“Michael is the Charlie Stravinsky of this town. That clear things up for you, sugar?”

  She couldn’t hide her reaction anymore. She cringed, squeezing her eyes shut painfully. Memories of Charlie’s capriciousness, his manhandling and his sheer and utter vindictiveness crashed into her, rolling over her in painful waves. How the hell had she wound up in the crosshairs of another Charlie? Or Vegas’s Charlie? Did she have a kick me sign on her back?

  Dominic pointed at her, and sneered knowingly. “Ah, so now everything rings a bell, doesn’t it?”

  He kneeled down in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs, his breath hot on her face.

  “No,” she said.

  “Let me make it as plain as fucking day, princess,” he said, his pretty amber eyes looking twisted. “You’re on the fucking list. We know you work for him, and we don’t like it. Michael runs the executive games here, and no one else. He has a deal with Charlie to stay the fuck out of his turf and vice versa, so when you show up it sends a message to us that Charlie’s encroaching, and we don’t like it. So let’s see how much he likes it when his top ringer starts working for us, and when you work for us, then I will be more than happy to show you what you’ve been missing on all fronts,” he said, grabbing his crotch as if it were an offering to her, then returning his hands to her thighs and digging in harder.

  And that did it. That fucking did it. No fucking way was this scumbag manhandling her and hitting on her in the nastiest way. In an instant, she launched her high-heeled foot forward and kicked him hard as a hammer in the balls with her sharp black heels. She sent him reeling backwards as he clutched his family jewels, crying out like a wounded animal. She joined him in the noise department, screaming as loudly as she could.

  But the scream didn’t last long. Within two seconds, he had his slimy hand on her mouth, silencing her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Saturday, 1:39 p.m., Las Vegas

  “Hi. I’m sorry I’m not Julia, but I found this phone right outside the VIP room. Your number was the last one dialed, and it looks like you’ve been calling too,” the man on the other end said, and Clay wasn’t sure whether to kiss the phone or slam it into the wall.

  He opted for neither. This was a clue and hopefully it would take him to her. “Where are you right now?”

  “By the blackjack tables. I’ve got on a pink shirt. I walked past the VIP room, and the phone was on the ground with a ton of missed calls, so I grabbed it,” the man said, and Clay turned around and ran to the roulette tables, taking long, fast strides. At one point, a waiter called out to him to slow down but he ignored him, quickly finding the pink-shirted man with Julia’s cell phone.

  “You found it by the VIP room?”

  “Yes, poker room.”

  Clay clapped him on the arm, scanned the tables quickly for signs of a VIP room along the walls, then spotted an arched doorway not far away. He took off again, gripping her phone while calling Brent with his own. His brother answered immediately and Clay didn’t wait a second.

  “There’s trouble at the Allegro. I need you here right away. I need you to call your friends in security. I think something’s happened to Julia,” he said, and Brent responded with, “On it, now.”

  He stopped quickly at the entrance, expecting to find throngs of players, high rollers engaged in big bets, maybe even some scummy dealer holding her hostage. Hell, he was prepared to stumble upon Charlie himself, looking like the cat who ate the canary, all cool and collected and ready to impose new terms of servitude. But the room was cruelly quiet—empty and eerie, as if it had been cleared out on purpose. Off in the far corner, he spotted a brown door that nearly blended into the wall, then he caught sight of something shiny on the floor. Something that looked familiar. Racing over to the object, he bent down and picked up Julia’s watch, and the hair on his neck stood on end.

  Then he heard a muffled scream that made his blood turn to ice, and his heart drop with fear. His hand shot to the door handle, but it was locked.

  Think. He patted his pockets, an instinctive act, as if he could find a key there to unlock this door. But the hotel key would do nothing. Credit cards never worked except in the movies. He patted his front pocket, touching the outline of the ring. There was no way a ring would open a door. Then he felt the size and shape of the necklace in his other pocket. It was his only chance to get in there before security came, and he had no idea when that would be.

  Sometimes you just had to use the tools you had with you.

