Prodigal Son (3 page)

And be reminded of what she’d lost.

But Danny was missing, and her problems with Warren shrank in comparison. It was good to have something else to focus on. Her instincts screamed that her stepbrother was in trouble, big trouble, and that she might be the only one who could—or rather, would—help him. She’d learned to listen to her intuition, and now she just prayed that she was in time to bail Danny out of whatever mess he’d gotten into.

And that his latest fiasco wouldn’t cost her the last living member of her family.

Las Vegas was Danny’s kind of town, an adult playground that encouraged the breaking of rules and the shedding of restrictions. A place of luck and risk—not her style at all. She needed her rules, her habits. She’d never had any interest in Sin City, even for a vacation. The idea of losing her hard-earned money to pure chance didn’t really appeal. But Danny? He’d thrived on the thrill.

He’d messed up this time, gotten arrested, and she’d bailed him out yet again, this time literally. But this disappearing act? She couldn’t believe he would let her lose her condo, leave her homeless. He was irresponsible, not cruel.

The monorail arrived, and she shuffled onto the car with the rest of the crowd, finding a corner with a handrail. The train jolted into motion, shooting out of the terminal into the bright, alien landscape of Nevada.

Back east, September signaled the change of the seasons, and soon the flame of maple leaves turning orange or yellow or red, the advent to cooling temperatures. Here in the desert, the dry, stark heat of September signaled high summer and made a hundred degrees Fahrenheit sound like a pleasant memory.

Compared to the lush greenery of western New Jersey, the Nevada landscape stretched beige and barren, an emptiness that echoed across her throbbing emotions. The only green here came from the palm trees lined up along the walkways and roads; otherwise earth-toned houses and businesses clustered together amid miles of vast, open sand. Jagged mountains in every shade of brown and tan rose in the distance, the famous Las Vegas strip glittering in front of them, all luxury hotels and snazzy casinos.

She blew out a long breath. “Definitely not in Kansas anymore.”

The shuttle ride took only minutes. She got off with the rest of the crowd and made her way to baggage claim. As she scanned the wide area for her carousel number, she spotted a dark-haired man holding a sign with her name on it.

What the…? She hadn’t called for a limo. She’d set aside those luxuries after the drop in the stock market a few years back had eaten up most of her available cash. Heck, she’d even had to take a pay cut to keep her small computer consulting company afloat. Her budget for this trip sure didn’t include a luxury like a limo or rental car. It was cabs or walking for her, and Danny’s apartment instead of a hotel.

Maybe someone at the office had set this up? Well, it wouldn’t take more than a moment to clear up the misunderstanding.

She walked up to the guy, noticing as she got closer that he looked more like a successful businessman than a limo driver. He was attractive in a sleek, urban sort of way, and his suit seemed way too well cut to have been bought off the rack. She stopped in front of him. “Hi. I’m—”

“Cara McGaffigan?” He smiled, a quick flash of ultra-white teeth in an olive-toned face. “My name is Adrian Gray. I work at the Mesopotamian Resort. Mr. Bartow sent me to pick you up.”

“Bartow? Artie Bartow?” She took a step back. The guy’s hundred-watt smile and silky baritone overwhelmed her—the same feeling she got every time she walked through a department store and a salesperson ambushed her with a spritz of perfume. “Why would Danny’s old boss send someone to pick me up? And how did you know I was coming, anyway?”

“We called your office. Why don’t we collect your luggage?” He swept a hand toward the baggage carousels.

Called her office? Why hadn’t Maisie said anything?

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I’d rather just catch a cab.” She smiled, hoping her intense desire to flee didn’t show in her face. “I can stop by and see Mr. Bartow later. Or maybe tomorrow.”

Gray’s smile didn’t dim. “I understand your caution.”

“Yeah, a girl can’t be too careful these days.” She darted her gaze around. Weren’t there supposed to be security people in the airport?

“Mr. Bartow wants to talk to you about Danny, about joining forces to find him. Surely that’s worth your time?”

“Joining forces? I’d think your boss would be really ticked off at my brother right now. Why would he want to join forces?”

“That’s what he wants to discuss.” Gray indicated the baggage carousels again. “I believe your flight is on number three.”

