“You may be wrong about that.”
Logan chuckled. “What? You've change your mind about her.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I haven't. She's a good actress.” Logan wasn't sure he believed that 100 percent. “I called to let you know we're talking to a private investigator in the morning. What's new?”
“Ask Quinn,” Roddy laughed. “Seriously, no major leads so far. Waiting for First National and the FBI. I'll call if anything major kicks me in the ass.”
“Make sure you do that. I'll keep Quinn occupied.”
“I bet you will. Make sure she stays out of trouble.”
“Don't worry. I haven't forgotten how to do undercover.”
Thursday, 7:07
P.M.
Water peppered Quinn's shoulders and back and felt wonderful. The double-sized shower had complementary shower heads at either end, perfect for a tired body. The pressure of the past few days sluiced away. She had twelve hours of down time ahead. No investigating, no list making, no thinking about Rebecca Holland.
Ignoring her lousy packing job, she pulled black jeans, a white cotton top, and black walking flats out of her suitcase. She fluffed her hair, applied the usual minimal make-up, and dug out a black sweater.
Logan waited for her in the living room. Dressed in gray slacks and a yellow shirt, he looked every inch the conservative businessman. She wondered if he ever had a bad hair day â he looked that good.
She watched him notice her as she walked into the room.
“You look rested,” he said.
“You have good shower equipment here.” She grinned. “I'm ready to explore.”
“I made a dinner reservation for nine. We have plenty of time to walk.” Logan donned a navy jacket and helped Quinn with her sweater.
They exited the Grand via a walkway over Las Vegas Boulevard. A miniature replica of the Statue of Liberty announced the entrance to the New York-New York Casino. They took the escalator to the street level. The statue's outstretched arm tugged at Quinn's patriotic heart. She hoped it was a good omen for her journey to Nevada. With Logan's hand at her back, they began strolling the Las Vegas Strip.
After twenty minutes of comfortable strolling, they stopped in front of Lake Bellagio, an eight acre man-made pond housing more than a thousand dancing fountains in front of the Bellagio Hotel. The bopping water, along with lights and music, performed a show several times during the day and evening. The spurting water traveled higher in the air as the music reached a crescendo then fountains rose from the lake, changing color as they danced across the lake's surface.
Logan placed his arm over Quinn's shoulder as they watched the show. It felt like they were a couple. For a moment, she allowed her mind to skip in that direction. Not an epiphany, but she did like the idea. But ⦠she was in no position for romance. She had such a lousy track record with men.
A shout of laughter from a nearby group of teenagers interrupted her musings. The music ended. The water and lights faded to their dormant states along with any thoughts of Logan and her being a couple. She would not meander into that particular daydream again.
“Let's go across the street to Caesar's.” Logan took her hand. “We can enter the Forum Shops from the sidewalk.”
They passed by the Bellagio, then crossed Flamingo Road using an overhead walkway. Vehicles belching fumes and booming unrecognizable and overly loud music clogged the intersection.
Once inside the Forum Shops, she spotted a three-story circular escalator. She felt like a six year-old at her first carnival. Ten-foot statues of Greek gods were set in niches along the walls of the lobby and marble covered the floors.
They stepped on the escalator and rode to the second-floor entrance to the shopping area.
Excitement bubbled as Quinn looked from side to side, beautiful store fronts and a blue sky ceiling with clouds and subdued lighting giving the illusion of being on a narrow Roman street. Without a doubt, the Forum Shops were awesome.
They windowed-shopped their way past Gucci, Hermes, and Brooks Brothers, past the Fountain of the Gods to Spago. After they were seated, the waiter appeared with a wine list. Logan studied it before ordering. She didn't recognize the name of the wine he selected, another indication of the huge difference in their lifestyles.
“Since we both like wine, I thought we'd try something different.” He squeezed her hand on the table. “Are you tired? It's been a long day.”
“I'm all right. It's nice to relax.” As the words left her mouth, any lingering stress evaporated. “All I've thought about for the past few days is HCU and the theft. One night off is pure luxury.”
“Glad to hear that. After dinner, we can go back to the Bellagio and gamble.”