  * * *

  Neither one of them could speak. Her mouth was covered by his palm, and he appeared to be shrieking silently from the kicking, sucking in the cries his body must have wanted to emit.

  The best part? He couldn’t even smack her with his free hand. He was grasping his balls with that hand while wincing and crying soundlessly. So, with his focus on his groin, she tried again to escape, pressing her thumb towards her pinky, aiming to make her hand and wrist as small as could possibly be, narrowing it, turning her hand into itself and tugging loosely, gently.

  Her wrist inched past the metal the slightest bit, and her heart tripped with hope. The cuff wasn’t too tight. Maybe she could slip out of here.

  Dominic was still moaning under his breath so she craned her neck behind her, trying to get a visual on the handcuffs to see if she stood a fighting chance of slipping out. An idea flashed through her head. A crazy notion, but sometimes crazy notions took hold of you in desperate circumstances, and with Dominic still nursing his bruised balls, she quietly dipped her free hand into her back pocket, slid off the top of the tin, and scooped out a healthy dollop of lip balm on the pad of her thumb, then began rubbing it on her right wrist.

  Lubrication was a splendid thing.

  It made objects fit in places they didn’t belong. It made engines hum. It made tight rings slip off swollen fingers easily. And right now, it might, just might, give her back the use of two hands. If the handcuffs had been locked any tighter, this would never work. Maybe he’d only wanted to scare her, not to hurt her, so he left a bit of give in the metal. Either way, she’d take those extra millimeters because that sliver of space was her chance for freedom. She was tempted to yank her hand out, but instead she spread the balm around her wrist, and—she’d have to send a thank-you note to her parents if she pulled this off because her hands were on the small side—started to slide it out.

  The doorknob rattled.

  She flinched involuntarily and glanced at the door. The silver metal was shaking, moving, clattering around. Someone had heard her, or them. She’d be out of here. But wait. What if it was a cohort? She needed to move quickly, free herself, push his stupid hand off her mouth and get the hell out.

  The knob shook once more, and Dominic spun around, finally noticing the sound. He dropped his hand from her mouth, and she screamed. Like a heroine in a horror film, she unleashed a blood-curdling cry.

  * * *

  He’d seen enough movies, had watched the entire library of MacGyver three times as a kid. But you didn’t live in the movies. You lived in the real world. And just because a TV show hero could pick a lock with the filament from a lightbulb didn’t mean he’d be able to pull this off. But he knew the basics—and hell, what man with a brother didn’t know how to get in and out of rooms? For Brent and him, locking each other in or out of bedrooms, bathrooms, even the house had been daily pranks, and they’d both mastered the fine art of breaking and entering each other’s rooms. You needed to lift the pins from inside the lock. Most doors had five to eight, so the trick was methodically finding each one.

  Fortunately, he had a Purple Snow Globe necklace. Though he’d lost his lucky tie, maybe it was luck that the Etsy seller had only had a T-bar clasp because a regular clasp would do jack shit. He needed this one, about the length of a bobby pin. He set to work sliding that into the lock, then listening for the sound of the pins falling. He wiggled it around, prodding, searching for the final pin. When the tension yielded a few seconds later, he knew he was almost home.

  It had taken less than a minute.

  Off in the casino, he heard movement, the methodical pace of what was sure to be security coming around the corner. He could wait for them or . . .

  A scream met his ears. Julia. He was all instinct now, grabbing the handle, turning the lock and barging into the room. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, and his fists were clenched. There she was in a chair, yanking her right hand out of handcuffs, and the sight of that made his blood not just boil, but reach volcanic temperature. A slick, sharp-dressed man was pawing at her, trying to cover her mouth with his grimy hand.

  No way in all of fucking creation was that hand touching his Julia again. Ever.

  “Get your hands off my fiancée,” he seethed, and everything happened both in slow motion and with blinding speed. In a heartbeat, he grabbed the man’s wrist, jerked him away from Julia, and jammed him up against the wall. Clay’s hands were gripping the man’s collar, twisting it tightly into his neck. He was vaguely aware of Julia rising behind him, moving carefully toward the door.

