Sleepless in Las Vegas (11 page)

“I know you worked out of your home office,” Jayne said. “Therefore, I thought it would help you—and certainly help me—if while I am gone, you worked out of the back office here at Diamond Investigations. When I started the agency, it was my living quarters. Private entrance and parking area. Small bathroom with a shower. At one time there was a full kitchen, but I made that into a supply room after…” She made a dismissive gesture. “Anyway, I have rented out the space to other investigators, but for the past year, it has been empty.” Her eyes shone with a purpose he read loud and clear.

Oh, no. Not that.

“So,” she said sweetly, “I thought perhaps you could mentor her while I am gone.”

Yes, that.

He tilted his chin to look at Jayne, acting as though he was listening, considering. Being polite wasn’t his strong suit, but today he would be on his best behavior, not give the lady any more trouble than she was already juggling.

But
mentor
Miss Who Dat?

He’d backed off blaming her for being part of Yuri’s arson, and not only because he agreed with Jayne’s request. In his experience, guilty people didn’t make impassioned speeches—speeches, maybe, but not with the fervor of a small-country dictator. And Jayne, never one to spoon out compliments, had ladled them on her intern.

Now he knew, too, that he and Val were survivors. Although his losses didn’t stack up to hers. The fact that she didn’t let her past shadow her life earned his respect.

Didn’t mean he wanted to mentor her, though. She talked too much. Had a way of dressing that defied logic. Distracted him with those rosebud lips, that body, what had almost happened last night…

There had to be a way around this.

“…Val can also help you field incoming calls, file reports, conduct some basic internet research.”

“I have my own phone.”

“But do you have a computer?” Jayne asked.

“Probably not anymore,” he muttered.

“Jayne, ma’am, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to say something.” Val nervously licked her lips. “I think it’s a super idea that Drake uses that back office, but I don’t believe he and I would…”

“Get along?” Jayne prompted.

“Exactly,” he said, straightening.

“You might say our
get-along
has a big ol’ hitch in it,” Val agreed. “But I am at fault for that.” She laid her hand on that lace bow and dipped her head slightly. “Indeed I am, for doing that honey trap ‘n’ all. If Mr. Morgan wants to use the back office, I would make sure he had complete privacy, and if he needed assistance, I would certainly help out, but I wouldn’t want him to mentor me. It’s far too much to ask of him, especially now.” She slipped a look at him, her eyes all dewy and full of concern.

It took everything he had to not roll his eyes. But for once he was on her side. Together they would defeat this mentoring delusion of Jayne’s.

He put on his best thoughtful face. “She makes some good points. But I understand your not wanting a gap in her mentoring. A gal like her—” He caught his gaffe. “I mean, a
woman
like her deserves regular, ongoing sessions because, well, she just does.
Fortunately,
I know another P.I. who can fill in.”

He’d talk Eddie into this babysitting gig. Just make it clear these mentoring sessions were to take place in the office, not at Caesars’ sports book, where Eddie liked to spend every spare waking hour with the other horse-racing freaks.

“But you’ll be in the adjacent office, which makes getting together convenient.” Jayne picked up her fountain pen. “Plus, mentoring only takes a little time each day, maybe thirty minutes or so…” She turned the pen. “To be frank, I do not want her to be mentored by anyone else. Like that fellow Eddie Mueller. I want her to learn the art of
investigations,
not if Fancy Lady will win, place or show.”

Drake blinked with surprise. Either she really could read thoughts or had heard through the grapevine that he and Eddie were buds. Whatever the reason, she was one sharp lady.

But she shouldn’t have to be matching wits right now. The bad news was fresh. She had every right to be selfish and tend only to herself at a time like this. She needed people to support her, not take from her.

He pulled in a long breath and blew it out. “I’ll mentor her.”

Jayne gave him a grateful look. “Thank you.”

“But…” Val looked at him as though he’d grown donkey ears. “You don’t have the time!”

“It’ll only take thirty minutes or so,” he muttered, shooting her a get-with-the-program look.

She frowned, obviously confused by his signal. Oh, this was going well already.

When she started to speak, he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “First lesson is to follow my lead. I am mentoring you and that’s that.”

She slumped in her chair and eyed him warily.

“Excellent,” Jayne said, looking relieved. “I also would like for you to be here full-time starting tomorrow, if that is acceptable.”

