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Poseidon’s Palace Casino and Resort, Las Vegas
ALBERT EINSTEIN ONCE said, “No one can possibly win at roulette unless he steals money from the table while the croupier isn’t looking.”
Adara Torris was a croupier at Poseidon’s Palace, and she’d be damned before anyone stole from her. Being a gifted empath as well made her the casino’s first line of defense. Her job was to stand sentry in the gambling pit, appearing aloof and inconspicuous while reading the minds of patrons.
Reading was a misleading term. Human thoughts were never crystal clear. Intuiting, or soulscanning, better described her skill set. Her sixth sense unmasked the true intentions behind the coolest poker face. She knew who was cheating, who planned to cheat, who simmered with rage and packed a switchblade in their boot, who was horny and on the prowl, and who was so distracted they’d forgotten to take their prescription medications. Of course, there was much more than that. Dark glasses and a neutral expression hid nothing from her. But that day, something was wonky and since morning, she’d been unable to soulscan anyone.
She walked across the pit with her casino-issued polyester trousers chafing her round thighs. What moron had decided to dress the female croupiers in snug-fitted pseudo-tuxedos that were basically made of plastic and set them loose in a hot desert environment? A sadist, that’s who. Even a quick trip to the parking structure to retrieve her phone from the charger had caused her to work up a sweat. Outdoor temperatures had soared into the triple digits. Even though the casino was comfortably air-conditioned, patrons arrived exhausted and cranky, and it was her job to figure out who might pose a problem. Reluctantly, she took her post at the roulette wheel.
A tinted glass bubble containing a camera clung to the ceiling above her table. The all-seeing eye of the hotel’s security team observed everything from HQ. She fought the impulse to smile or wave at her eccentric boss, Roy, who was no doubt watching.
Calling herself an empath was just a glamorous term for security guard. The casino wasn’t the only beneficiary of her talents. A lot of good had come from her work, as many shadowy activities had crossed her mental radar. Thanks to soulscanning, she’d broken up a criminal ring trafficking underage girls, drug dealers had been jailed, and con artists exposed.
Overall, she was damn proud of her achievements during the past two years of employment at Poseidon’s, but a career as a professional empath could be lonely too. Being too clued in to what others were thinking had consequences, and the repercussions of those consequences took a toll on her personal life. No surprises. No mystery. Little trust.
Actually knowing what men honestly thought would put most women off their lunch.
Worst of all, she’d never been in love. Lust yes, but not true, full-blown, ‘I’m going to kiss the sky’ love. When it was possible to get inside anyone’s head, it was harder to figure out who’s special. Other issues abounded as well. Her pedigree had left her love life challenged, to say the least. At twenty-four, the thought had dawned on her that her situation might never improve.
So there she was, in the glittering heart of Vegas, trying her damnedest to make her unique calling in life work. Some days, Sin City didn’t live up to the hype of being a devil’s playpen of sexy, high-stakes excitement, and today was definitely one of those days. Something in the atmosphere was off—really off. A subtle disturbance brewed inside the casino. She couldn’t put her finger on what it was, which was bad news, considering it was her job to know these things.
The casino floor flooded with dozens of seniors freshly released from their tour bus. The crowd ambled along at a leisurely pace, oohing and ahhing at the ornate ocean-inspired décor.
A smartly dressed Barbara Walters look-alike muttered in a scratchy tone, “This place reminds me of my granddaughter’s Little Mermaid bedroom. How much would she love these dolphin columns? To die for!” She clicked a photo with her phone.
Adara signaled the lady with a subtle wave of her hand. “Please, no photography on the gambling floor.”
The woman appeared contrite. “Sorry.”
A cheerful, pewter-haired ringleader of the senior scene, dressed in a psychedelic print caftan, corralled the thrill-seeking AARP members in a semicircle. “Who wants to hit the buffet first?”
Nods and sighs of “Dear God, yes” signaled near unity for her plan. They turned and entered the dining hall.
One man with crimson sunburn covering only half his face and neck broke from the group. Unabashed, he leered at a pretty cocktail waitress dressed in a low-cut blouse and short skirt. His gaze traveled up and down her long legs as he headed straight for the roulette tables.
Adara glanced at her sensible shoes. She knew what was coming next—the big rejection followed by the instant metamorphosis into the invisible woman. It happened all the time. To most people, she barely existed. Except for her naturally red hair, she considered herself a plain Jane among showgirls, but that only explained some of the situation. The fact she wasn’t fully human played a part as well.
