“Gambling and money laundering, common bedfellows. Does this offshore gaming site have a name?”
“Yeah, it was that site run by Kevin Slurry—Aces Over Eights.”
“How come the feds haven’t shut it down as they have so many others?”
“If you want to catch a rat, it’s better to bait a trap.”
“A sting?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice. “In my limited experience dead bodies tend to make government-types all twitchy. And, as far as I know, Aces Over Eights is still up and running.”
“With Sylvie…” He trailed off. After a moment, he found his voice. “I’m out of the loop, let’s leave it at that.”
“Okay, let’s assume what you say is true, which, given your proclivities, is a huge leap. Let’s say Kevin Slurry is guilty as sin. Who is he cleaning all this money for?”
“Don’t know.” Dane rubbed the stubble on his chin making a sandpaper–on-wood sound. “Sylvie caught their scent in Iraq, but just when she thought she had them, they vanished. I can only assume that she caught the whiff of their scent and it led her here.”
“And the guy you sent up? I understand Leavenworth isn’t a garden spot. Bet he was pissed, but he didn’t roll, did he?”
Dane’s eyes widened. “You’re good.”
“I’d rather be lucky than good,” I said, trotting out one of Miss P’s platitudes—one I hated. Middle school kids could be vicious—apparently I still had the scars to prove it. “And, since I can’t trust you, luck is something I’m gonna need in spades. That and a couple of Guardian Angels willing to work overtime.” I squeezed the pillows close to me. Why did a friend’s betrayal cut so deeply? “Your Leavenworth friend? Got any insight?”
“You’re right; he didn’t roll. We offered him the moon, but he wouldn’t give his contact up. The guy was scared stupid.”
“And the Gaming Commission, you didn’t quit, did you?”
The change in topic caught him by surprise. “No, I was put on indefinite leave pending an investigation.” He paused, taking a deep breath. When he started again, his voice was stronger, fueled with emotion. “There were some papers, some records. It looked like I was part of the scheme—the black market stuff and the laundering. Sylvie found them.”
“You? One of the black hats? I’m shocked.” Using sarcasm as a weapon was sorta like arguing the Constitution in court. If that was the best you had, you’d better run for cover. Curiously impervious to the warning, I tried not to think about it. “Now this is the part where you tell me it was all a setup, a misunderstanding.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.” He shrugged as his eyes flicked to mine, looking for confirmation, if I could hazard a guess.
“You have yourself to blame for that.”
“I’ve made some mistakes.”
“That’s the first thing honest thing you said.” I massaged my ankle as I watched the emotions parade across his face. What was I supposed to do? Oh, I knew what I was
supposed
to do, but, really, I wanted answers almost as badly as he did. Would throwing him to the Metro wolves help? Doubtful. Yes, I’m the queen of justification. “What exactly was Sylvie doing here? Trying to pull your nuts out of the fire?”
“Hell, no. She was obsessed with bringing down the whole house of cards. Those guys were…well, money laundering was the least of their…businesses.” He spat the word out like it was laced with poison. “She didn’t give a rat’s ass about me. I was collateral damage.”
“I see,” I said although this whole thing was about as clear as the air downwind of a forest fire. “And the shoe, the mate to the one buried in your wife’s neck, did the bad guys plant that in your truck, too?”
“No, Sylvie left it there. She only took the one. It was broken—something with the heel, I think she said. I don’t know. She said the guy who shines shoes for the guests said he could fix it for her.” Dane leaned on his elbows, his hands clasped in front. His knuckles were white.
So, the killer had pawed through her purse and the shoe was handy? If so, what was he looking for? Or maybe Sylvie had pulled out the shoe, the only weapon she had? So many ways the whole thing could’ve gone down. “So you guys were still together?”
“She’d call when she needed something.”
Sounded familiar. “And those scratches on your cheek? Did Sylvie give you those?”
Dane shot me a glance out of the corner of his eye. I tried to keep my face blank, my expression impassive. He started to nod then he slowly shook his head. “No.” He chewed on his lip for a moment. If he tried to hide his conflicting emotions, he wasn’t very good at it. Finally he said, “There was this girl.”
