Kennedy stepped back with her hands up, signaling a retreat to any onlookers. “I’ll get you a drink for when you’re done.”
Darcy nodded and faced the door. She wrapped her hand around the handle and took a deep breath. Then she repositioned the huge duffle bag of money and pulled. The door swept open and she slid inside.
Kennedy walked toward Caesar’s and looked back. When Darcy and the area in front of the door was out of sight she veered left around the tent-building, looking for a door. Diandra said something about a phone booth, but she also said she’d been high on cocaine so how much of it had been true? Kennedy dodged a garbage can and a set of tables and chairs. No hidden doors. Although, that was kind of the description of hidden.
Kennedy didn’t have time for hidden. She needed to find a way into the building before she gave up and created one herself. Before she could plan further than using one of the garbage cans to bang against the side of the building, she noticed a lime green box sticking out the side of the tent. Building. Whatever.
It was about six feet tall, with bars over little windows. The phone booth. It was attached to the side of the tent. She jogged over and slid the folding door open. On one side was an old-timey phone. The fact that a hanging phone was somehow old-timey would depress her later. But right now, she needed to know how to get inside the building.
She lifted the phone and pushed on the wall facing the tent. Nothing. Locked.
She tapped on the switch hook. No dial tone. No door magically opening.
Dammit. She wanted to jiggle the handle—maybe kick open the damn door. But she needed to keep quiet. She couldn’t let Bobby know she was here.
A few feet down, the side of the tent popped open and a waiter walked out pushing a cart filled with dirty glasses. He headed toward Caesar’s.
An open door.
Kennedy ran over and opened the door. It was dark inside, but looked like a small kitchen area. She followed the wall to an opening. That led to the main stage area— where Darcy stood across from Bobby. He looked like hell. Scraggled hair. Shadow on his face that was way past five o’clock.
He sat in a chair and tapped his finger on the table in front of him. “Give me the bag.”
“I just need to see Fanny.”
“You can see Fanny after you give me the bag.” Bobby slammed his fist on the table.
Darcy cringed. “How do I know if she’s okay?”
“She’s my half-sister. Why would I hurt her?”
“Why would you kidnap her at all, Bobby?” Good point, Darcy. “If that’s even your name.”
“I’m just trying to get what’s mine. My inheritance from a man who couldn’t even be bothered to come and see me.”
“He might not have known you existed.” Darcy had mentioned that kids had come out of the woodwork for years, but not one of them passed a paternity test.
“He knew. My mom brought me to see him when I was five.”
Five?
Bobby kept talking. “She brought the paternity test. He knew. He just—never cared.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Darcy shook her head. “All you had to do was ask me. Come to me. I would have understood.”
“Right, like when I asked my father and he tried to fire me. He threw me out of the building. But I showed him. I made a deal with my bookie, sold him information about the team. Dear old Dad found out and threatened to have me arrested. It’s not bad enough he took away my job, he wanted to take away my life. What kind of fucked-up father does that?”
Darcy shook her head as a sigh slipped past her lips. “He wasn’t very good at handling surprises.” Or treachery, apparently. Selling team secrets could’ve led to Chuck’s own stint in jail.
“Yeah, he wasn’t good at handling a lot of things.” Bobby sprang to his feet and reached out his hand. “Give me the bag.”
“You don’t think I would’ve helped you? I trusted you with my family. I trusted you more than I ever would’ve trusted Chuck.”
Although that might have just been a way to gain Bobby’s confidence, Darcy probably meant every word. Honestly, Kennedy would’ve trusted a Kardashian with a credit card before trusting Chuck with… well… anything.
Kennedy slid inside the room, keeping out of sight of the Darcy and Bobby standoff. The room was round. One big open space. She dropped to her knees and scooched up to a metal pipe trellis decorated with fake flowers. She was hidden, barely. A large sheet of fabric poured down from the center of the room, surrounding the small stage. Other than the tables and chairs for patrons, there was nothing in the way of cover.
“I just don’t think I should give up the money without my daughter.” Darcy slid her arm over the bag and clutched it to her body. “It’s my daughter.”
Sliding on her knees, Kennedy moved from one table to another. Trying not to touch them. Trying not to make a sound.
Bobby pulled out a knife and Kennedy shoved to her feet. Her body was in clear view of the two people across the room. Shit. She dropped to the floor. Be cool, Kennedy.
It took everything in her not to jump over the ten or so tables and whoop his ass. But they still didn’t know where Fanny was. They couldn’t make any move until they knew where she was being kept.
“You have a choice. You give me the bag, or I take it. If I take it, there will be pain. Do you want to go pick up your daughter covered in blood? Hasn’t this been traumatic enough for her?”
Darcy sighed and lowered the bag, setting it down in front of her. Bobby dragged it over by the strap and slid it onto his shoulder. “Your daughter is here.” He stuffed something in Darcy’s hand. Fanny’s location. That was all they needed.
Kennedy jumped. Her shoes squeaked. Shit. There went the element of surprise. She ran flat out toward Bobby, but he turned and ran for the front door.
Oh hell no.
Kennedy pivoted. Lunged. So close. She shoved a table out of the way and dove for him.
Bobby turned, swinging the bag behind his back. His hand came forward.
The glint of the knife hit her first.