Smoke and Mirrors (22 page)

Reckless energy surged, and she sauntered over to Vilas. "Good evening, Mr. Vilas. I trust all is well?"

An intrigued smile curled the thin lips beneath his mustache. Very openly, very deliberately, he took her measure.

"Other than the fact I've been stood up by my comrade," he answered in his heavily accented voice, "I'd say things are getting better all the time."

After a few moments she owned
Santiago
's undivided attention. First about nothing in particular, then about the city of
Chicago
, then how he was spending his time.

"You've been with us almost two weeks. How much longer will we have the pleasure?"

"Ah-h-h-h." He drew the word out like a caress. "A pretty lady like you, I imagine you can have the pleasure as long as you'd like."

His words slithered through her. "The hotel, Mr. Vilas. Will you be staying much longer? I trust you're finding everything up to your standards?"

His eyes darkened. "Funny you should mention that,
querida.
Just this morning I discovered something wrong with my room." He paused, surveyed the length of her body. "Perhaps you'd like to see for yourself."

Maybe she'd been barking up the wrong tree. Maybe Vilas himself would produce the evidence she needed to clear Derek's name. "Perhaps I would."

He kept his hand at the small of her back as he guided her from the smoky bar. He walked confidently, head high, stride brisk, a man with a purpose. Cass matched him step for step. Each click of her heels against the hardwood floor echoed like an ominous battle cry.

"Hang on a sec," she said as they passed the reception desk. Smiling, she glanced toward Ruth. "Have I missed anything?"

"Not a thing," Ruth answered with a sympathetic smile. "Not a peep from upstairs."

Dejection tore at Cass, but she used it to make her strong, not weak. "Mr. Vilas is having a problem with his room. Since everything's quiet here, I'm going to go have a look."

"Perhaps we should call one of the maintenance men instead."

Vilas pressed his hand more firmly against Cass's back. "That won't be necessary."

Apprehension swirled with adrenaline, recklessness with caution. For years Cass had laid her life on the line, never giving a damn about consequences. She'd already lost all she had to lose. Yet after one night in Derek's bed, she found herself dreading what came next. She could find something, she realized. She could find the evidence she needed to link her lover to the front man of a renowned crime ring.

Her heart rebelled at the thought, but the cop in her realized there was only one way to find out.

"One of the bellman said he needed to speak with me," she told
Ruth,
hoping Ruth could decode the message in time to get Gray to the hotel. "But…" she drawled, smiling at Vilas, "I may be a while. Be a doll, Ruth. Let John Dickens know."

Realize he's not here,
she added silently to herself.
Realize I'm asking you to call my friend and get him down here before it's too late.

"Be a sweetie and hand me my purse, will you, Ruth?" Still smiling, she accepted the small black leather bag, grateful for the emergency supplies she always kept inside. "Never know what a girl might need."

* * *

"Here we
are,
querida."
Santiago Vilas halted outside his door and turned toward her. "I'm so fortunate you decided to give me personal attention, yes?"

"That's my job," she returned smoothly. "Yes?"

He slid his key into the door and ushered her inside. Years of training coupled with her familiarity with the hotel gave her the courage to walk into the darkened suite. Just to the right would be a Tiffany lamp, so she reached for it immediately, before Vilas could close the door and eliminate the lighting from the corridor.

But when she flicked the switch, no light shone forth.

Vilas closed the door, casting them into darkness. "Ahh-h. This is much better."

"Is this the problem?" She felt rather than heard him move toward her. "You have a burned-out lightbulb?"

"Little one." A scratching sound followed his voice, giving way to the flicker of a match. "Let's not waste time with games. We both know why you're here, yes?"

She forced herself to swallow. "Of course."

"Very good." The light of the match glowed in his eyes. "It will be very good indeed." He gave her a slow appraisal,
then
went about lighting candles, putting on music, pouring wine.

All the while Cass scanned the room, looking for anything of use.

"Here, little one." He handed her a goblet. "Drink."

She raised her glass. "To a fruitful encounter."

He
clinked
his glass to hers.

Keep him drinking, Cass thought to
herself
, slow his senses and reaction time. In her pocket she had her gun. In her purse she had enough amphetamines to knock him on his ass.

"You are very beautiful," he cooed, drawing her into his arms.

Her skin crawled at his touch. Only one man had the right to touch her like that, hold her, make her his. And he was upstairs with his fiancée.

"So beautiful," Vilas said again, leaning toward her.

Cass stiffened. "Mr. Vilas…" She stepped from his embrace. "I'm afraid there's been some kind of mistake."

His eyes hardened, as did his hold on her arms. "No mistake,
querida.
I invited you to my room, you accepted. We both know what happens now."

"You said you were having a problem," she reminded. "As assistant manager, I came to check it out."

He smiled. "And I'm sure you will be very thorough indeed."

Chapter 12

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^
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D
erek looked at Marla standing there, offering him free use of her beautiful body. She would do anything, he knew, anything to wheedle her way back into his bed, including whoring herself once again. It would be the ultimate payback to spend the night ransacking her body, only to send her packing in the morning.

Yet Derek could think of no one but Cass. He had lost himself with her, for the first time since—since when? Years had passed since he'd stopped plotting and planning and calculating, and simply let
himself
feel.

Feel. Is that what being lost was about?

He couldn't let that happen, knew feeling led to loss and disappointment, to pain.

"Derey…" Marla's hands abandoned her breasts and traveled down the curve of her waist. "Don't keep me waiting—I can see the fire in your eyes."