The man wavered in front of the two roulette wheels then veered toward her human colleague Shauna, a buxom blonde Barbie doll of a croupier with a toothpaste-ad smile, who stood sentry at her wheel, looking fabulous in her polyester tux.
“Hello, gorgeous.” The sunburned man grinned at Shauna and plunked down a twenty-dollar bill and a five. “I’m betting straight red.” He winked. “Red like your ruby lips. I wonder if I’m going to get lucky.” A string of even lamer attempts to flirt followed.
Shauna shot her a sideways glance as if to say, ‘We have another one.’
She sure did. Every day, Shauna attracted a new admirer. Men loved to project their fantasies onto her. Adara wondered what the men would think if they knew Shauna was a divorced mother of three who preferred female company in her bed.
With deft precision, Shauna covered the bet with her chip, spun the wheel, and dropped the ball. The man stared longingly at her cleavage. The tiny white ball circled the top of the wheel then bounced all over the place, plink, plink, plink, but he hardly noticed until it finally came to rest on black.
“Thirty-five black.” Shauna’s voice was sultry. “The house wins.”
The gentleman turned redder. His twenty-five dollars went poof!
Being discreet, Adara tried to tune in to the man’s thoughts. Did he regret playing roulette? No doubt it was a sucker’s game. He likely wanted to be in Shauna’s line of sight and didn’t care if he won or lost. Could he afford to lose the money? Judging by his expensive watch, it appeared he could, which was a good thing. It was a common misconception that croupiers were immune to others’ feelings. It simply wasn’t true that their hearts were hardened. Witnessing someone lose hurt like hell. This bet was only twenty-five bucks, but she’d seen lives ruined, dignity evaporate, and even been afraid for everyone’s safety.
Oddly, she realized, she’d just thought those things about the man but had not actually read his mind. She tried again, this time without looking directly at him, so she wouldn’t give him the creeps. Concentrating, she drew a deep breath and attempted to merge her mind with his. What did he really think?
He set another chip on the line. The wheel whirred. Moments passed. The tiny ball skipped in and out of slots, plink, plink, plink. Naturally, he lost again. No clear images formed. By the time the man asked Shauna if she liked appreciative older gentlemen, she still didn’t know anything about him beyond the obvious.
This was distressing. She’d never been frozen out before. Humans and animals were an open book. Demigods and most every other supernatural entity remained unreadable. For certain this guy was no demigod. Something was very wrong, but what? Full-fledged alarm rose. She abruptly left the table, fanning her face and craving a breath of fresh air.
Glancing at her watch, she saw it was past time for her lunch. With a raised hand, she signaled the pit boss that she was on her break. She strode across the gambling floor, headed for the stairs. A moment alone to regroup was what she needed.
Walking toward the women’s lounge, she looked at the many people she passed, old, young, men and women. A fair cross section of humanity strolled by and yet she was unable to soulscan any of them. Usually, she could skim quite a bit of information from someone with a casual glance but today, nothing. The sensation of psychic silence was numbing. What the hell was going on?
She darted into the women’s lounge. Thankfully, it was empty. No time was wasted getting her ass in front of a bathroom sink so she could look in the mirror. Staring at the glass, she was relieved to see nothing was physically wrong.
Her cheeks were round and cheerful. The whites of her eyes were clear, making the golden-hazel irises all the brighter. Her complexion was a bit flushed but otherwise fair. A tiny crimson splotch on her throat was a surprise, but she blamed it on a bug bite. She smoothed a copper strand back into its hair clip. Okay, so maybe she wasn’t the plainest woman in the world. Overall, her appearance was healthy and completely average, which was unexpected considering her mother was a heart-stopping, genuine nymph of Venus.
That was who she needed to talk to. Adara pulled her phone out of her vest and speed-dialed her mom.
Grace picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Dary!” Her mother had a soft, musical voice. “You’re calling during work hours; is everything okay?” A note of hope lifted her tone. “Do you have some good news to share?”
Ever hopeful she’d find romance, her mother worked overtime in the proverbial temple of love. As a devoted disciple of Venus, Grace was generous with her prayers to her patroness in the hope her only daughter might someday find a true love of her own.
She hung her head. “Not the news you want to hear. I know you’ve been doing extra, but it doesn’t seem to have worked. Nothing’s changed in the love department. Maybe the demon in me cancels out the nymph of Venus? Could my human DNA be causing the blockage? Either way, I’m ready to face the fact I might never fall in love.”
