Chapter Eleven

Laura had thought making love with David before was the best experience of her life, but this time was even more intense. They’d traded the urgency of their first encounter for a careful savoring that was almost languid. Kisses feathered along a collarbone and down the curve of a bicep. Clothing was peeled off slowly to reveal inch by inch of skin, uncovered like precious treasure. Lips and hands set out on a voyage of discovery, testing the limits of each erogenous zone, from the tender flesh at the hollow of the throat, to the satiny secrets at the base of the spine. They kissed, stroked, and fondled, every movement lush with wanting and waiting, anticipation like a rich perfume in the air around them.

They lay on the bed side by side, not speaking but looking into each other’s eyes, reading the depth of emotion there too intense for words. In silent agreement they lingered, prolonging the pleasure, letting the tension build. By the time David levered over her and she opened her legs and welcomed him inside of her she trembled with her need for him, and he let out a long, low groan of satisfaction that reverberated through her. He continued to move methodically, deliberately, plunging deep and withdrawing slowly, prolonging the moments when she balanced on the edge between pleasure and pain.

“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying before,” he said. “About the G spot?”

“What? Oh, I was just talking.” She squirmed, trying to press herself more firmly against him, but he held her hips still. “I really don’t know anything about that,” she confessed. She’d read articles in magazines, of course, but she didn’t have any practical experience.

“I do.” He leaned across the bed and plucked a pillow from the pile against the headboard. “It’s just like you told Charlie and Victor—it’s all in the proper angle.” He lifted her hips and slid the pillow beneath her, then thrust deep into her in a smooth, rocking motion.

“Ohhhh.” Her vision fogged and she lost all power of speech as he continued rocking, stroking, his hands caressing her thighs. The tension within her wound tighter, deeper, beyond anything she’d experienced before. And then, at the point when she was sure she could take no more, she flew apart, shattering with wave after wave of pleasure.

She clung to him tightly as he reached his own climax. “Laura!” he shouted, a cry of both need and triumph. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to keep out the rest of the world a little longer.

She refused to give in to tears; she was stronger than that. David could talk of moving on and putting this behind him—as if love was something she could throw out like a dress that didn’t fit anymore—but she wasn’t that shallow. He didn’t lie to her or try to pretend that their marriage could ever be real. And she’d agreed to go along with it all. She’d thought she could have this great adventure, have a fling with a hot guy and walk away with only fun memories. For a smart woman, she’d been amazingly clueless; she had no one but herself to blame for the pain she was feeling now.

But she’d get through this. She wouldn’t whine or grumble—but she’d never forget. And she wouldn’t pretend her feelings for David weren’t real. No matter how much he teased her about one day finding the right guy and forgetting about him, she knew that couldn’t happen. She’d found her Mr. Right, and his name was David.

…

Laura woke to crayon-bright colors of neon streaked across the gray sky of dusk showing outside the bedroom window. The bed beside her was empty, the sheets cool and long unoccupied. David was gone, maybe for good. She turned her face to the wall and thought about giving into the desire for a crying jag, but it wasn’t like tears would really make her feel any better. Instead, she sat up and surveyed the room, as if the generic carpeting and drapes might hold some clue to what she should do next.

The note was propped between the salt and pepper shakers on the table by the window, her name in large letters across the front. The sight of it sent a jolt of surprise, and something like hope, through her.

The note was a single sheet of paper, the front of which was a flyer for a rib buffet somewhere off the strip. In a bold hand, David had written, “Went out to get dinner. Back soon. Love, David.” The “L” in “love” was jagged, as if he’d hesitated over writing it—because he wasn’t sure of his feelings, or because acknowledging the emotion hurt too much?

She crumpled the paper into a tight ball and started to hurl it toward the trash can, but she couldn’t do it. Carefully, she smoothed out the paper and propped it up again beside the bed, as wrinkled and tattered now as her own mixed-up emotions. She took her time dressing, wanting to look great for him and wanting to fill the time while she waited. When a half hour passed with no sign of him, she decided he must have just stepped out when she woke. When the clock marked an hour since she’d risen, she fought down butterflies in her stomach.

