One More Night(38)
They were scotch and soda; they were vodka and tonic. They were better together.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Saturday, 3:09 p.m., Las Vegas
Their bags were packed and they were heading through the lobby, eager to catch a cab up the Strip to the Bellagio. He wanted to put the entire last twenty-four hours behind them.
“Are you sure you don’t want to get out of here? Leave this town behind us?”
“Do I look like a wuss?”
“Hell no,” he said emphatically.
“Then I don’t want to go¸” she said, stopping in her tracks to look him in the eyes. “Look, I don’t like what happened, and I didn’t enjoy being harassed, but I’m not running out of town with my tail between my legs. Life makes no promises, nor does this city. We could run into trouble anywhere. So if we’re living in The Hangover, if we’re making a pit stop in Ocean’s Eleven, or even spending a night in Casino, then so be it. I’m a gambler and I know there are no guarantees. You wake up every morning and you take your chances. But one thing I am not is a coward. I used to be owned by a mobster a hell of a lot more powerful than Dominic Handcuffs. I’m not going to let some two-bit mob pawn ruin my vacation. This girl is getting her weekend away.”
God, she was brazen, and he swore she grew two, three, four feet taller during that speech. He was ready to make a shrine to his badass woman. Instead, he clapped slowly. Several times. “Can I write that down and use it in a screenplay somewhere? Because that was the stuff movie scenes are made of.”
“You got a script cooking somewhere you haven’t told me about?”
He shook his head. “Nope. No need to, because our life is like the movies right now.” He leaned in for a quick kiss, and she grabbed him, tugging him close. He lowered his voice, speaking just for her. “Do you realize I fall more madly in love with you every day?”
“Good. Because maybe that love will make you forget how much trouble I am.”
“I love all of you, even your trouble,” he whispered, stroking her hair.
She was trembling, and he felt her toughness fade for a moment as she ran a hand through his hair and whispered in his ear, “I really would like you to stay by my side the rest of the time we’re here.”
“I promise,” he said, pulling her in closer, tighter, wanting to make her feel safe now and for all time.
With his arm draped around her protectively, he kept her close as they weaved their way through the afternoon crowds to the doorway, sunshine beckoning from beyond. “A change of pace will do us good,” he said. “A fresh start for the rest of the weekend.”
“Besides, there’s nowhere like the Bellagio to begin our do-over.”
As they neared the revolving door, a carrot-topped and freckled young bellman trotted over to them. “Excuse me, Mr. Nichols?”
His chest tightened. What now? “Yes?”
“We had a delivery for you this afternoon. We brought it up to the room but you weren’t there, and since you’re checking out, my boss wanted to get it to you before you left,” the bellman said, thrusting a plastic bag at Clay. The bag was extremely light, as if it were carrying a small scrap of fabric.
He peered inside and there it was—his favorite small scrap of fabric. His lucky purple tie. A slip of paper was wrapped around the tie. He pulled out the paper and opened it.
Clay, I found this on the plane this morning. I know you were looking for it, so I dropped it off at your hotel. Please accept my apologies for the delay. I didn’t find the tie on my initial search because it turned out to be wedged between two seats. But after another look, I recovered it for you. The jet is in Vegas now, and I’ll be ready for anything you might need, and whenever you want to return to New York.
Clay couldn’t contain a grin as he showed the note to Julia. “You know what this means?”
She read it and met his gaze. “It means the tie went missing when we were flying high.”
He nodded. “We were distracted. In the best of ways,” he said, and they resumed their pace to the taxi stand. As they waited, he slung the tie around his neck, and she knotted it loosely. To think he’d entertained the notion that the pilot had stolen his tie. Instead, their passion for each other had simply knocked the item of clothing out of sight.
Ironic, in a way. Or maybe it was simply apropos for the two of them.
* * *
Dominic couldn’t take the smell much longer. He crinkled his nose again, and tried to breathe through his mouth, but he was pretty sure the guy in the corner had just pissed on himself again. The other dude in here smelled like he bathed in a sewer. Gripping the bars tightly, Dominic scanned the concrete hallways, eager for a sign of Michael. He’d called him the second before the cops had tossed him in this cell—tossed being the operative word; they’d practically grabbed him by the belt buckle and heaved him into this pit of putrid—and Michael had said he’d be here soon.