Prodigal Son (7 page)

“We do.” His cell phone rang. He glanced at the display, and his lips firmed into straight annoyance. “Please excuse me.” He darted out of line and headed toward the lobby, raising the phone to his ear as his long legs ate up the distance.

Glad to be rid of him, Cara sugared and creamed her coffee, then sipped the steaming brew as she made her way to the elevator and rode to her floor. She couldn’t wait to step into the hot shower she hadn’t gotten yesterday.

But once she opened the door to her room, she stopped dead and realized the shower would have to wait. Again.

*   *   *

Rafe strode into Artie Bartow’s office, a pleasant, nonthreatening expression in place. He held out a hand as the casino manager rose from behind his desk. “Mr. Bartow, thank you so much for seeing me.”

“I hope this won’t take too long. I’m a busy man.” Bartow gave his hand one quick pump, then sat down again and gestured at an empty chair. “I’ve called Adrian Gray, my head of security, to join us. He should be here momentarily.”

“Fine with me.” Rafe took the chair Bartow indicated.

“While we’re waiting for Mr. Gray,” Bartow said, “why don’t you tell me again why you wanted to talk to me?”

Rafe sat back in his chair and put on his trustworthy-guy face. “As I explained on the phone, I’m a bail enforcement agent. I’ve taken the Cangialosi case, so I’m talking to all the people who might have known Danny Cangialosi. Naturally you, as his ex-employer, are high on that list.”

“Of course, of course.” Bartow nodded and steepled his hands. “But I’m afraid I don’t know much.”

Lie
.

Years of practice made it easy for Rafe to maintain his polite expression. “A lot of times people know things they don’t even realize. The smallest detail can lead to an apprehension.”

“I will, of course, cooperate in any way I can. I just want justice done.”

Lie
.

Rafe pulled a small notebook and a pen out of his shirt pocket and clicked the pen. “I’ve met Miss McGaffigan, Danny’s stepsister. She mentioned you contacted her about Danny’s disappearance.”

“He was my employee, Mr. Montana, even though I terminated him for obvious reasons. I notified his next of kin in hopes she could help us find him.”

Truth
.

“And you offered her a room here at the hotel free of charge. That was very generous of you.”

Bartow shrugged. “I’m a generous man.”

Truth
. At least as Bartow saw it.

“I would think you would be angry toward Danny and anyone connected with him. After all, he stole from you.”

“He did. But it was just a car, Mr. Montana. I’m more interested in Danny learning his lesson than I am about my car being … ah … borrowed without permission.”

Truth
. But an odd truth … perhaps a hidden meaning?

“I wonder what made Danny take the car,” Rafe mused.

Bartow shrugged. “Trying to impress a woman, I heard.”

Truth
.

“Was anything else taken?”

“No, just the car.”

Lie
.

“Did Danny—”

The office door opened. Bartow looked up and waved in the man who had entered. “Ah, Mr. Gray, at last. Do come in. This is Mr. Montana. He’s a bounty hunter looking for Danny.”

Rafe stood and held out his hand. The guy was big, the mega-bucks suit a poor disguise for the military bearing. His black hair was cut in a way that said salon rather than barber, and one glance over Gray’s buff physique rated a sure ten on Rafe’s kick-my-ass scale. Went nicely with the don’t-screw-with-me attitude.

His eyes were nearly black, and in them Rafe saw absolutely nothing. Just like Danny.

What the hell?

“This is Adrian Gray, my head of security. Mr. Gray, Mr. Montana.”

Contrary to Bartow’s soft, pampered handshake, Gray’s was firm and strong. A guy who knew how to handle himself without posturing.

“You’re here about Danny?” Gray asked. He didn’t sit, so neither did Rafe.

“Yes. Mr. Bartow was telling me some of what happened.”

“He gave the guy a job.” Gray’s mouth firmed in obvious disapproval. “Promoted him out of the parking garage to be Mr. Bartow’s personal driver. And this is how he thanks him.”

“So he was your driver.” Rafe made a note on the pad, then looked over at Bartow but kept Gray in his peripheral vision. “I’m guessing he had access to the car keys.”

“He had access to all my vehicles,” Bartow confirmed.

Truth
.