She checked the closet—his suitcase still stood there. He’d left his spare change and a handkerchief on the nightstand, though he’d taken his wallet, phone, and gun. Of course, he couldn’t venture out without those necessities.

Some part of her knew David was in trouble. Her mind came up with a dozen scenarios to explain David’s absence, and none of them were good. He hadn’t gotten caught in a long line at the restaurant, stopped off to gamble, or simply left. Charlie and Victor, or someone even worse, must have waylaid him. Or maybe Tommy, angry about their fight, had sought revenge.

Nothing on the list of possible actions she might take gave her much hope either. She could call the FBI in Chicago—if she could find the number—and demand they help David, but why would they listen to her? She couldn’t remember who she’d talked to the other night. If she reached the wrong person they’d probably never believe her crazy story.

She could contact the local police and report David missing. Descriptions of mob thugs and undercover operatives coupled with the fact that she’d married David when she’d known him all of five minutes weren’t likely to lead them to take her seriously.

Instead, she voted for wandering the Strip, starting with the Hard Rock. If she saw Charlie or Victor or even Tommy, she’d demand to know what they’d done with David. If she made a big enough scene, they might even tell her what she wanted to know.

On the theory that two sets of eyes were better than one, Laura called her sister. “Where are you?”

“We’re at Slots and Shots at the Lucky Diamond,” Rachel shouted into the phone over loud seventies disco.

“Slots and Shots?”

“JELL-O shots and penny slots. It’s a blast. And the shot guys are smokin’ hot.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Come on down!” Rachel giggled and hung up.

Laura pocketed her phone and headed to the hotel lobby, where she stopped a passing hotel bellhop. “Where’s the Lucky Diamond?” she asked.

“Just down the street. You going to Slots and Shots?”

“How did you guess?”

He shrugged. “That’s the reason most women go there.”

She was still two doors away from the place when the music drew her in. Flashing neon strobes and a relentless bass line overwhelmed her senses. A bare-chested man in black leather pants stopped her before she’d taken more than two steps into the place. “Twenty bucks buys you a wristband that entitles you to all the shots you want,” he said.

“I don’t want shots. I only came to find my sister.”

“You want to go any farther inside, you need a wristband.”

“All right.” She dug a twenty from her wallet. She still had most of the money she’d won playing blackjack. If she had to spend all of it to find David, it would be worth it.

Rachel and her friends sat at a bank of slot machines, their attention riveted on a man in very tight jeans, leather chaps, and a cowboy hat who gyrated on an elevated platform behind the slots. Laura slid onto an empty stool.

“Rachel, we need to go somewhere where we can talk.”

“We can talk here.” Rachel handed her a quarter. “Put that in your machine. They’ll run you off if you’re not playing.”

She fed the quarter into the slot machine and spun the reels. Nothing.

“What flavor would you like?” Another half-naked man stood before them. Bottles hung from a leather holster slung low around his hips, and he carried a tray of brightly colored gelatin shots.

“Lemon cream pie for me,” one of the bridesmaids said.

“I’m partial to Sex on the Beach,” Rachel said.

“And you, miss?”

Laura realized the guy was addressing her. “Nothing for me.” She turned back to the machine and fed in a few more quarters. That seemed to satisfy him. While Rachel and the others giggled, flirted, and drank, she watched the slot machine reels spin and come up empty every time.

“What is wrong with you?” Rachel demanded when the waiter had wandered off in search of fresh customers, or maybe more JELL-O. “This is Vegas! You’re supposed to be having fun. Instead, you look like you’re at a funeral.”

“I’m looking for David,” she said. “He’s disappeared.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. He hasn’t disappeared.” Rachel threw back the contents of the shot glass in her hand and pressed the button to spin the reels of the slot machine. “Oh, look, I won a dollar!”

“I can’t find him,” Laura said. “I was hoping you’d help me look for him.”

“He’s just off with those business associates of his,” Rachel said. “We saw them together earlier.”