“It’s not too late, sweetheart.” No doubt Grace felt a twinge of guilt. After all, it had been her idea to start a family with a demon. “I’ve been doing things differently. Mixing it up with new and better offerings to our goddess of love. Your father started a fresco in her honor. It’s gorgeous and very modern. He’s calling it the rebirth of Venus. I restrung my lyre and I’ve been singing my heart out. Sooner or later, something is going to catch on. You’ll fall in love someday. You’ll see.”
“Mom, that’s not what I want to talk to you about.” Lowering her voice, she glanced around to make sure she was still alone. “Something is going on and it’s strange.”
“Really?” Grace sounded too enthusiastic. “Have you met someone new who’s making you feel strange? Hot-blooded, even agitated? This could be a very positive development. A grand amore’s first salvo.”
Grand amore? Yeah, right. She bit her lip. The only activity she engaged in was a bit of light flirting with a gorgeous fellow employee, but even that went nowhere. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding rude, so I’ll just say it. Mom, be honest, could any of your petitions to Venus have meddled with my empathetic skills? It’s like someone hit the Off switch. I need them On for work.”
“What?” She sounded mortified. “Honey, I’d never do that to you. Besides, love and empathy go together.”
“They should go together, but with me they don’t. They never have. Who knows why? All I know is empathy pays my rent and right now, my psychic screen is blank.”
“Blank, blank?” Grace’s voice rose with concern.
“Yep. I’m in the dark, just taking wild guesses.”
“How long have you been unable to soulscan humans?”
“It started earlier today.”
“Today? Phew! You scared me. One day is nothing to worry about. Are you sure you haven’t fallen in love with someone? Love can make your internal radar go whacky.”
“Empathy is how I function in the world. It’s the part of me that’s most human. You wouldn’t tell someone who’d inexplicably gone blind to calm down and not ask questions. I need to know what’s going on. We have two conventions booked at Poseidon’s and the usual weekend tourists arriving by the busload. I need to be on my game.”
“Sugar, cross my heart, I haven’t done anything that would rob you of your skills. I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”
“I know you do.” It hurt to hear frustration in her mother’s voice. Grace was so kind. She’d never intentionally do wrong.
“Sweetie, I just want you to have the opportunity to experience romantic love, that’s all. Do you want your father and me to visit? It might cheer you up.”
“No!” She panicked and almost shouted into the phone. Things were challenging enough without family dropping by. “I’ll come to you.”
“That’s just as well. Your father is very busy. He’s discovered a new way to glaze pottery. He’s obsessed with his new technique. I told him ceramics are for daylight hours only and he must move his workshop farther into the canyon, or else he’s going to light up the night sky and we’ll have the military knocking on our door again.”
“Tell Dad to be careful. I know how he gets when he’s on a creative streak.”
“Or a destructive one.” A tense beat hung in the air. “I’m only forty-five minutes away. I can drop by for a late lunch?”
“Not today. There’s too much going on.” She glanced at her watch. It would soon be time to get back to the pit. “Maybe I’ll see you on Sunday.”
“Or sooner. Your father and I are going to pack up the RV and deliver his latest ceramic creations to an art gallery in Sedona. We have to drive by anyway, maybe we’ll just pop in the casino and say hello.”
After stalling, she grumbled, “I’m too busy.”
“We won’t hang around.” Grace smacked her lips and sent a kiss. “Bye, darling. Call me if anything changes.”
She clicked the phone off and slid it into her pocket. Did she want lunch or not? Her stomach flip-flopped and said no; an iced tea or frozen smoothie would be enough. Bending over the sink, she washed her hands, allowing the cool water to run over her wrists. It felt soothing until she noticed a thick pillar of steam rising from the basin and quickly turned the faucet off.
It had happened again. Her body temperature always ran a little hot, but now and then her true nature as a part firebrand surfaced and came on strong. The cool water in the sink came to a boil and evaporated before it could trickle down the drain. Holy crap, this too? Why now? She was in for one hell of a day.
Why couldn’t she have been born human like everybody else? Life would have been so much easier. There wasn’t even a clearly marked label for what she was, let alone a clearly marked place for her in the world. Her father called her a wild card. Always being an outsider and having to hide her many differences from others came at great cost. She longed to blend in or, better yet, be noticed for who she was. The saddest part of being her? The luxury of being surprised by another and growing close remained beyond reach.
Stepping into the corridor, she saw several more tour buses had arrived and unloaded their patrons. People streamed past in droves.
