Green Eyes in Las Vegas (17 page)

Once out of the airport, we
got into the back of another Town Car. This time, the chauffeur was a slim, blond man who introduced himself as Lars. We drove through streets bisected by tram lines, and crossed tiny, picturesque canals. Numerous cyclists rode past us, and half the buildings had signs in Dutch, words that I couldn’t understand.

“How’d you like Amsterdam?” Jack asked.

I pushed a button to slide up the privacy partition between us and the chauffeur, and turned to Jack.

“This isn’t funny,” I said, trying to sound calm and collected, despite my anger. “I thought we were maybe going to Mexico. I don’t want to be in Amsterdam! You can’t just fly someone here without any warning! It’s not normal!”

Jack’s green eyes glinted. “I’m not normal.”

A sliver of fear shot through my heart. “You’re not going to kill me and leave me
here are you? Or sell me into white slavery?”

I was too angry to be really scared, and Jack laughed. “Don’t be silly. I thought you’d like it, you said you wanted to see
some Van Goghs.”

“Yeah, somewhere near Vegas. Not half-way across the world.” And then I realized. “You thought this would be a great bribe.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I thought this would be a great date.”

I stared at him. “You want to date me?”

“Of course I do.”

I was surprised and flattered for only a split second, and then my anger returned with a vengeance and I crossed my arms against my chest. “This isn’t a date. You can’t just drag someone somewhere and call it a date. And I don’t want to date you.”

Jack raised one eyebrow. “You don’t?”

The rational part of me was silently screaming to shut up. But I didn’t.

“I don’t,” I told him. “I think you’re behind the Van Gogh theft and I don’t want to date a criminal.”

“I’m not a criminal. My lawyers will tell you that.”

I glared at him, about to tell him just what I thought of him and his lawyers, when my phone rang. It was Stone.

“What?” I said, sounding more annoyed than I meant to.

“Do you know you’re in Amsterdam?”

He sounded surprised and I scowled. “Yes, of course I know! How do you know?”

“Remember how, during the Ethan Becker murder investigation, I installed tracking software on your phone? I said I’d taken it off, but I didn’t.”

I inhaled sharply. “I
cannot
believe you! That is
such
an invasion of privacy!”

“It saved your life
, once.”

“I don’t care! I mean, I do, but you need to stop tracking me! I can take care of myself! And I have a new bodyguard now, Ian.”

Stone was silent for a few seconds and then he said, “Fine. I hope Ian’s experienced?”

“Of course he is,” I fibbed. “Why don’t you leave me to deal with my life?”

I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Stone’s been a good friend to me, and he’s looked out for me more than I deserved. He’d just called at the wrong time.

“Ok,” Stone said. “Have a good time in Amsterdam. Call me if you need anything.”

He hung up, and I looked at the phone sadly, wishing I hadn’t yelled at Stone.

Beside me, Jack was silent for a few minutes, and then he said, “Who was that?”

“Just a friend.”

I didn’t feel like explaining, and Jack
didn’t press it.

The phone rang again, and I looked down
. It wasn’t a number I knew, so I decided to save some money on roaming fees and not answer it.

“How long are we staying here?” I asked Jack. “I didn’t pack anything.”

“I thought we’d go through the museum and leave, in which case we’ll be back in Vegas tonight. Unless you want to stay longer, of course.”

I shook my head. Leaving Vegas and flying to Amsterdam was crazy. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the whole thing yet, but I knew I didn’t want to stay overnight.

We pulled up in front of a large building whose side was covered with blown up replicas of Van Gogh’s most famous works, and as we stepped out of the car, I reminded Jack, “This isn’t a date.”

“I understand that,” he said, and I followed him as we bypassed the line, showed the guard our passports, and stepped inside.

“There’s no-one else here,” I said, looking around.

Jack grinned. “I booked out the whole place for us.”

I tried not to feel overwhelmed. This would’ve been a great date if it
was
a date.

“This isn’t a date,” I said, more for my own benefit than Jack’s.

He smiled and we looked over at a smartly dressed brunette walking toward us.

“I a
m Carina,” she told us, with a slightly Eastern European accent, “I will guide you through the museum today.” She turned to Jack and said, “Thank you for your generous support of the foundation.”

