against the wall, a sardonic smile lifting one side of his mouth. Jeremy still held Miss Patterson, a very satisfied grin on her face—I didn’t know whether the grin was for me or for her; I suspected both.
“Are you going to tell us about the meeting?” Jerry asked, clearly nonplussed by all the frivolity.
“Sure, but first—is anybody hungry? I’m famished.”
“We’ve ordered pizzas. They should be here in a few minutes,” Teddie said. “I ordered a veggie delight extra sauce for you.”
“Just the way I like it.” I squeezed his neck then proceeded to give them my abbreviated version of Irv Gittings’ fall from grace.
“All I can say is, the minutes from that meeting are going to make interesting reading,” Teddie announced when I’d finished, eliciting another laugh from the crowd.
As promised, the pizza delivery man arrived, laden with enough pies to feed our little crowd and half the tourists lurking in the lobby, and enough soda pop to fill at least one of the pools out back. Everybody helped themselves, and Teddie and I fell to the task of sating at least one of our appetites.
I was on my second piece when Romeo burst through the door, then stopped, an embarrassed look on his face as we all turned toward him.
“Want some pizza?” I asked him through a mouthful.
He grabbed a plate, heaped five slices on it, then parked his butt on the corner of my desk. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
“Kid, you about gave me a coronary. Your text message came at literally the very last minute. I was about to be thrown into bed with Irv Gittings.”
“Can we use another analogy?” Teddie interjected, in a shameless attempt to get a smile out of me.
It worked.
“I’m sorry we were so late. The tape was in a safe-deposit box at the main branch of the Bank of America on Charleston,” Romeo explained. “It practically took an act of Congress to get the branch manager out of bed and down there with a guy to drill out the lock.”
“You did good.”
His face flushed at the compliment. “I want to know one thing—how’d you know Felicia Reilly would have a tape like that?”
“She was a pretty smart little felon, but neither she nor Willie had the balls to take on The Big Boss—Irv Gittings had to be a part of it.” I took a slurp of Diet Coke. “The crooks I’ve known have always tried to get the dirt on their co-conspirators as insurance against a double cross. It stood to reason Felicia the blackmailer would tape Ol’ Irv.”
Romeo’s brows creased in thought. “If she had a trump card like that, why didn’t she play it?”
“She would have, once she was out of his reach. Even though his star was fading, Irv Gittings was still one of the power brokers in this town. If you value your life, you’d better be well hidden when you mess with one of those guys.”
“It still works like that here?”
“With the old guard? You bet your ass.”
Thankfully, Romeo had no more questions. On his last piece of pizza, he got up and wandered toward Brandy.
“Is your leg numb?” I asked Teddie as I moved my butt slightly in a vain attempt to get some blood back into the one spot that had been in contact with the muscles in his thigh.
“I don’t know, I can’t feel it.”
I started to jump up, but he pulled me back down.
“I’m kidding. You’re not moving.”
I saw Flash standing in the doorway and motioned her over.
I didn’t need to glance down at the newspaper in her hand—the self-satisfied look on her face told me all I needed to know. “The last nail in Irv’s coffin,” I said, just because it felt good to say it out loud.
Teddie took the paper and huddled over it.
“They held the run for me. I told them it would be worth their while.” Flash parked herself in the spot recently vacated by Romeo.
“Bet they’re not sorry.”
“My boss gave me a raise on the spot.” Flash gave me a grin. “Of course, that’s just the afternoon paper. I’m getting a one-inch headline and my own byline in the Review-Journal tomorrow morning.”
“We’ll probably be watching you on the evening news as well. You hit a home run.”
“I owe you.”
“I’d say we’re even,” I said. “Now, go help yourself to some pizza.”
Flash jumped up and went in search of food.
Teddie whistled low in my ear. “My, you’ve been a busy girl, chasing all the bad guys.”
“You’re reading between the lines.”
“You aren’t mentioned by name, that’s true. But this whole caper has your fingerprints all over it.” Teddie leaned me back so he could look me in the eye. “You flushed Irv Gittings, didn’t you? The paper says your young Galahad—”
“Romeo.”
“Right, your young Romeo put the whole thing together, but he didn’t, did he? You did, and you personally delivered the coup de grace. Am I right?”
