“Blackjack it is, though Clay said you were a poker fan.”
“I am, but I played earlier and I am ready to mix it up and try my luck at twenty-one.”
“Then off to the tables we go,” he said, holding out his right arm grandly as they weaved through the evening crowds, passing a woman decked out in a little black dress, a man in a sharp suit and blue shirt, and a woman wearing flats, gray, pressed pants, and a short-sleeve white blouse, looking like a perfectly adorable second-grade teacher. The woman smiled brightly at Brent, waved at him like she hadn’t seen him in years, then threw her arms around him when she reached them.
“Hey Miss Mindy, how are you?”
“Fabulous,” she said in a high-pitched squeak. “And I got your text message earlier, and all is well.”
“Excellent. I’ll call you later for more details,” he said and she nodded a yes, then he gestured to Julia. “Mindy, this is Julia Bell. She’s practically part of the family. She’s with Clay.”
Mindy extended a hand to shake, and holy f**king smokes, she had one of the strongest grips Julia had ever felt. Brent continued the intros. “Julia, this is Mindy. She runs security here for the Allegro. I helped her get the gig.”
Mindy rolled her pretty blue eyes. “Oh, you wish. You are so full of shit, Brent Nichols. I am not going to let you win at arm wrestling the next time.”
Then she turned to Julia, who was watching the buddy-buddy rapport between the two of them and trying to get a read on it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mindy said, then wagged a finger at Julia and spoke in a faux-authoritative voice. “And don’t snap any cell-phone pictures of the slot machines or I’ll have to kick you out.”
“And she kicks like a motherfucker. She spent ten years with Special Forces before starting her own security firm.”
She waved a hand dismissively as if her reputation were no big deal, and Julia found the oxymoronic nature of this woman adorable—she was tiny and gleeful, but she sure as hell packed a punch, and now Julia knew why. A sparkle from around her neck caught Julia’s attention—a brushed silver chain with a miniature antique-styled teacup hanging on it.
Like a squirrel drawn to a shiny object, Julia reached for it without thinking. “Oh my, this is so damn cute,” she said, admiring the tiny charm.
“Thank you so much,” Mindy said, then lowered her voice to a whisper, gesturing to her white and gray attire. “I have to dress simply and blend in, but I do like to add a little accent for fun.”
“It reminds me of something I saw on my sister’s show,” Julia said, then quickly explained. “She’s a fashion blogger, and she loves vintage and retro clothes and jewelry.”
“Show?” Mindy’s voice rose with the sound of hope.
“She has a video show called The Fashion Hound.”
Mindy’s blue eyes turned into those of a cartoon character, nearly popping out of her head, boinging and bouncing on coiled springs of disbelief. “I. Love. That. Show. I follow it like it’s a religion. She’s my guilty pleasure. She did an episode recently on vintage jewelry and talked about these necklaces.”
“That is so cool,” Julia said. “I can’t wait to tell her I ran into a fan of hers.”
“Please tell her my dream is for her to be my fashion consultant for pretty little accessories.”
“She will be delighted to hear that.”
Then Mindy’s face turned serious, and she seemed to be focusing on something. She raised her hand to her right ear, pressing on a Bluetooth piece, then spoke in a low voice. “Be right there.”
Pointing vaguely in the opposite direction, she said, “I need to go take care of something, but it was so great meeting you, Julia. And Brent, I will kick your ass the next time I see you and that’s a promise.”
She saluted Brent and picked up the pace as she walked away.
“She’s sweet,” Julia remarked.
“Yeah, she’s the best. Just don’t cross her,” Brent said playfully, but also in an admiring tone that made her realize he was being truthful. Julia made a mental note—don’t mess with Mindy.
* * *
What the hell?
Now she was using the brother connection as a cover-up for her hustling? Wearing a tight little skirt, a strappy tank, and a long string of pearls, she sashayed up to a blackjack dealer, cashed in for chips, and then commanded the whole damn table. She brought along that wise-ass comedian. Stupid joker acted like he was Vegas royalty, strutting around like a big man on campus.
He knew all about Julia, knew every last detail, down to who she lived with, and she was f**king this smart aleck’s brother. Now, he was seeing how she operated, bringing in locals to make herself seem clean.
No wonder she was at the top of the list.
He brought a glass of water to his lips, and downed it one thirsty gulp. Fucking desert. This place was so goddamn dry, and he was always parched. Plunking the empty glass on the counter, he walked down the steps, running his hands along the railing, contemplating the best way to invite her to a high-stakes game in the private room.
Meanwhile, that same couple joined her at the table. The older duo from the afternoon, and this time they were dressed in evening attire, if you could call it that. Matching polo shirts. He shook his head, but had to hand it to Julia Fucking Bell. She knew how to pick ‘em, and she had a pair of perfect plants with her. He bet they had a criminal record too, just like that Tad Herman she’d met with earlier.
He ambled past the VIP room, tapping his knuckles against the wall, a reminder that he’d get her in there soon enough.
Then he’d find out all the things he needed to know. Every. Single. Thing.
CHAPTER TEN
Friday, 7:14 p.m., Las Vegas
The drive to Vegas was smooth sailing on the 15—not a wink of traffic and he managed the route at eighty-five miles an hour, blasting Tom Petty’s Greatest Hits, one of the best road-trip albums ever. As he handed the keys to the valet at the Allegro, he checked his messages. Brent had texted that he’d snagged the gift and would keep it safely stowed until Clay needed it.
One less thing for him to worry about. The rocky start to the day was behind him, the stress over and done. The rest of the weekend he’d be f**king busy and busy f**king. That’s what he told himself as he stabbed the up button for the elevator in the hotel. He needed to take a piss, wash his hands, and then get downstairs and gather up Julia. Once inside the elevator, he stretched his neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks from the drive. He’d been tense the whole time, racing against the clock, tearing down the highway, eager to get the weekend back on track. Rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, he tried to work out the knots when the elevator dinged at the twenty-first floor.