Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (18 page)

I held up a hand. “I know. Go on.”

“About an hour into this afternoon’s play, Mr. O’Farrell came to us with some suspicions of cheating going on. I don’t know how he picked up on it when none of our dealers or pit bosses spotted it.” Because he’s a werewolf, I didn’t say. He
smelled
it. “But he was right. A couple of the security cameras taped it, but we’d never have seen it if we didn’t know what to look for.”

“And then?” I prompted.

Gladden picked up the story. “Then things get odd. The tournament was supposed to continue—officials decided there hadn’t been enough damage to cancel it. But when the tables seated again after the break—no Ben O’Farrell. The dealers were definitely keeping an eye out for him after the ruckus.”

“We got this from a security camera,” Matthews said, pushing the play button on one of the monitors.

The black-and-white video showed a scene outside, looking down on a sidewalk and street—empty of people, so probably somewhere in the back or side of the building. A creepy black sedan with tinted windows was parked on the curb. Three men moved toward it. One of them, wearing dark glasses and gloves, seemed to be standing watch, with his back to the driver’s-side door, looking up and down the street. The other one walked toward the back door. The third was Ben. The second man opened the car and urged Ben inside, then climbed in after him. The lookout went around to the passenger side in front. Then the car drove away.

I couldn’t see Ben’s face in the image. But I recognized him, his clothes, the shaggy wave of his hair, the way he moved. I tried to guess what was going through his mind, to judge what was happening by his actions: his hands were in fists, his back seemed stiff. He wasn’t looking at either of the men. Was he being kidnapped? This looked like a kidnapping.

“He was kidnapped?” I said.

Gladden sighed. “Hard to say. Here’s what we think happened. We know one of these guys.” He pointed to the one at Ben’s side. “He’s muscle for a local midlevel organized-crime boss, a guy named Faber who runs some drug and prostitution rings and a little bit of unregulated gambling. Guys like him try to run under the radar by keeping operations small enough not to get noticed. We think he may have set up the cheating ring in the tournament. Which means he probably didn’t think much of Ben sticking his nose in it.”

The scenario sounded like something out of a bad gangster movie. Did things like that even happen in the real world?

“We have another idea,” Matthews said. “Nobody has a gun on him, he doesn’t look like he’s being coerced. We have no idea what they said to him. Mr. O’Farrell might be with them voluntarily.”

“No,” I said. “Look at him, does he look happy to be there?”

“You’d know better than we would,” Matthews continued. “That’s another question we had for you: Do you have any reason to suspect that your fiancé might ever have had contact with someone like Faber?”

I didn’t want to answer that, because I’d have to say yes, and that would give them all sorts of ideas that Ben’s involvement with this ran a lot deeper than just being a good citizen reporting someone cheating at poker.

“He’s a criminal defense lawyer,” I said, rubbing my face. “He’s had contact with all sorts of people, when you put it like that.”

A tense pause, then Gladden said, “Have you and your fiancé been getting along? Have you had any arguments? Anything to make you think he was making plans?”

“No,” I said, a purely instinctive exclamation. I couldn’t tell them any more about our relationship without saying we were werewolves in charge of a pack. Ben couldn’t leave that behind. Could he? “Everything’s fine. He didn’t just leave—he’s been kidnapped. You should be out there looking for him!”

“Most women wouldn’t let their boyfriends play in a poker tournament the day they’re supposed to get married,” Matthews said.

“Well, Ben and I aren’t the kind of people who tell each other what to do,” I said.

“We also found this,” Matthews said, producing a plastic bag containing a cell phone. Ben’s cell phone. “It looks like it was dropped sometime between him leaving the poker room and getting into that car.”

“Dropped? Like he just dropped it? You don’t think maybe those guys dumped it so he couldn’t call for help?”

Gladden’s gaze was flat. “We’re looking into every possibility.”

