In Hot Pursuit (13 page)

She expected the plane's interior to be luxurious and she wasn't disappointed. It set the bar high for future flying. Logan gave her the ten-dollar tour of the main cabin and the galley before they buckled in for take-off.

Once the plane achieved cruising altitude, the co-pilot strolled into the main cabin with a serving cart loaded with champagne, fruit, cheese and crackers. He parked it in the aisle next to their seats, locked its wheels, and disappeared to the front of the plane.

“It's a family tradition to bless every flight after lift off.” Logan filled two champagne flutes, handed one to Quinn. “We also have a traditional toast.”

Her eyes widened. “A toast?”

“Grandma Rice started it with our first plane over thirty years ago. Ready?”

“You bet.”

“Here goes: ‘May the breath of angels lift your wings, may the brilliance of stars guide your way, keep us sound and safe, and let there be champagne for another day.'” He touched his flute to hers. “Gram has quite the sense of humor.”

“I'll say. You toast every flight?” She had a suspicion he was teasing her.

“Yes, ma'am. Gram makes us swear we do the toast every time we fly. We've never had an accident, so,” he shrugged, “I guess it works.”

Quinn envied his casualness about the toast. “It's cute. Your grandmother obviously loves her family. Anything else I should know, rituals, eating or drinking contests?”

“The toast is the extent of our craziness.” He pointed to the tray of food. “Have something to eat. It'll be several hours before we have dinner.”

She made a plate of fruit and cheese and sat back to enjoy the company, the champagne, and the cocoon of luxury.

$ $ $

The plane rolled to a stop in front of a pink hangar. Once they climbed into the cool interior of a limousine, they set off for the Las Vegas strip. He explained they had a ten minute drive along Tropicana Boulevard to the Grand Hotel and Casino.

“Why did you select that hotel?” she asked. Was it a coincidence Scooter was also booked at the Grand?

“Grandfather Rice went to Yale with one of the developers and bought a family suite before it opened. We all use it when we're in town. My brother, Max, and his wife were here last weekend. We should have the place to ourselves.” He winked and displayed that killer grin. “That's good, I guess.” Asking about the number of bedrooms sat on her tongue yet she swallowed the words. He called the room a suite, which implied multiple bedrooms. Good.

“We've had some great times here. There's enough room for two or three families, kids and all. I think we've managed to stay every New Year's Eve for the last ten years. Gram loves the lights and the action.”

“Your grandmother sounds like a hoot.” Nana would probably like her, too.

They soon passed the Grand's towers, pink glass reflecting the afternoon sun, reminding her of cotton candy. The limo made a right turn before Las Vegas Boulevard and steered into the hotel's circular driveway. A uniformed valet welcomed them with a wide smile.

“Come on.” Logan grabbed her hand and led her through the rotating glass door. “We'll be on our way once we pick up the key to the suite.”

They crossed the dark marble floor of the lobby to the reception desk. Behind the desk, a huge digital screen played a U-2 video. The attendant greeted Logan by name and handed him a couple of card keys. After walking to the tower elevators, he punched in a code on the keypad and the elevator rose silently to the penthouse suite. The door opened to a small lobby with one large bronze door. Logan slid the card key in a security slot and opened the door.

They entered the foyer. Quinn stopped and gawked.

It was spectacular — black marble floors and red walls with framed artwork from floor to ceiling. She trotted behind Logan to the living room. The bold colors transitioned to muted tones of peach and green gracing the walls and furniture. He pointed out the bar to one side, a dining room and the kitchen around the corner, and the wing of bedrooms. He led her down a hallway to the bedrooms. It was wide and just as elegant as the rest of the suite. He opened a door on the left.

“This should do.” Logan opened the window draperies, the late afternoon sun streamed across the light sage bedspread. The demeanor of the room was calming — a good omen for her first out-of-town investigation.

“This is beautiful. Let me take a minute to freshen up.”

A bell trilled.

“Our luggage has arrived. Take your time,” Logan said.

