Sleepless in Las Vegas (32 page)

* * *

F
OR
THE
NEXT
few moments, it was all Drake could do to stare at her, marvel at her. Admiration ballooned in his chest. Her face was drained of color, mascara had smudged below one eye and her purple-black hair had taken on a wild, free-to-be-me look.

And she looked more beautiful than ever to him.

She crossed her arms and gave him a look. “Would’ve been nice, don’t you think, if you’d told me you and Braxton are identical twins?”

He glanced over at Brax, who was suddenly engrossed in some magazine article. Li’l Bit sat on the edge of the bed, eating popcorn and watching them as though they were characters in a movie.

He looked back at Val and the emotions crowding her face. A little displeasure. Some lingering irritation. But from that sly, three-cornered smile on her face, he could tell she was secretly pleased he’d lauded her with those compliments. She knew him well enough to know he didn’t give praise lightly.

He knew her well, too. Funny to think he’d been engaged a year to Liz and could never read her the way he could read Val after a few days.

“I told you about my brother on our way to Mom’s for dinner,” he said gently, “but we started talking about something else and…it never came up again, that’s all. I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you.”

“I called and texted you today,” she said. “Multiple times.”

“Couldn’t carry my own phone. I had Braxton’s on me. And he still has mine.”

She looked at his brother, who raised his hands in an I’m-innocent gesture. “Hey, I don’t read his messages or take his calls.”

“Why the swap?” she asked, turning back to Drake.

“It’s a complicated story.”

“One I’ll never know because the subject doesn’t come up again?”

He deserved that one. “Tonight, during our investigation, I’ll explain everything. Promise.”

Whatever lingering smile she’d had on her face dissolved. “Being isolated like that…left me vulnerable to Yuri…”

He moved forward and wrapped her in his arms. “Val,” he murmured, “I didn’t know he had lured you to the club until I was already there. I want you to know—
need
you to know—that if he’d made one wrong move…” His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I would have killed the bastard with my bare hands.”

Outside, thunder rumbled. Gusts of wind rattled the window. Fat drops of rain splattered against the glass. Li’l Bit was at the window, eating popcorn, watching the show. Hearsay looked at the window, his ears perked, then went back to gnawing the bone. Braxton had his earbuds back in, his head bobbing while he read
Men’s World.

“Sorry I slapped you,” she whispered.

“I’ll live.”

She pressed her face closer. “Why’d you kiss me?”

He smiled. “Guess I have an impetuous streak.”

* * *

A
N
HOUR
LATER
, a rain-drenched Drake and Val opened the door with a brass plaque engraved with “The Frank Sinatra Suite.”

“Why, it’s Ol’ Blue Eyes himself,” Val said, shivering as she stopped at a large framed portrait of Frank Sinatra in the entryway. “And look at the candelabras and textured wallpaper!”

Drake, carrying a duffel bag, headed down the hallway. He frowned as he passed a marble statue of a cherub, thinking it didn’t fit a suite named after tough-guy Frank.

He flipped a switch in the bathroom the size of his old bedroom, and looked around. Matching sinks in a black marble counter. Gold-plated fixtures. Mood lighting.

Val walked in and gasped. “Is that a Jacuzzi tub or a swimming pool? And look at all those mirrors behind it!”

Her hair hung in wet clumps, her face and arms were slick with rain, yet she carried her purse, its handle delicately draped over her arm, as though ready to attend a society event.

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” he said, zipping open the bag he’d purchased earlier. He’d tossed in the video camera and compass he kept in his truck, some more clothes he’d picked up at Target. “Gotta T-shirt in here you can wear. Couple of pairs of new boxers—not pretty, I know, but maybe one of ‘em will fit. Looks like there’s face-washing stuff on the counter.” He glanced at her soggy shoes. “Want me to go downstairs and buy you some sandals or something at the gift shop?”

“They’ll dry out. Probably ruined, but I can still wear them home.”

He pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt for himself. “I’ll call room service. Steak and baked potato?”

She shook her head. “It’s gonna be a long night, and heavy food will make me sleepy. I’ll have a strawberry shake. Salad. No dressing, just lemon. If they ask if I want whipped cream on the shake, say yes.”