Jack replied gracefully, while I thought to myself,
What foundation?
The things I didn’t know about Jack Weber seemed to be endless.

I felt slightly exhausted as the plane took off and I was pushed back against my seat.

The last three hours had been one long walk through the museum, listening to
Carina discuss interesting facts about the artist’s life and his style of art, coupled with the overwhelming sensation of seeing so many gorgeous paintings all at once.

“That was fun,” I told Jack weakly, unable to get over my sheer disbelief of what we’d just done.

“Thanks. Maybe we’ll do it again sometime? Another day, another trip?”

I looked into his eyes and an involuntary shiver ran through my body. The man was mind-blowing
ly handsome, wealthier than anyone I’d met, and he wanted to spend that wealth doing fun things with me. His dark green eyes stared into mine with a mixture of confidence and hope. More than anything else, I wanted to say “yes” to his offer.

But I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure you’re a criminal,” I said, as much to myself as to him, and he leaned back in his seat with a smile.

The plane had finished its ascent, and was now cruising steadily. Jack said, “Isn’t being a private investigator all about being open to different explanations of what might’ve happened?”

“It is, but right now, all explanations point toward you.”

Jack shook his head. “How’d you become a PI, anyway?”

I smiled. “How’d you become such a successful businessman?”

“I asked you first.”

“What is this, first grade?”

“You started it.”

“Did not.”

We smiled at each other, and Jack began to tell me about his work. He’d gotten into the casino business by accident – he’d started out as a valet, managing his own investments on the side. But over time, his investments did better, his company grew, and he wound up buying large shares in casinos.

I was surprised that he hadn’t been born into money. His parents had been immigrants from Germany, and he’d gone to public schools all his life.

“It’s your turn now,” he said, after a while. I didn’t have any excuse for being secretive – or any reason, really, so I told him about being a casino dealer who was trying to get more meaningful work as an investigator.

He listened thoughtfully for a while, and then
he said, “You know, I’ve got a pile of books, up front. There’s an autobiography of a woman who used to be a PI, you might find it interesting.”

I headed toward the shelf he was indicating, and pawed through the piled-up books.

“Why do you have these here?” I asked, holding up two Harlequin romances. I smiled to myself as I imagined Jack reading them. There were at least six more in the pile.

Jack smiled back, and I was struck once again by how charming his smile was. “Sometimes I have female friends riding on the plane with me. Those are for them.”

“Oh.” I turned around so he couldn’t see my expression, and put the books down quickly. Once I found the PI’s autobiography, I headed back to my seat, and pretended to read it, while thinking about all those Harlequin-reading “female friends” that rode on Jack’s plane with him.

“I’ll grab my stuff and head home,” I said to Jack as I stepped out in front of The Tremonte. It was just past two in the morning, and Vegas casino-life was in full swing. Tourists wearing shorts and brightly printed shirts walked in and out of the casinos along the Strip, gawking at the lights and, depending on how their run at the games had been, either grinning maniacally or looking like their dog had died.

Jack gave me a skeptical look. “The room’s already paid for. You might as well stay and enjoy the breakfast buffet tomorrow.”

We stepped inside and the air conditioning hit us, reminding me of the temperature in Amsterdam. Ever since he’d told me about his Harlequin-reading “women friends,” I’d been eager to get away from Jack, but he did have a point. And the siren song of the breakfast buffet was irresistible.

I stifled my sigh. “You’re right.”

As we headed past the lobby, Sam Rampell, the director of Casino Kings, stepped out of the casino with a scowl on his face. The moment he saw us, the scowl disappeared, replaced by a glimmer of surprise when he saw me with Jack. And then the surprise was replaced with a suave, polite friendliness.

“Jack,” he said, coming over to us. “You’re just the man I needed to see. We need to talk about the talent.”

Sam nodded at me politely, and the two men began discussing production costs, actors and the cost to the casino. I tuned out for a few moments, wondering if I should just excuse myself and head to my room. I couldn’t stay on at The Tremonte indefinitely, but I still hadn’t figured out what to do about Mr. Beard. Maybe I could ask Ian to come over to my place and sleep on the couch…

The conversation seemed to be winding down, and then Sam said, “Jack, would you mind if I had a word with Tiffany in private?”