Biting her lip, she attempted to soulscan each new face that crossed her path. Nothing. Right then, she wasn’t even an empath, and what if the skill didn’t return?
An odd tingle trickled down her spine. The tiny hairs on her nape stood. Something in the near vicinity needed her attention, but what? She couldn’t tune in. An eerie mood thickened the air. Headed back to the pit, the muffled pop of gunfire brought her to a halt.
* * * *
THE MOMENT KAI OPENED his eyes and saw the glass of water jumping up and down on the nightstand he knew it was going to be one vicious bitch of a day. Untouched by outside forces, the water sloshed over the rim of the tumbler like a restless goldfish trying to make a prison break from its bowl.
A dire omen indeed.
Of course, he’d seen this uncanny H2O activity before. As the mortal son of one of Oceania’s major gods, this was the sort of thing that happened to him right before the shit hit the fan.
With a violent chatter, the glass rocked and toppled, drenching the bedcovers. He bolted upright and tossed the damp sheets to the floor. “Damn!”
An elemental disturbance this powerful only occurred when the natural energies of the immediate environment were wildly out of balance. He knew the signs. Any number of catastrophic events could be headed his way—electrical storms, tidal waves, or worse, a damp miasmic fog of maleficence so soul-chilling, any humans unlucky enough to come in contact with it would crumple to the ground screaming like witches burned at the stake.
Crap like that would be bad news for the casino resort where he was employed. Luckily, one option could be ruled out. Being trapped inland in Las Vegas, it was safe to say a tidal wave wasn’t on the disasters du jour menu, but without doubt something nasty was in the works.
The bone-dry air in the climate-controlled hotel suite he presently called home left him parched. For someone who’d grown up in the balmy South Pacific, Vegas felt like punishment. But what the hell, it was meant to be.
He plucked the empty tumbler off the mattress, strolled to the kitchen sink, and turned on the faucet. The water from the tap twisted in a tight, gravity-defying corkscrew as it filled the glass—another sure sign someone nearby had activated a dark juju. He stared at the alarming sight.
Something was up. Raising the glass, he pressed his lips to the rim and gulped the contents. The water instantly revived him. With his eyes closed, his mind focused. He thought of sparkling surf crashing over coral reefs and sighed. Being a proud descendant of a long line of Polynesian kahunas, he was accustomed to having dominion over the ocean. On a good day, a powerful kahuna could cause rivers to flow uphill, part the clouds, lift the tides, and hail all the creatures of the sea. Pods of whales, schools of shimmering fish, and black-eyed sharks grim as hitmen would appear on the coastline when summoned.
Too bad he’d fucked up and got himself exiled to Vegas, where he was employed as an in-house security detective, aka house dick. In a moment of weakness, his status had slipped from future chieftain of Oceania to glorified bouncer at the perpetual party that was Poseidon’s Palace on the Strip.
Someday, when his penance was paid, his uncles, the overlords of the sea, would allow him to return to his natural element—the Pacific Ocean. Until then, he’d just have to buck up and endure the arid Nevada clime.
The phone rang. His supervisor’s number displayed, and Kai tensed. A call from Roy this early in the day was unusual. He grabbed the phone off its charger and clicked.
“Kai, I’m glad you’re up.” Roy’s wary tone raised concern.
“I just woke. Hey, Roy. You’re calling early.” A quick glance at the clock showed 1:04 p.m. He usually slept until two, swam fifty laps in the hotel pool, showered, then grabbed a sandwich and a strong cup of joe. He’d show up at his security post at four, to face an endless night of debaucheries committed by drunken patrons on the gambling floor, parking structure, and hallways. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to wake you, dude.” Roy didn’t sound sorry, he sounded flustered. “I need you on the job ASAP.”
“No swim?” He was dying to dive into cool water and plow across the pool until his muscles burned and the lethargy between his ears washed away.
“Not today. We’ve had a murder on the first floor. I want you at your post, eyes on the surveillance screens.”
“Another murder?” He groaned.
“That’s what happens during hot weather, a full moon, whatever you want to blame it on. Whenever people get testy, someone always gets dead.”
“I’ve got no authority. Call Homicide.”
“I’m not an idiot.” Roy scoffed. “Homicide is already here bagging body-bits and scraping goop off the ceiling. They’ll be here for hours. The mess and the yellow tape requires we close down the west-wing elevators and reroute as much foot traffic as possible away from the crime scene. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Oh, God.”
“Directing people through the gift shop and into the dining room is the only option.”
