"I guess. It's no big."

It was, but he didn't embarra.s.s her by pursuing it. "What numbers?"

"Two-ten and two-eleven. We're in adjoining rooms. I hope that's okay."

Reyes raised a brow. "Planning to visit me?"

"I dunno." She shrugged. "Maybe."

That invited all kind of questions, but she seemed edgy this afternoon, so he didn't push her. Kyra inserted the key and popped the trunk, but before she could move, he took her things along with his. To his surprise, she didn't argue; she just shut it, locked all four doors, and headed up behind him.

External stairs, he noticed. No elevator. No security, not even an old bellhop. This place was a disaster waiting to happen. Reyes held the bags lightly. If need be, he could hurl them at an attacker, and disable him in less than five seconds. He was almost disappointed when they made it to their rooms unscathed. She handed him his envelope with the key card in it.

"I'll take two-ten, if that's all right." He'd be better placed to hear anyone coming for her, unless they circled the long way from the other side.

"Sure." She hesitated, fidgeting, quite unlike herself. "You want to order pizza later and watch a movie on pay-per-view?"

Astonishment swamped him; it was a wonder his mouth didn't drop open. Was she asking him on a date date ? He said the first thing that came to mind: "This place has pay-per-view?" ? He said the first thing that came to mind: "This place has pay-per-view?"

That answered his question about whether she wanted to get right to work. The answer was no. Apparently she wanted another night off . . . with him. s.h.i.t, he was in so much trouble . . . because he wanted it, too.

Kyra gave a little huff and smiled. "Yeah, they do. Not the newest releases, I'm sure, but I haven't been to the movies in years, so they'll all be new to me."

"Sounds good. Give me a few minutes to take a shower?" After the long, dusty ride, he needed one.

Her tawny gaze swept his body, making him feel downright naked. "I guess you're worth waiting for."

With her looking at him like that, he felt like dragging her into his room and doing her hard, regardless of what she said about it. The little taste in the car hadn't done anything to diminish his desire. In fact, he could still feel her hands on him whenever he thought about it, her smooth fingers working his c.o.c.k convulsively, fueled by her own rising o.r.g.a.s.m. Heat slammed through him.

"Shower first," he muttered, nearly undone by her husky laugh as she noticed her effect on him. He handed Kyra her bag. "Cold one. I'll be there later."

"I'll be here."

"You better be."

She took a step toward her room, and he focused on the sweet curve of her a.s.s, nicely framed in faded denim. Reyes found himself unable to let her step away without putting his mark on her, claiming her as his. The instinct went deeper than anything he'd ever experienced. It made no sense at all. Not caring who might be watching, he came after her and took her mouth in a deep, fierce kiss.

The h.e.l.l with this. He wasn't made for denial. No shower, at least not alone. He wasn't made for denial. No shower, at least not alone.

"Unlock the door on your side," he bit out. "Now."

CHAPTER 13.

Gerard Serrano returned to the United States with a minimum of fuss.

It took a day for talk to start circulating, and he eavesdropped on his employees using the technology he'd installed in the break rooms and changing areas, expressly for that purpose. He hadn't gotten where he was without a deserved reputation for being prepared. If he didn't know everything about his domain-or at least have the potential to do so-then he deserved whatever happened to him.

Settling into his leather office chair, he powered up his desktop system and input a pa.s.sword. He didn't keep it written down anywhere. It wasn't a personal fact that someone could guess, and he changed it on a weekly basis. Serrano prided himself on being a careful, methodical man.

Smiling in antic.i.p.ation, he brought up the streaming feed from the lounge. A couple of security guys whose names he didn't recall offhand sat at a table covered in the remnants of a fast-food lunch. At first they only talked about things that had happened so far on their shift. They mentioned an elderly couple trying to make off without paying for the breakfast buffet. Serrano shook his head; that was the least of his worries.

While they gossiped like little girls, he looked up their personnel files: Rick Calloway and Dave Brody, both in their late twenties, both a couple of slackers with little to no ambition. Calloway was a tall, thin drink of water, and Dave was just average in every respect. Just as he was about to get bored and attend to more pressing business, the conversation shifted.

Dave leaned in over his cheesy burger wrapper. "You heard yet?"

"Heard what?" Calloway picked at his fries, which looked cold and disgusting even through the grainy feed.

"About Wayne, man. He didn't come back with the boss."

Rick wasn't as dumb as he looked because he said, "s.h.i.t. He heard about-"

"Totally," Dave said.

The other man's hands clenched on the table. "You think he knows our part in it?"

Ah. Interesting. So it had been a team effort. Serrano tapped his fingers against his mahogany desk, thoughtful. So it had been a team effort. Serrano tapped his fingers against his mahogany desk, thoughtful.

"Nah, man. If he did, he woulda invited us to Sweden and pushed us out of a plane over the ocean somewhere, too."

Calloway looked nervous. "I dunno. Maybe we should get out of town. I don't think we should work here anymore. You never know what might happen."

"C'mon. This is a great job. Where else could I sleep instead of doing real work? As long as nothing catches on fire, it's cool."

