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Alec had tried not to look annoyed when Cleo called Martin and asked him to meet her in one of the lounges at the casino.
Her.
Not them.
Maybe it was so she wouldn’t have to clarify who the second half of “them” was. He should go with that explanation and not let it bug him, but knowing what he should do didn’t make him do it.
He was sitting on the bed, back braced against the headboard, his open laptop balance on his extended legs, when Cleo came in. He hadn’t actually written anything for a good ten minutes, but he didn’t want her to think she was a distraction, so he typed, These are the times that try men’s souls. Three times.
His fingers lost their place when she stepped out of her jeans and into a pair of black slacks that hugged her sweet curves. When she glanced sideways at him, he reminded himself he was busy.
These are the times th . . .
She stripped her T-shirt off and reached for a soft, button-up-the-front, angora top.
He watched her fasten it up the front. The buttons didn’t go high enough. She didn’t need to be showing any cleavage. This wasn’t a date.
She glanced at him again as she walked into the bathroom.
. . . at try men’s . . .
In the bathroom, she picked up her hairbrush.
These are the
“You and Jada should be fine together,” Cleo said. “I don’t think she needs any more tranquilizers, but if she does, they’re―”
tim;lkja
“Whoa. What?” If she thought he was letting her meet Martin without him, she was completely loco.
“Willa’s working tonight, so there’s no one to stay with Jada.” She stroked the brush through her hair.
“Jada will be fine on her own. She’s been doing better every day. Or haven’t you noticed?”
“Of course I’ve noticed,” she snapped. The hairbrush moved faster. “But today was a tough day for her. I’d rather not risk it.”
He put the laptop aside. “You are full of shit.”
The brush hit the top of the vanity with a loud clunk. “I beg your pardon?” She stood in the doorway, glaring at him.
He got off the bed, prepared for battle. “I’m not going to babysit Jada, so you can run off and meet your boyfriend for drinks and”—he threw his hand up with a flourish—“whatever.”
“Whatever?” Her whole body shook with outrage.
Mierda. He sounded like a jealous lover. “Yes, whatever. I need to be there to make sure our big story isn’t the price of his cooperation.”
She gasped—not a big gasp. A little tiny one—and went still. “I—I―” She clamped her mouth shut. Then, without any fire, she said, “Fine, you can come.”
He didn’t know what to make of her sudden capitulation, but at least he wouldn’t have to follow her and crash her party. That would make him look like an obsessed stalker.
~***~
One short, silent car ride later, they stepped into the casino. Alec walked past a giant poster inside the front door advertising the Elvis revival. Five feet beyond that was one for the showgirl revue.
Two steps after he’d passed it, he stopped and went back. The woman in the poster wore a tall, feathered headdress and the sparkly costume that barely covered the legal minimums, but what he focused on was her flat, bare midriff. Both of the times he’d been near Liz, she’d been wearing a loose, flowing top that, even if he’d been looking, would have covered any hint of a baby bump.
The next show was at nine o’clock.
Cleo had walked on ahead of him, but she came back. “What are you looking at?
“Do you think Liz is working tonight?” Alec asked, his eyes still on the poster.
Cleo seemed to shake off whatever troublesome thoughts had been distracting her since they’d left the condo. “I don’t know, but Willa could tell us.”
“She never called you back, did she?”
Cleo’s lips tightened. “No.”
“Why don’t you call her now and ask? And maybe you can invite her to join us for a bite after the show.”
Cleo nodded, stepping to the side to make the call.
He studied the poster while he waited, wondering if he’d be able to see a baby bump when Liz was in costume.
Cleo dropped her phone into her purse. “Liz is working tonight.”
“Great. Let’s get tickets.”
“But we’re supposed to meet Martin―”
“It won’t take long. Or don’t you think Martin will wait if you’re a few minutes late?”
She sighed her defeat. “Fine. Let’s get the tickets.”
There it was. A second capitulation. His spidey sense was tingling, but he couldn’t pin down why.
At the ticket booth outside the showroom, he charged the best seats available to The Word’s credit card.
A few minutes later, they walked into the lounge to find Martin waiting at a table. He waved, then rose from his seat. When they reached the table, he kissed Cleo’s cheek.
Her face hovered near his neck, her chest expanding with a deep inhale. “You’re wearing Clive Christian.”
Martin grinned. “I have to smell nice for the ladies.”
“I love that scent.”
Alec glared.
No one noticed.
Martin’s gaze appreciatively took Cleo in. “You look lovely.”
She smiled. “Why, thank you. You look very nice, too.”
Alec nearly snorted. Slacks and a polo shirt? Big deal. He pulled out the chair across from Martin for Cleo to sit in.
