Читать книгу Showdown! - Laurie Paige - Страница 9

“Last one,” Zack Dalton reminded Lady Luck, but without much hope the fabled lady would have a change of heart and smile on him.

Huh. His luck with females had been pretty sour lately. A tang of bitterness like the aftertaste of fine wine gone to vinegar lingered on his tongue. He ignored it and the accompanying pang in his heart. He’d trusted one female with that organ and had had it handed back to him last summer when his fiancée had visited relatives in Denver, met some rich guy and married him on the spot.

So much for trust, loyalty and true love.

His uncle Nick said all things happened for the best. Looking at it that way, he figured he’d gotten off easy, heart and pride dinged but repairable.

He fed his last quarter into the slot machine, pushed the button and watched the wheels spin. They came up zilch. Okay, so he wasn’t destined to be rich. That probably was for the best, he consoled himself philosophically, then chuckled at his little jest.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was midnight. The reason he was at the slots was simple. Las Vegas was truly a city that never slept. It wouldn’t let him catch any zzz’s, either. Too many lights, too many people, too much noise at all hours.

His duty here was done and he could start home tomorrow. He’d better try for some rest, assuming he could find the elevator that would take him from the casino level to his floor far above the neon sparkle of the famous strip. He glanced around, searching for a landmark as a guide.

“You dropped a coin, sir,” a polite voice, very feminine, very soft, spoke from behind his left shoulder.

He swiveled around on the stool and gazed into eyes rimmed by false lashes so long he wondered how the cocktail waitress could lift her eyelids. The lashes cast such deep shadows he couldn’t tell what color her eyes were. The rest of her makeup was just as exaggerated, giving her a fake tan and rosily blushing cheeks that were obviously painted on. Dark roots showed along the uneven part in her blond hair.

While he liked his women more natural, sort of outdoorsy, his interest was piqued by the beauty spot a half inch from one corner of her mouth. Her lips had a full, soft look in spite of the thick lipstick. The fullness coupled with the tiny mole gave her mouth a sort of vulnerability that surprised him.

Even more surprising was his urge to touch her, as if he needed to be sure she was real. He had an instant, equally strong desire to kiss her.

Whoa! He hadn’t had that many beers, at least he didn’t think he had.

“Sir?” she said in that soft voice so at odds with her been-there-done-that appearance.

He took the quarter, dropped it in the slot and hit the spin button as he watched her deliver a drink to a man three machines down. From this view, she looked great.

Her outfit was cut into a provocative drape that left a lot of bare skin. She had smooth shoulders and a small waist, slender hips and firm thighs clad in fishnet hose.

He paused to admire the thighs.

A bell clanged and the sound of falling coins assailed his ears. Other players looked at him, some with envy, some with smiles. Zack frowned at his machine. When he looked around again, the waitress was gone.

“Here, you’ll need a bucket,” the soft voice said, speaking from his right this time. A plastic bucket was plunked down on the narrow ledge between the slots.

“Thanks,” he said, but she was already gone.

A number was flashing on the slot display. His brain seemed swathed in cotton as he tried to divide four into six hundred and come up with the amount of his winnings.

“Boy, howdy, 150 smackers,” the man on his left said jovially, giving him the answer. “Not bad for a couple of hours’ work, huh?”

Actually it was a nice bonus, considering he’d had the unpleasant job of returning an escaped prisoner, captured in Idaho, to Vegas. The deputies had drawn lots on Monday to see who had to do the task and he’d won. Or lost, according to how one looked at it.

Speaking of winning, he realized he owed the waitress a big tip. As he rose, four couples, boisterous and merry, jostled their way down the aisle. One of them hit his arm. Six hundred quarters hit the floor.

“Oops, sorry,” one of the happy group said, not the least bit remorseful. “Hey, great win.”

Five minutes of chaos reigned while they scrambled to pick up the coins and toss them back into his bucket. Since there was no room for him to join them, he stood still and watched. The men and women, bobbing up and down as they worked, reminded him of the chickens his uncle Nick insisted on raising back at the Seven Devils Ranch.