She'd never gambled outside of Louisiana and family poker games. It would be fun to try something new.
The waiter arrived with the wine, i.e. champagne; the label read Cristal. Dinner with Logan Rice was not the typical dining experience; he seemed so sophisticated. Still, she found him attractive. His mother was no doubt one proud mama.
“Is champagne another Rice family tradition?” Quinn figured they had a tradition for every event.
He laughed. “No. This night needs a touch of the bubbly.” He once again touched his glass to hers. “To a peaceful evening with a lovely lady.”
“Thank you. You're not half bad yourself,” she murmured. She opened the menu to side-step the conversation from going in a direction she had no business going in.
They ordered their entrees, then discussed the weather.
Logan placed a forearm on the table and leaned toward Quinn. “Forget the weather. I'd rather focus on you.”
“That's a mistake. Like I told Roddy, I'm too smart for my own good. Don't do well outside of the twins and my job.” She sipped the champagne, raised an index finger, “Nana and Ruthie, too. That's me, simple girl, small world.”
“You know what? You don't see yourself as others see you. You're far from simple.”
Quinn was strangely flattered by his interest yet relieved when they moved to less personal subjects â the upcoming Astros baseball season, the stock market, and their favorite dessert. From the beef tenderloin to the raspberry soufflé, they chatted.
After a cup of coffee, they departed back across Flamingo Road for the Bellagio. The western night was beautiful although the lights along the Strip masked the stars. Even though she couldn't see them, Quinn knew they were winking at Logan and her as they strolled. The sidewalk was crowded with gamblers and party-goers.
“Let's go through Via Bellagio on our way to the casino,” Logan suggested. “You'll find great stores.”
Strolling past Gucci, Prada, and Hermes, they gazed at shoes, handbags, and exquisite clothing in the window displays. Logan must be accustomed to shopping in such expensive stores, but for Quinn, the stores provided window shopping only.
While Logan checked out sunglasses in the window of Dior, Quinn wandered over to Tiffany's. A silver picture frame or baby spoon for her first grandchild would be a nice surprise for Liz. None were displayed in the window, so she walked into the store.
Standing by the window display, she happened to glance at the wide thoroughfare of strolling shoppers and gamblers on a break. My god, Scooter was out there. She leaned over the glass shelf for a better view. He moved toward the Strip end of the walkway. She scurried out the store and shouted his name. He stopped fifteen feet in front of her, turned, looked her square in the eyes, and took off sprinting toward the street.
“I just saw Scooter. Come on.” She shouted to Logan, several feet away from her.
She ran in the same direction as Scooter and threaded her way through shoppers laden with bags, attempting to keep Scooter in her sights. He darted through the crowd, increasing the distance from her. Too quickly, he boarded the down escalator and reached the sidewalk, rushing to the right.
Quinn struggled to keep him in sight on the escalator. Once reaching the street, she took a step and ran smack into a bear-sized man carrying a large plastic cup. The cup shot in the air and rained liquid and ice cubes over the bear. He roared. She apologized and darted around him. Near the driveway to the Bellagio's hotel entrance, she stopped, praying for a glimpse of her boss. Her head whipped from side to side as she searched. No Scooter.
She dashed a few more steps and zeroed in on the crowds, hoping to catch a view of him. She stopped again, bending over to catch her breath, and noticed a row of four or five taxis lined up on the street and waiting their turn to speed up to the hotel's entrance to catch a fare. She raised up and noticed a man open the door to a taxi in the middle of the line. It was Scooter. She sprinted towards the taxi line and shouted his name. The vehicle lurched out of the line, turned, and darted into the traffic flow on Las Vegas Boulevard. He was gone.
Quinn stamped her foot like a three year old who didn't want to take an afternoon nap. She couldn't believe her eyes â Scooter ran away from her, on the Las Vegas Strip, at night. Why would he act like that? Why did he lie to Ellie about the hotel reservation? Damn him. He had just complicated her life by a thousand percent.
She bit her lower lip. What would she say to Dr. Arnold?
She turned a full circle on the sidewalk, attempting to get her bearings. Tourists streamed past her as Logan appeared.