“No!” Kai toppled backward onto the mattress, kicking his limbs like a child having a tantrum. “Don’t make me babysit the buffet, waiting for some rude slob to stick his grubby fingers in the never-ending cascade of chocolate and ruin it for everyone. Give me something more important to do.”
An impatient huff burst free from Roy. “The chocolate you are casually referring to is gourmet Belgian ganache, imported to us at great trouble and expense. The casino considers it a signature offering and an asset. It’s a crying shame to be forced to dump gallons of it at a time.”
“It’s part of a buffet. Face it, people do bad things at buffets.”
“Not at our buffet.”
Was he the only realist there? “You’re living in a fantasy world. What about the dead body? Any information about who, why, or how? Maybe we should be looking out for the patrons’ mortal safety and let the ganache protect itself.”
“This murder was a weird one. Two middle-aged twin brothers, by all accounts friendly and seemingly sober, arrived in the lobby wheeling a pet crate and their luggage. All smiles and casual banter. They were here for some sort of occult arts convention. After they checked into their double room, it’s quiet for about ten minutes and then—bam! Gunshots. One brother runs out of the room wearing a coonskin cap.”
“What? A furry hat?”
“Yep.”
“Is he in police custody?”
“Nope.”
“Shit. It’s 112 degrees. How far can you get in Vegas wearing a Davy Crockett cap before someone stops you and asks what the hell is up with the stupid hat?”
“Pretty far. He’s still a free man. I need you to review the footage from the security cameras before I release everything to the police.”
He leaped to his feet, grabbing at any clothing he could reach. “Don’t withhold evidence. Show the tape to Homicide ASAP.”
“I will, but I want you to see it first because...” Roy’s voice faded.
He jiggled the phone and pressed it to his head, even though he knew it wouldn’t help reception. “Roy, speak up. I can’t hear you.”
“I didn’t say anything. I’m thinking. Just get your ass over here. I want you to see everything I saw. Then you tell me if I’m crazy or not.” The phone clicked off.
Kai stared at the silent phone then tossed it onto the bed. In his rush, he buttoned his shirt so crooked it was faster to strip it off, choose another, and start over. He reached for some pants and stepped into a pair of charcoal-gray Italian-made trousers and zipped the fly. He tugged on a sleek pair of black boots that looked elegant enough for him to pass as a high roller on the casino floor, yet comfortable enough to walk the acres of hotel corridors he patrolled every night.
He strolled into the bathroom and paused to gaze into the mirror. A tired face stared back. A recent scar above his eye, delivered by the claw of a tipsy demon who couldn’t pay his gambling tabs, had healed well, but left a fire blaze through his thick chevron brow where hair refused to grow. It seemed likely the souvenir from that battle with evil was a keeper.
Okay, battle was an exaggeration. The incident had been more of a skirmish with a kicking, thrashing demon shouting obscenities and ended with an angry cab driver who was left with a vehicle that reeked of brimstone for weeks. That was the sort of otherworldly crap he had to deal with on a daily basis. Vegas was rife with supernatural shenanigans. So much so, it was a little-known fact that every major casino worth its salt employed an undercover PHD—paranormal house detective, like himself.
He stuck his tongue out. “Ahh.” It looked a bit pale and his breath was stale. Twisting the cap off the mouthwash, he gulped a quaff straight from the bottle and swished it around until he foamed at the mouth like a rabid animal. After spitting the stinging blue liquid into the sink, he noticed the lines around his wide, generous mouth had deepened—the obvious result of too much frowning and too little joy.
Providing behind-the-scenes security to a huge, corporate-run casino-resort meant he rarely met reasonable people, only his fellow lost souls who’d already done something wrong. Fraternizing with his fellow hotel employees and possibly blowing his cover was another no-no. Yep, working a night shift and having nothing close to a personal life had taken a toll. But what the hell, he didn’t deserve a private life or a lover. Not here. Not now. Vegas would never be home. With luck, someday he’d be vindicated and set free.
Kai turned the faucet on. The water trickled in a slow counterclockwise spiral. Whatever was wrong in this hotel was getting worse. In other words, someone had just turned up the volume on an active juju.
With cupped hands large as bear paws, he splashed water on his face to rinse the grit from his eyes. Rush or not, he still had to take the time to look the part of an elegant player who could approach any table or section of the resort appearing like he belonged there. A few energetic swipes with a brush tamed the dark locks that curled past his jaw. The flick of an electric razor shaped the black sideburns that lent him a retro Wolverine look. Of course, he didn’t have to try that hard; being the son of a demigod meant he cleaned up good. He looked meaner than he was, which was great for his career but bad for his social life. For a big man, with a broad build and tough-guy face, he still had days where he just wanted a hug from someone. For sure this was one of those days.