He patiently waited until the noisy couples finished and left, apologizing loudly for the trouble they’d caused. When the aisle cleared, a shapely derriere was directly in front of him. The waitress was on her knees, retrieving coins from under the adjacent row of slots.

Zack’s eyes widened, then narrowed as he stared at her left thigh just below the skimpy, high-cut costume. He took three steps, then bent down as if he, too, was looking for quarters. From the vantage of a foot away, he could see her upper thigh where it joined the delectable curve of her hip.

Yep, a scar was discernible under the fishnet. He inched closer. The scar was jagged and three-pointed. His lungs stopped working while his heart went into overdrive.

“My gosh,” he muttered, blinking in amazement. Talk about luck; he couldn’t believe this. Lifting one finger, he traced the outline—

“Aaaiii,” the waitress squealed, straightening abruptly.

“Back up, buddy,” a security cop ordered, appearing out of nowhere and grabbing him by the collar. Zack was strong-armed to a standing position. The cop’s partner stood close by, alert for trouble.

“It’s okay,” he assured the cop. “She’s my cousin.”

The security men looked at the woman.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she declared in shocked tones, the painted eyebrows rising indignantly as she moved away from him, the delectable lips compressed in a narrow line.

“That’s true, but I know you,” Zack explained, speaking in reasonable tones and tamping the excitement down. “That scar on your butt, uh, buttock, uh, thigh is a dead giveaway.”

“We’ll take care of him,” the cop told the woman.

She disappeared into the crowd while Zack was held and questioned by the patrol. “You staying here?” the older one asked.

“Yeah.”

“You need help getting to your room?”

“I’m not leaving,” he told them firmly. “Now that I’ve found Uncle Nick’s daughter, I’ve got to take her home. To the ranch,” he added in case they misunderstood where he meant. “Seven Devils Mountains. Idaho.”

“Detank,” one of the security patrol said.

“Right. You want me to report it?” the other man asked. “It’s Friday. You’re supposed to leave early tonight.”

The first man sighed. “I’ll do it when I sign out.”

Zack realized the futility of protesting as they led him to a private room down a narrow corridor off the elevator area. He was vaguely amused as he thought of possible headlines: Visiting cop busted in a casino for looking at a woman’s—

The rest of the thought was lost as the door slammed behind him and locked. He realized two things. One, “detank” was a place for inebriated clients to sleep it off. Two, they thought he fit that description.

Apparently he hadn’t explained himself well enough. He was now trapped in the proverbial padded cell. A leather sofa and chair were the only furnishings. He sat down to wait for some form of rescue, his bucket of quarters still clenched in one hand.

One thing he noticed right away: it was quiet in here. No traffic. No sirens. No bursts of laughter or strange voices outside his bedroom door. Just blissful silence.

He yawned. In the four days he’d been on this trip, he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep due to all the racket.

Hannah “Honey” Carrington finished her shift at two in the morning. She turned in her cash, then went to the locker room. After tucking the money apron onto a shelf, she changed shoes and pulled a shirt and long skirt over her working outfit. Grabbing her purse, she headed out, glad to be going home.

“Hey, Bert,” she said to the security guard who was also going off duty.

“Hey, Honey,” the guard said.

“Say, what happened to the guy who was in the casino?” she asked. “The one who said he was my cousin,” she added with a sardonic smile. She’d heard a few lines in her time, but that had been a new one.

Bert frowned. “I don’t know. Bill took care of it.” Alarm spread over his face. “Uh-oh.”

“What?”

“Bill. He got a call just after we left you. His wife is having a baby. That’s why he was supposed to leave early. I sure hope—” He broke off and headed toward the elevators at a near run.

Although instinct said she should go home and not get involved, Honey trailed after him. The tall lanky stranger had been polite in his dealings with her. He was handsome, and she’d found him interesting. There had been an amused gentleness about him—as if he laughed at life’s vagaries.

Then he’d made the peculiar crack about being cousins. That had put her on guard and reminded her that, for her own good, she should be more cynical about people.