Her heart thumped harder than the music’s bass line. “Who was he with?”

“The two burly guys in bad suits. Honestly, they look more like extras in some straight-to-video mafia movie than successful businessmen.” She laughed. “They probably thought that’s how they needed to dress to fit in in Vegas.”

She grabbed Rachel’s arm. “Where did you see them? When?”

“Let go! You’re hurting me.” Rachel pulled away and rubbed her arm. “Seriously, you are no fun tonight.”

“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. No sense upsetting Rachel. “Please—tell me where you saw David and these men? How long ago?”

“I don’t know how long ago. We were coming out of dinner and we saw them up ahead. They were getting into a Hummer stretch limo. I noticed the car first, then realized it was David. Come to think of it, they must have some money to afford a ride like that. Though I bet you can rent one. You can rent anything here in Vegas.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought of David being driven away by Charlie and Victor. Would they take his body out to the desert to dump it, or hold him somewhere and question him first? She shuddered.

The music increased in volume, and the young man in front of them danced faster. He definitely had good moves and an impressive body, but the only man she wanted to see was David. But how was she going to find him? The music switched again—Roger Daltrey of the Who singing about the pinball wizard.

Tommy! Tommy would know where David was—or he could find out. But she could end up in a lot of trouble going to see him. Maybe he’d changed his mind about testifying. Maybe he’d turn her over to his father.

But she didn’t have a choice, not if there was a chance that talking to Tommy could save David. But how to get in to see him? He was probably staying at Planet Hollywood with the rest of the Zacolli “family,” but he wasn’t likely to open the door to her. So she had to find someone he would open the door for.

The dancer in front of them did a handstand, showing off impressive muscles. All around her, women screamed their appreciation. Crazy, how inspiration could strike out of the blue. Hadn’t David said something about Tommy having a thing for male dancers? She opened her wallet and took out one of the crisp one hundred dollar bills she had left over from her winnings. She waved it at the dancer and beckoned him to lean close. “What time do you get off?” she asked.

He looked her up and down, then at the hundred again. “I get off at nine. What do you have in mind?”

“If you meet me in front of Planet Hollywood at nine-thirty, I’ll give you two of these. All you have to do is knock on a hotel room door for me.”

He considered this then nodded. “Okay. What should I wear?”

“As little as possible.”

…

Laura’s first obstacle to carrying out her plan was figuring out where Tommy’s rooms were located in Planet Hollywood. The front desk was unlikely to give out the information, but there were other ways of finding out. On the way to the hotel she stopped at a florist and bought the largest, gaudiest flower arrangement she could afford. The orange bird of paradise, green zinnias, and some purple flowers she couldn’t identify were set off with curlicues of metallic ribbon and glitter-spangled ferns. Carrying her purchase awkwardly in front of her, she made her way to the front desk. “I have a delivery for Mr. Tommy Zacolli,” she said.

“We’ll see that it gets to him.” The desk clerk relieved her of her burden.

“It’s important that he gets it right away,” she said.

“Of course.”

She moved away and a few minutes later a bellman arrived to take the flowers. Keeping out of sight of the desk clerk, she followed the bellman onto the elevator. At the thirty-fifth floor she exited and turned the opposite way from the bellman, striding purposefully down the hall. But she ducked behind the first large potted plant she came to and turned in time to see him knock on the door at the end of the hall.

After the bellman left, she made note of the room number and returned to the lobby to wait for the dancer, Rob. She explained what she wanted and rode up in the elevator with him, but hung back while he knocked on the door. Dressed in a black leather vest and tight leather pants, he was certainly an eyeful—and he clearly caught Tommy’s eye. “Hello.” Tommy opened the door and all but batted his eyelashes at his visitor.

“Hello,” Laura said, as she slipped in behind Rob.