Once he left, she melted onto the bed. Her adrenaline rush had evaporated. The reality of Las Vegas, and Logan, and a hotel suite stung her eyes. She brushed away a tear.

On her fingers, she counted off her very good reasons for feeling off-kilter. Number one, she had no concrete evidence that Rebecca was the guilty party. Number two, she could be arrested for breaking into Rebecca's rented house. Number three, Dr. Arnold had been acting very chummy toward Quinn, not normal. Number four, rushing off to Las Vegas could end up being a huge disaster. And, number five, Logan was too good to be true.

She sat for a moment, feeling uncertain and unsure and uncomfortable. At the same time, she knew without question that Rebecca was up to her designer eyebrows in something that didn't pass the smell test.

$ $ $

Quinn stood at the living room window gazing at the view below. The sun had retired and the lights of the Strip sparkled with a fairy-tale quality. She wondered about Rebecca's location amidst the perpetual illumination and glitter. Perhaps she was holed up in a hotel room or walking the Strip without a care in the world.

Quinn heard a noise behind her and turned. Logan moved to her side.

“Everything okay?” he said.

“Just day dreaming.” She stepped back from the window. “Do we need to call room service for a glass of wine?”

“Nope.” He strode to the bar, pulled a bottle from an under-counter cooler and uncorked it. After accepting a glass of cabernet, she settled in a corner of the peach and cream sofa. It was time to coordinate their plans but first, she wanted to talk to Scooter. “I need to see if Scooter has arrived.”

“Go ahead, I need to call my cousin.” He moved to the bar, cell phone in hand.

She picked up the suite's phone, dialed the operator, and asked for Scooter's room.

“Ma'am, we don't have a guest with that name.”

“Maybe he hasn't checked in yet. Is there a reservation? He's my boss and I need to reach him.” How weird. Ellie said he was leaving Houston at noon.

“We don't have a reservation in that name for this evening. Perhaps he's at another hotel.”

“You're probably right.” Wrong. Ellie told her the Grand Hotel and Casino.

“Right about what?” Logan had finished.

“Scooter isn't registered here tonight. This morning he told his assistant he was flying to Las Vegas for a family vacation but he's not here. She doesn't get these things wrong.”

“There's probably a logical explanation. Maybe he switched hotels for a better room,” Logan said.

“Maybe. I'm not sure.”

“Do you suppose he gave Ellie the wrong information on purpose?”

“I don't know.” That didn't seem like Scooter.

“You think he's involved in the theft?” Logan perched on a chair across from her.

“Not at all. But you have to admit it's weird he's here at the same time as Rebecca.” Rather than finding answers, the list of questions continued to multiply.

“Perhaps it's simply a coincidence,” Logan offered.

“No clue.” She shrugged. “Maybe he did switch hotels.” She stood and began to pace from the window to the bar and back, shaking down her nerves. “Let's talk about finding Rebecca. Should we go to the police?”

“I've thought about that, too. Max has a friend here who's a detective with the Las Vegas police. We could call him,” Logan suggested.

“Sure. We'll tell him I'm helping the Houston police solve a $25 million dollar theft. I've a hunch that a coworker has committed the theft. I came to this conclusion after breaking into her residence and her personal computer. My conclusion was based on an email I discovered on said computer which I had no right to read, yet it provided a flight itinerary for Las Vegas. I immediately flew here in pursuit and I have not one piece of concrete evidence linking Rebecca Holland to the theft. Still want to call Max's friend?” She stopped pacing a few feet from Logan.

“I see your point.”

“Good. The Las Vegas police would consider me a nut job. That reminds me, I forgot to tell Roddy about my travel plans. I better give him a call.”

“Go ahead. I need to make another call myself.” Logan moved over to the bar again, this time sitting in one of the tall, bronze stools.

Quinn hesitated before calling. How much should she tell him? Spill the beans or filter the facts? She didn't
really
break into Rebecca's house; the door was unlocked. She'd opened it as she was overly concerned about her ill co-worker, bless her skinny cold heart.

She had her story and keyed in Roddy's number, praying he'd answer. The phone gods hurled good vibes as he picked up on the second ring.