When Bert unlocked the door to the holding room, she followed him inside. A soft snore greeted them.

The stranger was sound asleep on the sofa, his bucket of change balanced on his stomach, rising and falling with each breath.

“At least he isn’t climbing the walls,” Bert muttered under his breath, then called to the detained customer. “Sir? Sir? It’s time to go. Rise and shine.”

The stranger awoke at once, grabbed the bucket before it toppled and rose to a sitting position. “What’s up?”

“You can go,” Bert told him. “Do you remember where you’re staying?”

“Sure. Here. Room 2008.” He pulled the card key from his pocket as if to prove it.

“Good. The elevator is this way.”

The stranger spotted her hovering behind the security guard. His smile was quick and delighted. Dazzling. His eyes were a deep, true blue, his hair dark, a little long and enticingly tousled as it swept over his forehead in a deep wave. An odd tension filled her when he looked her way.

“Hi, cousin,” he said.

“Sorry, I’m not your cousin.”

Had she not learned to be skeptical of people’s motives, she might have believed he thought she really was his cousin. There was an engaging openness and confidence about the stranger, as if he knew where he belonged and was content in that knowledge. She could envy him that.

For the briefest moment, the despair and sense of vulnerability, of always being held hostage to the whims of a dark fate, loomed over her. She felt utterly alone in the world.

Poor little lonely one, she mocked the self-pity. She had an aunt and a cousin, not that they were close, but still, they existed. She had a brother, but she didn’t know where he was or even if he was dead or alive.

As an undercover agent with the FBI, Adam had important work to do, work that often put him in danger and out of immediate contact. She’d learned to be self-sufficient.

“You have the scar,” the stranger said.

The flesh on her thigh tingled. “I’ve had that since I was a child.”

“I know. Since you were three,” he said.

Honey’s mouth gaped. How had he known that?

“It’s time to go,” Bert interjected, checking the time, then moving toward the door. “Do you need help getting to your room?”

“No, thanks.” The stranger turned his probing gaze back to her. “Are you off work now?”

She nodded warily.

“Good. We need to talk.” He pulled on his boots and rose in one fluid motion, standing a good six inches over Bert. “How about something to eat? Your friend can join us.” He pointed to the security guard.

“I’m going home,” Bert said in no uncertain terms.

“Me, too.” She edged toward the door.

The stranger frowned, then reached into his back pocket and brought out his wallet. To her surprise, he showed them a badge. “Zackary Nicholas Dalton,” he introduced himself.

Bert studied the badge. “You’re a deputy sheriff? From Idaho?”

“Right. I had official business here, which is finished. I’d planned to start home in the morning, uh, this morning.” He spoke to her. “I really need to talk to you before I go. This is serious.”

Seeing Bert check the time again, Honey shook her head. “I’m beat. And I’m not your cousin.”

“You could be. Do you remember where you were born? Or who your parents were?”

His words gave her pause. She and Adam had been orphaned when she was three and her brother thirteen. Their father had been killed in a bar shoot-out through no fault of his own; he and a friend happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two years later their mother had died of a rare antibiotic-resistant pneumonia.

“Well?” the lawman demanded.

“Of course I do,” she said firmly.

“Are they alive?”

She stopped, startled by the question, her eyes locking with the stranger’s.

“Ah,” he said, reading her correctly. “They’re not.”

“That…that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Do you remember them?” the deputy persisted.

“Not my father, but I remember my mother. I do,” she said when he raised straight dark eyebrows over skeptical eyes. “A few things.”

“How old were you when she died?”

Honey nearly answered, but stopped in time. Her past was none of this man’s business.

Bert gestured impatiently. “Let’s go.” He ushered them from the holding room, slammed the door, then gazed at her in uncertainty.

“Go home,” she told the guard. “I’ll be fine.”

“Where can we talk?” the visiting deputy asked, blocking her escape with the hand holding the bucket of quarters.

“We can’t.” She hurried after the guard. “Leave me alone, or I’ll call security again.”