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

At Tommy’s cry, two burly men rushed toward Laura. Her heart went into a polka rhythm, and she forgot how to breathe, but she managed to raise her hands and squeeze out a few words. “I’m not armed and I don’t mean you any harm. I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”

Tommy scowled at her. Strips of white surgical tape criss-crossed his nose, and both his eyes were black. She wondered what would happen if she passed out from fear. “All right,” he said. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“What about me?” Rob asked. She had almost forgotten he was in the room. She’d paid him in advance. “I really need to be somewhere else.” Anywhere else, probably.

“Give me your card.” Tommy held out his hand. Rob hesitated, then dug a card from his pocket and handed it over. Tommy smiled, which still didn’t make him attractive. “I’ll give you a call.”

Rob left—maybe to go change his phone number—and one of Tommy’s goons took her purse and rifled through it while the other man searched her. Or rather, he felt her up, squeezing her boobs and her butt as if he thought they might contain plastic explosives. She thought about telling him he needed to work on his technique but opted to keep her mouth shut.

When the goons pronounced her weapons-free, Tommy dismissed them. He sprawled on an orange leather banquette in the center of the room but didn’t invite her to sit. “What do you want?” he asked.

“David is missing. I think you might know where he is.”

“David was making a pest of himself, and my father doesn’t like pests.”

The words chilled her, as if her blood had turned to ice water. “David and I came to Vegas to get married and have a little honeymoon,” she said. “He ran into some business acquaintances—I guess it really is a small world. I know the two of you had a fight, but that doesn’t warrant kidnapping him.”

“Who said anything about kidnapping?”

“My sister saw David being escorted by those two thugs—Victor and Charlie. He wouldn’t have gone with them willingly.”

“He broke my nose.” Tommy gingerly touched the tape.

“And you blackened his eye and busted his lip. I’d say the two of you are even.”

Tommy’s grin surprised her. “My old man was pumped about the fight. Said I must have plenty of testosterone running through my veins after all.”

“Couldn’t you tell your father David is harmless and he should let him go?”

Tommy’s smile vanished. “Nobody tells my old man what to do.”

This is where Laura Nichols—the schoolteacher who went out of her way to please people and never made waves—would give up and go away. But Laura Abruzzo had too much at stake to leave now. She moved closer, and lowered her voice. “Tommy, David was just trying to help you,” she said.

“What? By cleaning my clock?”

“No. By getting you out from under your father’s thumb. Your dad doesn’t give you much credit, does he?” She was guessing—she hoped the guess was right.

“My old man thinks I’m a loser.”

“But you could be a hero. You could live life on your own terms.”

“In Chicago?”­

“Or San Francisco or Houston or here in Las Vegas—wherever you want. But you need David on your side. Please…talk to your father. Convince him David is harmless.”

He sat up, arms folded across his chest. “Why are you so interested, anyway? You with the Feds too?”

“No, I’m with David. I love him, and I want him back.”

“You took a big risk coming here tonight. Those two—” He jerked his head toward the door where his two bodyguards had retreated. “One word from me and they’d be happy to take you out in the desert and dump your body. Send a message, you know? In our family, we believe women should be seen and not heard.”

She thought she might throw up right there on his polished black shoes. “Love is worth taking risks for,” she said softly. “One day I hope you’ll find that kind of love for yourself.”

The lines along either side of his mouth deepened. “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. Now you’d better leave.”

“Thank you.” Tears blurring her vision, she fled toward the door, but she only got as far as the foyer.

The door swung open, and Frank Zacolli smiled at her, a smile with no mirth behind it that twisted her stomach into a hard knot. “Good evening, Mrs. Abruzzo,” he said. “I’m very pleased to see you. You’ve saved me the trouble of sending someone to look for you.”

Tommy hurried to join them. “I was going to call you and let you know I had her,” he said, his face flushed.

“I’m sure you were.” Zacolli moved further into the room, forcing Laura to take a step back.

“Wh…why would you want to see me?” She swallowed, trying to control the trembling in her voice.

“Joseph, please help Mrs. Abruzzo with her belongings,” Zacolli said.

One of the muscular men who walked in behind Zacolli stepped forward and slipped the strap of her purse from her shoulder. “Excuse me, but—” she protested.