“What can I say? I’m multitalented.”
“Hmmm, I think I would like to explore that further,” he whispered in my ear. “But, seriously, all foreplay aside, you’ve made a powerful enemy.”
“Not the first time.” I rose, effectively cutting off that line of conversation. “Now, I know someone who would really like to see that paper.”
Worry clouded his eyes as I met his gaze and held it. He shrugged. I knew he was only shelving the topic until later, but I’d take the small victory.
“The Ferrari’s out front.” Teddie grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. “Are you done pursuing truth, justice, and the American way this afternoon, or do you have to come back to the office?”
“I’ve hung up my cape for the day.”
“Good. Give me that damned phone.” Teddie grabbed my Nextel and handed it to Miss Patterson as we stepped by her and Jeremy. “Your fearless leader is taking the rest of the afternoon off. Don’t call her unless the fate of the free world hangs in the balance.”
She shot me a knowing grin as she pocketed my phone. “Don’t worry, we’ve got everything under control. And, yes,” she said in anticipation of my next question. “I’ll make sure the board members are well taken care of.”
“Thanks!” I shouted over my shoulder as Teddie pulled me through the door.
We found The Big Boss in cardiac intensive care, Mona at his side—his hand still clutched firmly in hers, if she hadn’t let go of it since four thirty this morning, gangrene was going to set in.
My father smiled weakly at us. His eyes, intense black points of life in his otherwise wan face, followed my every movement. I sat on the other side of his bed. His hands on my shoulders, Teddie stood behind me.
For once in her life, my mother said nothing.
I cocked my head toward The Big Boss, but directed the question to my mother. “You thought it was him visiting Lyda Sue at your place, didn’t you?”
“I’d introduced them. He was helping her.”
I nodded at her confirmation of the last piece to the puzzle, then I held up the paper for The Big Boss to scan.
When he’d finished, he looked up at me, relief washing over his face. “I told you the Babylon was in good hands.”
“Flash Gordon’s boss gave her a raise on the spot.”
“That’s right, hit me while I’m down.” The Big Boss grinned—this time his smile had some pop to it.
“What is it you used to say? ‘Get ‘em on the ropes, then hit ‘em again’?” I teased.
“Using my own words against me? You are a cruel, cruel child.” He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes.
I squeezed his hand. “We’ll leave you to rest. Mom, take good care of him.”
Mona nodded at me, her eyes filled with tears. “Lucky, I…”
“I know, Mom. Now, we can all get on with the lives we were meant to have.”
I always wondered how racehorses felt after they’d been loaded in the starting gate, but before the bell had rung—ready to go, but unable to race.
Now I knew.
As Teddie and I rode the elevator to his place, I was careful to keep my distance. One touch from him and, like those racehorses at the bell, I’d leap out of the gate—there’d be no holding me back. The tapes from the security cameras in the elevator would be blackmail material—or else some enterprising soul would sell them on the Internet—either result would not be good. Teddie might get some mileage out of them, though—a few minutes with me, and no one would wonder about his sexual orientation anymore. Clearly, my mind was grasping at stray thoughts—anything to keep from focusing on the moments to come. I had a loose enough rein on my body as it was without carnal thoughts to spur it on.
“I’ve got some champagne chilling,” Teddie said, as we stepped into his apartment. “Want a glass?”
“I don’t want champagne.”
He looked at me and, for a moment, I thought he was fighting back a smile. “No?”
I shook my head as I shrugged out of my jacket and let it fall where I stood. “No champagne.”
His eyes grew warm as I skinned my camisole over my head.
I heard his sharp intake of breath as I stepped out of my skirt— my mother had been right about the whole wearing sexy underwear thing. To hell with diamonds—lace and garters and real silk stockings were a girl’s best friend.
“What then?” he asked.
“Just you.”
He grinned as he reached down and picked me up. This time I didn’t argue. Once inside the bedroom, he kicked the door shut, then let me slide slowly down his body. He had a habit of doing that, and it was absolutely mind-blowing—every nerve ending in my body caught fire.
“Teddie, my love,” I said, as I reached for the top button of his jeans, “You are about to get Lucky.”