“You remember Alec, don’t you?” Without glancing his way, she took the seat next to Martin. “He’s helping, too.”
“Of course I remember. How’ve you been?” Martin asked as he reached across the table to shake his hand.
“I’m great,” Alec said, completing the ritual of pretending they were all civilized before seating himself in the chair he’d offered Cleo.
Two rocks glasses already sat on the table. Cleo picked up one of them. “You remembered.”
“Of course. You always drink White Russians.”
Alec hadn’t known that. He should have. If he’d ever bought Cleo a drink, he would have. What kind of man bedded a woman without even buying her one single, lousy drink? In the meantime, he was the only one without a libation. He hailed the waitress.
“I heard you had an altercation with the widow,” Martin said.
Of course he had. There probably wasn’t anyone in Vegas who hadn’t heard about that by now. Alec had been half-expecting Cleo would be barred from the casino, but then Liz had struck the first blow. Someone must have decided Cleo’s threat of assault and battery charges and the inevitable publicity that would have resulted were too high a price.
“Well, that’s what happens when people won’t let me interview them,” Cleo said.
Martin laughed. “I’ll remember that.”
They talked about inconsequentials—mostly Martin’s luck at the gaming table—until the waitress brought Alec’s Cuba Libre. He smiled broadly at her and thanked her as if she’d handed him her winning lottery ticket.
Cleo didn’t seem to notice.
“So what’s this favor you need from me?” Martin asked after the waitress departed.
A moment passed as Cleo took a sip of her drink. She set the glass on the table. “I need someone to provide a distraction.” Then she gave him a bare-bones explanation of the what and the where of the favor without explaining the why.
“So all you want me to do is to get this Ms. Bales’ attention on me so Alec can . . . do what?” Martin asked.
“He just needs a few seconds near the doors in the office without Bales watching,” Cleo said, sidestepping the question.
Martin’s gaze shifted from her to Alec, spending a speculative moment there before returning to Cleo. “Planning a little B-and-E, are you?”
He sounded more amused than judgmental, as though breaking and entering were normal activities when chasing a story.
“No B.” Cleo shrugged faintly. “Just a little E.”
Technically, true. But only technically.
“And what’s in it for me?” Martin asked, the amused tone lingering in his voice.
“My undying gratitude,” Cleo said as though she expected that would be enough.
The corners of Martin’s lips turned up as he leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “And what’s that worth these days?”
The way he asked it—Alec wasn’t sure if it was in Martin’s voice or in the way his eyes held Cleo’s—made the question sound flirtatious.
She casually traced the rim of her glass with her index finger. “If you do this, you’ll have a shot at Sebastian Koblect’s personal assistant.” Her eyes lifted languidly to meet Martin’s. “And trust me. She knows where all the bodies are buried.”
Alec would have snorted if he hadn’t been busy grinding his teeth. They were sleeping together, damn it. She shouldn’t have been flirting with Martin right in front of him.
Or was he reading something into it that wasn’t there? It looked like flirting to him, but he didn’t really know what their relationship had been like, and Cleo . . . Well, Cleo had grown up with Annaliese. Subtle, Annaliese wasn’t. Maybe Cleo didn’t understand that subtlety was way more seductive than blatant.
Martin leaned forward. “Why would you throw a valuable source like her at me? You don’t work at The Sun any more.”
Alec’s respect for Cleo’s ability rose a notch. She was dangling their least valuable asset in Martin’s face. Bales wouldn’t give him the time of day, let alone a worthwhile interview.
“Or is this more of a personal favor?” Martin asked.
Cleo’s hand dropped to cup her glass as she took a breath, her chest inflating, drawing Alec’s eyes to the cleavage above that first button. “Yes, it is. I need to get in those offices to look for something that, frankly, may not have any impact on the story at all.”
“But it could.” Martin’s eyes were locked on her chest.
Alec had to give him credit for not being completely distracted from the business end of the deal. It was more than he could have managed.
Cleo nodded. “It could.”
“So what is it you’re looking for?” Martin pulled his gaze away from Cleo’s chest with a reluctance Alec could practically measure.
And it pissed him off.
“Look, the lady is asking you for a favor. If you need a tit-for-tat, then it’s not a favor; it’s a transaction. If that’s what you―”
Cleo laid a hand on his arm. “Alec.”
He clamped his mouth shut, but he couldn’t keep the fire out of his eyes.
“Would you get me another drink please?” she asked.
He glared at her for a moment before shoving his chair back. “Sure,” he said, his tone surly. That was apparently what he was there for. To get her drinks.