“Now, now. You need to be quiet.” Zacolli wagged a finger, as if scolding a naughty child.

Joseph rifled through her purse, extracted her cell phone and camera, and handed them to his boss. “No weapon?” Zacolli’s eyebrows rose. “I’m pleased.”

He tucked the phone into the pocket of his jacket and switched on the camera. His expression darkened as he flipped through the photos.

Laura suppressed a squeak. The pictures she’d taken of Cassandra’s stuffed cat—and the money inside—were on that camera. Not the sort of photos one would expect from a woman on her honeymoon.

Zacolli switched off the phone, his expression impassive. “I think it’s time you and I had a long talk,” he said.

…

David had had some close calls before, but this might be the closest. He sat on the floor against a wall, his arms tied behind him so tightly he could no longer feel his hands and someone’s dirty handkerchief stuffed into his mouth. Charlie and Victor had brought him here over an hour ago and turned him over to a beefy, quiet man who reminded David of a bear—big, dumb, and almost as hairy. The man hadn’t said one word since David’s arrival, though he occasionally took out a Glock and rubbed his thumb across the engraving on the barrel, which he always pointed right at David.

Victor and Charlie had been much more talkative when they found David on the street. They’d let him know that Zacolli didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. In Zacolli’s world, if a man wasn’t a friend, he was an enemy, and Zacolli was used to dealing with enemies. They’d spent some time impressing this on him, trying to persuade him with their fists to tell them what he was really up to. Despite a black eye, bruised kidneys, and some battered, if not broken, ribs, he’d kept his mouth shut, and they’d decided they were wasting their time. He figured the goons had stuck him in this suite at Planet Hollywood with Yogi Bear until it was dark enough for a drive out to the desert—where no one would find his body for a very long time.

At least Laura wasn’t here with him. He only hoped that for once she’d stay safely put and wouldn’t come looking for him. Zacolli’s beef was with David, not her, so she ought to be safe. In the meantime, he figured he had about half an hour to work his way out of his bindings, get past Yogi and whatever other guards Zacolli had stationed on this floor, and then out of Vegas altogether.

Right. Piece of cake.

The door opened and Laura stumbled into the room, one of Zacolli’s thugs behind her. Her hands were tied in front of her, and her eyes were wide with terror above her gag. David wanted to throw up, but all he could do was thump his feet against the carpet in frustration. Forget saving his own hide—he had to save Laura.

She moved over beside him, her eyes filled with concern now, as well as something like an apology. He shook his head. She didn’t need to apologize to him. This was all his doing. He never should have trusted Zacolli to leave her alone.

“Time to go for a ride,” the new goon, who wore a diamond stud in one ear and a soul patch in the middle of his cleft chin, said. “Mr. Zacolli thought you might like to see the desert.”

David grunted, groaned, and shouted against the gag. He sounded ridiculous, but it had the desired effect. Yogi jerked the handkerchief from his mouth. “Someone needs to take my wife to the bathroom,” he said. “Or she’s going to be sick.”

They all looked at Laura, who, to tell the truth, was looking a little greenish. She did her best to imitate someone on the verge of vomiting.

“He’s bluffing,” Soul Patch said.

“You want to take the risk of her barfing in your car?” David asked. “Or all over your shoes?”

Now all eyes went to Soul Patch’s shiny patent leather half boots. “I’ll take her,” he said, and grabbed Laura by the arm. She cried out, and David made a mental note that Soul Patch would pay for that.

As soon as Laura and her guard were out of the room, he made his move. He aimed a vicious kick at Yogi’s crotch. While the goon was bent double, David head-butted him so hard he saw stars for two seconds. The Glock clattered to the floor, and David kicked it under the sofa. Another kick to the side of the head put Yogi out cold. He raced for the door and managed to shove it open.

Soul Patch stood outside a door at the other end of the short hall, looking impatient. He knocked on the door. “Hurry up or I’ll come in and get you,” he said.