With Dane, there was always a girl. I so hoped it was our girl—the one with Sylvie’s shoes. Then, at least we’d know who we were looking for, sort of. “Where?”
“Coming out of the showroom as I went in.”
“A witness?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
So he had seen the girl.
And she had seen him.
A fact that could cut either way.
“I don’t know, but she fought like a hellcat.” Absentmindedly he traced the marks on his cheek.
“What’d she look like?”
“You mean besides terrified?”
When my eyes went all slitty, Dane settled back to the truth, or at least his version of it. “Dark hair, Hispanic, medium build, big brown eyes, dressed as a cocktail waitress, but didn’t smell like one.”
Our girl. The girl in Sylvie’s red shoes.
I rooted in my pocket until I found the picture Jerry gave me. I unfolded it then thrust it at Dane. “Is this her?”
He half stood in order to reach across the gap between us, then settled back in the chair, the photo in his hand. I waited while he studied it.
“Yeah.” Hope flashed in his eyes. “You have her?”
I shook my head. “She may have been dressed as an employee, but she doesn’t work at the Babylon.”
“Can you find her?” At my outstretched hand, Dane rose and returned the photo.
His reluctance to give it back was easy to see. I’m sure he wanted to flash it around, see if he could get a line of her. Maybe she was the killer. Maybe she could finger the killer. Maybe she could finger Dane. The thought made my blood run cold. Either way, I sure didn’t want him taking off after the girl before I could find her—so I measured my response as I meticulously refolded the paper and put it back where I had found it. “No. But leave her to Romeo. That’s his job.”
“I can’t believe I let her get away, but when I caught sight of Sylvie over the girl’s shoulder. I froze.”
“Understandable.”
“Sylvie was already dead.”
“And someone with some answers disappeared.”
“So you really don’t know where she is?” Dane asked.
“I told you before—I haven’t a clue.”
The light of hope in his eyes flashed out. He turned once again to stare at his hands, his head hanging in defeat.
Something was bothering me. Okay, a ton of somethings were bothering me, but this was something he had said. What was it? I mentally panned back over our conversation. Finally I had it. “She didn’t smell like a cocktail waitress? What does that mean?”
“Most of the women who work here smell of cologne or flowers or something. But this girl, she smelled like smoke, charcoal, I’d say. We used to cook out a bunch in Texas when I was a kid. Just the smell makes my mouth water.”
I waited while Dane finished his jaunt down memory lane.
“Charcoal smoke and something else,” he said as he closed his eyes. When he opened them again they were empty dark holes. “A dank sort of smell.”
“Dank?” In the middle of the Mojave that was a rarity.
“Yeah, like water. Sour, standing water. The odor of the mosquito pits after a summer storm.”
Mosquito pits. Standing water. Sour. Dank. Charcoal smoke. “Oh, man!” I jumped to my feet, then crumpled a bit as my ankle screamed at me.
Startled, Dane jumped up a fraction of a second after I did. As I moved to go around him, this time more gingerly, he grabbed my arm, pulling me to a stop. “Wherever you’re going, I’m going, too.”
I pried his fingers from my arm. “You show your face, you’ll get us both arrested. You’re staying right here.”
“I need to know what you’re thinking, where you’re going.”
“Not a chance, Cowboy. Stay here.”
His face closed into a frown. “And do what?”
“I don’t know. Sleep, get rid of the stink of fear and alleys that’s clinging to you, whatever. I don’t care. But I’ll kill you myself if you dare even stick your nose out of the door while I’m gone. Got it?” I poked his chest with my forefinger for emphasis.
While he mulled that over, I charged toward my bedroom. First a shower and a new outfit.
The strappy gold flats would be out of place where I was going.
Dane
had agreed to stay put a bit too easily.
I didn’t trust him for a minute, which was a good thing—maybe I was actually learning—doubtful, but possible. After a quick change of clothes, I laced on my Nikes then headed out the door. As I passed the guest bedroom, I heard the shower running. Punching the lock, then securing the door behind me, I paused in the hallway, grabbed my push-to-talk and pressed the appropriate button. “Security? Who’s running the show right now?”
