Werewolf in Las Vegas

Chapter 3

Luke couldn’t deny that Giselle impressed him with how quickly she’d hit on the main issue with Cynthia. Although he had plenty of eyeballs to keep track of Cynthia’s whereabouts, they were all guys. They thought like guys.

Now he realized he could use a woman’s perspective. And as he’d said earlier, he and Giselle wanted the same thing. Or almost the same thing. They both wanted to separate Cynthia from Landry and get his ass back to ’Frisco.

After that, Luke still had to derail Cynthia on this showgirl thing. Because Giselle had figured out the problem right away, she might have some ideas for changing Cynthia’s mind. Giselle had pegged her as a goal-oriented person. All he had to do was subtly direct Cynthia toward a more suitable goal.

His cell phone pinged, signaling a text. He picked it up, checked the screen, and glanced over at Giselle. “We might have some news.”

“That would be great.”

He read quickly. “According to my guys, Cynthia’s Corvette and Landry’s rented SUV are parked side by side in a public lot near the Strip. Either they’ve rented a different vehicle or they’re on foot. My guys are checking the rental agencies.”

“The rental agencies will give them that kind of information? I thought that was against the law.”

He looked up from his phone. She really was a straight arrow. He’d have to keep that in mind. “Technically, that’s true.”

“But they’ll bend the rules for Luke Dalton?”

He shrugged. “Depends on who’s working the desk. My dad knew a lot of people in this town, and he made sure they understood that I’d be stepping into his shoes someday. I didn’t expect to have to take over this soon, but they’re treating me the way they would have treated him, and I appreciate that.”

“How old was your dad when he died?” Her tone was gentler than it had been a few minutes ago when she’d chewed him out for his views on men, women, and dancing the tango.

“Fifty-six.” His chest tightened. His dad had loved contemplating the grandchildren he’d have someday. Luke had figured he had plenty of time to give him some.

“Not very old.”

“Nope. It was his heart. I lay a lot of the responsibility for his condition at Harrison Cartwright’s feet.”

“He also died young.”

“Yeah, but he’s the one who created the problem. If he’d turned the deed over right away instead of making my father get lawyers involved, they might both be alive today.”

“Have you asked her why she wants to be a showgirl?”

“No.” But as he looked into Giselle’s green eyes, he realized that would have been a good move. Yeah, he really could use the female perspective as he worked through this problem. “I just assumed it’s because our mother was a dancer and Cynthia always thought that was cool. So what? It’s still a terrible idea.”

“Your mom was a dancer?”

He nodded. “My father saw her performing at the Sahara thirty-two years ago, and that was it for him. He never looked at another woman. She never looked at another man, either. They were crazy about each other.”

Giselle’s expression softened. “Is it any wonder your sister wants to be a showgirl after hearing a romantic story like that? If she wants a guy like your dad, she’s not going to find him working in a microbiology lab.”

“You think that’s her motivation? To find the man of her dreams?” Luke hadn’t thought of that. Cynthia probably wouldn’t want to hook up with a nerdy scientist or lawyer. She’d want a charismatic gambler like her dad had been. Unfortunately, Bryce Landry fit that profile.

“I have no idea if she’s hoping to re-create what your parents had. As smart as she is, that’s probably only a small part of her thinking. But you would know for sure if you asked her.”

“Which brings us back to the so what part of this discussion. No matter what her motivation is, being a showgirl is still a lousy idea. She could attract a psycho stalker just as easily as Prince Charming. Easier, actually.”

“But she wants to work in your casino, which means she’s putting herself under the protection of you and your staff. That’s extremely smart, don’t you think?”

“I’ve thought of that, and I swear it makes me break out in a cold sweat. What if she’s counting on the Silver Crescent being a safe environment and then one night it’s not?”

“You say that because you’re paranoid.”

“Damn right I’m paranoid. Vegas has its share of strange people. If you had a sister, would you want her putting herself on display for any weirdo who happened to be in the audience?”

She gave him a smug little smile. “I’d want her to do whatever made her happy.”

“Oh, bull. You’re here to drag your brother back home, whether he likes it or not. Why is that? Maybe he’s perfectly happy where he is. I wouldn’t doubt it, now that he’s met my sister. In fact, I’d bet he is happy, or he’d be coming home of his own accord.”

She lowered her lashes and her cheeks grew rosy.

Damn, she was sexy. He really would have to watch himself around this woman. He’d already caught himself admiring the cut of her emerald-green T-shirt, which gave him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. Her designer jeans fit her well, too, and he was pretty sure she was wearing leather boots. She’d come in carrying a fringed leather jacket, which she’d laid across her lap when she’d taken a seat.