Okay, his powers were still working … on Bartow, just not on Gray. Which meant the problem might not be with Rafe, but with the subject he was looking at. The mere possibility lifted his mood.

“Makes them easy to steal,” he noted.

“We trusted the wrong person,” Gray said. “It happens.”

“And that makes the sting even worse, doesn’t it?”

Gray narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid it does.”

“I have a copy of your statement to the police,” Rafe continued, turning his attention back to Bartow. “I’d like your permission to speak to some of Danny’s coworkers, see if any of them might have an idea where he is.”

“Mr. Gray will see to it.”

“I’ll set something up,” Gray confirmed. “We’d prefer you be discreet about this.”

Rafe nodded. “Of course.”

Bartow’s phone rang. He held up a finger at Rafe as he answered it. “Bartow.”

As Bartow continued with his phone conversation, Gray stepped closer, that hard-as-nails stare boring into Rafe. The other man spoke softly, but there was no missing the command in his tone. “When you are done interviewing the employees, bring your results to me.”

Rafe blinked at the ballsy demand. “What?”

Gray laid a hand on his shoulder, his clasp firm and his gaze relentless. “When you’re done interviewing the employees, bring your results to me.”

“Like hell.” Rafe shrugged off his grip. “Conduct your own damn interviews.”

Gray jerked back, shock flickering across his face before he regained control. “I will … that is, I intend to. I thought—” Gray’s eyes narrowed.

And Rafe felt it, a touch in his mind equivalent to a mental tap on the shoulder. Instinctively, he slammed his senses closed. His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t felt anything like that in years, not since childhood.

Only a glint in Gray’s eyes indicated that he knew anything had happened. Before Rafe could say anything, Gray’s radio squawked. He snatched it up and paced a few steps away. “Gray.”

Rafe watched him with narrowed eyes. The guy had been spooked, and he was spooked himself. But what had Gray expected, that Rafe would blindly obey the demands of a total stranger?

Bartow hung up the phone. “My apologies, Mr. Montana.”

“That’s okay.” Still stunned by the mind tap, Rafe strained to hear Gray’s conversation, but he couldn’t make it out and keep his attention on Bartow at the same time. “You’re a busy man.”

“I am. So where were we? Ah, yes, you wanted to interview my employees.”

“I do. I think it will help me pick up Danny’s trail.”

“I am certain Mr. Gray can arrange something.”

Gray hooked his radio back onto his belt and came toward the desk. “I have to go. A problem with a guest’s room.”

“Oh?” Bartow frowned. “I wanted you to sit in on this meeting.”

“It’s the VIP on twelve, sir.”

Bartow’s eyes widened. He waved a dismissive hand at Gray. “See to it then, and let me know the outcome.”

“I will.” Gray looked at Rafe, and it didn’t take any superpowers to see that the guy was on guard now. “Leave your contact information, and I’ll arrange for the interviews.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“I’ll get Mr. Montana’s card before he leaves,” Bartow said. “You can get in touch with him later when everything is set up.”

Gray nodded, then high-tailed it out of the office.

Bartow indicated a chair, the busy man of minutes ago gone as if he had never existed. “Sit down, Mr. Montana. I’m certain you have more questions.”

Rafe took a seat and clicked his pen. “I do indeed, Mr. Bartow.”

*   *   *

Cara perched on the edge of the sofa in the luxurious suite, crushing the empty coffee cup between her fingers. She should probably be doing something constructive, like itemizing her belongings. Or mopping up the spilled water from the flower vase. Maybe breathing into a paper bag. Something.

But all she could do was sit there in her suite, broken bric-a-brac strewn all around her, and wait for security.

Someone had broken in. Some lunatic had gotten into her room and ripped open her luggage. Pawed through her things. Knocked the furnishings over in what looked to be a mad frenzy of searching. But searching for what?

Or whom?

What if she hadn’t stayed at Danny’s last night? What if she’d been here? Her fingers started trembling again, and she crushed the cardboard coffee cup into an even smaller mass.

A knock on the door made her yelp in surprise, and the crushed cup flew out of her hands to land on the floor several feet away. Someone called her name and identified themselves as security—Gray.

“Come in,” she replied. The door opened and Mr. Gray stepped in, a uniformed security man behind him.