“Who do think?” came the pithy reply.
“Jerry.” Relief flooded through me—handling Dane would require the first-stringers. “I thought I sent you home.”
“Yeah, well, I take orders about as well as you do. What’s up?” I heard the click of his lighter then the sizzle as he pulled the flame into the tobacco.
“Those things are going to kill you.”
“If this job doesn’t get me first. Between you and me, it’s a toss-up.”
“Good point. Listen, I need you to post one of your guys outside my apartment door. No one goes in. No one comes out.”
“Who you got in there?”
I lowered my voice—God knew who was listening. “Just a friend.”
“You and me got differing opinions on friends.” Jerry’s cigarette sizzled as he took another pull. “You’re diggin’ a hole, girl.”
“I’m a danger to myself and others—it’s part of my charm. Promise me you’ll see to it I get the help I need when this is over. But, right now, just do as I ask, okay? Just for a few hours?”
“If the cops come nosing around here...”
“Without a warrant, they can’t get into my apartment.”
“Technically…”
“I know, but they need good cause to go barging in. And, if you can keep my friend under wraps, they won’t have any. Just a few hours, that’s all I need.” I started to ring off, then I stopped. “Jerry, my ass is on the line here.”
“I got your ass, girl. You know that.” I started to ring off, then I heard his voice come back. “Lucky?”
“Yeah.”
“One of my people found some footage of the Stoneman in the casino after he’d asked for personal time. It looked like he was tailing Sylvie Dane, but he was almost as good at dodging the cameras as Dane himself was.”
“Did you see him by the dealership?”
“He was headed in that direction, but with the sign hanging in front of the cameras and all, I can’t put him inside.”
“Maybe not, but it’s something. Thanks.”
This time I did hang up—there was nothing else to say and banter wasn’t the panacea it normally was.
When the security detail showed up, I made sure they had no problem with my shoot-first-ask-questions-later instructions then I headed toward the elevator.
I needed sleep. I needed food. I needed a life. But most of all, right now I needed a plan.
Handling this by myself seemed the height of stupidity, so, of course, that’s what I decided to do. Besides, I was fresh out of knights in shining armor. The elevator deposited me in a curiously quiet lobby. All the smart people were tucked in bed.
Concentrating on repositioning my phone at my hip, I was startled by a body hurtling around the corner. Scowling, his stride purposeful, his jaw set, Jeremy stared straight ahead, unseeing. Distracted, he looked like a man on a mission.
Suffering from a lack of everything that does a body good, I was one step too slow. I braced for impact.
Nose to nose, we both skidded to a halt with inches to spare.
“What are you doing here?” Even at this god-forsaken hour, Australian sounded good. And looked good.
“I work here.” Boy, ask for a white knight and voilà! If I’d only known it was that easy. “How about you?”
“Trying to catch the scent of Shooter and the kid. Was on my way to go over video footage one more time.” With one quick glance, he absorbed my jeans, sweatshirt, Nikes. “Is today casual day?”
I smiled, feeling the tension ease a smidge. “No, it’s do-somebody-else’s-dirty-work day.”
Jeremy gripped my arm. Any tighter and I would’ve grimaced. “Dane’s dirty work? Do you know where he is?”
I glanced around before answering. “Under wraps,” I whispered as I eased my arm from his grasp. “Did Miss P tell you about Shooter and the kid?”
“Yeah, Lovey told me. I’ve been ringing them both, but no answer.” Jeremy glanced around, probably a habit, then lowered his voice. “Does our boy have any news that might be helpful?”
“Sure,” I scoffed. “Why he keeps acting like we are on opposite teams in this game, I’d like to know.”
“Curious, I’ll admit.”
In my limited understanding, that statement was tantamount to treason in the Male Code of Ethics, which didn’t give me a warm fuzzy. Friends were usually the last to bail.
I grabbed Jeremy’s elbow. “I’m chasing a connection and I could use your help.”
He matched my stride. “Where’re we going?”
“Remember the storm drains?”
A maze of storm sewers crisscrossed under Las Vegas. Some said there were three hundred miles of the concrete pipes, most of them large enough to stand in. A rare storm in the summer could dump so much rain in the mountains to the west, that flash flooding became a huge problem as the city grew. The storm drains were part of the elaborate system designed to keep the rampaging water off the streets and out of the casinos.