Serrano narrowed his eyes. So he was paying Brody to slack? He'd tell Foster to ride him like a cheap wh.o.r.e, if he didn't have the loser killed. He was still considering the angles.

"I'm telling you, Dave, if you're smart, you'll get the h.e.l.l out. Serrano runs this place like he's Don Corleone. He thinks he can just disappear somebody and n.o.body will ask questions. h.e.l.l, man, think about it. He did did ." ."

Brody shrugged. "It's not like this is the Wild West. It's not even old-school Vegas these days. The Feds are everywhere . . . gangsters don't run the town anymore. I'm not dumb enough to get on a private plane with him, and I'll watch my back. I'll be fine."

"If you say so." Calloway didn't sound convinced. "I think it's time I went to visit my ma in Kissimmee."

Dave shook his head. "You're such a puss."

Shortly thereafter, they left the lounge without cleaning up their mess. That didn't concern Serrano directly, but it bothered him to know he had such idiots in his employ. They were in charge of supervising things when he was busy elsewhere at a higher level. If they didn't have Foster riding herd on them, they'd doubtless be happy to let tourists rob Serrano blind.

"That's the problem," he said aloud, as Foster came into his office.

"What is?"

The security chief had an unnerving way of knowing when he was needed. Today he wore an impeccably cut, gray pin-striped suit, one that put Serrano in mind of 1930s gangster film. All Foster needed was a fedora and a tommy gun to complete the picture. It galled Serrano that his own clothes didn't hang as well; he'd done too much manual labor in his youth, packed on too much bulk.

"No loyalty these days."

"Times have changed," Foster agreed.

"What do you know about it? You're little more than a kid yourself."

Foster didn't even blink; it was impossible to rile him. "As you say, sir."

"Great suit. Who's the designer?" He wondered if the right cut would result in him looking so polished. For once in his life, Serrano thought it might be nice to look like a prince instead of a thug.

"Domenico Vacca."

The name meant nothing to him. He'd heard of Boss, Lauren, and Armani. That was the limit of his knowledge regarding male couture. "He expensive?"

"Very," Foster said, as if he didn't want to talk about money. "I presume you'd like to discuss the future of Brody and Calloway here at the Silver Lady."

Serrano let it go. He studied the other man, who never sat in his presence unless explicitly invited. d.a.m.n if he didn't like the feeling it gave him, sort of a feudal rush. "Did you know the other two were involved when you gave me Sweet?"

"I did not. I identified Sweet via his IP."

The particulars doubtless involved a lot of illegal technical nonsense that he didn't care about. He drew one important conclusion. "So he posted the video from home?"

"Correct."

"Maybe Brody and Calloway gave him the footage. Do they work those cameras?"

"They're part of the rotation," Foster answered without checking the schedule. The man could keep a hundred different b.a.l.l.s in the air without breaking a sweat.

"Take a seat," he invited at last. "Let's talk about this."

Foster tugged his pants up as he sat, an old-fashioned gesture that protected the creases. Serrano hadn't seen anything like it since his grandfather's day, before wash-and-wear clothing, before permanent press. Serrano shook his head. Foster's a weird one. Foster's a weird one.

Foster folded his hands in his lap and looked expectant. "What would you have me do, sir? Do you wish to terminate their employment?"

"I'm asking your advice, man-to-man. What would you you do, Foster?" do, Foster?"

"What is my goal in this situation? To instill fear or command respect?" As he spoke, the security chief's eyes looked ancient, somehow wrong in his youthful face. Serrano thought he saw dark things stirring beneath the veneer of silvered ice.

"Both, preferably."

"Then I would kill the one who is stupid enough to remain. Since he betrayed me, he cannot continue to live off my largesse. As for the one who is smart enough to run, I would allow him his life while making sure he learned of Brody's fate."

Serrano arched a brow, wondering if Foster was as canny as he seemed. "Why?"

"Sometimes a living man who fears you is more beneficial than ten dead ones."

"Because he'll tell other people," Serrano said. "And your legend spreads."

"Precisely."

He smiled. "You're a smart guy. That's exactly how I intend to handle this. Do we have someone local for the job?"

Foster nodded. "I'll take care of it, sir. Will that be all?"

So eager to do my dirty work. Serrano killed a smile before it could blossom. It wouldn't surprise him a bit if Foster strangled Brody himself. Serrano killed a smile before it could blossom. It wouldn't surprise him a bit if Foster strangled Brody himself.

"Not quite. I've been giving this some thought . . . and I'm not sure if doing the girl is going to be enough. We need something big, something to prove I'm still a power in this town. I'm targeting Pasternak and Ricci." Serrano named the partners who owned the Pair-A-Dice Casino, the s.h.i.theads who'd laughed at him a few weeks back. They wouldn't be laughing when this was over.

"Violence or personal misfortune?"

He considered. "I'm feeling subtle. People already know I'm willing to fit somebody with cement shoes. Now they need to realize I'm smart, too. Dig me up some dirt on them, will you? For instance, I wouldn't be sad if the IRS took a long, hard look at their books."