“Glad you finally called, Miss Wells, I have good news,” he teased.

“Yay, what?”

“We have the name on the Caymans bank account for the Franks' check. It's Holly Roberts. Ring any bells?”

“No, I don't know anyone with that name.” The name had a curious sound though. “Did you get an address or the date of a $25 million dollar deposit?”

“I wish. All the bank would release was the name on the account. We'll find something. We're searching every available database.” He sighed, heavily. “What have you been up to?”

“I'm in Las Vegas with Logan Rice.”

“What? Oh, that's right, your vacation.”

“No, not my vacation.” She swallowed, began pacing across the room. “Actually … I found an email on the PC in Rebecca's house this morning confirming a flight to Las Vegas and here I am.”

“What? Back up. Tell Uncle Roddy what the hell you've been doing since this morning.”

She heard the impatience in his voice and spilled the beans, reciting her theory on an email virus altering the wire instructions, who had sent emails with attachments to First National, and her earlier visit to Rebecca's house.

She told him the truth about traveling to Las Vegas to find Rebecca and to confront her. Roddy was not a happy camper with her last admission.

“Damn it, you can't go off half-cocked, looking for someone who you've concluded, without any concrete evidence, is responsible for a crime. You have no idea how dangerous she might be, assuming she's even associated with the theft. Are you out of your freaking mind?”

Her back stiffened. Here she was, using her vacation to help the Houston police. “No, I'm not crazy. I'm completely sane and a good HCU employee. I'm merely on vacation and if I happen to bump into a coworker while I'm here, well, gee, what a coincidence. Gotta go.” She shut the phone and that was that. It could have been worse — he hadn't zeroed in on the fact that she had entered Rebecca's house without an invitation. Small favors, thank you.

She glanced at Logan, still on his cell. She retrieved her glass from a table by the sofa and sipped the wine. Excellent bouquet. Good wine was one of her favorite things, along with the unnoticed observation of a handsome man. Logan finished his call and strolled back to the living room. She did enjoy the way he walked — a John Wayne swagger with Brad Pitt hips — but, she was not interested.

“What did the detective say? Surprised by our trip to Vegas?” He grinned and saluted her with his wine glass.

“Roddy did mention me being out of my mind. At least I was honest about the breaking-and-entering escapade. I can go forward with a clear conscious.” She finished the wine. “Let's get this show on the road. I'll begin by making a list of all the major hotels. Do you have paper here.”

“That may not be necessary,” Logan said.

“Why?”

“I talked to the head of the Grand's security, an old family friend. He agreed it was useless to go to the police and suggested we hire a private investigator, someone who knows Vegas and has plenty of contacts.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I made an appointment with a J.W. McKenzie for tomorrow morning.”

“I like that idea. We definitely need someone who knows Las Vegas.” She thought about using a private investigator. “This is a great idea. Having a professional work for us is just what we need.” She kissed Logan on the cheek. “Thanks. What did you learn about Mr. McKenzie?”

“Nothing other than he's one of the best PIs in Vegas and we won't be disappointed.”

“I believe we have a plan,” she said.

“That we do. Are you hungry?”

She shook her head.

“In that case, let's walk for a while. We can stroll the Strip, then have dinner at Spago at Caesar's Palace. It's another family tradition.”

“You go to college with the owner?”

“My brother John is one of the investors in the restaurant.”

“How many brothers do you have?” His family tree was getting complicated.

“Two, and two sisters as well.”

“Of course, you do.” As an only child, large families were difficult for Quinn to get her head around. “I'm taking a shower. I'll see you in a bit.” She walked to her assigned bedroom wondering if Logan had any more family surprises.

$ $ $

Once Quinn shut the bedroom door, Logan pulled out his cell phone and clicked on Roddy's name under the contacts list. The detective answered immediately.

“Jesus, Logan, are you crazy?”

“No.”

“Then why the hell are you in Vegas with Quinn Wells?”

“To keep an eye on her. I told you I don't trust her.”