Gathering the essentials he needed to get through the day, he slipped his phone and ID into the lining of his jacket and exited his room. He stepped into the hallway and allowed the door to lock behind him.
With extra foot traffic being rerouted, he figured it would be faster to take the stairs to the second floor. The soft soles of his boots were silent on the steps. Opening the door to the mezzanine level, he entered a scene of pure chaos.
Forensics had set up a wall of blue tarps to block the view of casual observers. A swarm of latex-gloved homicide detectives came and went from the room, carrying on quiet conversations. A detective named Jenkins whom he’d seen at similar crime scenes hailed him.
“Mr. Moana!” Jenkins crooked his finger, motioning for him to approach. “What are the particulars of Poseidon’s Palace pets-on-the-premises policy?”
He couldn’t help himself. “Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.”
“What?” Jenkins appeared confused.
“Never mind.” He walked closer, but Jenkins blocked the doorway of room 214. He had to peer over the crown of the man’s bald head to see the blood fanned across the flat-screen television and ceiling cornice. The dead man lay on the carpet, palms up, legs splayed. He appeared to be floating on his back with an expression of utter shock frozen on his face. His bloodstained tee shirt read Wizards 2 U. The whole scene screamed yuck.
Feeling queasy, he wiped his mouth. “Technically speaking, Poseidon’s Palace doesn’t allow animals in the rooms. We have a kennel to house our four-footed guests. But if our human guests are willing to risk an exorbitant deposit in the event their fur-buddy makes a smellsome deposit in one of our rooms, we turn a blind eye and place them on the mezzanine, near the garden terrace. Why do you ask?”
Jenkins pointed to the pet crate sitting in the middle of the bed. “I’m asking because the victim checked into the hotel with a cat. At least he said he had a cat. No one actually verified his claim or looked inside the crate. My point being, the crate is now empty.”
His heart sank. “Please tell me you don’t expect me to spend my time and effort searching this gigantic hotel for what might be a stray cat?”
Jenkins pulled a large plastic baggie from under his arm and held it up for display. Coiled inside was a delicate lavender pet harness studded with glittering rhinestones. “The creature we are looking for is as wide as a loaf of Italian bread and not strong enough to snap this absurd excuse for a leash. I spotted some long silvery hairs on the floor of the crate. I’m thinking Ragdoll, possibly a Persian.”
Afraid to sneer, he glanced away. “Thanks, Jenkins. Your description is very helpful. After the cat show awards have been distributed, I’m sure the murder will just solve itself.”
Jenkins eyes bulged. “Don’t mention it. I mean that literally—don’t mention it. We need to find that cat. My superiors hate it when I go off on tangents, but what the hell. I’m an animal lover. Gunshots. Bloodshed. That poor cat! I’m worried sick about it.”
“I promise to keep my eyes peeled for a frightened gray cat.”
“Not gray.” Jenkins stared down his nose. “Marbled silver-tone coat.”
“Whatever.” Kai was used to Jenkins’s myopic outlook. The poor man tended to focus on a wrinkle and miss the elephant. “Don’t lose sight of the fact we still have a killer on the loose. The hotel is on partial lockdown. Every guest has to walk past a gauntlet of security cameras and be viewed from every angle. Apparently, we’re hunting for a killer who looks identical to the man lying dead on the floor except the guy we want still has a pulse and is wearing a fur cap.”
Jenkins clucked his tongue with a cool snap of disapproval. “Some days I’m ashamed to say I live in Vegas.”
“I gotta run.” Kai ducked beneath a barricade of yellow tape and headed toward the security headquarters. HQ was located above the main gaming floor. He swiped his ID badge to gain access. The air was frigid to keep the banks of powerful computers calm, cool, and collected. The dim lighting highlighted the multitude of images on the many dozens of surveillance screens. Panels of monitors manned by keen-eyed personnel watched over every aspect of the casino, like hungry eagles seated above a bowl of mice.
Roy opened the door to his office. “Kai! Come in.”
He entered Roy’s minimalist black-and-gunmetal-toned office that featured not a speck of personality. Once inside, the door shut with a heavy thud.
