Werewolf in Las Vegas

Chapter 6

A portly gentleman with all the bearing of an English butler rolled a double-tiered cart through the living area and over to the linen-covered dining table by the west window. Giselle breathed in the aroma of grilled steak, roasted veggies, and . . . werewolf?

For one electric moment, her gaze met that of the formally dressed man in his sixties. No doubt about it—the butler was a werewolf. She was dying to know the story behind this bizarre situation but figured she wouldn’t be getting it soon.

“Greetings, Mr. Thatcher!” Luke seemed really happy to see him. “I’d like you to meet Giselle Landry from San Francisco. Giselle, Mr. Thatcher has been serving our family for . . . is it almost twenty years now?” He glanced at the butler.

“Almost, sir.” He bowed in Giselle’s direction. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Landry.”

“Same here, Mr. Thatcher.” The butler hadn’t reacted to her last name, and yet if he was Were, he would know the Landry pack was one of the most powerful in the Bay Area. He’d probably spent twenty years learning to keep his expression neutral and his mouth shut. She wondered how he fit into the Cartwright/Dalton history. “Are you originally from London?”

“Hertfordshire, madam.”

“You’ve brought us some heavenly smelling food.”

“I daresay you’ll enjoy it.” He started unloading the contents of the cart onto the table. “Our chef is the best in the state.”

“And he’s not happy because I order pizza half the time,” Luke said.

“He makes you a very good pizza, sir.” Mr. Thatcher finished arranging everything on the table and took a lighter out of his pocket. “But he was pleased to get this order tonight.” He lit the white tapers sitting in heavy silver candlesticks.

Luke winked at Giselle. “Guess I’ll have to make him happy more often. I’d hate to lose the guy because he was sick of making pizza.”

“After this meal, sir, you’ll give up on pizza for good.” With the kind of flourish that he’d probably perfected after years of service, Mr. Thatcher whisked the silver domes away, revealing two carefully arranged plates, each bearing a filet, grilled asparagus, and an artfully spooned serving of mashed root vegetables. A basket of bread, two pieces of chocolate mousse cake, and two glasses of ruby-colored wine completed the meal.

Giselle stifled a moan of pleasure. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. It was all she could do not to yank out a chair and sit down so they could get started.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” Mr. Thatcher stood poised beside the cart, prepared to roll it out the door.

Luke glanced at her. “Giselle? Anything more you need to go with the meal?”

“Not a thing.” Except she’d love to know why a Were had served it to them, but she couldn’t very well ask that. “This is a feast.”

“Then I guess we’re all set, Mr. Thatcher. Thank you.”

“Have a great evening, sir. Just call when you’re finished and want me to clear.” With another slight bow, he rolled the cart into the foyer and let himself out.

“He’s fabulous,” Giselle said after he’d left. “So he’s been with your family for almost twenty years?”

“Guess so. I’ve lost track of it, but I’m sure my dad knew. Twenty years ago he was finally doing well enough to start hiring live-in servants. According to my dad, Harrison Cartwright recommended Mr. Thatcher for the job.”

“Now, that’s fascinating.” She had to say something to keep her jaw from dropping in amazement. Had Harrison Cartwright installed a spy in Angus Dalton’s household?

That made no sense, because twenty years ago Harrison and Angus had been the best of friends. Yet she could think of no other explanation. Normally werewolf live-in servants preferred to work for Weres. Working for humans didn’t give them enough privacy when they wanted to shift and get some wolf-style exercise.

She wondered if Mr. Thatcher had made do with trips to Howlin’ at the Moon and its underground forest. Now that would be closed to him, too. “Does he have a first name?”

Luke laughed and moved over to the table. “It’s Melvin. But I honestly didn’t know that until I started signing his paychecks in January. He’s always been Mr. Thatcher. Incredibly proper, but incredibly loyal. I was afraid my mother would ask him to go to France with her, but she didn’t, thank God. Ready to eat?”

“You know it.” Deciding to think about the werewolf/butler/spy thing later, she sat down and sighed in appreciation. “This really is terrific, Luke. I hope I won’t embarrass myself by attacking this food.”

“Please do.” He picked up his wineglass. “But first let’s toast.”

“What are we toasting?”

“I haven’t figured that out. My family is big into toasting, though, so it’s a habit with me.” His blue gaze warmed as he smiled at her. “I suppose a toast between the two of us could get complicated.”

“It could. Your toast might be something I can’t agree with.”

“Then . . . here’s to success.”

She chuckled. “That’s ambiguous enough, I guess. To success.” She touched her glass to his and drank. The wine was pleasantly dry, the perfect complement to a steak dinner. “Nice.”

“Glad it suits you. I just thought of another toast.”

“Okay.”

“To a cooperative effort as we work through our problems.”

“I’ll drink to that.” She touched her glass to his again and then took another sip. She met his gaze and felt a tug of sexual awareness. Not good. “I keep thinking about that picture of you with the Mickey Mouse ears.” She wasn’t really, but maybe if she could, it would squash her growing interest in him.

He rolled his eyes. “Please don’t.”