She had the kind of style he admired, and that was dangerous. More than that, she challenged him to question his assumptions. Irritating as that could be at times, he kind of liked it, too. Cynthia used to debate issues with him when she’d come home on vacation, and he’d enjoyed the mental exercise.

But now wasn’t the time to become interested in a woman, especially not this one. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Too much was at stake, and besides, she had insights he needed. He didn’t want to miss those insights because he was caught up in her as a person.

She met his gaze with a reluctant sigh. “You have a point. My brother’s not living up to the role I envisioned for him, either. But I promise you that if I have a chance to ask him why he’s acting this way, I will ask. I don’t know how we can judge someone’s behavior without finding out their reasons.”

“Bravo, Dr. Phil.”

“Bite me, Dalton.”

He laughed. “Don’t tempt me.” But she already had, and she wasn’t even trying. If she put effort into the task, he would be in big trouble.

His cell phone pinged again, and he picked it up to read the text. “Apparently, they didn’t rent anything. Owen’s reminding me that Cynthia has friends in town who might loan her a car.”

“Who’s Owen?”

“Owen Banks, master of intrigue, head of security. He lives for this kind of stuff, and I hardly ever give him enough of it.” Another ping. “Well, there you go. He’s done a rundown of Cynthia’s friends, and all of them are still in possession of their cars.”

“He knows all her friends? Are you telling me she’s been under this kind of surveillance all her life?”

He glanced up, surprised at her horrified tone of voice. “Yeah, probably. My dad was very protective. Why?”

“Because . . . if I were Cynthia—and thank God I’m not—I would deliberately disappear, too! The poor girl’s not allowed to breathe without being monitored by her father’s henchmen, who are now your henchmen.”

He bristled. “I think henchmen is a little harsh, don’t you? These are security people. My family has a lot of money. That draws criminal attention, especially in Vegas. We’ve always been at risk for things like kidnapping and ransom. Understandably, we want to avoid that.”

“I hope you’re not lumping my brother into that criminal element category.” Her green eyes snapped with indignation. “She went with him of her own free will. And he would never—”

“Easy, Giselle. Easy.” The fire in her eyes was compelling. “I never meant to imply that your brother was a criminal. I had my people do a preliminary background check on him a couple of weeks ago, and I’m not worried that he’s after Dalton money.”

“I see.” She narrowed her eyes, obviously not happy that he’d had her brother investigated.

“You don’t have to look like that. I didn’t pry into your family secrets. In fact, I didn’t pry into your family at all. I just made sure he didn’t have a police record or mountains of debt. It’s the sort of thing my father would have checked. You can’t blame me for that.”

“I suppose not.”

“So he’s not a fortune hunter, but he’s still a bad influence on her.”

Her indignation returned. “You don’t know that! I refuse to let you make my brother out as the villain in this scenario. He just happened to be around when she felt like giving you grief.”

“So, he could have talked her out of doing it!” Luke felt his control slipping.

“Why? I wouldn’t have! She’s twenty-two, and you’re trying to engineer her future.”

“I am not.” He felt a headache coming on. “I’m trying to keep her from making some really bad choices.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a huge difference! She has hundreds of choices left, all kinds of options open to her, and money to finance them.”

“Except the one choice she wants.”

“It’s a horrible choice!” A light on his phone blinked. “Hang on a minute. She’s sent me a text.”

“Cynthia?”

“No, Madonna.” He heard the sarcasm in his voice and sighed. “Sorry. Yes, Cynthia. When she’s happy with me, she calls, but when she’s mad at me, she texts.”

“Probably because she knows you don’t like it.”

“Could be.” He read the message through twice and swore under his breath.

“What does she say?”

“God knows. Makes no sense to me. Here, I’ll read it to you: She who pulls the sword from the stone claims a power all her own. Then she has a four-digit number.” He glanced up at Giselle. “What the hell is that all about?”

“She’s sending you a riddle.”

“A riddle?”

“Sounds like it to me. She’s inviting you to solve it.”

“Why?” He was completely at sea.

Giselle took a deep breath. “Well, I’d only be guessing.”

“Please, guess away. Cynthia’s never sent me a riddle in her entire life.”

“First of all, I think it’s encouraging that she’s communicating with you.”

“You call this communicating? I call it trying to screw with me.”

Giselle smiled. “Maybe that, too. But at least she reached out, and . . . I know something about this riddle business.”

“That makes one of us.” He had a sudden suspicion. “Why do you know?”

For the first time since she’d come into his office, she looked uncomfortable. “Bryce and I used to play riddle games all the time when we were kids.”

“Aha!” He pointed a finger at her. “And you were so sure he wasn’t influencing her. Now suddenly she’s sending me riddles, which she’s never done before. Where do you suppose she got that clever idea, hmm?”

