Double Lucky (103 page)

“Were you now?”

“Yes indeed.”

They grinned knowingly at each other.

“So…” Denver continued. “Where were you?”

“Well, I finished up at the club,” Bobby said, scratching his head. “Then I came directly here.”

“Directly?”

“Kinda. Had a little detour on the way.”

“A detour?”

“Met this beautiful woman at the blackjack table.”

“Really? And who might she be?”

“I think her name was…” He thought for a moment. “Uh … Chicago.”

“Chicago, huh?”

“Right. Gorgeous woman, with real breasts, long silky hair, fantastic legs, and best of all, a taste for adventure.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“I dunno. It depends. Where were
you?
”

“Ah,” Denver answered mysteriously. “I ran into a tall dark stranger with mad sexy moves and a hard … body.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It was. We had sex in the elevator.”

“Hmm,” Bobby said lustfully. “Tell me something—did he make you come the way I'm about to make you come?” And with a deft flick of his wrist, he removed her towel.

They both burst out laughing as the towel dropped to the floor.

“Oh my God!” Denver exclaimed, still laughing. “You're insatiable.”

“You bet I am, and don't you just love it,” Bobby said, steering her into the bedroom and onto the bed.

She smiled up at him as he began to kiss her very deliberately. Then, at a slow pace, his tongue started moving down her body until he gently spread her legs and began going down on her.

Throwing her head back, she luxuriated in his touch. His hands were on her thighs, holding them apart. Once again she felt deliciously trapped.

After a few minutes, he came up for air. “You're making me forget about Chicago,” he said. “That woman is becoming just another distant memory.”

“And that's exactly the way it should be,” Denver murmured dreamily, thinking that this was definitely turning out to be a weekend to remember.

*   *   *

On the one hand, Kev felt guilty; on the other hand, he thought—screw it—he was entitled to make some decent money. Billy was rolling in it, bathing in it. Billy was a friggin' movie star, and who was he? Poor old Kev who tagged along for the ride, and then got kicked to the curb like some beaten-up old dog, without even a decent explanation. Oh yeah—
So long, Kev. Book yourself a room, Kev. Charge it to me, Kev.

Was Billy forgetting the months he'd camped out in Kev's apartment when he'd first made it to Hollywood? Billy Melina had not had a pot to piss in, and he, Kev, was the one who'd been paying all the bills, putting food on the table and supporting Billy all the way.

So fuck it. He had a chance of making some real money, and who could blame him for taking it?

It turned out that Ellie was more than just a pretty girl sitting at a bar scribbling in a notebook. Ellie was a freelance photojournalist who was in Vegas to dig up as much dirt as she could on the many famous celebrities flocking into Vegas for the big fight.

“Y'know,” she informed Kev after they'd shared a couple of beers, “the right photo of a hot celeb can fetch up to a hundred grand. And with your boss going through such a public divorce, well … if I can get an exclusive photo of him with someone new—bingo! We're in the money. You arrange it, and you're in for half.”

Who was he to turn down such a lucrative offer?

Screw loyalty. It didn't seem to matter to Billy.

*   *   *

Frankie frowned. Where was he supposed to start looking for Cookie? She wasn't on the dance floor, she wasn't in the damn club, so where the hell was she? He had no idea, but he did know that if he wanted to stay on Gerald M.'s good side, he'd better make an attempt to start searching for the little minx.

Gerald M. was the kind of dude he was desperate to hang with. Yeah, Gerald M. might be older, but he was a tried-and-true star—like a Smokey Robinson or a Lionel Richie. Old-school. And Frankie would like nothing better than for Gerald M. to plant his ass in River every night, give the place some star power. He'd even supply him with free drugs for the pleasure of his company.

However, this wasn't going to happen until he produced Gerald M.'s precious daughter.

How precious would Daddy think Cookie was if he'd seen her sucking Frankie's cock on the drive up? Not so precious anymore.

