After some barbecue at Lucille’s restaurant and an hour trek across town, Roxy pulled into the parking lot of the Imprint Hotel. She thought about going home, but she’d never be able to sleep. She needed answers.
Once through the garage, she opened the door to a gust of air conditioning from the casino inside the hotel. Reels whirred as they spun. Bells dinged. A slight hum of conversation whirled around the room. Screaming came from the corner as whistles announced a lucky streak.
She reached the elevator banks without being tackled. No Rafe. She wasn’t sure if she was happy about the missing hunk of man… or disappointed. Getting tackled by him sounded hot, but if he was here, he’d stop her from getting her job done. If he was against her serving his clientele, she could only imagine how he’d feel about her getting involved in the murder investigation.
Which meant she was happy he was missing. She made it to the elevator without a sideways glance, and hit the button for the forty-fourth floor. The doors opened to tomb-like silence— like before she’d found Donnie. She needed to get in and get out. She turned the corner. A stone wall jumped in her face and she stumbled back.
“Hey, are you okay?” A man with dark dreads reached out and held her arm so she didn’t fall.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” Roxy smiled as she straightened. No harm, no foul.
“I can’t believe there was a murder in there.” A woman came up behind the mountain, the camera attached to her face almost hiding her bright green eyes. The shutter clicked as she noticed Roxy. “Who’s this?”
“No idea. She just came running around the corner,” the mountain said.
A bit of an over-exaggeration. Roxy was a lover, not a runner.
“Come to see the scene of the crime too, huh?” camera lady asked. “I’ve never been to a murder before. I’ve seen them on TV, but that’s not the same.” She took another picture. Her dark-skinned hands hit the button with a click. “Someone said they heard there’s a ghost. I would love to see a ghost.”
The sparkle in her eyes said she meant every word about the ghost theory.
“Ghosts kill people, babe.” His dark skin grew pale right before Roxy’s eyes. The guy didn’t look like he wanted to see a ghost.
“They can’t touch us. They’re on a different spiritual plane.” The woman took another picture. “Let’s check out the restaurant. They said he ate there before he died. Maybe his spirit is lingering there.”
“Great.” The mountain’s color didn’t seem to be getting any better. Hopefully he wouldn’t pass out. “Babe” didn’t look like she could carry him very far. They headed to the elevator and disappeared with a ding.
The floor went eerily quiet again. The cops and other personnel were gone. The silence wrapped around her head as she caught sight of the door. The scene of the crime, as “Babe” called it. She’d never been to a murder before either. Not something she wanted to relive—yet here she was, getting closer.
Closer to the body and to the rumored ghost. Because if there was a ghost, wouldn’t it linger around the body, waiting for someone from the living world to come by, so it could act out its fiery vengeance?
No more Supernatural for her. It was giving her ideas. And not good ideas.
She approached the door with the yellow police tape. Somehow, it felt like she was being watched. Like someone was waiting to jump out. Like that ghost hid in the shadows left by the overhead lights.
Relax. She was being silly. “There is no such thing as ghosts.” Crap. Did she say that out loud? The ghosts might get the wrong idea. “I believe in you, ghosts, and think you’re awesome, you got a bum deal...” She’d say whatever the ghost needed to hear so it didn’t leave its spiritual plane and suck out her soul.
The door was closed. Not that she thought the door would be wide open, not with a crime scene behind it. But wouldn’t that be nice? She reached around the tape and jiggled the handle.
It’s not surprising it was locked. She needed a keycard. Again, why would they let anyone check in on a crime scene? It would be a zoo of “Babe” and other Vegas tourists taking pictures of blood spatter.
A bang sounded behind the door. At least, she thought it came from behind the door. Her heart raced as she looked around for the source of the noise. The banging could have come from the owner of the eyes she swore were watching her. Which made her skin crawl, and her feet back up from the door. Fast.
The yellow police tape mocked her. She needed to get inside, but didn’t want to. The blood. The dead man on the floor. He’d taken his last breath in that room. If there was anyone who had earned the right to haunt these halls, it was him.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
She jumped at a crash down the hall. Really bad idea. The door clicked and flew open. A scream ripped from her throat.