“From him. It’s exactly the sort of thing Bryce would do. But maybe he’s convinced her that she needs to keep in touch with you and this is a way that appeals to her. You said she’s smart.”

“Oh, she’s smart, all right.”

“So is my brother. But what if he’s trying to help straighten this out between you two? Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Not if I have no effing clue what she’s talking about! This isn’t communicating. It’s taunting.”

“But if we solve the riddle, we might be getting somewhere.”

“All right.” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Go ahead, Ms. Riddle Expert. Solve it.” He waited for her to admit she had no clue, either.

Instead she brightened. “She’s talking about Excalibur. That’s what the sword-in-the-stone reference is about. What if the number is a room there? What if the two of them have checked in and that’s where they are?”

Luke shoved out of his chair, refusing to admit how surprised he was by the ease with which she had cracked his sister’s code. “I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t like it at all. I know what goes on in hotel rooms.”

“Luke, she’s twenty-two. She’s been away at college. Surely you don’t think she’s still a—”

“I don’t want to discuss it. But I am going over to Excalibur to see who’s in that room. Are you coming with me?”

“Sure.” She stood and put on her leather jacket. “We’ll go on my motorcycle.”

That brought him up short. “Your what?”

“I rented a Harley to get around while I’m here. It’s what I’m used to back home, and it’s parked in Howlin’ at the Moon’s patrolled lot. Or did you want to walk?”

“No. Takes too long. The valet can bring my car around.”

“We’ll get there faster on my Harley. The rental company insisted on giving me an extra helmet. They seemed to think I’d have a passenger sooner or later while I was here.”

Luke hesitated. He wasn’t in the habit of surrendering control of his transportation.

“Cynthia won’t expect you to be riding around on the back of a motorcycle.”

He had to admit he liked the way she thought. “Okay, yeah. That’s a good point. She’s not the only one who can play games.” He grabbed a denim jacket from the coat tree by the door and followed Giselle out of the office.

As they walked together through the noisy bar toward the front door, Luke stopped to fill Chuck in on the proceedings. Chuck agreed to monitor the bar situation while Luke was gone.

He turned back to Giselle and discovered that she was inspecting the decor with obvious interest. “Ever been in here?”

“Years ago with some friends. You must be happy about owning such a Vegas landmark.”

“I expected to be happier about it.” He surprised himself by saying that.

“You mean because of this business with your sister?”

“That doesn’t help, but after all the drama of the poker game, the actual ownership of the bar turns out to be anticlimactic.”

“Maybe it hasn’t sunk in, yet.”

“Maybe that’s it.” He started toward the double front doors with their oval insets of etched glass. Giselle walked beside him, and he couldn’t help noticing that they moved with a similar rhythm. She was tall, about five-eight without the two-inch heels on her boots. But he was taller by about six inches.

He’d always liked that ratio. Any woman who was shorter than five-eight seemed small to him, probably because his mother and Cynthia were also around five-eight. In any case, he liked having some height advantage when he dated someone.

Not that he was dating Giselle or ever would. He’d help her corral her brother, and that would be the end of that. She’d called him a throwback, and that wasn’t so far off. He still believed in protecting those who were smaller and weaker than he was. The meant all children and most women. It definitely included Cynthia. He was still debating whether it included Giselle, especially after he saw the motorcycle. Any woman who blew into town and rented a black Harley might not need his protection.

As he strapped on the helmet and goggles she handed him, he admired the practiced way she tucked her hair under her helmet, adjusted her goggles, and climbed on the bike. Okay, he admired her ass, too. Was that a crime? Not in his world.

“What about you, though?” he asked as he swung up behind her. “Won’t your brother suspect you’re on a motorcycle, if that’s what you always drive?”

“Bryce doesn’t know I’m here.” She started the engine.

“Ah.” He’d assumed she would have warned him that she was on the way. Knowing she didn’t telegraph her punches was valuable information and increased his respect for her. “Planning to sneak up on him, are you?”

“I guess you could say that. Ready?”

“Anytime you are.” Now was not the time to admit he’d never been on a motorcycle before. All his buddies had either owned one or had at least ridden on one, and somehow he’d missed the experience. Once the teenage years had passed, he’d lost the urge to try it. But it couldn’t be that hard.

“You might want to hang on.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you say so.” She zoomed into traffic and he damned near fell off.

Grabbing her around the waist, he straightened. Holy hell, but the woman could drive this sucker. He wouldn’t say she took unnecessary chances, but she did some impressive maneuvering through traffic.

It was an exhilarating ride, but if he hadn’t been holding on to her, he might have been left somewhere in the middle of the road. To be fair, she’d warned him, and he’d been too macho to listen. He might not want to make that mistake again.