The other elements not wanted in the casinos—the homeless, the crazy, and the criminal—all took refuge in the drains when the water wasn’t an issue. They built cities down there, hovels, kitchens, workspaces, all of it.
Absentmindedly, Jeremy rubbed the left side of his torso. “The pipes, man I hope I never go back there.”
Couldn’t say I blamed him—the last time I’d sent him down there, Crazy Carl had creased his side with a .30-30 bullet. Technically it wasn’t my fault, but I blamed myself.
Jeremy gave me a sideways glance, narrowing his eyes. “Why?” He stretched the word out giving me the impression he knew why, but didn’t want to hear it.
“Hope you still have your gun and that Maglite.”
He looked down at his nice slacks and leather loafers. “Bugger.”
“This is really important, and time is not on our side.” I fisted my hand in his shirt to get his attention. “Where’s your truck?”
“Valet. It won’t fit in the garage.”
“Let’s go.” I turned on my heel and headed toward the lobby. “I’ll explain on the way.”
Shoulder to shoulder Jeremy and I hurried, propelled by the sense that we were woefully behind.
***
Lightning flashed in the western sky, jagged bright slashes ripping the dark fabric of the night. Great. Just what we needed. “I hope to hell it doesn’t rain.” Riding high, tucked comfortably into the passenger seat of Jeremy’s Hummer, I felt invincible—a fleeting, foolish feeling, but I held on to it. To be honest, the storm drains scared the heck out of me. And rain made them death traps.
Jeremy shot me a glance, then refocused on the road, both hands clutching the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched in concentration. “I’ve been here a couple of years and it hasn’t rained at all. They say we’re in a drought. How would you know—we live in a desert? Anyway, I wouldn’t worry.”
The first fat drop hit the windshield like a bullet. Other droplets followed, peppering the truck like shrapnel hurled from each violent explosion of thunder.
“Silly of me to worry.” I had to raise my voice to be heard above the staccato beat of the rain, growing in intensity now until the windshield wipers could barely keep up. I had to squint to see. “Nice to see my luck is holding. You can see better than me, I hope.”
Jeremy, his brow gathered in concentration, grunted. I didn’t know whether that was a yes or a no, but decided I’d rather be left in the dark. We fell quiet, beaten into silence by the steady drumming. Puddles formed quickly, throwing sheets of spray as we splashed through. Rivulets of water raced down the sides of the streets, growing in speed and depth. Water in the desert—both life giving and destructive. Too little or too much, both had devastating consequences.
“I hope we beat the police.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until Jeremy responded.
“The police? You called them?”
“No. On a night like tonight, raining as hard as it is, I’m sure a wash call went out.”
“Wash call?”
“When the water runs like this, every unit is scrambled to try to get folks out of the storm drains. A couple inches of flowing water can take your feet right out from under you. People die in the drains every time it rains.”
A streetlight illuminated Jeremy’s wide-eyed glance as we passed underneath, then darkness engulfed his face once again as we drove on. “I’d prefer not to be one of them.”
That made two of us.
He left the lights on as he pulled off Decatur and parked the car. Our breath fogged the windows as we took a moment to assess. It always amazed me how a good thunderstorm could drop the temperature thirty degrees. With the soft pad of my fist I cleared a spot on the glass in front of me and squinted into the darkness, timing the lightning strikes.
Water accumulated in the retention basin—it was filling fast. We didn’t have much time before the torrent reached the storm drain at the far end. There, the relatively small opening of the pipes themselves would act as a Venturi. Forced through the pipes, the water would become a roiling, deadly surge that would scour the drainage system like a giant Roto-Rooter, spitting the limp, lifeless forms of previously living things out the other side.
Once trapped, you were as good as dead.
With a glance at Jeremy, I tugged on the door handle and eased the door open. “We’d better hurry.”
“Wait.” Before my feet hit the ground, his hand fisted in my sweatshirt, pulling me back inside. “Who’s that?”