Rafe reached behind his back and yelled, “Son of a… Roxy? Why are you screaming?”
“Why are you jumping out at me?” Roxy eyed the gun in Rafe’s hand.
“I didn’t jump out.” He slid his gun back into the holster. “I opened the door.”
“But you waited till I was right outside.”
“Yes.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve been standing here all day behind this peephole waiting for you to come up to the door so I could open it. Why are you here?”
Now that her heart was thumping at a normal rate, and he asked the question, she remembered why she was here. She craned her neck to look past him. “I wanted to get a look at the crime scene.”
“Why?” He kept his broad shoulders in the doorway, making sure she couldn’t see around him.
Why? Good question. Telling him the truth could backfire in her face. If he knew how bad she wanted this thing solved, but still kept her out, she’d never get in the room. Then again, she needed him to get her into the room. If he didn’t understand her desperation, he might still keep her out.
It was easier to just stick to the truth. She sucked in a breath and said, “My bosses saw the newspaper with me on the front page and there’s all this speculation. So I have no job until I can prove I’m innocent. And without a job, I have no way to pay my rent. Or electricity. Or for food. And I like to eat. Having a roof over my head is pretty cool, too.”
Rafe’s eyes crinkled at the corners. His lips curled up at the edges.
Roxy shrugged. “I like electricity.”
“Is your love of electricity why some woman interviewed Adelaide Dunne?” Rafe asked in a tone so dry Roxy thought she’d need moisturizer. Rafe’s eyebrows rose just a bit. “Asked her questions on behalf of the hotel. Wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“How did you find out?”
“Cops talk.”
She wanted to remind him he wasn’t a cop, but she had a feeling once a cop always a cop. The smile he’d started with had somehow morphed to annoyance. She didn’t want him annoyed. She needed information. “I have to clear my name. You understand, right?”
He sighed. “I get it. But why didn’t you come to me first? Now I have MacAuley breathing down my neck.”
“Why didn’t he come to see me?”
“Because the women couldn’t remember your name. They came into the precinct drunk off their asses.” Rafe shook his head. “You’re lucky they didn’t remember you. You’re still a primary suspect, and cops don’t have my sense of humor.”
“Are my future meals of ramen funny to you?” She would have joked about her future living in a cardboard box, but that felt more tragic and hit way too close to home—as in, her home would be a box.
“No, but that sure as hell beats your life in county jail.” His eyes travelled up and down her body. “You would be popular in general population. You could find a prison wife, settle down, and make a few shivs.”
“Shivs?”
“Homemade weapons. I’m sure they’ll teach you how to make them in county.”
“I get it. County jail is worse than ramen.” She hated this conversation. He totally lied—he no longer had a sense of humor. “But I have very few marketable skills—even for Vegas. I can’t dance, so stripping is out. I need my job.”
“Although watching you strip does sound like a lot of fun.” Rafe’s lips quirked. “I’ll help you clear your name.”
“Really? Why?”
“Why not?”
She glared. He laughed.
“Fine,” Rafe said. “I want to help an old friend. I’d hate to see you end up in jail. I’ve seen what jail does and it’s not pretty.” He leaned against the side of the door jamb.
Roxy waited a beat. “That’s it?”
“And maybe I owe you one. I heard what they called you in college after my party. I tried to tell everyone nothing happened, but they still ran with it.” He truly looked sorry.
“You knew about that?” She didn’t think Rafe had heard the rumors. Or more likely, she’d hoped he hadn’t heard the rumors. After that night, she’d practically gone into witness protection. The girls in her class avoided her like bedbugs and the boys wanted to jump in her bed. Roll-around Roxy. A nickname she was hoping to forget.
“Yeah.” He shook his head as if to clear it. The pity disappeared, and his cop face was back on. “So why did you need to see the room?”
“I wanted to take a look at the scene. I was a little shocked last time I was here.”
“What are you looking for?” Rafe stepped to the side and let her in.
Roxy contorted her body to go under one strip of police tape and over another. “I don’t know. I’m thinking I’ll know when I see it.”