A dour expression clouded Roy’s swarthy face. “I know you’ve worked here for months, but those guys out there staring at the security screens still don’t know about our paranormal house detective division and we want to keep it that way. They need to concentrate on bunco, pickpockets, card counters, identity thieves, counterfeiters, and con artists. You know, the stuff they can actually cope with. Those loyal men and women seated in front of those monitors are completely unprepared to deal with vengeful witches, greedy warlocks, intoxicated demons, and the whole fucking weird spectrum of supernatural sinners that pours through the casino every day. So, until we know what we are dealing with, let’s agree to be discreet and keep this matter between ourselves.”
Kai nodded. “Yes, sir, always.” Sometimes, in a certain light, especially when he squinted one eye shut, Roy looked like a curly-haired pirate straight out of a Robert Louis Stevenson story. “Sir, may I ask a personal question?”
A smirk formed on his face. “You can ask, but be warned, I’m under no obligation to answer.”
“You know what I am.” He paused. “May I ask what you are?”
Roy’s black eyes flashed. “Nope. I’m not telling.” Tense moments passed. His expression softened. “Kai, you do great work. I mean that. You’re one of the best PHDs we’ve ever had on the job, which surprises me because when you were first recommended to us, I had doubts. I was convinced with your looks that you’d be incredibly vain and eager to call attention to yourself. To be honest, I expected trouble. I’m happy to say the only complaints I hear are from frustrated female employees begging me to find out if you’re single. You’re almost too quiet and professional. Let’s be frank, you’re not going to stay here for long and after you leave... My secret stays in Vegas. Got it?”
He nodded. “Got it.”
“This is what I wanted to show you.” Roy tapped a keyboard. “This is the first few minutes of surveillance footage shot from the hallway in front of room 214. Watch.”
A black-and-white image of an empty corridor appeared. The door burst open and a middle-aged man stumbled out, wearing baggy cargo shorts, a dark tee shirt with a huge pentagram on the front, and a coonskin cap with a bushy tail. A wild gleam shone in his eyes.
Kai rubbed his chin. “He looks guilty.”
“Or scared,” Roy said softly. “I’ve already turned this footage over to Homicide. I had to throw them a bone. It clearly shows the face of the likely perp and gives them a place to start.” He raised a finger. “But I haven’t shown them this, and I’m not going to until we figure out what we’re dealing with. Homicide is not equipped to deal with this anyway.” Tapping the keyboard, he played back footage from another surveillance camera situated around the corner from room 214. The time stamp on the bottom of the frame indicated mere seconds had passed. “This is where it gets weird.”
The man rounded the corner, mouth agape and face shiny with sweat. He approached a service elevator and pounded his fist on the Call button. When the elevator did not arrive, he darted into a stairwell.
“Okay. You saw that.” Roy typed another command. A fresh camera angle from inside the stairwell appeared. A flight of stairs that led to sub-basement levels played many seconds of static footage with no one in the frame.
“Nothing’s happening,” Kai grumbled. “Maybe he went up instead of down?”
“Wait.” A few moments later, a fat raccoon descended the stairs. It stood on hind legs like a human and held on to the handrail with one tiny paw. At the bottom of the flight, it waddled to the fire exit and pushed against the metal bar. The door opened and the creature escaped into the laundry section of the hotel.
“Clever little masked bastard.” Kai suppressed an uneasy chill that rippled through him. It creeped him out to see a raccoon walking upright. “Are Siegfried and Roy missing a performer? Maybe this is Criss Angel’s new act? He’s game for anything. Remember when he dressed up like a pregnant woman and waddled down the Strip?”
Roy’s brow shot upward. “I’d laugh except we have a hotel guest on the second floor who’s splattered against the wall.”
“Sorry. I understand we need to stay one step ahead of Homicide, but how do we handle this without obstructing the investigation?”
“First, I want you to inspect the stairwell. I’m pretty sure you’ll find some hastily discarded clothing on the floor. Don’t touch it. Give Homicide a heads-up, and for Christ’s sake don’t mention our furry friend. I want you to investigate what the victim was doing here. One brother was wearing a pentagram on his tee shirt, and we have some sort of wacko occult arts convention scheduled this weekend in Ballroom C. I’m not a big believer in coincidence.”
“Speaking of furry friends. The brothers checked into their room wheeling a pet crate. Jenkins in Homicide found gray hair inside the crate. He assumed it belonged to a cat. Could it have been the raccoon?”
“Maybe.” Roy rubbed his chin. “Who takes a raccoon to Vegas? Wait. Don’t answer that.”
“Whatever was inside the crate—if there ever was anything inside the crate—is not in room 214 now. Is there surveillance footage of an animal leaving the room?”
