Lucky Bastard Read Free Page B

charming.
    “I am looking forward to sleep.” His voice sounded tired as he deftly changed the subject. “But I could not end the day without hearing your voice.”
    I felt like a ping-pong ball being smashed from one side to the other. On one side I was the potential romance, on the other, the hotel exec standing in his way. How this game would play out—and which me would win—was anybody’s guess. “I’m glad you called.”
    “Yes, but why are you awake?” He sounded as if the thought that normal people were asleep at this hour had just occurred to him, which was probably accurate.
    “I had to answer my phone.” I know, I know, playing fast and loose with the truth. Not good. But, to be honest, I was having a real hard time with reality right at the moment.
     
    ***
     
    After finishing the conversation, I reluctantly hung up then repocketed my phone, taking my time to savor the sweet taste of a very real fantasy. Turning, I glanced at Dane. He still looked like hell, maybe worse. Underneath it all, he looked…guilty. Which doused my French glow pretty nicely.
    “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I hissed, my temper flaring again. Add playing games to the long list of things that piss me off. Dane was a master.
    “I wish I knew.” His face remained a blank slate, a study in self-control.
    “Cowboy, you know… ” I was reaching for something to say, measuring my words, trying to resist closing my fingers around his neck, when the doors opened. Instinctively I turned, squinting through the darkness. Like a Hollywood version of a near-death experience, figures moved toward me silhouetted by the bright light behind them.
    There was someone here near death, but it wasn’t me. So I wasn’t too alarmed.
    “Lucky?” Romeo called, his voice hushed as if he had wandered into a church and was afraid to awaken the dead. He needn’t have worried.
    At the sound of the detective’s voice, Dane stiffened. Stepping back, he straightened, throwing his shoulders back. With practiced ease, he arranged his features into a bland, impenetrable mask.
    The man could be as stupid as a bull thrown in with the cows.
    Lying to me would land him in the doghouse. But lying to the police would move him up the food chain to the Big House…if I didn’t kill him first.
    And he wanted my help?
    He acted as if he’d find my name under the word doormat in the dictionary. Just another bit of proof to my all-men-are-pigs theory. Yes, it’s a sad commentary that the survival of the human species rests solely on the low expectations of females.
    Been there, done that, bought the tee shirt. But, thankfully, I’d never done the nasty with Dane. One minor triumph, all things considered.
    “Over here,” I called to Romeo. My voice sounded strangled, as if Dane had put both his hands around my neck and squeezed. Of course, if he did, it might save us both a ton of trouble.
    Out of the darkness, Las Vegas’s finest young detective materialized in front of us, followed by a half dozen officers in uniform and three people in civilian clothes. With his rumpled beige raincoat, wilted shirt, a dark suit that hung on his thin frame, his tie knotted but hanging loose around his neck like a noose ready to be tightened, Romeo looked as if he hadn’t seen a decent night’s sleep or a good meal in a month of Sundays—something I suspected was closer to the truth than I’d care to think.
    His sandy brown hair, mashed down on one side, held the evidence of a recent wetting and combing. A cowlick stood at the crown of his head like a defiant thistle. The hint of sleep lingered in the corners of his cloudy blue eyes. One cheek held the imprint of something, his hand perhaps, or the corner of a stack of papers—remnants of a quick catnap.
    When we’d first met, Romeo couldn’t hide his emotions. Each one would march bold and unbidden across his face, much to his chagrin. Now he eyed our dead girl with the blank, businesslike stare of