Dark Hope (27 page)

She’d begun brushing, drowning out my protest with the blast of the hair dryer. I steeled myself for the inevitable as she began sweeping my hair away from my neck.

“Beautiful!” she’d squealed. She’d trailed her fingers on my bare skin and I’d flinched. “We’ll have to put your hair up.”

Of course we will, I’d thought as I sat numbly, pretending none of it was happening to me.

As she’d left, she’d told me Mr. Carmichael was waiting for me in the lobby.

If only it really was my dad, here to bring me safely home.

I’d managed not to look at myself too closely while Margaret had fixed me up, but I couldn’t avoid the mirrors in the elevator. The fractured glimpses I caught of myself in the glass showed my hair piled high and makeup way too old for my years. My hand snaked up, nervously fingering my hair, but I stopped myself from pulling it back down to cover myself.

“We have to draw attention,” I reminded myself. “For Dad.” I dropped my hand and forced myself to look back into the mirror. A gold necklace splayed heavily across my collarbones. My dress was one-shouldered, with an asymmetric cut that left nothing to the imagination. I wore the hotel slippers and clutched platform sandals in my hand, not trusting myself not to trip, and I tugged at the short skirt, trying to force it to reach my knees.

I look like a little girl playing dress-up
, I thought nervously.
Will I pass muster?

No, you look like a tart
, Henri added, seeming to enjoy my misery.
Which is probably the look he is going for. Just remember, there is a point to this. You have to stay on Michael’s good side
.

As if I could ever forget.

I turned slightly, staring at the reflection of my Mark in the mirror. My hand drifted up, touching it as much as from habit as from self-consciousness. No point in trying to hide it now, I thought to myself. Dropping my hand, I squared my shoulders and stepped out of the elevator car, walking the short distance to the lobby with a sinking feeling in my stomach. As I saw Michael standing there, waiting for me in the guise of my father, I felt my eyes widen with surprise. He’d been magically transformed into something approaching elegant by the sharp cut and fine fabric of his suit. He didn’t look at all like the father I’d grown up with.

Michael ran his eyes over me. I waited for a sign of approval, but all I got was a frown when he saw my slippers.

“You can change those in the car,” he said in a cold, clipped voice as he stepped toward me and put a hand on my elbow to steer me out of the lobby. My skin sang at his touch, the familiar warmth spreading out slowly from the point where he made contact.

Embarrassment stained my cheeks and I felt the sting of tears behind my eyes as I struggled with his rejection.
Don’t be stupid
, I said to myself.
This is just part of a game. It isn’t for real
.

A Mercedes sat out front, waiting for us. The valet winked slyly at Michael before opening the door for me.

“Get in,” Michael ordered. I tossed my shoes into the bottom of the car and maneuvered myself into the low seat, clinging desperately to the trailing fabric of my skirt to cover my legs.

I had never felt so exposed. My deepest secret—my Mark—was there on display for the whole world to see. As was my body. And the person I’d trusted most in the world, though he was sitting next to me in the front seat of a car—just like we’d been, countless times together—was more distant than ever and responsible for it all.

You asked to go into the lion’s den. You wanted to take the search for Maria to the traffickers. This is the price you pay. Happy?

No, I am not happy
, I answered Henri in my head.
I’m scared
.

We pulled away from the curb and sat in awkward silence for several minutes before Michael reached into his jacket pocket and tossed my cell phone into my lap.

“Tabitha’s been calling you,” he said, never taking his eyes from the road. “She’s just as bossy as ever, but this time she has an excuse, as we’ve left her holding the bag for our class report.”

I stared at the string of missed calls from the girl who’d become—now that Michael had done what he’d done—the closest thing I had to a best friend. Her digits repeated over and over on the screen.

“I’ve already called the school to excuse your absence, and your neighbor, Mrs. Bibeau,” he said. “With your custody arrangements still preventing your father from contacting you and your mom on that business trip to the UK, we should have enough time to get done what we need to while we are here. Tabitha is the only one we need to deal with now, especially since she’s the only one who might find it suspicious that we both are missing. Why don’t you e-mail her our share of the report and let her know you’re okay?”