“If you really hate it that much, you could take it down, couldn’t you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His expression softened. “Because my mom and dad loved that picture.”

“Oh.” And every time he looked at it, he remembered that. Her heart squeezed.

He cleared his throat. “Hey, let’s not let this get cold. Dig in.”

“You bet.” With a quick smile, she picked up her fork and steak knife. But he’d touched her with that comment about the picture. She’d have to watch herself. She didn’t believe in getting involved with any human male, and certainly not one whose name was anathema to Weres.

Luke had just made his first cut into his steak when his phone chimed.

Giselle kept eating, but she had a bad feeling about that chime and the future of her amazing meal.

Laying his knife and fork back on the plate, Luke took his phone out and checked the screen. “Text from Cynthia.”

“And?”

“Looks like another damned riddle.” He glanced from his phone to his plate.

“We can eat quickly while we figure it out.” Giselle knew she wouldn’t enjoy the meal as thoroughly because now they’d be focused on Cynthia’s next step, but she was determined to eat it. She took a bite of steak, chewed quickly, and swallowed. It was incredible, as she’d expected it would be. “Lay the riddle on me, Dalton. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

“I’ll read it to you in a minute. First let me look at this other text from Owen.”

“I’m going to keep eating, and it’s just a suggestion, but I would do the same if I were you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He scooped up a forkful of mashed root vegetables. “I’ll check his message in a minute. I’m praying he’s located her and we can give up this wild-goose chase.”

“What’s he supposed to do if he finds her? I hope you didn’t tell him to hold her prisoner.”

“No.” He looked up quickly from his plate. “Despite what you think, I realize this should be handled diplomatically. Owen’s not supposed to let her know he’s around. If he sees her, he reports that to me.”

“Good. And then what?”

“I have to hope she’ll stay in one place long enough for me to get there and talk with her.”

She chewed and swallowed. “Do you know what you’re going to say to her?”

“I’m working on it. Do you know what you plan to say to Bryce?” Luke tackled more of his food.

“Pretty much. First I’m going to find out if he truly doesn’t want to take over from our dad. If he doesn’t, then I have to hope he’ll come back anyway. We miss him. That’ll be my main message, that we all love him and miss him.” She hoped Luke would start with telling Cynthia he loved her. But she wouldn’t offer that advice unless he asked.

After swallowing another bite, Luke read Owen’s text and groaned. “He’s lost their trail. He’s beginning to think they might have disguised themselves.”

“I wonder if that has anything to do with the fact Bryce knows I’m with you.”

“How would that change things?”

“I’m not sure. He hasn’t texted me back yet, so I don’t know how he’s reacting.” She took a quick gulp of her wine and went back to cutting into her steak. “At first I was afraid he wouldn’t like that I flew down here without telling him.”

“That would be my guess.”

“But my brother is complicated. If he’s tired of his rebellion routine, he might be grateful that I’ve come for him. That way he can say he came back because I was so pitiful.” She popped a piece of steak into her mouth.

Luke smiled at that. “I’d love a demonstration of you looking pitiful. It’s hard to imagine.”

The steak was so tender that she could chew and swallow it in no time. “Watch this.” She gave him her best sad, soulful look, the one where she looked like the big-eyed characters in a Japanese anime cartoon.

“Hey, that’s pretty good. You should definitely use that on him. In fact, you should probably teach me. It might work on Cynthia.” His grin had a boyish quality to it.

She was charmed by that grin. Too bad. She couldn’t let herself be charmed. “I doubt it. She’s not going to believe you’re pitiful at this stage in the game.”

“Probably not. But maybe if you talk your brother into going back to San Francisco, I’ll have a better chance of convincing Cynthia to finish her degree.”

“Maybe.” She thought it would depend entirely on how much empathy he showed for his sister’s dreams. Giselle also realized the more empathy he showed, the more appealing he would become to her.

She vowed to be on guard for that. “Of course, Bryce might not be getting tired of his Las Vegas adventure. He might be furious that I showed up and even more determined to help Cynthia run us ragged. That’s the other possibility.”

“Well, unless Owen figures out their disguise, I guess we keep solving the riddles and see where it takes us. Maybe if we solve all their riddles, they’ll agree to a meeting.”

She saw the frustration in his eyes. “I can tell you don’t like this.”

“No, but I’m willing to go along with the game. It seems as if she really needs me to do that.”

“I think she does.” Giselle hoped that Cynthia’s campaign worked to change his mind. Maybe becoming a showgirl wasn’t the best choice for his sister or maybe it was the perfect choice. All she knew for sure was that Cynthia should be the one to decide.

Giselle also thought that bringing about a truce between Cynthia and Luke might open the door to a conversation with Bryce. A part of her wanted to twist his ears off for being so contrary, but after seeing the way Cynthia was struggling with Luke’s expectations, she had a lot more sympathy for Bryce’s position.

Maybe he didn’t want to be an alpha. If so, he shouldn’t be forced into the role. She didn’t want it, either, but maybe there was a decent alternative—although she couldn’t think of one right off the bat. None of her cousins were alpha material.

