Certified Male Page 12

  Gwen sat at the bar, staring at the blue-and-gold plastic wafer of Jerry’s passkey out of the corner of her eye. It practically vibrated, sitting there out in plain sight. And yet there was no way to just pick it up, not with the bartender watching her.

  “Your friend’s had a little too much tonight. I’d hate to see something bad happen to him.” The bartender leaned his hands on the inside of the bar and stood staring down at the key.

  Gwen swallowed and pulled her shoulder bag up into her lap. “I know.” She pulled out her lipstick and a small mirror and proceeded to outline her mouth.

  “The safety of our patrons is our first concern.” He lifted her glass and replaced the bar napkin underneath it.

  Gwen finished and gave him a brilliant smile, capping her tube of lip color and sliding it back into her purse. And stealthily removing her own passkey.

  “You enjoying yourself at the casino?” the bartender persisted.

  “Very much.” She slung her bag back over the chair back, keeping the key in her other hand and safely out of sight. Go away, she telegraphed to the bartender, but he was obviously in no hurry to leave and just as obviously hanging around to keep an eye on Jerry’s key.

  The seconds slid by and she sipped her martini. The bathrooms might have been out in the lobby, but it wouldn’t take forever for Jerry to get there and back. Fighting the urge to lick her lips, Gwen palmed her passkey and rested the elbow of the other arm on the bar. And prayed. On the television monitors overhead, Paul LoDuca hit a homer over the wall in Dodger Stadium.

  “Yo, service,” called a guy sitting with some friends down the bar.

  “Just a minute.” The bartender looked at the passkey and then at Gwen, who blinked at him innocently. She casually folded her arms on the bar, resting the hand with her card key closest to Jerry’s.

  “Hey, buddy, can we get a coupla beers down here already?” The guy slapped the polished surface of the bar.

  With obvious reluctance the bartender stepped a few feet away to the taps and began drawing the beers. Any minute, she thought, any minute she’d get her chance. She took a quick glance at the security camera, which was panning away from her. Her pulse thudded in her temples.

  The bartender gave Gwen a long stare before he turned to walk down the bar and deliver them.

  As soon as his back was turned, she used her fingertips to slip her room key over Jerry’s and slide his into her hand.

  Score! Heart pounding, eye on the bartender, she dropped her hands back into her lap and put the key into her purse.

  “Hey, babe.”

  Her vertical leap would have qualified her for the Olympic high jump.

  “Edgy, huh?” Jerry made a clumsy attempt at pinching her butt, but she shifted out of his way.

  Gwen gave a faltering laugh. “You were quick.”

  “Not quick at everythin’.” He leered at her.

  Gwen took a big swallow of her martini.

  The bartender reappeared. “You get your key all right, sir?”

  “Right here.” Jerry held it up and squinted at him. “Do I get another drink?”

  “Not here, sir. Perhaps up in your room.”

  “Depends if I get company,” he said archly.

  Gwen shook her head. “You might have made it to round two, I’m still waiting for my heat. I’ve got to finish this and call it a night.” She tipped up the last of her martini and rose. “Congratulations on moving up.” She gave him a light thump on the shoulder and walked out.

  SHE WALKED INTO THE ELEVATOR, a bubble of excitement swelling in her solar plexus. By the time she hit Del’s floor, it was practically floating her off her feet. She hurried down the hall.

  Del opened the door almost before she’d finished knocking and swept her inside. “’Bout time. I’ve been going nuts here. Are you all right? Did he touch you? What happened?”

  “He was a little too hammered to paw anyone, let alone Nina.” Because it felt too good not to, Gwen stepped closer and pressed a quick kiss on him. “You might ask me if I found out anything,” she mentioned, twirling into the room.

  Del’s mouth was still ajar from the shock of the kiss. His gaze flicked over her from head to toe. “Did you find out anything?”

  “I did, funny you should ask. Now ask me what I came away with.”