“No, of course not. I was about to head upstairs and get back to work.” He looked at me inquisitively. “If that’s ok with you?”

“Of course.” I looked at him awkwardly. “Thanks for a lovely time
, today.”

One corner of Jack’s mouth went up and his eyes looked into mine. “It
was
nice,” he said. “Thank you.”

He turned and walked away, and I watched him for a few seconds. Next to me, Sam asked, “Did you two just come back from dinner?”

“No. Museum visit.”

The goodbye would’ve been a lot more awkward if Sam hadn’t been there. Maybe Jack would’ve kissed me. Of course, I’d told him it wasn’t a date. My mind began to wander and I imagined how it would be to kiss him.

“So…” Sam was saying slowly. “You two are a thing now.”

I snapped back to reality. “No, we’re not. We’re just friends. Not even friends really.” I shook my head. “I’m just investigating him for something.”

Sam was watching me closely. “Crystal’s murder?”

“No, something else.”

Sam raised one eyebrow. “He’s involved in another crime? He’s financing a lot of this movie, should I be concerned?”

I shook my head again. “No.” I was feeling strangely defensive of Jack, but I couldn’t think of a good explanation. “It’s just… this random thing. Nothing important.”

“Right.” Sam nodded. “And how’s the investigation into Crystal’s death going?”

I made a “so-so” face.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll find something.”

He smiled at me politely, and suddenly I
felt a flash of annoyance. Sam must’ve thought I was a clueless Vegas dealer with no investigative skills whatsoever, and you know what? He might’ve been right. Still, I didn’t want him to believe that I hadn’t gotten anywhere with the investigation yet, so I fibbed, “I’ve got a good lead. There was a guy who was constantly hitting on Crystal – her friends think this guy had something to do with her death.”

“Oh.” He looked at me thoughtfully and ran a hand through his hair. “I had no idea – I mean. I know who it was, I just didn’t think he was – didn’t think he had…”

He looked at me seriously and his voice trailed off.

“Who was the guy?” I asked.

Sam leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Crystal told me it was Jack.”

Time seemed to slow down. I could see Sam’s dark, serious eyes, and the lights of the casino pit behind him. There was a jangling noise like coins pouring into a pot, and then the sharp sirens of a jackpot win. Around us, people were walking up and down, chatting with each other.

I said weakly, “She told you it was Jack?”

He nodded. “I didn’t tell you earlier
because I thought someone else would mention it before me. Jack’s women are his business, and I really need his funding.”

I nodded, as though what he
’d just said made sense, but I was only half present. The rest of me was wondering what the hell Jack had been doing with Crystal. It was bad enough that he had women friends who rode on his private jet with him so frequently that he kept books for them. Maybe Crystal read Harlequin romances. She seemed the type.

I gave myself a tiny shake – I was jealous of dead woman. And maybe Sam was wrong about the two of them being together. Yes, that made sense. The man had thought Jack and I were together, when clearly we weren’t. So he must be wrong about Crystal.

“Did you ever see them together?” I asked. “Jack told me he never came on set.”

“No, he didn’t,” Sam said thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I never saw them together inside the casino, but I think I saw them having dinner once
, some place downtown. And the day before Crystal died, they were standing outside on the Strip, arguing about something.”

My stomach clenched sharply. Jack had told me he didn’t know Crystal, and like a fool, I’d believed him. “Did you hear what they were arguing about?”

“No, I was too far away. I don’t think they saw me.”

I nodded. “Well, thanks for telling me this.”

“Of course. I hope you’ll keep it confidential?”

I forced myself to smile. “I’d be a terrible PI if I didn’t.”

I’d already been a terrible PI. I’d trusted Jack; I’d come close to believing that he had nothing to do with the theft. I felt sick thinking that I’d gone to Amsterdam with him – maybe if I’d kicked up a bigger fuss, if I’d told him that the Ferrari number-plate trace linked him to the scene, he would’ve killed me and dumped my body in one of those picturesque canals.

Just like he’d killed Crystal and dumped her body in one of the streets of North Vegas.