“Listen, I know this sounds weird, but my cousin really does have a three-pointed scar on her leg. She fell on broken glass when she was three. A few months later she was taken from the scene of a car wreck. That was shortly before her fourth birthday.”

“Taken?”

“Kidnapped. Her mother died in the wreck on a lonely stretch of highway. Some pervert took the child.”

Honey was aghast. “How long ago was this?”

“Twenty-two years. Tink would be twenty-six her next birthday. How old are you?”

A wave of panic rushed over her, as if she might indeed be this long-lost cousin, as if her own past had been a lie. She shook off the idea. “Twenty-five, but I’m not the person you’re looking for.” She heard the note of desperation in her voice. Her life was complicated enough without having to deal with this man’s search for his cousin. “I’m not. Really. It’s impossible.”

“Uncle Nick had a heart attack,” the deputy told her, sorrow darkening his eyes. “He kept muttering about Tink while he was unconscious. The family—I have twin brothers and three cousins—decided to try to find her. Are you sure about your past?”

“Well…yes. I’m sorry about your uncle,” she said sincerely.

“Yeah, he’s the greatest,” he said, his eyes looking her over as if searching for some truth that should be evident. “He took in six orphans and raised us as his own. Even after losing his wife and child, his care for us never faltered, not once.”

His tale was similar to her own story, yet so different. As orphans, she and Adam had lived with their only relative, an aunt who had never wanted them and had never let them forget it. Honey sighed and blocked the thought.

“I’m really sorry. I have to go.” She hurried off, leaving the handsome stranger watching her with a thoughtful look in his gorgeous blue eyes.

At her one-room studio apartment, she prepared for bed, aware of the weariness that seemed to pulsate from every bone in her body. Clomping around in stiletto heels for several hours was extremely tiring. She hated the smoke and noise of the casino, too. In fact, there was very little she enjoyed about her life at the moment.

For some reason, the image of the handsome lawman came to her—the confidence of his smile, the humor in his eyes, the love he obviously had for his uncle. She sensed an innate integrity in him, the same as her brother had, and kindness…

Unexpected tears burned her eyes, startling her. Good heavens, she really was going off the deep end since encountering the deputy with the heavenly eyes.

Ah, well, this, too, would pass. Besides, she wasn’t normally a crybaby. Neither tears nor wishes had ever changed a thing in her life.

After brushing her teeth, she got out her laptop computer and checked her e-mails.

Her breath stopped momentarily when she saw the coded one from her brother. She quickly opened the mail, which appeared to be an advertisement of an upcoming sale. The date and hours of the sale were a reference to the time her brother would call. That he used this method of contact meant he was in deep, deep cover and in danger.

And so was she.

No matter what happened she wouldn’t return to a “safe” house. She’d lived there just before leaving L.A. Being “safe” had been the same as being in prison—no visitors, no calls, no going out.

No, thanks.

Her aunt’s favorite punishment had been to lock her and Adam in the bedroom and leave them for hours. As a child, Honey had often worried that they would be forgotten. Adam had told her they had to be brave, so she’d learned to conceal the fear. But it had been scary.

She closed her eyes as the memories swamped her with the old familiar anguish. After a moment she resolutely shook off the despair. Adam could take care of himself. She could do the same. No one would ever associate a bleached-blond waitress with the real Hannah Smith.

No! She couldn’t think of herself as Hannah Smith. She was using a fake name with a fake ID. For now and the foreseeable future, she was Honey Carrington.

The deputy was waiting at the service entrance when Honey arrived for work at six the next evening. She hesitated when she saw him, recalling a movie about a stalker she’d recently seen on TV.

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling and holding up his hands. “I’m harmless. I wondered if we could talk.”

“I thought you were on your way home.”

He gave her a smile. “Well, the best-laid plans and all that.” He fell into step beside her. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”

She clenched her hands as indecision ate at her. Her brother had called. He wanted her in a safe house on the East Coast. She’d refused. He’d been furious with her.