Tabitha was my friend, and not one of Michael’s favorite people. He found her pushy and nosy, and she was smart, to boot—all the more reason for him to be concerned about her suspicions now. I looked at him, confused. “You’re actually going to let me communicate with her?”

His hands gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “I’m not a monster, Hope. And it makes sense. I need to keep her off the scent, especially since I know she’ll be going crazy over the team project we skipped out on. Besides, my ability to impersonate you and get the right tone of ‘girl talk’ in an e-mail is much less than my ability to impersonate your mother excusing your absence to a harried school administrator. So, yes, I need you to e-mail her. Just keep it short. Your computer is in the back. I rigged it to use
this disposable cell phone as a hotspot, so you’ll be able to send a message.”

I pulled the laptop out from the backseat and logged in, staring at the screen. What would keep Tabby from worrying too much and nosing into what was going on? My fingers poised over the keys, I began to type.

“Read it,” Michael ordered in a clipped tone as soon as I stopped, so I did.

“Sorry Tabby—family emergency called me out of town. I will fill you in when I come back. Michael and I finished our parts; here they are. Thanks for pulling it all together for us. Owe you a Wright’s cupcake?”

“That’s good,” Michael nodded. “That cupcake part, I wouldn’t have thought of that. Add that your phone coverage isn’t great, so she shouldn’t worry if you don’t pick up when she calls. Then you can hit send.”

Irritated, I dutifully sent off the message, put my laptop in sleep mode, and leaned back in my seat.

“What are we doing that makes it necessary for me to get into this getup?” I demanded.

“I tracked the Mexican traffickers to a Chinese syndicate that is operating out of the city. Rumor has it that the leader is in town. The Chinese like to gamble in a big way and favor the casinos on the Strip that cater to them, so we have to work our way into an introduction at some place like Caesars Palace or Wynn. That means posing as a high roller and a likely trafficker to boot. This whole thing would have been much easier if I had a watchdog for you, but since Henri abandoned you, I have to keep you with me, where I can know you’re safe.”

He stole a glance at me.

“If I have to introduce you, I will introduce you as my niece. But
by the way you’re dressed, people will assume you’re my girlfriend. Or, if they fall for the trap, one of my trafficked girls. I may have to treat you badly to make them buy our cover. Whatever you do, don’t try anything, and don’t talk. Just follow my lead and you’ll be safe.”

I gulped hard, not really knowing what any of this meant. “What are you trying to accomplish by attracting their attention?” I asked.

He smiled a reckless grin—a reminder that this was indeed Michael, and not some spiffed-up version of my father—as he turned the corner onto the Strip. “We want to meet the boss. To get invited to one of their private games. And,” he added as he maneuvered through the throng of tourists toward the entrance to Wynn, “we want to get picked up on every security camera this place has running so your father has an alibi.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How does getting on camera help my dad?”

“It was convenient for me to pose as your father as we traveled. And easier for you, I would guess. But now that we’re here, we have to make sure someone sees us. When your mother realizes you are missing, the first person she will suspect is your dad. We have to make sure we place you here in a way that proves beyond a doubt it couldn’t be your dad, even if I look like him. Otherwise, she and the police will spend a lot of time barking up the wrong tree, trying to pin it on him.”

I looked out the window so he couldn’t see my confusion. I was grateful that he was thinking ahead as to what would happen to my father, but his concern seemed so at odds with the situation. Not to mention that he made it sound like I was going to be gone for a long time. I didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though, as the casino loomed into view, demanding my attention.

I gaped at the curve of the building, glowing in the setting sun,
as we approached it. The crowds seemed to part for us as Michael eased under the porte cochere and smoothly shifted into park. He glanced over at me.

“Are you ready?”

I swallowed my questions and slid my feet into the sandals, nodding once. Suddenly my mouth felt dry, like it was filled with sawdust, and I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“Just follow my lead,” he whispered as the valet swung open our doors and helped us out of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the valet do a quick sweep of Michael. His expert eye took in the fine fabric and cut of Michael’s suit, then widened slightly when he came to the shoes. He stood up a little straighter before addressing Michael.