  “What did you come away with?”

  She held up the passkey. “Ta da!”

  “Your key?”

  “Oh, no. This is not my key. This would be Jerry’s key.” She did a little dance step and turned in a circle.

  Del whistled admiringly. “Nice. How’d you manage that?”

  “Oh, alertness, timing and manual dexterity.”

  “If you tell me you picked his pocket, I’m going to be a little scared.”

  “Not that much manual dexterity. He put it down on the counter and went to the men’s. I managed to swap it for mine under the eagle eye of the bartender, who seemed to think I was a woman of questionable virtue looking to take advantage of Jerry’s condition.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Well, you have to admit you did take advantage of Jerry’s condition.”

  “But my virtue is hardly questionable.”

  “I can vouch for that. So, what do you plan to do with the key?”

  “Wait for the right time and search his room, of course.” She sat on the high bed and bounced a few times. “He’s got no address that I can find. I figure he’s got to have the stamps with him.”

  “What if he’s got them locked up in the safe?”

  She grinned, eyes merry. “Oh, no. I just happened to mention what a challenging time I was having with my safe, and he told me he never uses them since the time he locked his wallet up in one and forgot the combination.”

  “Well, isn’t that convenient,” he said admiringly.

  “Isn’t it just,” Gwen agreed.

  “So, when do you think the right time’s going to crop up?”

  She considered. “That part’s going to be a bit tricky. Any ideas?”

  “Yes, but it would mean sacrifice on my part.”

  “Sacrifice?”

  “Vast sacrifice.”

  She leaned back on one elbow. “Do tell.”

  “Well, as you know, I had an interview with Jerry today for my series of articles. You know, to get the gritty reality of life in a poker tournament.”

  “I’m sure that was a fascinating experience.”

  “Oh, it was, it was. We shot some pool, drank some beer, talked about tournaments, making the big score, you name it.”

  “How’s his pool playing?”

  “He’d better not plan on making his score that way. To hear him tell it, though, he’s already got two feet on easy street. Winning the tournament will just cement it.”

  “Did he tell you any more about his big score?”

  “Just that smart guys figure out how to get ahead.”

  She snorted. “I’m sure.”

  Del stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Also that if he didn’t get laid soon, he was going to find a pro.”

  “‘Gritty reality,’ I think you said?”

  “He invited me to come out with him tomorrow night after the tournament play ends to visit a gentlemen’s club and enjoy some fine exotic dancing.”

  “Is that how he put it?”

  “No, I believe he said he wanted to go hit a titty bar and get a load of some pussy.”

  “That’s our Jerry, charming to the last.”

  His eyes glimmered with humor. “I told you it was a guy-bonding experience.”

  “And did you take him up on his invitation?”

  “I told him that to my everlasting regret I’d have to say no.”

  “I see. Not a big fan of gentlemen’s clubs, are you?”

  “I prefer private sessions with amateurs, thanks. But I’m willing to sacrifice for the cause.” He leaned against the armoire opposite the bed. “It occurs to me that if I go to the gentlemen’s club with Jerry, I’ll be
in a perfect position to keep tabs on his whereabouts and call when he heads home to warn anyone who might be taking part in a little breaking and entering.”

  “It’s not breaking and entering if you’ve got a key,” she informed him smugly.

  “Tell that to the hotel security.”

  “Or not.”

  “Anyway, I’ll look him up before the tournament starts tomorrow afternoon and take him up on his offer.”

  “Assuming your group reaches the magic number by a decent hour.”

  “We’re already down below one-fifty. I think we’ll do it by nine or ten.”

  “Leaving plenty of time for the gentlemen’s club.”

  “Do I know how to have a good time?” He crossed over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Anyway, I’ll keep an eye on him, you do your search and I’ll call you when we head home. Piece of cake.”

  “Very nice.”

  “We do make a good team.” He kicked his shoes off. “So, if you swapped your key for his, I guess you can’t get back into your room. What are you going to do?”