David ducked back into the room and stood to the side of the door. Laura came through first, no longer gagged, but her hands still bound in front of her. As soon as she was in the room, David launched himself at Soul Patch, knocking him off balance. David kicked out violently, landing a solid blow to the goon’s stomach. Laura bit back a scream, then snatched a bottle from the sideboard and cracked it over Soul Patch’s head. The man sank to his knees with a groan then fell over, out cold.

“What do we do now?” she asked, staring at the two unconscious guards. She couldn’t look at David—his battered face brought tears to her eyes, and the memory of how he’d fought to save them stirred up a crazy cocktail of awe, fear, and lust. She had to focus on something else—anything else—and pull herself together.

“We’ve got to find something to cut the bindings off our hands.”

She looked down at the broken bottle she still held and grinned at him. “This might work.”

He turned with his back to her. “Cut me loose, then I’ll do you. Try not to slash my wrists, though at this point, I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“Hush and hold still.”

In a surprisingly short time, she’d sawed the cord in half. He rubbed at his wrists, ignoring the pain shooting through them, then fumbled to untie her. As soon as she was free, he knelt beside the couch and fished out the Glock. “How many guards did you see on your way over here?” he asked.

“There’s a man by the elevator and one at the end of the hall.”

“We’ll take the stairs. Stay close to me, and when I tell you, run for your life. Go back to the hotel, call your sister, and lie low until your flight home tomorrow.”

“What about you?”

“I’ve got to go after Tommy.”

“David, no. It’s too risky.” She clutched at his arm, but he shook her off.

“I’m afraid his dad is getting suspicious of him, too. If Tommy’s in trouble, I have to help him—and finish the job I came here to do.”

“Zacolli saw the pictures of Cassandra’s cat on my camera. Your cover is finished.”

“All the more reason for you to stay away from me. Now come on. I’ll go with you as far as the ground floor.” He pulled her toward the door.

A check of the hallway showed it was empty. The elevators were set into an alcove, and he could just make out the guard’s feet where he sat in a chair facing the hallway. The door to the stairs was situated a few feet before the alcove on the same side of the hallway.

But before they could move into the hallway, they heard another door opening. David pulled her back inside then peered out again. He swore under his breath.

“What is it?” She tried to see around him, and he moved just enough for her to see the man tiptoeing toward the stairs, a suitcase in one hand, a gun in the other. “Is that Tommy?” she asked.

“Yes. Looks like he’s decided to book it. Once his dad went after you and me, he probably figured he was next in line.” And he was probably right. If only David could have gotten to him sooner.

“You should go after him,” she urged.

“No.” He stepped back into the room. “I can’t leave you.”

“If you let him go, you won’t be able to make your case. Everything you’ve worked for for months will be for nothing. Go.” She nudged his shoulder. “I can look after myself.”

He glanced toward the hallway again. She was right—the whole reason he was in Vegas was to secure Tommy’s testimony. But he couldn’t leave her here with Zacolli’s men so close. She wasn’t trained at evasion—she didn’t even have a gun. Without him to protect her, she’d be too vulnerable. He shook his head. “I won’t leave you until I know you’re safe.”

…

Laura couldn’t believe things could get worse, but they had. Everything David had worked for was walking away from him, and all because of her. She checked the hallway again. Tommy had reached the stairs and was slipping through the door. “Maybe if we hurry you can still catch up to him,” she said.

But at that moment, the guard stepped into the hallway. David pulled her back hard against him. The guard looked around then retreated into the alcove once more. David whispered in her ear. “Stay close to the wall. When you get to the door, go on through, and don’t look back. I’ll be right behind you.” He indicated that she should go ahead of him. She hesitated before sliding forward and easing open the door. The damn thing was heavy, and she struggled to pull it open enough to squeeze through. Just a little bit more…

“Hey!”

She whirled in time to see the guard step into the hallway, one hand inside his jacket. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

Before she could answer, a bullet thudded into the door frame above the guard’s head. He turned to face David, who stood in the middle of the hallway. “Run!” David shouted.