“What are you doing? I couldn't hear what you said before you ran off.”
“I saw Scooter outside Tiffany's.” She pulled air in her lungs for a calming breath. “I called his name.” She placed a hand on Logan's arm. “He recognized me then he took off running. I followed him out here. He wanted to get away from me.”
“Are you okay?”
“I'm fine other than being royally pissed.”
Logan's arms surrounded her and provided a much-needed hug. He held her, his hand stroking up and down on her back. She hated to admit it, but the contact calmed her anger.
“Let's forget this for now. Do you want to go back to the Grand or put twenty bucks in a Bellagio slot machine?” He grinned. “You might get lucky.”
Probably not. She couldn't wrap her head around Scooter running away from her. Why? He wasn't a thief â too damned conservative for that.
Quinn yawned. “I'm tired.”
Logan understood and flagged a taxi to take them back to the Grand. Sleep was number one on Quinn's mind. Once back in the suite, she kissed Logan on the cheek and headed for her bedroom. At the door, she looked back at him.
“Thank you for dinner. I appreciate everything you've done today.”
“My pleasure. Sleep tight, Quinn. Tomorrow will be busy.”
Absolutely. Especially busy if she might have the opportunity to circle her hands around Scooter's neck.
Friday, 6:54
A.M.
The next morning Quinn woke early and decided to take a run on the Strip. She headed north toward the Paris Casino. As she ran, she vowed to remain the cool and collected university controller. No one, least of all Logan, needed to know the toll the last week had had on her. Sure, she was tough but the scene last night with Scooter was surreal and just plain weird. She had no clue why he ran away from her. This was not the boss she knew.
Quinn retraced her route back to the Grand. Within minutes, she pushed a key card into the suite's security slot and found Logan on the sofa, reading a newspaper.
“Good morning. Any chance we have coffee?” she asked.
“Good morning,” he said, turning a page. “Coffee's on the bar. Breakfast will be here any minute.”
Quinn poured a mug, headed for the shower. “Back in twenty minutes.”
She zipped through showering and dressing then appeared in the living room as a waiter rolled in a service cart.
“Your feast has arrived.” Logan patted one of the bar stools. “More coffee?”
“Yes, please. I'm close to talking mode.”
She lathered a waffle with butter and poured a healthy dose of syrup. After a couple of bites, her brain was firing and up to speed.
“Breakfast is great,” she said. “What time are we meeting Mr. McKenzie?”
“Ten o'clock, in the lobby.” Logan poured orange juice. “Did you bring a picture of Rebecca?”
She nodded. “It's in the campus directory. She takes a nice picture by the way.”
“Good. That'll make an easier identification. Have you thought about what you'll tell Mr. McKenzie?”
“No, I'll wing it.” She'd discovered her Las Vegas operating method.
They finished the meal in silence. She was tired of thinking and tired of talking about Rebecca and the theft. And that was all she had scheduled for her immediate future, until they found Rebecca, which hopefully, would be soon.
She grabbed her mug and stood at the window overlooking The Strip. “I wonder if Rebecca is one of the people down there.”
Logan joined her. He took the mug out of her hand, placed it on the windowsill.
“I didn't properly tell you good morning.” He wrapped his arms around her while his lips kissed her neck, then captured her coffee-breath mouth. Her heart refused to beat while his arms encased her. She pulled back. He was too close, the setting too intimate.
“Good morning, again,” she said lightly, her heart stroking back to rhythm. “I'll get my purse and then we can meet Mr. McKenzie.” She stepped back from him, smiled, and hurried to the bedroom.
She sucked in air, attempting to calm down. Accepting a good morning kiss from Logan bordered on stupid. He was too tempting and this was not the right time to think about a relationship, not that she would ever consider a relationship with him. His kissing her did not mean he was interested in a relationship. So why was she even thinking about Logan and kissing?
She slid on lip gloss and gathered her purse, anxious to begin her first interview with a PI. Hopefully, they would forge a working relationship and quick. Rebecca could have already left Las Vegas. Quinn pulled her cell phone off the charger and stuffed it in her purse.