  “Well, I figure Jerry’s going to blunder downstairs, bitching about his key not working. They’ll think it got demagnetized and recode it. It happened to me one time on a trip. They don’t reset the door code unless you actually lose a key. It would probably look a little funny if I go down there tonight saying the same thing.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So I figured I’d wait until tomorrow morning and tell them I locked my keys in my room. I show ID, they give me new keys, no one is the wiser.”

  He stretched out facing her. “Of course, that does leave you with one problem.” His eyes had become very dark.

  “Which is?”

  “Finding a place to sleep tonight.” He ran a thumb along the line of her collarbone.

  It shouldn’t have made her pulse jump. After all, they’d already had sex. They’d slept together just holding each other the night before. There shouldn’t have been any mystery to it. But when he leaned closer, her lungs took a breath of their own accord.

  “Do you have any ideas about that?” It took her two tries to get the words out.

  “Depends.” He stroked his hand over her cheek and up into her hair.

  “On what?”

  “Whether you care about sleep.” And his mouth was on hers.

  13

  DEL SAT AT A TABLE IN THE conservatory café at the casino, waiting for Gwen to finish swimming laps and come meet him for breakfast. In the meantime he sucked down orange juice and reviewed his notes. Between hands the previous night he’d been scribbling madly and interviewing players. Now he pondered and framed his actual article.

  Movement flickered in his peripheral vision and someone sat across the booth from him. It wasn’t Gwen, though, but a dark-haired guy with a narrow face.

  “Can I help you?”

  “You’re Del Redmond, right?”

  Del blinked. Five hundred miles from his home, it was the last thing he’d have expected to hear. “And you are?”

  “Pete Kellar, stringer for the Globe.” The guy’s speech was staccato. His chin punched the air assertively. “Greg Jessup asked me to look in on you.” He squinted. “I gotta say, your head shot in the paper doesn’t do you justice.”

  “So, what are you looking in on me for?” The kid didn’t look old enough to be a stringer. He barely looked old enough to have graduated college. It didn’t stop him from settling in as if he’d been invited, though. He’d apparently read all the books on getting ahead in journalism.

  “I talked with Jessup yesterday about assignments. He said you were running down some kind of theft or conspiracy story. I’ve got contacts with local law enforcement you might be able to use.”

  “Law enforcement’s not involved.”

  “You don’t know that,” Kellar countered. His eyes were close-set and aggressive. Del imagined he practiced the look in the mirror. “They could be undercover. What’s the deal with this anyway? Jessup couldn’t tell me a whole lot.”

  And Kellar wasn’t about to find out anything further from him, that was for sure. It was pretty obvious that the kid was a scrapper, Del thought, taking a drink of his juice. Kellar wanted to make points with the story, prove himself. “It’s still too early to say what’s going on. I’m just looking into things.”

  “Pass me a list of your sources, let me help.”

  Fat chance, kid. “I’m all set for now. Give me your card and I’ll call you if I need anything,” Del said pleasantly.

  He held the card between his fingertips and looked at it. Stringer was an exaggeration. The card said freelancer, which explained Kellar’s eagerness. He was probably looking for a means to shoehorn his way into the Globe organization. Jessup no doubt figured it couldn’t hurt to have two people working on the same story. Or fighting over it—some editors believed in editorial Darwinism, and Jessup just might be one of them. Well, the story wasn’t going to give Kellar a way in, that was for sure. If anyone was going to get mileage out of this story it was going to be Del.

  He glanced across the room and saw Gwen walking in under a tree fern. “My breakfast date is here,” Del said, “and you’re in her seat.”

  “An interview?” Kellar’s eyes lit avidly.

  “No, just a date.”

  “Oh.” Kellar rose. “Okay, I’m out of here. You’ll call me?”

  “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

  Kellar took a long look at Gwen and gave an appreciative nod. “You do that.” He walked away.