Deciding not to ponder the conflicting logic in that order, he headed down the hall to a bedroom, turned on the light. The room boasted a king-size bed with an ornate wooden headboard, lush carpeting, a max-size flat-panel TV screen and a sitting area with a small bar. Hell,
he’d
haunt this place.

Through the sliding glass doors on the far side of the room, he watched the storm clouds unleash torrents of rain. Lightning zigzagged blue across the sky, followed seconds later by bellowing thunder.

After changing into dry clothes, he called room service. As he hung up the phone, Val walked into the room.

She’d blow-dried her hair, which hung loose. The white T-shirt and roomy white cotton boxers hinted at her curves. Her freshly scrubbed face was shiny and pink. He doubted many women could be this pared down and still look sexy.

He’d been distracted by the storm and flooding streets while driving over, but now that they were alone, in a bedroom, his libido came back full force. He craved her, wanted to make love to her so badly it hurt. He’d damn near lost it earlier today watching her on the surveillance cam applying that red lipstick over her luscious lips. And the way she’d kissed him back at the club he knew she desired him, too, but…she’d still pulled away the other night.

She wouldn’t have done that unless she had conflicted feelings about him. Even he knew that being hot over someone could be a world apart from caring deeply about them.

Never thought he’d be in this position: ready to give his heart to someone who seemed to be holding back hers.

Val ruffled her hands through her hair. “When will supper be here?”

“They said forty minutes.”

Outside, lightning crackled and hissed.

“Oh, my, reminds me of hurricane season back home,” she said, crossing to the glass doors. “Did you see that big ol’ porch? You could hold a party out there!”

“I imagine Frank did. It wraps all the way around the penthouse.”

As thunder boomed, her eyes widened and she turned back to the window. “Glory be,” she said, “it’s like one of those scary movies where people are stuck in a haunted mansion and there’s a wild storm outside.”

“Except they didn’t have room service.”

“Or a gift shop, tattoo parlor, casino and theater downstairs. Did you see the Four Franks is playing in the theater here?”

“Saw the poster in the lobby. Hard to imagine four Frank Sinatra impersonators on the same stage.”

“And one’s a woman!”

“Sure Frank would’ve loved that.”

“F’true.” She laughed. “Especially as he was all macho like you.”

Was that what was holding her back? Was he too tough, too hell-bent to prove his manhood?

“Except I hate parties,” he said.

“And you don’t play the ladies.” Obviously seeing his perplexed look, she added, “I mean, that’s my impression, but it’s none of my business.” She blew out a breath, dug her toes into the rug. “‘Fraid my mouth left the station before my brain took a seat.”

“I’m a one-woman man, Val.”

He’d never said that before to a woman. Hadn’t even thought that way with anyone else. But now that she’d heard it, he hoped she took it to heart. He couldn’t make his intentions plainer.

She held his gaze for a moment, then started ambling away from the window.

“Before the food gets here,” she said, “I suggest we set up the equipment, go over some ghost-hunting strategy. I know you prefer to say evidence gathering, not ghost hunting, but tonight I’d sure find it easier to just say both, not worry about—”

“Ghost hunting is fine,” he said brusquely.

She nodded. “Good. I made notes on equipment, ghost-hunting tips, other stuff…maybe we can meet in the living room, go over our plan?”

“How about we make
you
the lead investigator on this case,” he said, standing. “You call the shots, I’ll take directions.”

She gave him a look of utter incredulity. “Me, the lead investigator?”

“Why not? You’ve done the research, compiled most of the equipment.”

“
I’m
to tell
you
what to do?”

“Think I can’t take instructions from a woman?”

She backed up a step, a funny look on her face. “I’d prefer not to answer that.”

“It might surprise you,
woman,
but I happen to believe that no person, no matter what their gender, has a greater right to power. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going out to the living room to
help
strategize this
ghost-hunting
case.”