But she remained frozen, halfway through the door, terror choking her as the guard retreated into the alcove. He leaned out to fire off a rapid tattoo of shots at David. David returned fire, but the guard kept retreating into the alcove. David plastered himself in the doorway of a room, but the narrow space provided scant cover.

She screamed as a bullet splintered the doorway by David’s head. “Dammit, get out of here!” he shouted as the guard turned his attention to her.

She dived through the doorway and onto the landing beyond as bullets sailed past, then lay flat on the floor, breathing hard and straining to hear something beyond the pounding of her heart and the echo of gunfire in her ears.

After a moment, she realized the hallway on the other side of the door had grown eerily silent. She struggled to her feet. Should she open the door? Was David dead?

At that moment, the door began to open. She plastered herself against the wall, holding her breath, half-expecting the guard’s bulky figure to emerge. Instead, David, blood running down the side of his face, stepped onto the landing.

“Oh God, you’re hurt!” She rushed to his side, but he waved her away.

“A shard from the door hit me in the head. I’ll be fine.”

“What happened to the guard?” she asked.

“He’s dead.”

She thought she might be sick to her stomach. Up until tonight, the danger in what they were doing had been horror-movie thrills—scary, but a little distant and unreal. The events of the last hour had brought everything into razor sharp focus. “Come on, we have to get going!” David put a hand to her back, urging her down the stairs.

They descended in silence, stopping just outside the door leading to the lobby. “As soon as you get out, head for the casino and get lost in the crowd,” he said. “Exit onto the Strip and get back to the hotel as quickly as possible. Call your sister and have her stay with you.”

She nodded. “When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably better if you don’t.”

“But David—”

He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I’ll never forget these past couple of days with you. You’ve made me feel things I thought I wasn’t capable of feeling. But this isn’t the life for you. It’s too dangerous. You deserve a home and a family and a normal, safe life.”

“David, I don’t want those things if I can’t have them with you.”

The muscles along his jaw tightened, and he drew a ragged breath. “And I just want you to be safe.” He kissed her—a quick, hard pressing of his lips to hers. “Now go.” He pushed her gently away. “Please.”

…

Laura gave him one last, searching look before she turned and opened the door. He watched her walk across the lobby and disappear into the lights and confusion of the casino. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the doorframe. He’d done something right tonight, at least, by getting Laura out of harm’s way.

He opened his eyes and searched the lobby for some sign of Tommy, but what he saw instead made him feel as if he’d swallowed nails. Charlie and Victor pushed their way through the crowd, looking back and forth like bird dogs on the scent of prey. If they kept moving toward the casino, they were bound to spot Laura.

He shoved the gun into his pocket and stepped out into the lobby. The two goons probably wouldn’t wait for nightfall to kill him, but he couldn’t risk them finding Laura and hurting her.

Before he could reach them, Charlie shouted, then lunged forward and grabbed hold of a man who’d been seated on a banquette near the front door. Tommy struggled only briefly before he stiffened and fell silent. From his posture, David guessed Charlie had shoved a gun into the younger man’s back.

At that moment, Tommy’s eyes met David’s. The terror in them was evident even across the lobby. If Frank Zacolli had sent his two enforcers after his own son, Tommy was in big trouble, and he knew it. The best chance the state had of putting Frank Zacolli behind bars for good could end up dead in the desert if David didn’t do something to save him.

Charlie, Victor, and Tommy moved toward the casino. David fell in behind them, staying back but keeping them in sight. As they moved among the slot machines and poker tables, he saw no sign of Laura. She must be on her way back to the hotel, where he hoped she’d stay out of sight until her flight left in the morning. Zacolli would no doubt like to shut her up, but she was small game compared to David and Tommy; he’d figure he had plenty of time to eliminate her later.

When the trio boarded an elevator, David waited and took the next car up. He had to get off at the thirty-fourth floor, since he didn’t have access to the penthouse floor, but he made quick work of the lock on the stairwell and headed up. He hoped this wasn’t the worst decision he’d ever made—and that it wouldn’t be his last.