  Gwen arrived at the table and gave Del a kiss. “Who was that?”

  “Just a guy I know.”

  She glanced at the business card on the table. “A freelance newswriter? Just a guy you know?” She stared at him a long moment, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Well, let’s order some breakfast.”

  VEGAS WAS ALL ABOUT transporting reality: the Manhattan skyline of New York, New York, the gondolas of the Venetian, the scale-model Eiffel Tower of Paris. Restaurants like Nobu of Manhattan and Olives of Boston had established branches in the desert to cater to the more discerning palates of the visitors accustomed to luxury. She wasn’t so surprised to see them, but she’d never in a million years have expected to discover an outpost of the Guggenheim there. The themes were still typically Vegas—the pursuit of pleasure—but the quality was surprising. Not only that, it was right off the gaming floor, so gamblers could take in art in between hands of cards.

  “So, how do you want to do this?” Del asked her.

  The polished wood underfoot rang as they walked through the open gallery. The blond maple ceiling soared overhead, above the copper-colored walls.

  “You mean tonight?”

  “Well, we could talk about your gallery strategy, but yeah, I think talking about tonight would be more practical.”

  Around them the space was mostly empty. Gwen guessed that the slots and gaming tables held more appeal for the guests than fine art. Most would duck in to see the exhibit just so they could say they had, so they could feel a little less dissolute after a week spent eating, drinking and gambling.

  “What time are you meeting Jerry?” She stopped in front of a painting of a group of peasants drinking in a tavern, a red-faced man playing a guitar and singing a no doubt ribald song, judging by the expressions on the faces of his audience.

  “When play is done. Ten or so, I’m guessing. We’ll grab bar food at the strip club.”

  “Lucky you. Is he planning on making a night of it?”

  Del circled around a Rodin marble of Romeo and Juliet clasped together in a frozen desperation, passion in the touch of their hands, the lines of their bodies. “I’m guessing Jerry will get there, knock back some drinks, get a few lap dances. After that, who knows? He strikes me as the kind of guy who wouldn’t blink at going looking for a pro.”

  “Class act all the way,” she said with distaste.

  He grinned. “Teach you to interview a little more t
horoughly in future.”

  “Hey, he’s a con man,” Gwen protested. “Everything checked out on him initially. I got the impression from my sister, Joss, that he partied, but nothing too far out of control.”

  “So maybe he’s making up for a month of clean living.”

  They walked onward to a tableau of lords lying about in a forest clearing. Above their heads a woman was swinging, skirts afroth, breasts nearly exposed in her low-cut gown.

  “How long do you see him staying at the bar?”

  Del considered. “I don’t know, a couple of hours, maybe?”

  “So I should watch for you to leave, add a half hour for safety and clock an hour for the search,” she calculated. “That gives me slush time at both ends.”

  Del considered. “I don’t like it. Too risky.”

  “What would you suggest?”

  “You’ve got a cell phone, right?”

  She pulled it out of her purse and held up the flat silver handset. “Don’t leave home without it.”

  “Okay, so we exchange numbers. I call you when we get there, let you know we’re in. That gives you the thumbs-up to go on up to Jerry’s room and search. Try not to get too messy with any of it, though, nothing you can’t straighten up in a hurry. We don’t want him to know you’ve been there.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  He gave a faint smile. “Keep an eye on your watch. Call it ninety minutes from the time I call you, no more. When we leave the club, I’ll call you again, give you plenty of warning.”

  “And Jerry’s not going to notice you wandering away to make all these phone calls?”

  “At the club? Trust me, he’ll be preoccupied. I figure I’ll just head up to the bar or something.”

  “How about after? It’ll look suspicious if you wander away at both the beginning and the end.”

  “True.” He thought a moment. “Okay—I’ll check my messages when we leave the club, make like I’ve got to call someone back for work. Instead I’ll call you. That’ll be your signal to beat it.”

  “That could work. What would the code be?”