Full time? “I, uh, have off-site meetings, surveillances, pulling records at the courthouse.”

“Of course,” Jayne said, “otherwise, you’ll be in your office.”

If that’s what the lady wanted, she’d get it. “Fine.”

“Are you interested in Val forwarding my client calls to your cell? I could request she forward them to another P.I. in town, but since you will be here…”

“Fine.”

“Excellent.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then slowly reopened them. “Thank you, both of you. It is reassuring to not have to worry about the agency while…” A look of withdrawal came over her face as she glanced away.

Drake followed the focus of her attention. It was that painting on the far wall. A city landscape. Maybe a place she’d once lived or visited or perhaps where her family came from.

His father, who had worked in hotel security for years, had known Jayne peripherally. Drake recalled his once saying she had lived with a woman, a lawyer, somewhere downtown. He wondered if that had been in the back apartment.

Drake wasn’t one to grieve openly, but after a few beers, he sometimes loosened up about his dad, his brother. He would bet Jayne never did that. She faced her ghosts alone.

And now she was facing life’s harshest challenger. Death. Not that it was at her door, but it was lurking in the neighborhood. If anybody could outmaneuver the Grim Reaper, it was sure as hell Jayne.

But if not…

He thought of his father those last few weeks of his life, their talks, Drake’s promises.

“Anything you need, Jayne, call me. My phone is on 24/7. Don’t worry about the office or clients or…” He scratched his throat. “The mentoring. I’ll be here. I promise.”

CHAPTER SIX

A
N
HOUR
LATER
, Drake stood at a door marked 3B in the Willow Creek Apartments, which were nowhere near a willow or a creek. The building sat in a not-so-good Vegas neighborhood, but being on the third floor, with a picturesque view of the busy U.S. Route 95, gave it some security.

He knocked on the door.

“Who’s there?” asked a peculiarly strained male voice.

“Drake. Open up.”

After several clicks and the sliding grate of a latch, the door creaked open. A paunchy, barefoot guy in chinos and a T-shirt with the words I’m Calmer Than You Are stood there, his eyes pinker than some people liked their steaks. An old Aerosmith tune, “Sweet Emotion,” played in the background.

“Aqua Man,” he murmured around an exhale of smoke, “long time no see. Worried that Mayan apocalypse got you, my brother.”

Drake wished his nickname had stayed back in high school along with pimple cream and bad cafeteria food, but it had stuck, being used by people who overheard others use it or who, like Li’l Bit, thought the name sounded groovy.

“Can I come in?”

His buddy stepped back and made a gesture as though he was welcoming a player to a game show.

Entering Li’l Bit’s place was like stepping into the ‘70s. The furniture was a mix of wicker, chunky wood and chrome lamps. A creepy spider plant dominated a corner, seemingly thriving on stray fluorescent light aimed at a poster of Hendrix with a rainbow flowing out of his guitar.

“Shut the door,” Drake said. “We gotta talk.”

Li’l Bit, who claimed he got his nickname after answering “a little bit” whenever asked if he liked something, complied.

“You gotta air out this place,” Drake said, waving his hand. “It reeks of weed.”

“Man, you should talk. You smell like a marshmallow roast.”

Drake swiped at his hairline. “My place burned down last night.”

Li’l Bit pressed his palm to his forehead as though keeping the thoughts in place. “Whoa, no…you mean…”

“Arson.”

A stricken look crossed his face. “Hearsay?”

“Smoke inhalation, but he’s okay.”

Next thing Drake knew, he was wrapped in a bear hug. The kind only a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound man, most of it heart, could give.

Ever since Drake had hired Li’l Bit four years ago to serve some legal papers, the two of them had clicked. Not because they shared interests—Drake could care less about ganja, three-day concert festivals and the film
The Big Lebowski
—but they shared a passion for their professions.

Li’l Bit, born Nathan Davidovitch to Lillian and Bernie Davidovitch of Brooklyn, had been enrolled at Brooklyn Law School five years ago. After falling in love with a massage therapist named Xela and following her to Vegas, he’d opened a process server business, Boss Services, Inc., with the motto When You Want It Done Right, Leave It With the Boss.

He probably would have returned to Brooklyn after the breakup with Xela, but by then Boss Services, Inc. was thriving, and Li’l Bit had grown attached to the aging dogs at the canine retirement ranch project where he volunteered.