“No.” Roy hung his head. “I’ve looked several times. The brothers enter their room. The door shuts. The door remains closed until one brother darts away.”
“What about after Homicide arrived and set up shop? The door was wide open when I arrived. With all the fuss and everyone staring at the body, a cat could easily slip under a tarp if no one was looking.”
“I’ll check again, but I didn’t see anything.” The line of Roy’s mouth tensed to a flat line. “There’s something about this case that’s really giving me the heebie-jeebies. I’ve got a real bad feeling. I’m going to do something slightly unethical, but only because it’s an emergency.”
Kai didn’t mention that he’d woken feeling uneasy as well. “What?”
“I’m going to out one of our other undercover paranormal house detectives and ask you both to work together on this case.”
His mouth gaped. This was news. Had he been oblivious to someone watching him? “There’s another PHD in this hotel?”
“Dude, please. Poseidon’s Palace is the size of a small city. You’ve seen the weekend volume of supernatural riff-raff arriving by the vanload. Do you think I’d risk the hotel’s safety and welfare to just one detective?”
“W-well,” Kai stuttered. Roy had delivered a whopper of an insult. If he didn’t put forth a heroic effort in Vegas he might never see his beloved ocean again. “During the AARP convention, I single-handedly tracked down that crooked Djinn who was taking advantage of seniors at the slot machines. Remember Ali-Con? Three wishes in exchange for signing over Social Security checks, my ass. I sent that smarmy bastard straight back to his lamp.”
“You did excellent work.” Roy lifted his palms skyward. “But you’re going to need help on this one.”
“I gotta warn you, Roy, I’m not a team player. I work best alone.” Practically the story of his life.
“Not this time.”
Terrific. Another setback. At this rate, he’d never earn his ticket home. “Who are you partnering me with?”
Roy pointed to a surveillance screen transmitting a live feed from the casino below. With a tap on the keyboard, he zoomed in on the gaming floor and panned the camera toward a crowded roulette table. The croupier was a curvaceous woman dressed in a casino-issued tuxedo-like pantsuit. Her oval face appeared innocent and devoid of glamour. “I’m pairing you with Ms. Torris.”
His jaw dropped. He was familiar with Ms. Torris. There was something about her that drew his attention like a magnet to steel, and now he knew why. She was quiet, professional, and had given him tepid encouragement over the past months. When they passed in the casino, all he received from her in exchange for one of his biggest smiles and pleasant greetings was a slight wave or a nod of acknowledgement. Her indifference had merely fueled the fire.
Secretly, he’d drooled over her on many occasions, but because of his situation he’d never gone the extra mile and asked her out for an after-hours drink, a midnight swim, or a much needed trip to his room for a mattress-wrecking, sheet-shredding thunder-fuck. On countless occasions, he’d imaged her lush hourglass form naked as he stood under a cold shower. “Ms. Torris is a PHD? I had no idea.”
“You wouldn’t. She’s one of our best and most discreet. We keep her on the floor, with her finger on our patrons’ pulses. By the way, she’s the one who sensed Ali-Con’s presence and tipped us off in the first place.”
“What are her paranormal abilities?”
“Can’t you guess? She’s an empath with laser focus. With few exceptions, she can read most people like street signs. Adara has other talents as well, but those are on a need-to-know basis.”
“Holy crap,” Kai groaned. His feelings toward Ms. Torris were politically incorrect. He was in for a world of hurt. “She reads minds?”
A dark thundercloud of a frown dampened Roy’s features. “What’s all the eye rolling for? Don’t tell me, you refuse to work with a female PHD.”
He was so busted. Recalling all the dirty things he imagined doing to Ms. Torris once he had her alone and naked now made his stomach hurt. “That’s not it, sir.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
How the hell could he keep his thoughts PG-13 in front of her? This could be a disaster. There was no way he could afford another fuck-up. “There is no problem,” he lied.
“Good. A man has been murdered under bizarre circumstances. Our patrons’ safety comes first. We need to get to the bottom of whatever is going on.” Roy depressed a small button on the console.
Adara tapped her ear and, for a fleeting second, glanced toward a surveillance bubble embedded in the ceiling.
“Ms. Torris.” Roy leaned toward the speaker. “Please report to HQ, immediately.”
Adara looked up at the bubble and blinked. She waved a male croupier over to the roulette table to replace her then strolled off the casino floor with her silky ponytail swishing against her back.
Kai held his palm to his forehead. “Shit creek, here I come.”