  “Tell her to stay out of my games,” he spit back, and Clay answered that impudence by slamming a fist into the man’s ribs.

  The man doubled over, grabbing his stomach, and moaning loudly. But Clay didn’t buy his bullshit, so he served up another fist, then one more for good measure, hoping it would crack a few ribs. A loud crunch echoed through the room. Just then, the first of a fleet of hotel security arrived, led by a pipsqueak woman with blond hair. Clay’s breath came fast and he was panting hard.

  His eyes surveyed the scene—the crumpled-up man, his own clenched fists, a door broken into courtesy of a necklace in his hands.

  This didn’t look good for him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Saturday, 2:22 p.m., Las Vegas

  Mindy heaved a sigh, then drummed her short, unpolished nails against her desk.

  “I understand everything you’ve said, but I’m still going to have to report the details of incident to the Las Vegas police department when they arrive in a few minutes, and that includes those two additional punches thrown by Mr. Nichols. The Allegro ownership is trying to run a very tight ship.”

  Julia steeled herself and gripped Clay’s hand tighter, a silent reminder that she was doing the talking right now. She’d told him as much when they came in this room. She knew from the look on Mindy’s face when she saw Clay’s final two blows that the woman was going to need some convincing, and that she’d need it from her—the victim, though she hated thinking of herself in such terms. Besides, she was running on adrenaline now, with perhaps a healthy dose of anger fueling her, too. There was no room in her for fear or worry. She had business to take care of, so she dug in.

  “And that tight ship extends to an employee of yours—to the casino’s floor manager—working for the mob and accosting a casino guest?” Julia asked, her eyebrow arched.

  “And believe you me, that’s being addressed,” Mindy said, her sweet features now turned intensely serious. “We fully expect Dominic to be arrested, likely on many accounts. He’s already been let go since management does not tolerate what he did to you.”

  “Then why on earth are we even here? He handcuffed me to a chair, locked me in a room, and threatened me because he thought I was playing in games he’s rigging for the mob,” Julia said, the incredulity thick in her voice. How could they even begin to try to implicate Clay for the two additional punches thrown at the asshole who’d handcuffed her? But anger and annoyance would not win her Mindy’s sympathy, so she softened her tone. “He was protecting me.”

  “I know, and from what I saw you needed it. But even in instances of protection of another person, that protection can’t escalate to an inappropriate level of retaliation. Hence my concern over the two additional punches thrown. Look, I have no issues with him breaking into the room. That falls under Good Samaritan law; he heard a cry for help and he heeded the call. But we have to let the police decide if there are any issues of aggravated force.”

  Julia held up her right wrist, showing the angry red line where she’d tried at first to slide out of the cuffs. “That man handcuffed me in your hotel. And I had to get myself out of handcuffs with lip balm in my pocket. Mindy, please. Help a woman out. Clay was looking out for me,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on the woman across from her. Mindy’s lips quirked up in a small smile.

  “You freed yourself with lip balm?”

  “Lubrication is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Julia said, and she flashed a quick smile too, reminding herself that you won more flies with honey than vinegar. Julia seized the chance to reel her in. “I just think it would be a lot better for all involved, given what happened here and the way in which I was accosted at your casino, if Clay were not brought into this with the police. Do you think you could do me a solid?”

  Mindy’s smile disappeared. “I wish. I really wish I could do that but we have to let the authorities handle this. It’s not a matter of what I think or what I want. I have been contracted by the owners of the Allegro, and their goal is to run things smoothly and deal appropriately with all situations. I am sure, Mr. Nichols, that once you talk to the police and explain what happened when you walked into that room that all will be fine. But I’m going to need to report this. God knows, we have enough trouble we’re dealing with at this place right now,” she mumbled.