He stepped so close he could feel heat radiating from her body. Those pouting lips of hers parted in anticipation as he bent toward her, closer … closer…

"I'll tell you one more time," he ground out, his hands clenching her coat together and brusquely tying her sash. The phone began to ring. "Then I'm calling security. You are not welcome in my hotel—you are not welcome in my life."

* * *

Recoiling, Cass retrieved her hand. "I'm afraid there's been a mistake. When you mentioned a problem, I thought—"

The ringing of the telephone interrupted her words. Instinct had her reaching for the receiver; Vilas's icy voice stopped her cold. "My room," he clipped. "My call."

"Just trying to help," she answered sweetly.

Heat flashed in his eyes. "I'll let you help,
querida,
after I take care of business." He edged her hand off the receiver and pulled it to his ear. "You are late, my friend. I'm now otherwise engaged."

Cass thought about bolting for the door, but Vilas's mysterious conversation held her rooted in place. He was doing his best to cloak his words, but she realized this conversation had something to do with a meeting.

Behind a veil of nonchalance, she watched, straining to hear the voice coming through the phone line. Male, that's all she could tell.

"You've kept me waiting long enough," Vilas snarled. "Now I ask you to wait one night. Sounds fair, yes?"

Another moment of silence, this one punctuated by Vilas's victorious smile. "That is what I thought."

He replaced the receiver,
then
returned his attention to Cass. A low light gleamed in his eyes, not quite a fire, but every bit a pyre. "Ah,
querida …
do not look somber. There is no need."

"I'm on duty," she reminded, "I can't stay."

He pulled her to him, swaying with the music. "Your job is to serve the guests. I'm sure the boss would want you to serve me, as well."

"You're quite right," she said sweetly. "Customer service is a top priority, but every second I spend with you, is a second I'm not tending to other guests." In a well-practiced move, she twisted free from the cage of his arms. "Truly, I must return to my duties at the front desk. If I don't, we'd be rudely interrupted any moment."

He stepped toward her. "I'll take my chances."

"But I won't." She backed toward the door. "I don't want ten or fifteen minutes with you," she told him, her voice purposefully dejected. She wanted all of him. Behind bars. "But if I stay, that's all we'll have." Though it sickened her, she gave him
a
once-over. "Our time is coming.
Rest assured, our time is coming."

And it was. So help her God, it was.

Disappointment dragged at his features. "Go if you must,
querida.
I do not want you by force." He strode toward her, stopping close enough to drag a finger down the side of her face. "Remember one thing—you started something here tonight. We will finish it."

Warning hardened his voice, his eyes. She smiled anyway, languidly, then turned the knob behind her and slipped through the door. It took every ounce of willpower and training not to run down the hall, away from that vile little man. But she didn't. Shoulders square, spine straight, chin high, she turned and walked serenely down the hall, surprised, in fact, the staccato rhythm of her heart could not be heard echoing through the corridor.

The wall of aristocrats heard it, though. The scorn in their eyes revealed they knew what game she was playing, knew and didn't approve.

Neither did
she
. Not anymore.

* * *

"John Dickens wasn't here, so I figured whatever he wanted to see you about could wait until tomorrow."

Cass offered Ruth a strained smile. "That's okay. I'll get with him later."

Ruth's eyes narrowed. "You okay?"

"Never better." She stared at the dying embers in the fireplace. Only hours before it had raged magnificently. Now, like her master plan, it was nothing but smoldering ashes.

"Right." If her tone hadn't driven home her disbelief, Ruth's snort did. "That's why you're as pale as a ghost and have hardly said a word since you came down from Mr. Vilas's room. He
do
something to you, honey? Just because he's a guest doesn't give him the right to paw at you. Mr. Mansfield—"

"No." Heart drumming, Cass swung toward Ruth. "Not a word of this to anyone." Twice already Derek had intervened when her investigation tempted her to go too far. Thus far she'd had the luxury of hiding behind hotel responsibility, but sooner or later that excuse would wear thin.

"Everything is fine," she added, smiling to back up her words. "I'm just tired."

Ruth eyed her a moment longer. "It
has
been a wild night," she admitted. "Who would've thought Marla Fairchild would have the audacity to waltz back into this hotel like she owned the place?"

The memory of it still turned Cass's stomach, bruised her heart. "She almost did, didn't she?"

"Own it?" Ruth shrugged. "Well, I suppose if Mr. Mansfield had married her she might have, but the hotel isn't what she wanted from him. Not really."

"Oh?" She'd unearthed precious little about Derek and Marla's aborted engagement. They'd been the toast of
Chicago
,
then
the day of their wedding Derek vanished.

Ironically, all traces of drug trafficking vanished at the same time.

Ironic, like hell. It didn't take a genius to link the two, nor to link Derek's return with the appearance of Santiago Vilas.

But sometimes things weren't what they seemed, Cass knew. Sometimes the more obvious a situation appeared, the more likely it wasn't. "From what I've heard, Derek and Marla didn't—"

Cass's words broke off when Ruth began clearing her throat. Puzzled, she glanced at her friend, followed her gaze toward the foyer. Derek stood there, still clad in his black suit, inky hair unbound, making his cheekbones look more pronounced, his eyes more deeply set.

Cass's breath stalled in her throat.

And her heart took a long, slow free fall.

He strode toward them, toward her, his eyes hot and demanding. Every instinct Cass possessed surged to full alert, but she just stood there, watching him advance.

Run,
some part of her commanded. The woman? The cop? She didn't know. Not anymore. Had the entire world depended on
it,
she couldn't have moved, any more than she could look away.