“I got your back, my brother,” Li’l Bit said, pulling away, his eyes filling with tears. “Wanna beer?”

Minutes later, the brew had chilled Drake’s mood. Not completely, but enough that Aerosmith’s rocking, rolling and screaming was starting to sound good.

“Man,” his pal murmured, dragging his hand over his puffed-out curly hair, “Yuri is one sick dude. Arson investigators on it?”

“One was at the scene.” Drake took another swig. “Name’s Tony Cordova.”

“But you didn’t give Yuri up.”

“He’s mine.”

“Aqua Man,” Li’l Bit muttered, “taking on the Russian Mafia solo…” He gave his head a slow shake, as though the thought was too heavy to contemplate.

“I’m not taking on the army, just one soldier.”

“This Tony dude could help you.”

Drake took a swig of beer. Tony had already left a message, but he hadn’t wanted to talk to him yet.

For the next few moments, as they listened to Aerosmith crooning about getting a thrill from the smell of a girl’s hair, Drake flashed on Val at Dino’s. Those big brown eyes. Her soapy, fresh scent. How the heat of her body fused with the heat of the night.

He imagined peeling off those little triangles of fabric, exposing her full, ripe breasts. Unzipping that red miniskirt and pulling it down, down, over her shapely legs, and helping her step out of it in those sky-high heels. He smiled, remembering her beloved Saints’ emblem, the fleur-de-lis, on the shoes.

She loved that team so much, he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a tat of a fleur-de-lis. On her lower back? Thigh? Nestled somewhere between those pale, plump breasts?

“…she’d eat him alive, man.”

Took Drake a moment to reel his thoughts to the present. “Huh?”

Li’l Bit picked up a bag of Cheetos and tilted it toward Drake, who waved it off. “Hearsay can’t stay at your mom’s. That Maxine, she’s one badass feline she-hulk.” He popped a Cheeto into his mouth.

Maxine, a crossed-eyed Siamese cat, thought she was put on this earth to dominate it. Li’l Bit had been with him on a day when Drake had dropped by his mom’s with Hearsay. The plan had been to keep Maxine sequestered in the spare bedroom, but his grandmother accidentally opened the door, and like a deranged, heat-seeking missile with fur, Maxine found and cornered Hearsay within seconds. Poor dog shook for a solid hour after that encounter.

“My landlord’s cool with pets, so I can keep Hearsay here,” his pal offered, helping himself to another Cheeto. “Plus he can do my rounds with me at the canine retirement ranch. Those old dudes love youngsters’ company.”

“I don’t want him turning into a stoner.”

“For you, my brother, I’ll only toke in the bathroom, with the fan on. Hearsay won’t even get a whiff of secondhand smoke.”

“Good. Mind if I stay, too?”

“Thought you’d crash at your mom and Glenda’s.”

Glenda, his grandmother, and Li’l Bit were a mutual admiration society ever since the Hearsay-Maxine encounter. Li’l Bit had stood between the cat and dog while Glenda maneuvered her wheelchair to the kitchen, returning with salmon, Maxine’s favorite. While she distracted the cat, he got Hearsay to safety.

Since then, the two of them got together for occasional evenings of
Inner Sanctum Mysteries
on old Lux Radio recordings. While Glenda puffed her nightly cigarillo and sipped a martini, Li’l Bit drank beer. He said he didn’t smoke weed during those visits, but knowing Glenda, she wouldn’t care.

“Can’t leave my dog,” Drake answered. After what happened, he didn’t want to leave Hearsay alone again, ever. Of course, that wasn’t practical. Couldn’t take the dog into courthouses, restaurants, clients’ offices…but for the next few weeks, he didn’t want to leave him alone at night. As much as his dog needed the reassurance that he was okay, Drake probably needed it more.

Li’l Bit held up his hand, palm out. “Gotta be there for your dog, man. Give me five.”

Drake slapped his hand. “I also don’t want to stay at Mom’s, because I don’t want Yuri following me there. Here I’m not worried about that. Dozens of apartments, people coming and going at all hours, hundreds of cars zipping down the freeway with a view of your front door…Yuri would be too visible.”

Li’l Bit nodded. “Plus I got a peephole.”

“Then why’d you ask who I was?”

“Forgot to look.”