She’d been so engrossed in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed that she’d finished her meal. She glanced over at Luke’s plate, and his was nearly empty, too.

He glanced up. “What do you think about the riddle?”

“You haven’t given it to me yet.”

“I haven’t? Oh, sorry.” He put down his fork and picked up his phone. “I may even know what this one refers to, but let’s see what you say. Water has rhythm and so do I. Watch it dance and watch it fly. Love is reaching for the sky.” His voice roughened on the last sentence. He cleared his throat.

Giselle’s chest tightened. This young woman positively ached with her desire to dance. And Luke knew it, too. Otherwise he wouldn’t have choked up on that last sentence. She gazed at him and wondered if he’d relent, right there at the dinner table.

If he was considering that, he didn’t let on. “It’s the Bellagio, right? The fountains out front?”

“I think so.”

He pushed his plate aside. “We might as well get going, then. There are other fountains in Vegas. Could she mean somewhere else?”

“I doubt it.” She picked up her wineglass and then put it back down. “Guess I’d better not have any more wine if I’m driving.”

“We could walk. It’s not that far.”

“Then let’s walk. The exercise might do us good.” It would do her good, at least. When he’d become emotional while reading the riddle, she’d wanted to put her arms around him, although that would have been dangerous and she wouldn’t have risked it. But now she wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled, and that wouldn’t solve anything, either.

They put on jackets and headed out. Luke wore leather instead of the blue denim, which he’d hung up because it was still damp. They took the private elevator down, but this time they walked out through the lobby. Coming in, they’d gone straight from the parking garage to the elevator, so Giselle had missed seeing how the hotel had changed since her first visit.

Apparently she was getting tired, because she spoke when she should have kept her mouth shut. “It’s changed.”

He glanced at her. “You were here? Oh, wait. Of course you were. Family friends of the Cartwrights would get rooms when no one else could.”

“Yes.” And the less she said about her previous visit, the better.

“My dad thought it was way too blah. All that soft lighting and greenery wasn’t for him. Or maybe he just didn’t like it because Harrison did.”

Giselle had loved the way it used to look and feel. The lobby had been an oasis of tropical plants and waterfalls, thick carpets and soothing birdsong. She remembered walking in from the hubbub outside and sighing in relief.

Now the place was filled with glittering surfaces, marble floors, and crystal chandeliers with lights so bright they hurt her eyes. The sound of flowing water had been replaced with rock music that bounced off the mirrored walls and made her want to cover her ears. Conversation and laughter seemed twice as loud because nothing absorbed the noise.

“You don’t like it.”

She opened her mouth to say something diplomatic.

He put a hand on her arm and shook his head. “Don’t bother. I didn’t expect you to like it. You were the one who nearly fainted in a crowded elevator.”

“What I think of the lobby shouldn’t matter, anyway.”

“That’s true, but you got that look on your face as if you wanted to spare my feelings. You don’t have to worry about that. I was younger when my dad remodeled the lobby, and I thought it was awesome. But lately it’s been getting on my nerves. Too noisy and glaring.”

She laughed. “Luke Dalton, you’re turning into an old fogy.”

“Could be, and that’s not a good thing. The marketing people have conducted exit surveys, and most guests love the lobby. One woman said she felt as if she’d stepped inside a giant tiara.”

“Perfect description. I’ve never wanted one, giant or otherwise.”

“No? I thought most women loved tiaras.”

“Not me.” And she wasn’t a woman, either, but that was beside the point. She knew female werewolves who liked those things, but she’d never yearned for one, not even when she was a little kid.

He studied her. “I guess that makes sense. You aren’t wearing any jewelry, either. I hadn’t noticed that before. Are you allergic?”

“No. I’m just not attracted to the idea of wearing it. One more thing to worry about.”

“That must be frustrating for any guy who wants to buy you a gift.”

She smiled at him. “Not if he has some imagination.”

“Mmm. Interesting challenge.” He gestured toward the revolving door that led to the sidewalk. “Shall we?” He followed her out.

As they started north toward the Bellagio, she was jostled by the crowd. Not much, but enough that she temporarily lost track of Luke. She figured he’d have no trouble finding her, considering her height and red hair, so she kept walking.

Besides, she didn’t want to waste time looking for him when she’d caught the unmistakable scent of a Were nearby. With so many competing smells, she couldn’t identify Bryce for certain, and he wouldn’t be the only werewolf walking along the Strip.

Yet the breeze carried the scent back toward her, and she noticed a tall, broad-shouldered male ahead of her. His hair was black, not red, but if Owen was right and they’d disguised themselves, then it could be Bryce up there. She hurried, trying to catch up with him.

A strong hand closed around her upper arm. “I almost lost you,” Luke said. “Maybe we’d better—”

“Just a sec.” She kept her attention on the tall figure walking about twenty feet ahead of them. Definitely a werewolf. Besides the faint scent, she could tell by the way he moved.

With the breeze blowing in her direction, he wouldn’t be able to scent her, which gave her the element of surprise. She slipped out of Luke’s grip and grabbed his hand. “Come with me. I think I see Bryce.”