“Miss McGaffigan, are you all right?” His leather shoe crushed the cup into the carpet as he reached her in three long strides. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine. I just came back to … this.”

He glanced around, and his mouth tightened. “Is anything missing?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t looked. I just came in, saw this, and called security.”

His fierce look softened, and she swore she saw compassion in his eyes. “So you haven’t touched anything.”

“No. I thought it might contaminate the crime scene or something.”

He chuckled. “You watch too much TV.”

“Guess so.” She let out a breath. “What do we do now?”

“You need to check and see if anything is missing. I’ll send Peterson here to take a look at the security tapes for this corridor.”

“All right.” Dreading the ordeal, she went into the bedroom.

*   *   *

Adrian straightened as she left the room. He glanced around at the careless destruction. Anger simmered beneath the surface, and he clenched his jaw. The bastards. Did they think he wouldn’t know what they were doing?

“Peterson.” He met the security man halfway across the room. “Go down to security and take a look at the tapes for this floor. Let’s see who might have done this.”

“Yes, Mr. Gray. Do you want me to send a guy up to be on the door?”

“That depends on what we see on the tapes.” He met Peterson’s gaze and had no trouble snaring his unremarkable mind. “Go downstairs, Peterson. Miss McGaffigan is fine.”

Peterson’s round features settled into a familiar vacant expression. “Miss McGaffigan seems to be fine. I’m going to go downstairs.”

“Yes.” Adrian took the man’s arm and steered him toward the door. “To security. To look at the tapes.”

“I’ll check those tapes, sir.”

“Thank you, Peterson.” Adrian waited until the burly guard had left the room, then turned toward the bedroom. He stepped into the doorway and watched Cara.

She looked so lost, standing in front of the closet with the safe in the back of it standing open, staring at her clothing dumped on the floor. He had thought it would be a good idea to have her here in Vegas, a simple way to draw Danny out into the open. It had been an easy matter to make Bartow invite her, believing it was all his own idea. But now it appeared Cara had become a problem Adrian had not foreseen.

He regretted it had come to this.

“Miss McGaffigan.”

She spun to face him, her brow creasing. “I haven’t had a chance to check my suitcases, but all my valuables are still in the safe where I left them. It was still locked when I came in here.”

“That’s good news.” He held her gaze, stepped closer. Reached out with his mind. “This has been hard on you.”

“Yes.” Her eyes took on a dreamy cast, her expression open and malleable. “Very hard for me.”

“You’re a complication.” He came closer and couldn’t resist reaching out to smooth a stray piece of hair behind her ear. She made no protest; she was completely his to control. “I’m sorry to do this to you, but I have to make sure you’re out of the way. For good.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Bartow knew more than he let on.

Rafe got into the elevator after his meeting on the executive floor and punched the button for the lobby. The casino manager had been lying, that much was certain. And Gray—well, there was definitely something weird there. Rafe couldn’t read the guy, but then he could turn his head seconds later and read Bartow like a book. So obviously the problems he had been having with his abilities had to do less with him and more with
whom
he was trying to read.

Take Danny, for instance. He could concentrate on him and—

Flash
. Danny Cangialosi was walking down the street, hands in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt.

Rafe’s heart raced, and he struggled to hold the vision. Where was it? He’d barely completed the thought before the nugget dropped into his head.

Arizona. Flagstaff.

The elevator door opened to the hustle and bustle of the hotel lobby. A family of six with a screaming toddler waited for him to disembark. Rafe hopped off the elevator and headed for the nearest house phone.

“Cara McGaffigan,” he said to the operator, then waited as the line rang.

“Hello.”

“Miss McGaffigan, this is Rafe Montana. I have a lead on your stepbrother.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

Rafe frowned. Her voice sounded strange. Flat. Almost disinterested. “I’d like to talk to you about it. I’m in the hotel. Can I come up?”

“If you want. I’m in room 1292.”

“All right, I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He hung up the phone, still puzzled by the lack of enthusiasm in her voice. What had happened to the woman he’d met yesterday, the one who had held him off with a can of pepper spray, determined to protect her stepbrother?

He headed back toward the elevator and managed to slip into a car just before the doors closed on a bellman with a luggage cart.