Authors: Deborah Coonts

Lucky Break (48 page)

Sam.

I raised my gun and fired as the light fixture over my head shattered.

The remaining geared-up cops whirled but didn’t fire.

Romeo was in the line.

The guy was gone as quickly as he’d appeared, the police in full pursuit.

Romeo hadn’t even ducked.

Rooted, he waited for me to join him.

Close up, I could see he was rattled despite the calm, cool and collected bit. “Irv?”

“No.

Sam Wu dressed as a member of the construction crew.”

I was disappointed that it hadn’t been Irv.

Romeo whistled.

“You’re lucky, then.”

He glanced out at the brightening day.

“Wonder why he waited so late?”

I nodded at the construction crew that was already assembling.

Although I’d told the foreman no work today, with his reputation on the line, he’d have them here at least half the day.

“So he could blend in and disappear, maybe?”

“If you were dead, who’d he have to run from?”

“The guards?

Your guys?

A good killer always has several exit strategies,” I said like I knew what I was talking about.

“I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

“Another reason could be timing.”

He scratched his head, then mussed his already mussed-up hair.

“I’m not following.”

“Irv is tidying up loose ends.

I’d say he’s getting ready to move to greener pastures.”

I motioned the construction crew to wait just a bit. “Did you get anything out of Mrs. Box?”

“No, not really.

And the gait thing didn’t line up.

It wasn’t her helping the bomber at your place.”

“That leaves Kimberly Cho.”

Romeo shot me a surprised look.

“Something’s been bothering me, and I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

But it dawned on me: that whole thing with the shooter and my father getting shot.

It’s like he was waiting until I showed up.”

“How’d he know you’d be there?”

“Kimberly came to get me.”

Romeo took a moment.

“What’s in it for her?”

“Maybe she got a bit tired of a working stiff’s salary and wanted a piece of her father’s pie?

I don’t know.

I’ve never really understood what motivates the bad to do what they do.

That’d just be way too much trouble for me.”

“You’d suck at it,” Romeo nodded in agreement.

I was only slightly miffed.

I punched my phone to life as I tucked my Glock away.

I dialed the main number at the Babylon.

“Front desk manager,” I said, when the operator answered.

“Sergio Fabiano.”

I cringed.

Anyone who sounded that bright after a night shift, and a holiday night as well, should be shot at dawn, or promoted.

I’d consider it—if Sergio would just be a bit less unctuous.

“Sergio, Lucky O’Toole.

Has Mr. Cho’s delegation checked out?”

He was supposed to stay for the whale party, but I had a sinking feeling.

“No.

His party is booked through the holiday.”

“Thanks.”

I stuffed my phone back in my pocket, careful to disconnect the call or Sergio was going to be listening to my stomach churn.

“Mr. Cho seems to have dug in.”

“You don’t think he had anything to do with this?”

Romeo seemed a bit skeptical.

“He’s the one everyone wants us to believe is behind it.

His reputation precedes him, and everyone makes snap judgments.

The Big Boss gets it all the time.

I think he got wind of his daughter pulling a few fast ones and he came to get her, and perhaps get Sam if he could.”

“A nice theory.”

“True.

But I’ve got a couple of folks working on some things.”

Romeo started to ask.

“You don’t want to know.”

He clammed up.

“And then there’s a couple of other things that have been bugging me.

If Irv was supposedly paying Sam for all this dirty work, where’d he get the money?

He was totally tapped out when we sent him up.

Mr. Cho wouldn’t be quite that stupid, I don’t think, but I could be wrong.”

“So, you think Kimberly—your Kimberly—is working with Irv.”

“I’m willing to bet she thinks she’s pulling the strings.

But, messing with Irv is like holding a viper by the tail.”

My phone vibrated.

“O’Toole,” I said, as I pressed it to my ear.

“Hey, you awake?”

The Southern strains of River Watalsky.

“I’m talking to you.” I bit down on a grin, I don’t know why.

This whole thing was serious business.

“Right.”

“Whatcha got? Any sightings?”

I shut my eyes and crossed my fingers.

Tired, but wired, my brain stuck in overdrive, long on problems, short on answers, I could really use a little bit of help.

And I got it.

“No, no sightings, but something one guy said struck me as odd.

He said he had a pickup at your new place at like two in the morning.

A gal, young.”

“Asian?”

“How’d you … never mind.

Anyway, when he said it, it got me to thinking.

Your joint isn’t open yet.

So what business would she have there at that time of night?”

“What business indeed?” During the day, Cielo was busy as a beehive with the buzz of last-minute prep and training.

But at night…

I thanked him, and told him to come by the hotel tomorrow.

“On Christmas?”

“We all need a little Christmas, don’t you think?”