“You think Ben did something,” I said, looking hard at both of them. I couldn’t even process what they were telling me. My skin tingled, and I felt a howl growing in my lungs. This wasn’t happening. “He was just trying to help you catch a cheater, and now he’s in trouble. And you think he’s up to something? Yeah, he’s got some pretty shady contacts in his line of work. Did you know there’s a gun show in the hotel this weekend? You want to see some shady characters? And yeah, some of those people know Ben, too. Maybe you should check them out, see if any of them have it in for him and are using this as an excuse. Because I don’t have any reason to think he would ditch our wedding voluntarily.”

I took a deep breath and flattened my hands on the table. I had curled my fingers stiffly, like claws.

“Ms. Norville,” Gladden said. “I promise you, we’re doing everything we can to find him. If you know anything else that might help us, or if he contacts you—”

Matthews had paused the video at the moment when the car pulled from the curb. I could still imagine Ben, his muscles stiff, climbing into that car. Maybe the guy next to him didn’t have a gun. But maybe he did, and the camera just didn’t catch it.

“Can you show me that spot?” I said. “Where that was taped?”

The pair escorted me out of the office, and it took another ten minutes of walking down carpeted hallways, into the pandemonium of the casino and into another wing, before we reached the side doorway. People stared at us as we passed—I must have looked terribly guilty, or important, or something, with the detective and security chief flanking me.

The double metal doors and sidewalk outside were ordinary. We were at the side of the casino. One block up, traffic of the Strip passed by, but here, nothing. Calming myself, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Concrete. Spilled oil. Burned gas. City smells. People had passed by here, and maybe I smelled a hint of Ben, and a trace of steel and gun oil. But I couldn’t be sure. The scent of Vegas itself masked the details.

“You see what you needed to see?” Gladden said.

“Yeah,” I said, studying the alley one more time. “I thought I might sense something.”

“Ms. Norville,” he said. “I promise, I’ll call you the minute I learn something.” The pity in his voice was plain. He thought Ben had dumped me. My arguments to the contrary didn’t mean anything, because he’d seen this story play out before. Sure, a hundred thousand couples a year got married in Vegas. But how many people got dumped in Vegas? The tourist bureau didn’t have those statistics.

I managed to mumble a thanks after Gladden and Matthews escorted me back inside. They continued to assure me that they were doing everything they could to find Ben. The words sounded hollow.

I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend the day sitting next to the phone, waiting.

My first thought was to talk to Dom. Vampire Masters in any town made it their business to know what was going on in their city, who the movers and shakers were, supernatural and otherwise. I needed to know more about the people who had taken Ben, where they might be holding them, how strong they were, and who might help me get him back. Dom might know. The problem: the desert sun still blazed, and Dom wouldn’t be out until nightfall.

I had some other ideas, but before I could do anything, I had to tell my parents: the wedding was off. At least until we found Ben.

Chapter 13

I
called Mom on my way to the Olympus’s casino bar.

She was nonplussed by the news about Ben. I wasn’t sure my explanation made any sense. It still sounded like the plot of a bad movie. “Kitty, are you sure you’re all right? You sound a little panicked. Where are you? Your father and I can meet you—”

“No, Mom, that’s okay. I’m fine—I mean I’m not fine, but I’m functioning. I’m going to find some people who might be able to help. You and Dad should just—I don’t know. Just don’t worry. I’m going to figure out what’s going on.”

She sighed. “But Ben wouldn’t just up and leave without telling you.”

“That’s what I told the cops,” I said. “But that only means something terrible has happened.”

“I’m sure the police are doing everything they can. Kitty, you really shouldn’t be by yourself. Let us take you out to dinner.”

As if I could think about eating at a time like this. I’d reached the bar and started searching. The place was packed with a Saturday evening crowd. Unfortunately, every single one of them looked like they belonged at a gun show. Half of them seemed to be eyeing me suspiciously. I so didn’t want to be here. I parked with my back to the wall, between the bar and the front entrance, and kept a watch out.

“Kitty, are you still there? I can hardly hear you. Where are you?” I had no idea what she could be thinking. She’d always been supportive, even when she didn’t entirely understand what she was supporting. But I wondered: did she sometimes wish I could just be
normal?

“Yeah, Mom. It’s okay. Really.”

I heard rustling through the mouthpiece, and she said, “Your father wants to talk to you.”

Crap. I knew he was only worried. But I wouldn’t be able to tell him no.