Frankie approached M.J. and was taken aback to observe his ex Annabelle Maestro sitting at the table, right next to Lennie Golden and the red-hot agent everyone was talking about—Eddie Falcon. He and Annabelle hadn't spoken in months, not since he'd threatened to sue her for publishing a libelous, untruthful book, painting him as some kind of dissolute, lowlife drug addict.

He knew Eddie—the agent had stopped by River on several occasions—so he said a brusque “Hi” and attempted to ignore Annabelle.

Eddie wasn't having it. “You know my girlfriend, Annabelle Maestro,” Eddie said. He paused, then added, “Wait a minute, didn't the two of you used to go out?”

“Briefly,” Annabelle said, refusing to look at Frankie.

“Way back,” Frankie said, turning to M.J. “You seen Cookie?” he asked.

“Dating juveniles now,” Annabelle murmured. “How appropriate.”

Frankie pretended not to hear her.

“She and Max were goin' over to Wonderball,” Cassie offered.

“Wonder
what?
” Frankie said, wishing he was anywhere but standing in front of this group.

“It's a kids' club on the strip,” Cassie said. “Wonderball. Everyone knows it.”

Great. His teenage girlfriend had run out on him to go party with the kiddies. Well, at least he could tell Gerald M. where she was.

“Thanks,” he said to Cassie.

“No prob,” Cassie responded.

Back to his table he went with his newfound information on Cookie's whereabouts.

The table was empty. Gerald M. and his entourage—including the two blondes Frankie had lined up for later—had taken off. All that was left was the check.

His freakin' luck. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

*   *   *

Max loved the fact that Billy didn't want her to go; it meant that he really liked her.

“When am I gonna see you again?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed watching her as she pulled on her leggings and boots. “'Cause if I'm
not
gonna see you, I may as well hop a flight back to L.A.”

“Well…” she said, thinking about how she could work it out. “I've got lunch with my family, but after that I don't see why I couldn't come by. Maybe we could do something, go somewhere.”

“Sweet dreams, babe,” Billy said with a rueful laugh. “If I set one foot outta here, the paps'll be all over me, an' you'll be labeled my new mystery woman.”

“Is it
that
bad?” she asked, thinking what a drag it must be to lose your privacy.

“Believe me,” Billy assured her, “it's that bad. Even without the divorce thing it was full-on. Now multiply that, an' the situation escalates. I hate it.”

“But surely they don't even know you're in Vegas?” she questioned.

“Oh, they know. They just haven't found me yet.”

“Does this mean we can't go anywhere together? Even in L.A.?”

“Not unless you're prepared for everyone to find out about us.”

Max considered Lucky and Lennie's reaction and shuddered. They would totally
freak
.

“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “Then why don't I come back here later and we'll watch TV or something.”

“I'm liking the ‘or something,'” he said with a lascivious grin. “Your education shall continue.”

“Ha!” she said scornfully. “Stop imagining that I'm, like, some innocent little flower you're teaching how to grow. Honestly, I'm not that girl.”

“Do not shatter my illusions,” he said. “I'm happy that I'm your first. It makes everything very special between us.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying not to let him see how thrilled his words made her. She had to play it a little bit cool, couldn't let him see how hooked she already was. “Well anyway, I gotta get out of here,” she added, standing up.

“Call me when you get to your room,” he said. “I want to be sure you got back safely. I'd escort you, but—”

“Yeah, I know, I know, those freakin' paps.”

“Right,” he said, grinning. “You catch on fast.”

“You'll find out soon enough.”

“Lookin' forward to it, Green Eyes.”

“So am I!”

*   *   *

Lucky knew the Cavendish as well as she knew her own hotel. During the time she was building The Keys, she'd stayed in the villas many times. She was aware of exactly where Armand's villa was located, having gotten the number from the switchboard.

As she drove to the hotel, she decided she'd park in a special spot near the villas. No need to walk through the lobby or the casino. Later, at a decent hour, she'd call Renee, the owner of the Cavendish, and ask her to arrange for Armand Jordan to be thrown out.

But right now she was looking forward to having him exactly where she wanted him. It was a game. A game she excelled at.