I grinned at Romeo; I couldn’t help myself.

“Kimberly Cho has been hanging out around here at odd hours of the very early morning.”

I started to pocket my phone, but it vibrated again.

This time, Jeremy.

“We’ve been rooting through digital documents half the night.

Hope you’re happy.”

“Only if you got something.”

I paused.

I heard him take a breath.

“Wait.

Kimberly Cho, right?”

“Yep.

I don’t even want to know how you know.

It’s just not fair.”

“Nobody promised fair, only that you had a spot in the race.

Thanks.

Thanks a lot, Jeremy.”

He got the sincerity.

“You got it.

Anytime.”

This time I got my phone back in my pocket.

Romeo shook his head.

“What made you finger Kimberly Cho?”

“The white dinner jacket.”

At his big eyes, I kept going.

“It’s stupid, really, and a total gut call.

But why put the dinner jacket in Bungalow Seven, Mrs. Box’s bungalow?

If Mrs. Box had anything to do with all this mess she wouldn’t have stashed it there. She isn’t that that stupid.”

“Neither is Sam.” Romeo joined the discussion, nodding his head but still looking like he was on a long leash.

“So, who would put it there?

Irv?

He wouldn’t be caught dead in the Babylon—that’s aggressive even for him.”

“Process of elimination?”

“No.

Planting that jacket … that would link Dani Jo Box to a bunch of bad shit.

Knowing the publicity shit-storm, that was just plain mean.

It has hate written all over it.”

I grabbed Romeo’s shoulder.

“And that, my friend, is exactly something a scorned woman would do.”

“Your father said Holt wanted to fix things with his family, right?”

“Leaving Ms. Cho out in the cold.”

Romeo looked a bit stricken.

A worker stuck his head in through the broken door.

“Excuse me, can we come in and get to work?”

“Wait until the police clear the building; then the police will check you in.”

I looked to Romeo for confirmation.

“Then you can do what you need to do, but make sure you’re out of here by noon and home to your families.

Family comes first.”

Parroting my father—this apple didn’t fall far.

A thought hit out of the blue.

“What time is it?” I asked Romeo.

He glanced at his phone.

“Six-twenty.”

“I gotta go.”

A text chimed in.

Miss P reminding me of the race.

I typed back a hurried response telling her I was on my way.

Romeo squeezed my arm tighter, as if he could hold me there through physical force.

“You can’t go.

This is redundant, but they’re gunning for you.”

“Your guys are chasing the shooter.

Irv’s not getting his hands dirty in all of this, so I’m not worried he’d actually find the balls to shoot at me. Have the bomb squad check the dais and surrounding areas if that’ll make you feel better.

But, I think that bit of business is over.

I winged him; you’ll catch him.

Life as we know it has been restored.”

I threw an arm around his shoulder.

“Now, my valiant Galahad, let’s go find some Christmas spirit.”

A large crowd had gathered for the Elf Run; this year’s turnout looked to be a record. It seemed all of Vegas had donned elf costumes or the occasional Santa outfit and packed in to the south end of the Strip for the start of the run, which would take them past all the big hotels, through Naked City, then finishing under the lighted canopy at the Fremont Street Experience.

Thankfully, the start was close to Cielo, so a short jog had me in the thick of the crowd.

As I elbowed my way through, I did my best to straighten my hair and pinch some color into my cheeks.

In my jeans and torn sweatshirt, I wasn’t exactly the well-turned-out corporate executive, but given the last couple of days I thought perhaps I might get a sympathy reprieve from scrutiny.

As I approached the dais, I kept my head on a swivel, looking for an out-of-place construction guy.

The organizer, a thin nervous young woman wearing no makeup and a Santa outfit, clutched a clipboard as she barked into a microphone arcing from her ear.

When she caught sight of me, she staggered, as if ready to crumple with relief.

I paused at the bottom of the steps.

She motioned me up.

I scanned the crowd, then waved her down to join me.

She paused on the last step, which put us eye-to-eye. As I gave her the short-and-sweet, her eyes grew wider and wider until she did a perfect Marty Feldman imitation.

I stifled a giggle—it would be impossible to explain and most likely misinterpreted.

“But we’re counting on you,” she whispered.

“You’re like a rock star.”

“Hardly.

I’m sure there is no real danger, but I want to be on the safe side.

I’ll still be the starter, but you must clear the dais.”

The words sounded removed, the reality distant.

I really didn’t think Irv would show himself.

Oh sure, he’d let his presence be known right before he tried to blow me into the next adventure, but that carried a small risk of detection.

After all, I was virtually dead, by his way of thinking anyway.

My phone vibrated in my back pocket.

Romeo.

I pressed it to my ear, putting a finger in the other so I could hear over the buzz of the crowd.

“You got him?”