~***~
Alec was barely out of earshot before Martin said, “Finally. I thought he’d never leave.”
“Is that why you’re haggling over this, or do you really not want to do it?” Cleo asked.
“Oh, you know I’ll do it. If there’s a chance it’ll get us the story, I’m in.”
“I was telling the truth when I said this may not benefit the story. You got that, right?”
“So you come up empty. Sometimes you have to roll the dice anyway. Because if you don’t, that one time out of a hundred you walk away without trying, you miss something good. Besides, I trust your instincts.”
“So all the haggling wasn’t about getting my promise The Sun would get the story?” Which was really what the instincts Martin valued so much were telling her.
“Well, if that had worked, I’d have taken it. But mostly, it was to piss him off.” Martin nodded toward where Alec stood, scowling into the mirror behind the bar. “What’s the deal with him anyway?”
“He’s . . . a colleague.” A frighteningly smart colleague. She glanced at the bar. He’d nearly given her a heart attack at the condo when he’d mentioned her giving away their story. She’d agreed to bring him so he could watch her flirt with Martin, but playing that game was like walking a tightrope over shark-infested water. Too much and one or both of them would take her more seriously than she intended.
Martin’s eyes shifted toward her. “Is that all he is?”
She felt no guilt saying, “Yes,” because, even if it wasn’t temporary, whatever personal relationship she had with Alec was none of Martin’s business.
“I think he’d like it to be more,” Martin said.
Her laugh had an edge to it. “And I think your imagination is working overtime.”
“You’re wrong. You don’t send telepathic hate mail like he’s trying to over a woman you’re not interested in.”
She swiveled in her chair to get a better look. Alec was still glaring into the mirror at them. She turned back to Martin. “Any interest he has in me goes no further than notching his bedpost.” Of course, she didn’t mention the bedpost was already deeply notched.
Martin smiled as though what she’d said was amusing. “For a smart woman, you’re really dumb about men.”
She laid her hand on his arm. “You’re right. I was dumb about you, wasn’t I?”
“Well, I’m not like most men.”
Not like most men, huh? Wasn’t that what they all told themselves?
“He knows you’re out of his league both personally and professionally. Men like him, when they see a woman like you, they try to attach themselves. They can’t help it, really. It’s the moth-to-the-flame dynamic. If they can claim you, even if only for a short while, they think it proves their worth.”
Men like him? Where had she heard that lately? Oh yes. Alec had said something very similar about Martin after the press conference.
Guys like him don’t like losing to guys like me.
Was that what all this posturing Alec and Martin were doing was all about? Was she just some sort of prize for them to prove their worth? Could they really be that insecure—that threatened—by her?
The idea of an insecure Alec made her smile. The man’s confidence bordered on arrogance.
Martin was reading him completely wrong.
Her smile provoked a frown from Martin. Then his face cleared and he leaned toward her and whispered conspiratorially, “I know what you’re doing.”
Cleo’s heart jumped into a racing tempo and all thoughts about Alec and Martin’s competition disappeared. “Wh-what?”
She had so many secrets going, at first she wasn’t sure which one he might be referring to, but it only took a few seconds for the obvious answer to surface. She was in Vegas, after all, and since the arrest, everyone was talking about Annaliese. It had really only been a matter of time until Martin talked to the wrong person and connected the dots. How had she ever imagined she could keep their relationship a secret?
This was her worst nightmare come true. Well, a close second behind having her mother on trial for murder, but that fear had been born only recently. The dread that someone would dig up her mother’s less-than-savory past and connect it to her? That fear had been around long enough to qualify as primordial.
“I know what you’re doing,” Martin said again.
She’d forgotten her hand was on his arm until he covered it with his.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
Embarrassed? She was mortified. She’d never wanted anyone to know she’d started out one shallow step above trailer trash.
“How did you find out?” she asked, barely above a whisper.
She wanted to sink into the floor.
Except . . . maybe she didn’t.
So her mother wasn’t like other mothers. Annaliese was a teenaged daughter’s basic horror show, but Cleo wasn’t a teenager any more. She was tired of feeling as though she needed to apologize for where she came from. Maybe it was time to just accept Annaliese for who she was, and tell the world to get over itself.
It was such a new and radical concept, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.
“How did I find out?” Martin repeated her question with a chuckle. “Your friend Alec isn’t a very good liar.”
Alec? She shot a glance toward the bar. He was still waiting for their drinks. Alec knows?
“He tried to convince me you were both working for The Washington Post,” Martin said, “but I can smell a lie, and I’m a damned good reporter. I know how to dig up the facts. He hasn’t had a byline with The Post for years. But his name shows up regularly in that rag, The Inside Word.”