 

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

If he hadn't been so stoned, Armand would have been well aware that what he was doing was reckless and beyond stupid. He would have known that he should summon Fouad to make sure that the details were handled properly. And he would also have known that Fouad would put an immediate stop to what he had planned.

Ah, yes … Fouad would caution him that he was behaving in an impossible and dangerous fashion. That he was putting himself in distinct jeopardy for dealing with such bad people. Whores and thugs who would do anything for money.

WHORES AND THUGS.

Armand laughed. He didn't care. He had his mind made up.

He walked unsteadily into his bedroom, pulled out the money suitcase and unlocked it. Twenty-five thousand to get rid of an enemy was a cheap price to pay. Twenty-five thousand and good-bye, Lucky Santangelo.

He stared at the neat stacks of bills, organized into bundles of twenty thousand. Cash. There was nothing like it. No paper trails to catch a man out.

Before he knew it, Luscious was standing beside him, her mouth gaping open as she gazed down at the suitcase stuffed full of money. “You rob a bank or somethin'?” she asked, her eyes wide with greed.

“My bank. My money,” he replied, vaguely annoyed that she'd followed him into the bedroom.

“You're a rich mothafucker, ain't'cha?” she said, hanging onto his arm. “Rich an' sexy.”

“You think I'm sexy?” Armand said, quite pleased that she would say so. He'd never given a woman the opportunity to call him sexy before—he'd always been too busy humiliating them, or telling them they weren't fit to speak.

“Sure you is,” Luscious said, still clinging onto him. “An' … I got a treat for you all set up in the other room. Somethin' real special.”

“What would that be?”

“You ever done crack, Arnie? 'Cause if you never did, then I'm gonna take you somewhere you ain't
never
gonna forget.” She pulled on his arm, dragging him away from the suitcase stuffed full of money. Leaving it unlocked and open. “Let's go, big boy. This'll be a night t' remember.”

*   *   *

Crouching in the bushes near Billy's villa alongside Ellie and her long-lens camera, Kev experienced a pang of guilt. He and Billy went way back. They were longtime friends, and now he was about to sell him out.

But hey—it was all Billy's fault. Billy had decided not to trust him, and that was okay. No trust between friends meant all was fair.

“We could be stuck here all night,” Kev muttered, not relishing the thought.

“Okay with me,” Ellie replied, perfectly cheerful. “Whoever is in there with him has to come out eventually, and when they do, I've got the shot.”

“You've done this before, haven't you?” Kev said, wondering when he should make his move. After all, this was Vegas, and tonight he was definitely getting laid.

“A few times,” Ellie replied, a tad sarcastic. “Learned from my dad. Now
he
was one of the greats. He shadowed Jackie O. Captured Elvis fat and thin. Michael Jackson in his pj's. O.J. on the run. Diana and Dodi. Oh yes, my dad nailed it every time. He taught me that the trick is to lie dormant until the exact right moment, then go for it. Kinda like bird-watching. The subject doesn't even know. Night-vision camera, sweet lens. It's a trip.”

“I dunno who he's with in there,” Kev said for the third time. “Could be Venus for all I know. We ran into her earlier.”

“What a shot
that'd
be,” Ellie said, adjusting her camera position. “Front page everywhere. Oh my!”

“He's been seeing Willow Price,” Kev offered.

“Old news. Besides, everyone knows she's a pussy hound.”

“Then there was this young girl in L.A. Max something or other.”

“Young is good,” Ellie said matter-of-factly. “Or black. Or a porn star. The best would be if he pulled a Charlie Sheen. Always a winner.”

“Not Billy,” Kev said with conviction. “That's not his scene.”

“No? One thing I've learned in this business, anything is possible.”

*   *   *

“I really don't wanna let you go,” Billy said, walking Max to the door, his arm around her waist.

“And
I
really don't want to go,” she responded, reaching up to playfully touch the dimple in his chin.

He opened the door, and they stood there, bathed in the moonlight, not ready to part company.