“Listen, I’m not going with you, okay? I’m going to take a cab. If your boss wants to talk, I’ll come to the resort to see him. Sorry you made the trip for nothing.” She turned away.

That honeyed voice wrapped around her. “You will come with me to the resort.”

A wave of dizziness swept over her. She shook her head to clear it. The early morning flight had really taken a lot out of her. What had she been saying? Oh, yeah. “Sure, I’ll come with you to the resort.”

Mr. Gray swept an arm toward the baggage carousels. “After you. Carousel number three.”

Cara moved past him toward the carousels. “My bag is on number three.”

He fell into step behind her. “Why should you pay for a cab when you can take the limo for free?” he murmured. “Let’s get your bag and go see Mr. Bartow.”

“I mean, why should I take a cab if you’re offering a limo ride for free?” She stopped at carousel number three and smiled at him. “Let’s grab my bag—the gray one, right there—and go see Mr. Bartow.”

“My thoughts exactly.” He snagged her suitcase, then steered her toward the exit.

*   *   *

Late-afternoon sun had colored the sky the pinks and oranges of imminent sunset when Rafe walked into Sal Fellone’s bail bonds agency. He’d slept all day since apprehending Jack yesterday, and he’d cleared his frayed senses with a meditation before heading over.

“You don’t look so bad for a guy who had to be taken away in an ambulance.” Sal came out of his private office and held out a hand to Rafe. “Rumor is you and Jack about killed each other.”

Rafe’s mouth curled in a half smile as they shook hands. “You should see the other guy.”

“I did, and he don’t look so good.” The balding Italian gave him a quick once-over. “Still, you look okay for someone who collapsed and had to spend a day in bed.”

Rafe shrugged. “Sinus infection,” he lied.

“Really?” Sal shook his head. “Those things will knock you on your ass.”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what happened.” He glanced at the envelope in Sal’s hand. “That for me?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sal handed Rafe the envelope containing his fee. “Sucks that you had to be the one to bring in Jack.”

“Someone had to.” Without looking at the amount, Rafe folded the envelope and tucked it away in his shirt pocket. “How’s he doing?”

“Out of the hospital. In custody waiting for his day in court. No bondsman’s going to touch him after this fiasco.”

“He made the choice.” Even as he said the words, Rafe realized they had lost their potency. Not words to live by anymore. Just a fact.

The desperation and self-deception he’d seen in Jack’s eyes last night had shaken him. Jack was right. Rafe lived and breathed the job, and if it were taken from him tomorrow, he would have nothing left, not even the motto that had gotten him through every case. But this was the life he had to live. He couldn’t make the choice, simply because he didn’t have one.

“So, you ready to go back to work? Or you need a couple more days to rest up?”

“Depends.” Rafe grinned at the flash of alarm that flickered across Sal’s face. “Don’t panic, Sal. I’m fine. Got any hot ones?” He glanced at the pile of manila folders stacked on the desk of Sal’s currently absent secretary, Darlene.

“Take a look.” Sal waved a hand. “The open cases are right there. But I don’t know if you’d call any of them hot.”

Rafe shrugged. “Interesting then.”

“Pal, with your record you can pull any case you want.” The phone rang. “Damn it. The phone always goes nuts when Darlene’s at lunch. Look through those files while I get this.” He scooped up the phone. “Hello. Badda Bing Bail Bonds.”

While Sal talked on the phone, Rafe settled on the corner of Darlene’s desk and reached for the top file folder. He flipped it open to the mug shot and opened his newly charged senses.
Where is he?
The crystal warmed against his flesh. A color image formed in his mind of the skip snoring away in a tiny, weatherworn house. More information rippled in, gifts from the universe. The house was near Laughlin and belonged to the guy’s girlfriend. The skip himself spent all day passed out drunk in front of the TV; it would take about thirty seconds to apprehend him. No challenge there. He tossed the file aside with a mental note to drop Sal a hint about the guy’s location. He sorted through the stack, discarding several more as too easy, a black-and-white vision as dead, and setting aside two others as possibilities. Opened another, looked at the photo.

Nothing. His mind stayed blank.