  Julia clasped her hands together. She was not above begging. “Please. I just don’t understand why that is necessary at all. We’d really like to go and continue on with our weekend,” she said. Her heart was still beating at a rabbit’s pace. It hadn’t come down yet from those moments locked up with Dominic. From the little bit Mindy had told her, and what she’d cobbled together from Dominic’s comments, he was running the rigged games for Michael Lawson, and had been assigned to keep tabs on known hustlers. It was a crazy notion that she was known for this. But c’est la vie. The mob operated underground and this was pure underbelly stuff they were dealing with. “You’re Brent’s friend. Can’t you please just keep Clay out of this?”

  Mindy winced, as if this were painful. “I wish I could, but we are really trying hard to root out the pickpocketing that this entire Strip has been facing,” she said, and that’s when the bell went off.

  Ding, ding, motherfucking ding. Her brain raced back to what she’d witnessed at one-fifteen. To the chip she planned to offer Mindy.

  “You have security cameras here, right? Eye in the sky?”

  She shrugged, not answering.

  “What if I could tell you that it’s highly likely the pickpocket was at the pai gow tables at one-fifteen today and seemed to make off with a handful of chips? He was wearing a hoodie and has a rather large nose that I believe is a prosthetic.”

  Mindy’s eyes lit up as if she’d just been handed the keys to the kingdom. “Really?”

  “Check it out. See if you see what I saw. And if you do, and I can ID him like I think I can, what would you say to not reporting Clay?”

  Mindy chewed away at her lower lip, considering the offer. “Can you wait here for a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”

  She exited, leaving them behind in the open office. Clay turned to her, the first time they were alone since security had rounded them up. Worry was etched in his features. He held tighter to her hand. His touch was comforting, and she sensed he needed reassurance as much as she did. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I am now.”

  “Do you want to go back to New York once we’re done? If they let us go,” he added, narrowing his eyes, huffing through his nostrils.

  She squeezed his hand, trying to comfort him, calm him. “They’ll let us go.”

  “Why are you trying to make me feel better?” he said, with a sigh. “You’re the one who was hurt. And all you’ve done is try to avoid me taking the fall.”

  “I was. But I’m okay now, and I don’t want this to get worse. I care too much about you, and your reputation. I thought that morality clause mattered to me. I thought that expanded contract mattered. But you know what?” She reached a hand to him, cupping his cheek. “I don’t give a shit what people think about me. I’m a bartender. If I have a rap sheet a mile long, it makes me cooler. But you’re a lawyer and you need to be as unimpeachable as you have always been, so I want to make sure you’re safe.”

  He looked at her, such softness in his eyes. “It’s my job to keep you safe.”

  “And you did. You found me.”

  “I want to get you out of here, Julia. I was only trying to protect you,” he said, and his eyes looked terribly sad, as if he felt like it was his fault that he was somehow being deemed culpable.

  “You did protect me,” she said insistently, grasping his hand tighter for emphasis. “And I’m glad you punched that asshole.”

  Mindy’s footsteps sounded outside the door.

  “Hey. Who do you think it is that’s pickpocketing?” he whispered.

  “Get ready for this,” she said with a wicked smile. The first that afternoon. “Tad Herman.”

  His brown eyes sparkled, and he smiled too. “No fucking way.”

  “I think it’s him, Clay. I really do. He wears a fake nose when he lifts the chips. But it sure looked like him, blond hair, skinny build and all.”

  “That would explain why he’s so hard-core about his morals clause. It’s his alibi to cover up his own very bad habits.”

  She shrugged playfully. “Everyone has a racket in this town,” she said as Mindy returned to the office.

  Standing in front of them, Mindy held out her hand to shake. “Thank you, Ms. Bell. I believe we’ll be able to use that security video from one-fifteen after all. I so value the tip, and I don’t recall any additional punches being thrown at all. Everything was done for your protection,” Mindy said, and Julia smiled briefly. This was Vegas through and through. A handshake, a deal, a tit for tat. Everyone was on the take in some way—some more above the board than others. But everyone had a price, and she was just damn grateful she’d had the trump card in this round. “If you could just stay and give your statement to the police about what happened with Dominic, I’d be most grateful. And I’ll be sure to let them know about our very Good Samaritan.”