“You’ll know it when you see it, huh?” He looked so adorable when his lips quirked that way. Too bad it was at her expense. “Don’t touch anything.” He wrapped his hand around her arm, keeping her from going inside the room. “Horne, seriously, you cannot touch anything. Do you understand?”
Really? “I can understand basic English.” She pulled her arm away and edged around him into the room. It was just like she remembered, or at least she thought so. It was like some kind of intense déjà vu. She’d swear she saw it before, but couldn’t remember any details.
She walked to the kitchenette and laid her hand on the counter. The cake and desserts still sat there, still looking delicious, probably the consistency of cardboard by now. She edged her hand toward the tray of brownies.
“I thought you understood basic English.” His hand slid along her arm. “Don’t touch.”
“I’m just looking.”
He pulled her hand back and slid his fingers between hers. “Look with your eyes, not your hands.”
She stepped back. “You did not just say that. I haven’t heard that since I was five.”
He laughed. “Really? Because your hands were on that counter, when we agreed you wouldn’t touch anything.”
She’d like to argue. They hadn’t agreed. She hadn’t touched anything. But really, she had—touched and agreed. She hated when he was right. He brought her hand to his lips. He didn’t kiss her, just ran it along the edges. His breath tickled her skin, sending a pang of need through her body.
Her body forgot about him being right as it pulsed. Her head forgot he’d just talked to her like she was a toddler. All of that should’ve mattered, but she couldn’t get on board. She couldn’t get her heart to stop hammering out of her chest.
“Can you keep your hands off the crime scene?” he whispered into her knuckles, that warm breath shooting desire to her core.
“Hmm…” Her eyes closed. Every word and thought gone. All she could do was feel.
“Roxanna?”
“Hmm…” Every breath brought new feelings. Every nerve ending twerked. She might not dance, but apparently her nerves were ready for Broadway.
“Roxanna? Can you hear me?”
She opened her eyes. The words didn’t come with warm tingles even though her body had practically gone up in flames. She knew she had her bedroom eyes on. Which was a complete embarrassment, since he didn’t.
“Are you okay?”
Mortified. Pathetic. Disgusted. She was so many things. Okay was probably not high on that list. Not that she’d tell him that. “I’m fine.”
“You can look around, but don’t touch.” He kissed the tips of her fingers—like it was something he did every day. Her body went on a hormone rampage, and he acted as if he was kissing his baby cousin.
Crap. She’d completely misread the situation. Which made her want to run and hide. But she couldn’t. She had a crime scene to analyze. There was a good chance this was the only opportunity she’d have to check it out. She had better make the best of it.
She scanned the room. The body was gone. Thank goodness. The blood wasn’t. Two whiskey glasses sat on the table in front of an off-white couch. Draped on the matching chair was a black suit jacket with SBM embroidered on the inside pocket. “SBM?” She stretched her hand out. It was an automatic response. It looked soft. Sue her.
Rafe’s hand found hers before she could touch the material. “We’re thinking a monogram.”
“Steve Brandt?” Donnie’s partner. “But what’s the M for?”
“His middle name?”
She needed to be sure. A rough finger drew lazy circles on the back of her hand and those nerve endings started a tango. She wanted to get lost in the touch. She had a feeling she’d forget all about the job, the suspect list and the ghost, if he laid that hand on any part of her body…
His face was unreadable. No haze. No “I wanna sex you up” vibe. His finger stopped moving. Her brain cells began to fire. This wouldn’t fix her problems. She needed to solve this puzzle—then she could have the oblivion those hands promised. It might not be given by those hands, but she had a vivid imagination and a battery-operated-boyfriend.
She pulled her hand away. “Thanks, Amato.” A chill travelled the length of her body, replacing all the warm tingles. Which was good. She needed to talk to Donnie’s partner. Alone. Without distractions. Because distractions wouldn’t help her get this case solved. They only messed with her mind and body.
“Anytime, Horne.”
Somehow, she believed he’d help her with the case anytime. The hormones whipping through her body was all on her and b.o.b.