"I'll get right on it." Foster stood, evidently sensing his imminent dismissal.

As if he'd let him walk out without an update on that d.a.m.ned b.i.t.c.h. "What's the story with the guy you hired to retrieve my money?"

For the first time, Foster looked uncomfortable. "He's having some trouble with her, sir. She still hasn't confided in him. I gave him a week deadline to wrap it up."

"I'm not surprised," Serrano muttered. "She's a pro all the way . . . it won't be easy to get inside her head. If he can't get the money back, just give him the order to end her. I can afford the loss, and I want this finished, one way or another."

Foster inclined his head. "I'll let him know the next time I speak with him."

Serrano let him get nearly to the door before adding lazily, "Oh . . . and give my regards to that little old lady and the kid, the next time you see them."

He didn't turn. His expression would give away his horror. So Foster kept walking and ducked into the first men's room. This was the executive lounge, all stone tiles and marble countertops fitted with motion-activated gilt spigots. It always smelled of oranges in here, and there were four rock fountains on tiered shelves, intended to drown out the sound of p.i.s.sing men.

Taking refuge in a stall, he sank down on the toilet and let the shakes come. Nausea boiled up but he wouldn't let it out. Serrano, that crazy, paranoid b.a.s.t.a.r.d, might have the bathrooms bugged, too. He'd have to get himself together in silence.

It's fine, he told himself. he told himself. Serrano doesn't know everything. Serrano doesn't know everything. If he'd put the pieces together, he'd have done something about it. The man had all the finesse of a lawnmower; he lacked the patience for a long-term scheme. If he'd put the pieces together, he'd have done something about it. The man had all the finesse of a lawnmower; he lacked the patience for a long-term scheme.

But still, it shook him that the man knew that much. He'd been so sure n.o.body was watching him. He'd never noticed a tail. As long as he paid the bills, Lexie and Beulah Mae would be fine, but he hated the thought of abandoning them. More importantly, Serrano would take a break in his routine to mean there was something significant in his discovery. He'd remember the two females as Foster's weakness.

And they were. He battled an overwhelming urge to run for the garage, get his car, and drive like a bat out of h.e.l.l over to Desert Winds to make sure Serrano hadn't done anything with his new knowledge. Maybe he'd made a mistake in keeping Lexie close. Grief plucked at his heartstrings, old and familiar as a well-worn pair of shoes. It wasn't like she knew the difference.

The most alarming aspect was that Serrano might not trust him fully. Serrano might have somebody digging into his background. While Foster didn't think highly of the man's acuity, he'd built an empire on brute instinct, and he had the resources to hire good people.

So close. This couldn't be happening now. Not when all the threads were starting to unravel. He just needed to stay in place long enough to give a few more good tugs. This couldn't be happening now. Not when all the threads were starting to unravel. He just needed to stay in place long enough to give a few more good tugs.

Foster allowed himself five minutes to panic quietly, indulge in worst-case scenarios, and then he mastered himself through breathing. By the time he came out of the stall, he was entirely composed. He washed his hands and blotted with a paper towel. In the mirror that ran the length of the counter, he looked much younger than he felt, just another cog in the corporate machine.

Because he could do nothing else without arousing suspicion, he completed the workday. Foster handled all the minor annoyances that Serrano couldn't be bothered with, squatting like a spider in his penthouse office. When he was sure his boss wasn't watching, he tended to be lenient, and today he let a couple of college girls go with a warning. d.a.m.n stupid kids. d.a.m.n stupid kids. He wished genital warts on whoever had turned prost.i.tution into a fairy tale by way of He wished genital warts on whoever had turned prost.i.tution into a fairy tale by way of Pretty Woman Pretty Woman . .

Finally, it was quitting time. Since he'd constructed this whole persona around routine, deviation would mean the end of everything. To make matters worse, he wasn't due to visit for nearly another week. Perhaps he could call and check on them. Since he wasn't paying attention, and it was the middle of the night, he didn't expect to collide with a shapely brunette as he came out of the corridor that led from the business offices onto the casino floor.

Reflexively Foster steadied her with his hands on her upper arms. His blood heated as he inhaled her light scent: cinnamon and vanilla. Since he had s.e.x regularly, three times a week like clockwork, the response perplexed him. She wasn't cla.s.sically beautiful by any means; the woman had a spill of inky hair and darkly hooded eyes. Her skin bespoke Mediterranean origins, but she had almost a Middle Eastern hook to her nose. He could usually categorize people at a glance, but he didn't know a thing about her after that inspection, except he'd been holding on to her a fraction too long.

"I'm fine," she said pointedly. Then her gaze slide behind him to the door marked "Private." She brightened visibly. "Oh, do you work here?"

It was four in the morning, and Foster was in no mood to deal with a casino groupie. He ran across them more often than he cared to contemplate. They thought sleeping with a floor manager or a security guard would get them upgraded to a high-roller suite when all it ent.i.tled them to was a night of s.e.x, generally of dubious quality.

"Talk to Cecilia with guest services," he said tiredly. "She'll give you a certificate for a free meal at the buffet."