As he headed toward the hall, he heard Val mutter, “Well, slap me with bread and call me a sandwich.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A
SHORT
WHILE
later, they sat in the living room, adjacent to a separate dining room and bar area, both rooms decorated with sumptuous carpeting, sparkling chandeliers, high-end furniture. Off the living room was a second bedroom and a black-marbled bathroom with another oversize whirlpool tub.

Two sides of the living room were sliding-glass doors that opened onto the wraparound patio. Through the gray clouds and lashing rains, the bright lights of the Strip were reduced to hazy smudges of color.

They sat next to each other on a leather couch, their equipment laid out on the walnut coffee table.

“These are my notes about ghost hunting,” Val said, picking up a piece of paper. “The most important tip is that we stay together at all times, to validate any witnessed activity and ensure team members’ safety. Also, many researchers believe ghosts communicate on wavelengths outside of human hearing, but digital recorders can pick up those wavelengths. Because they also recommend motion detectors, I thought I’d leave my smartphone, with the motion detector app running, in this room where people have reported hearing and seeing Frank’s cocktail parties.”

“All right if I keep my phone with me?”

Surging winds rattled the glass. A bright flash of lightning popped, turning the sky neon-blue.

“F’sure,” she whispered, glancing outside. She looked back at her list. “Let’s see…where’s your compass?”

He patted his T-shirt pocket. “Here.”

“It’s supposed to be good for picking up any magnetic or electrical stimulus out of the ordinary. And here’s another tip. Do not take chances with things you don’t understand.”

“Or maybe what a person
assumes
they understand is actually wrong.”

“Yes, that could be true, too, but what they mean is if you’re confused about a situation, don’t take a risk.”

“But sometimes, Val, taking a risk is worth it. You need to trust your instincts.”

She stared at him for a moment. “For a man who just said he was ready to take instruction from a woman, you sure seem to be fighting it.”

“Not fighting it, just making observations. Go ahead.”

“Not quite sure what this means, but several ghost hunters mentioned it. If you need to calm spirits, pour lots of water.”

“I’d think Frank would want us to pour him a big whiskey on the rocks.”

“If I were to actually see a ghost, I’d want a big ol’ triple whiskey on the rocks!”

A crack of lightning streaked through the atmosphere, illuminating the ominous clouds, before the sky closed up again.

She raised her eyebrows. “Although a few more of those well-timed responses could make me a believer.” After a beat, she said softly, “Actually, I believe in heaven, but to tell you the truth, I’m afraid not to. I need to trust that Nanny’s watching over me, waiting for me.” She gave a small shrug. “But what I’d give for a sign.”

With a sigh, she returned to their task. “Okay, let’s review our equipment. Which we’re keeping to bare bones as this will be our only ghost-hunting investigation.” She ran her finger down the page. “Got notepads and pens. Flashlights. I brought that big ol’ candle and matches. You brought your video camera. Oh, here’s a suggestion. We should walk around with the video camera and ask questions like, ‘Is anybody here? Would you like to tell us anything?’” She wrinkled her nose. “I dunno. Seems kinda corny.”

“Two thousand, five hundred dollars.”

“You hold the camera, I’ll ask the questions.”

A loud creaking sound from the other room made her jump. “What was that?” She looked anxiously toward the second bedroom.

He stared at her hand gripping his arm, liked the feel of her skin against his. Maybe they should take on more ghost-hunting cases.

“Just the wind,” he said, putting a protective hand on hers. “Don’t forget this hotel is over fifty years old. In this kind of weather, we’ll hear all kinds of noises. I’ll go check, though.”

“I’m going with you. Remember, we can’t be apart.”

He smiled to himself. Yeah, they should definitely accept more of these cases.

She picked up the video camera. “Let’s take footage.”

When they got to the room, he turned on the lights.

“Looks like that far window is cracked open. I’ll take video of it.” As he pointed the camera and began filming, he documented the situation. “At approximately seven p.m., we heard a noise, like a thud, from this room. Entering, we saw the far window slightly open.” He moved forward, zooming in on the window. “Apparently a light gust of wind blew over this silk flower arrangement.” He turned and filmed the artificial flowers.

He turned off the camera. “I think we solved this mystery.”

As he closed the window, she set the arrangement back on the dresser.