I swiped at a trickle of rain and focused. A dark figure sprinted across the basin toward the drain. I knew that long thin, slice of a man—Dane. I grabbed my phone and punched a now-familiar button. “Jerry.”
“I know. I know. Fuck.” Homicide lurked in the depths of his tone. The guy would have to stand in line. “I just tried my team, but neither one answered. I’m heading to your place now, but I’d bet my left ball Dane is gone.”
“Are your people okay?”
“If they aren’t…” Jerry didn’t finish the threat; he didn’t have to.
I dropped my phone on the floorboard, leaped into the rain, and ran. My ankle be damned—fear and anger, the perfect antidotes to pain. Even with my loping stride, Jeremy was twenty feet ahead of me.
Shoulder-to-shoulder we ducked through the drain opening. Being out of the rain was nice, but it did little to offset my fear at the ominous black hole leading away from us. Why hadn’t I brought that gun? Because I’d left it somewhere in my apartment…with Dane. Fuck.
Jeremy clicked on the Maglite—the cone of light barely held back the Stygian darkness. Instead it pressed around us, lurking like a demon, just out of sight, waiting for a sign of weakness.
My hand lightly on his back, I followed him into the darkness. Water sloshed around our feet, seeping into my shoes. It was rising fast. “Carl’s place.” The water muffled the usual echo.
“Right.” Jeremy’s voice came back solid, strong.
While I was delighted to have him there, I was conflicted. He’d almost died once down here already. “Bugger.” I hurled his word into the darkness because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Half running, we sloshed on in silence. I thought I heard the sound of someone running in front of us, but I wasn’t sure.
“Here’s the turn.” I pulled Jeremy up short. Apparently Carl didn’t want company—he’d erected a wooden fence across the opening.
“No wonder I didn’t see it.” Jeremy attacked the makeshift barrier. Three kicks splintered it and we squeezed through.
A few feet farther then the pipes opened at a juncture point creating a large open room—Carl’s home. A weak glow from a dying fire glowed in the hibachi, which Carl had set on top of a crate to protect it from the rising water. “Carl?”
No answer.
Then I heard them: angry, animal sounds, unintelligible shouts. “Great, Carl’s off his meds.” I tossed the words over my shoulder as I moved toward the sounds. After briefly considering using Jeremy as a shield, I abandoned that idea as bad form. Instead, summoning a false courage, I strode into the center of the room.
“Carl?” I checked his bed. No one. Jeremy cast the thin beam of light around, but it couldn’t penetrate the corners. The noise seemed to be coming from the exit pipe on the far side of the room. I grabbed Carl’s rifle lying across the foot of his bed and motioned to Jeremy. “Come on.” I didn’t bother to check to see if the old Browning .30-30 was loaded. Carl was a member of the what’s-the-use-of-an-empty-gun school of thought—something I was grateful for at the moment.
Jeremy and I hadn’t made it twenty feet into the pipe when a huge figure emerged from the darkness in front of us. “Carl?”
His matted dark hair was glued to his forehead. His beard, long and unkempt, hid the lower half of his face. Catching what little light there was, his eyes glowed like those of a wild animal stalking the periphery of sight. “Carl, it’s Lucky.”
“Lucky?” Confusion replaced the anger. “It’s not safe down here. We need to go.” He lumbered into the light.
Under one arm he held a squirming, fighting bunch of irate female. Her eyes wide with fear, her dark hair whipping like writhing snakes, she fought and pushed at the huge arm holding her. “Let me go.” She kicked and hit, with no effect—she couldn’t even get Carl’s attention.
I moved closer. When she caught sight of me she stopped fighting. Her eyes widened in recognition.
“You.” The girl and I said in unison. “From the casino.”
I wanted to throw my arms around the big man. “Carl, you are my hero.”
He beamed, even though he hadn’t a clue. “This here
feline,
” he half lifted the girl still caught in the vise of his arm, “was stealing my hotdogs. She even took a gallon of milk out of the ice chest. Brand new, too. Caught her red-handed.”
Bending around Carl’s elbow, the young woman stared at me. I saw fear, no, terror in her eyes. “My daughter,” she whispered, her voice choked with the effort.