Cleo’s gaze snapped back to Martin. “The Inside Word?” she repeated like an idiot. Her mind didn’t want to make the shift.
Martin lifted her hand from his arm.
“I know you needed the money, and the tabloids throw cash around like they’ve got their own press”—he paused as though considering that they might actually be printing money in the basement—“but you don’t need to freelance with them.”
She blinked at him a couple of times while she got her mental feet under her, then rolled her lips into a tight line to keep a laugh from bursting free. As desperate as she’d been for a cash influx and he thought she could make that freelancing for a tabloid? Was he crazy?
He wasn’t, of course. But he probably couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that anyone from a respectable media background would sign an actual employment contract with a tabloid.
He turned her hand over and stroked her palm open. “We need to get you back where you belong.”
Yes, please. That’s exactly what we need to do.
“I’ve missed you, you know. After this story is nailed down”—he brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed the tip of her index finger—“we should take a trip.” He moved on to the next finger. “Maybe Bora Bora.” Another finger. “You wouldn’t believe how clear the water is there. We could go snorkeling in the mornings and lie on the beach with umbrella drinks in the afternoons.”
As he moved on to her last finger, extolling the virtues of the beaches, Cleo fought against the urge to pull her hand back. He’d agreed to help her—that was what was important—but she couldn’t help feeling as if she was an afterthought to the story. Not that she cared any longer where she fell in Martin’s priorities, but her feminine ego still felt a little insulted.
The thud of thick glass hitting the wood table reminded her she should have been watching Alec with at least one eye. He shoved Martin’s drink across the table. Martin released her hand to catch the glass before it landed in his lap.
Hers came next with the same force. She caught it and looked up. If she’d needed further clues, the set of Alec’s jaw and the dangerous glint in his eyes told her she was treading perilously close to the edge of his temper.
Even if his response was probably rooted in his competitive streak, it soothed her ego.
If one could sit down aggressively, Alec did. “So, Marty . . . Are you in or what?”
Martin’s gaze slid to her. The corners of his lips were turned up in a satisfied smirk. Then his gaze shifted back to Alec. In a voice loaded with innuendo, he said, “Oh, I’m in. I’m definitely in.”
“Great. Well, Cleo and I have tickets for a show, so―” Alec started to stand again.
“Alec,” Cleo said. “We have time. And we just got these drinks. Sit back down.”
Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together and, relegating all her other concerns to the back of her mind, laid out strategies for distracting Bales. Alec sat silently while she talked, but she could feel his narrowed eyes on her, watching her and Martin, which reminded her of the other secret she was keeping.
He’d proven how observant and intuitive he was on more than one occasion, and he’d already thrown out the idea that she’d give Martin the story, so it was lurking in his subconscious. Somehow, she had to keep his mind too busy to revisit the idea because it was just a short step away from that to the victorious return to The Sun Martin had offered her.
This must be why Annaliese had her no-lies policy. When you had too many of them going at once, you could feel the nervous breakdown coming. It made her antsy enough she nearly knocked over her drink.
“You know,” Martin said, “if you don’t tell me exactly what you’re trying to do, I’ll be flying half blind.”
Alec broke his sulky silence. “You know enough.”
“Maybe.” Martin took a sip from his drink. “As long as things go smoothly, but we both know how often that happens, don’t we? If I know exactly what the goal is, I can do a better job.” He shifted his gaze. “Come on, Cleo. I’m not going to horn in on your action, and you know I can keep my mouth shut.”
He was right. By necessity, their plan included the flexibility to improvise; it would be helpful for him to know. “Tell him,” she said to Alec.
“Cleo―”
“Tell him about the magnets.”
Alec glared at her long enough she thought he might refuse, but then he dug into his pocket and drew out a dull, flat strip about the size of a strike plate for a door and tossed it on the table. “They’re lockdown magnets. You put them on the door to keep it from locking.”
Martin picked it up and examined it. “You sure it works?”
Alec didn’t answer, so Cleo explained how schools used them.
“I think I’ll keep this,” Martin said, sliding it in his pocket.
Alec’s hand fisted. With a disgusted shake of his head, he pulled out his phone and thumbed the screen to life.
“Sorry to cut this short, Marty,” Alec said as he put his phone back in his pocket, “but we’ve got tickets for that show. Cleo will call you tomorrow to synchronize our watches.” He stood. “Come on, chica. We don’t want to miss the opening.”
“Alec―”
His hand closed on her arm and he all but hoisted her from her seat. He didn’t even give her a chance to say goodbye to Martin. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed that Martin wasn’t offended.
He was laughing.