“Hi, Kitty?” he said. The father-knows-best worried voice.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Deep breath now. “I’ll be fine. It’s all going to turn out, trust me.”

“Hey, don’t get defensive. I just want to talk to my favorite youngest daughter. Now, your fiancé is missing. I really don’t think you should be alone right now. If you don’t want to have dinner, that’s fine. Your mother and I just want to be sure you’re holding up all right. Just a drink in the hotel bar. Okay?”

I couldn’t argue. How did he do that? “Okay. I’m in the bar right now. But give me half an hour.”

“We’ll be right down,” he said.

“No, half an hour—” but he’d already hung up. Great. This was going to get interesting.

I sat on a stool and ordered a soda. I hadn’t realized how dry my mouth had gotten. Adrenaline and nerves really sucked it out of you. I had to keep my strength up if I was going to find Ben.

Playing with the ice, I watched the entrance. I assumed the clandestine convention-within-a-convention was still happening. One of them would pass through here eventually. I’d spot them and pounce. I still felt like I had a target painted on me. I tapped my feet, didn’t even bother trying not to look anxious. Remembered Brenda’s ultimatum: she sees claws, she shoots. And I couldn’t blame her one tiny bit.

This wasn’t my crowd. I had no idea how to deal with people who would sooner shoot me than look at me. Well, actually, I did. The night I met Cormac, I managed to talk him out of shooting me. I wished Cormac or Ben were here to talk to them. But if they were here, I wouldn’t need to confront Evan and Brenda, would I?

I had gotten used to the idea of a pack—human, werewolf, all of the above—standing with me, helping me, watching out for me. I didn’t want to go back to being on my own. Wolves belong in packs.

I kept checking my phone in case I’d missed a message. I hadn’t. I wanted Gladden to call and tell me everything was all right. The woman tending bar leaned over to me at one point and said, “He stand you up or something?”

Strangely, after processing the question, I wasn’t sure how to answer. “Not yet,” I said finally.

She shrugged and went about her work, like this wasn’t the weirdest thing that had happened all day.

When Evan finally appeared, I almost fell off my seat. I stopped myself in time, took a breath, and played it cool. Hoped I was playing cool.

He was talking with another man, someone I didn’t recognize. They exchanged a few words outside the bar, shook hands, and the other guy walked off. Deal concluded, it looked like. I was afraid Evan was going to walk away as well, forcing me to chase after him. But he didn’t. He came in and headed for a booth in back.

I stalked after him.

He looked like he was about to slide into the booth, but he wasn’t, because his body was tensed the wrong way, angled so that he could see over his shoulder, which meant he knew I was following him. Which was fine; I wasn’t trying to be subtle.

In the same moment, I stopped, and he turned, reaching under his jacket for what was undoubtedly a gun in a shoulder holster. He froze there, staring at me with a cold gaze. His jaw was set.

“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll admit that you’re not stupid enough to draw and shoot in here, and you admit that I’m not stupid enough to sprout claws.”

He relaxed incrementally. The hand he drew out from his jacket was empty. But the mask, the easygoing man-about-town I’d seen when I first met him, was gone, and he now wore the stony expression I was used to seeing on Cormac. The hunter had emerged.

Slowly, the mask returned, and he seemed calm when he finally spoke. “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting here just for me.”

I smiled. “Shall we sit? Since you obviously have something you want to talk about.” He gestured to the booth.

“This your on-site office?” I said.

“Something like that.”

I slid in, sitting right on the edge, not taking my eyes off him. He sat opposite me, and we looked at each other across the table. Our stares definitely held a challenge, and neither one of us was going to look away. And they called me an animal. . . did he even realize our body language was the same?

I thought about being coy, then realized I didn’t have a clue how to be coy about this, so I laid it out. “Ben’s missing.”

“What do you mean, missing? Like he stood you up or something?” He chuckled, like this amused him.

Was everyone going to immediately assume Ben had ditched me? Was I that ditchable? I closed my eyes, counted to ten, reminded myself that I could claw this guy’s eyes out under the right circumstances. Then I reminded myself that he carried silver bullets. Best be polite.