Where is he?
He stared harder at the face of the alleged car thief, gazing deeply into the dark eyes that looked so guileless in the police mug shot. But nothing changed.

What the hell? He’d never before looked at a photo or person and seen
nothing—
except with his own family. What was wrong with him?

He scanned the information in the file, anxious to see any hint of a vision. Name, address, phone number, employment record, next of kin—

The image roared into his mind like an ocean wave. It was a woman, with eyes like melted caramel and honey-colored hair that curled in a ponytail. She was dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, but the way she filled out the clothes snagged his interest and would not let it go. She smiled, beckoning to him, a hint of mischief in her eyes.
Come with me. Let me make you whole
.

The vision shimmered and dissolved like smoke, and he found himself staring at her name in the file: Cara McGaffigan. Relationship: stepsister. He glanced back at the picture of her stepbrother. Still nothing. What was going on here?

He tensed his fingers around the manila folder before shutting it, blocking out the unresponsive face of Danny Cangialosi. He should shake this off, leave the case for someone else, but he couldn’t force himself to set the file down on the pile of discards.

Sal hung up the phone. “Something wrong, Rafe?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” Rafe hesitated a moment, then tossed the file on top of the other, more lucrative skips he had chosen to bring in. Who was this guy? And why could he see the stepsister but not the fugitive?

Sal glanced at the name on the file tab. “Danny Cangialosi? Isn’t that a little small time for you, man?” He eyed Rafe, one bushy brow raised.

“Maybe I need an easy one after Jack.” Rafe scooped up the short stack of files.

“But Danny Cangialosi?” Sal gave a laugh. “You’ll get paid beans on that one, pal.”

Rafe tucked the file folders under his arm. “Money’s money.”

Sal shrugged. “You’re the best agent I got, Rafe. You wanna chase down small time, knock yourself out.”

“Thanks, Sal. This is why we work so beautifully together.” He offered his hand.

“Come back when you want some real work.” Sal shook his hand, then turned back toward his private office, chuckling.

Rafe headed for the exit, eager to be alone. His abilities had never failed him before, not once. He was a Seer, descended from an ancient line. His talents came to him as easily as breathing. Why now?

You know why
.

The idea seized hold and would not let go. He had known all those years ago that abandoning his birthright was a risk, but over time he had become confident that as long as he continued to observe most of the ancient customs, he would be okay. Besides, he had good reasons for what he had done.

But now … Maybe there was something wrong with his powers, maybe a delayed consequence of that rash choice to walk away from his family and never look back. Maybe because he’d been making money from using those powers, a big no-no in the family tradition, even though he brought in the bad guys. Or maybe he’d been gone from his own kind for so long that his powers were disintegrating. He didn’t know enough about how it all worked. He was supposed to have completed the Soul Circle when he was twenty-four, but he’d left before he could finish training for the ritual.

Was he losing his gifts? If so, then what would he do? Would he end up like Jack, alone and bitter?

He reached for the handle of the door and nearly bumped into Darlene as she came in from the street.

“Rafe! You scared me. I was just coming back from lunch.” Darlene smiled at him, her blue eyes innocent as a babe’s.

Truth
. He could see it in her eyes, plain as day. The ability to see the truth was a gift that every Seer had—and one that was apparently still working for him.

Some of the tension drained out of him. He hadn’t lost the old superpowers after all. He could still tell lies from truth, and he’d been able to locate the other skips in the files without a problem. He’d seen the stepsister, for whatever reason, though he preferred not to think too much about that provocative vision. So why the big blank screen for a small-time punk like Danny Cangialosi?

The only way to know, it seemed, was to find him.

*   *   *

Cara clenched her fingers around her purse, then looked Artie Bartow straight in the eye with what she hoped was calm inquiry. Her energy flagged from both the five-hour plane ride and the hundred-plus degree heat. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up in the limo—she distinctly remembered saying no—but nearly half an hour ago she’d climbed out of the luxury car in front of the Mesopotamian Resort and Casino with Adrian Gray walking beside her to his boss’s office.

Jet lag dragged at her. All she wanted right now was to head to Danny’s place and crash, but she was here already, so she might as well take the opportunity to get some answers to questions she’d intended to ask anyway.