His cover had been blown a month ago. That was why she’d had to give up her position with the dance troupe that had brought her from Los Angeles to Las Vegas to perform at the casino theater and take on the disguise as a waitress.

In a scandal that appeared to be larger than the Rampart case, the FBI had been called in by the LAPD chief of Internal Affairs to infiltrate a police crime ring. Her brother had drawn the assignment.

Now the gang knew of her and wanted to use her to force Adam into the open, according to his contact within the rogue-cop group. He had warned her succinctly of what would happen if either of them was found.

Naturally she would do whatever it took to protect her brother. The stranger was a cop, but far removed from the L.A. crime scene. He offered the perfect escape. Did she dare take it?

Adam thought she should. He’d checked out the deputy and found him to be legit. Apparently the Daltons were a very respected ranching family that went back for generations, according to Adam’s research, which he’d reported to her an hour ago.

If she wouldn’t accept protection, then she should go where no one would easily find her. Who, Adam had argued, would think to look for her in Idaho? He’d made a good point. She’d thought of little else during her time off.

“Yes, I have a few minutes,” she said to the deputy, putting off the moment when she had to make the difficult decision.

“Can you find the coffee shop? I seem to go around in circles here.”

She had to smile. “The casino’s designed that way. You have to go past the slots and gaming tables to get anywhere else.” She led the way to the café. “Tell me about your cousin,” she said when they were seated.

“There isn’t much to tell. She disappeared when she was three and a half from a car wreck, which killed her mother. Tink was nowhere to be found when help arrived.”

“Maybe she wandered away and got lost,” Honey said. A vision of the child roaming dazed and confused through a dark forest, perhaps searching for her father, flashed on her mental screen. Sympathy stirred in her.

He shrugged. “All we know for sure is that someone else was at the site. The cops found tire tracks and boot prints, a child’s prints next to them. A man in a pickup had come through town that morning. He stopped for gas. The station owner recalled his license plate was from California. How did you get the scar on your leg?”

Honey blinked at the change in subject. “My aunt said my cousin pushed me and I fell on a broken bottle.”

“Your aunt?”

Honey nodded, her mind still on the little girl who had disappeared. She knew what it was like to feel lost and bewildered. Abandoned. It was a scary thing for a child.

“What happened to your parents?” he demanded, leaning forward over the table to stare at her intently.

“They died.”

“How? When?”

“My father was accidentally shot in a bar. My mother got sick a couple of years later. It was a long time ago,” she said to forestall the questions she could see coming. “I wasn’t quite four. I don’t remember anything except my mother left for the hospital and never came back.”

“The woman who said she was your aunt—”

“She is my aunt.”

“Does she have children?”

Honey tried to figure out what he was driving at. “A son. He’s six years older than I am. Aunt May couldn’t have more children.”

“Hmm,” the deputy said as if this was significant.

“What?”

“What if she wanted another child, a little girl to complete her family? What if she was willing to pay?” the deputy asked earnestly.

Honey kept a straight face. Her aunt had hated having her and her brother in the house. She’d hated spending any money on them, even though she got a check from welfare each month to support the two orphans.

“I don’t think that’s likely,” she told him wryly, wishing she had been the loved and wanted little girl his words described, wishing she could have had a family like this man apparently had. If wishes were wings…

“Come to the ranch with me and talk to Uncle Nick,” he urged. “You might remember something. If nothing else, I can promise you a great vacation. Mountain air. Beautiful views. Quiet. No one to bother you.”

Did he realize how appealing that sounded? “I have to work.” She paused, knowing she couldn’t use him for her own purposes but already regretting the loss. “I’m sorry about your cousin. I hope you find her.”

“Thanks.”

He let her go, his expression thoughtful. Honey was aware of the scar on her thigh as she walked away.

Idaho. She’d studied maps of it last night. The state seemed far from everything she’d ever known. He, or the uncle he was so fond of, had a ranch there. It sounded like heaven, a sanctuary for the weary soul.

Peace. Quiet. Safety.

Oh, yes, she was tempted, so very tempted.