“Welcome to Wynn, sir.”

Michael nodded, the corner of his mouth lifting in mild amusement at the extra dose of respect his getup apparently earned him.

“Miss, welcome to Wynn.” The valet was now speaking directly to me. “Is this your first time joining us?”

I darted a glance at Michael, unsure what to say. He inclined his head slightly.

“Yes, it is,” I said.

“You’ll find it is like no other property. Will you be staying at the hotel? Can we get your luggage from the back?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Michael cut in. “Keep the car close by, will you?” He casually slipped a hundred dollar bill into the valet’s hand. The valet didn’t even bother to look at it before tucking it into his pocket.

“Certainly, sir. It would be my pleasure. My colleague, Rhona, will assist you inside. Rhona, please take good care of Mr.—?”

He left the question hanging in the air.

“Carmichael,” Michael answered tersely.

“Yes, of course. Mr. Carmichael and his guest. Have a good afternoon, sir. Miss.”

“This way, miss,” said the smartly dressed uniformed employee I took to be Rhona, trying to usher me through the arched entry. I hung back, trying to glimpse the huge chandeliers and graceful flowers painted on the canopy ceiling.

Michael placed his hand on the small of my back, pressing me forward. The warmth of his touch on my bare skin startled me.

“Let’s go,” he murmured, pushing me ahead.

I took advantage of the moment to whisper to him, “Why do they keep calling it ‘Wynn’? Instead of
‘the
Wynn’? It sounds funny.”

He smirked as he leaned close to my ear. “It’s what they call ‘the brand.’ The owner is very fussy about it, since it’s his name. Watch—they try to work it into their conversation as often as they can. I bet you’ll never hear them slip up.”

Inside, the lobby unfolded into a long, polished corridor that seemed to wind through a small jungle. Balls of flowers swayed among the leafy trees, lending an element of fantasy to the brightly lit atmosphere. The trees formed a canopy that twinkled with white lights, leading us toward the registration desk.

“Checking in to Wynn, sir?” Rhona interrupted our thoughts with just the right mix of apology and authority, hovering at the fork in the path before us.

Michael winked at me, noting her use of the casino’s name, before answering. “We don’t need to register. Just the high-limit cage.”

“Of course, sir. This way,” Rhona said, turning us to the left. We wound through the casino, the usher peppering us with questions—where were we staying? What would we like to play? Were there other experiences we’d like to have while in Las Vegas?—and then discreetly depositing us with the cashier.

“Yes, Mario. Mr. Carmichael and his guest will be playing with us at Wynn today.”

“Not her, just me,” Michael cut in. “Mario, I’d like to speak with an executive host and get a marker for three million dollars.”

I could feel my eyes popping out of my head, but the man behind the counter did not blink.

“Of course, sir. If you’d like to have a seat, I will have Arnaud here in a moment.”

We sat down in the small lounge area, waving off the waitress who offered us drinks.

“Are you crazy?” I said, straining to keep my voice low. “We don’t have money like that to spend!”

“Of course we do,” Michael grinned back at me, seeming like some crazy version of my dad.

“Everything we will need will be there. Trust me.” He patted my hand. “Just don’t give us away.”

I clamped my mouth shut in frustration and pulled my hand away, dreading what would happen when Arnaud realized we were frauds.

“Mr. Carmichael?” An elegant man reached his hand out as he approached us. Michael stood and grasped his hand. “So nice to meet you. I hear you and your—”

“My niece.”

“Yes, your niece, would like to play with us today?”

Michael nodded his head in assent.

“Very well. You haven’t played with us at Wynn before, I take it?”

“No.”

“Do you have your credit application, or shall I print one for you now?”

Michael pulled a paper from his jacket pocket. I tried to get a glimpse of it, but all I saw were rows of numbers.

“Very good, your account and routing numbers are all in order. This will only take a moment to verify. If you’d like, you could do some shopping on the promenade, and I’ll send someone to fetch you?”

“No, we are happy to wait.”