All In
Page 27
A benign question whose sole purpose was to keep the man from looking too closely at the pen in Agent Briggs’s pocket.
“Bad juju at the other one,” Wesley replied, “what with that whole murder business.” His tone sounded flippant, but—
Michael filled in the blanks. “He’s more disturbed than he wants to let on.”
“You do realize,” Agent Sterling replied to Wesley, “that there was—”
“Also a murder here at the Desert Rose?” Wesley said glibly. He shrugged. “Four bodies in four days at four different casinos. Given the choice between staying at a fifth casino on day five and staying at one of the four, I decided I liked my odds better at the latter.”
You always play the odds, I thought, studying Wesley. And based on your background in business, you usually win.
“Can we come in?” Sterling was the one who asked that question. She must have been playing the odds herself—specifically, that Wesley, a self-professed womanizer, was less likely to turn down a request from a female agent.
“Mr. Wesley actually has several commitments this morning,” the assistant started to say.
“James, go organize the liquor cabinet,” Wesley ordered lazily. “Alphabetically this time.”
With one last dark look at the agents, Wesley’s assistant did as he was bidden. Wesley opened the door to his suite wider and gestured. “Please,” he said. “Do come in. I have an excellent view of the pool.”
Three seconds later, Briggs and Sterling were inside the suite. I heard the door shut behind them. And then the feed went black.
The sound of static was deafening in my ear. I jerked out my earpiece. The others did the same.
“What the…” When it came to swearing, Lia was both creative and verbally precise. She hit several buttons on the tablet.
Nothing.
Dean stood. “They’re either out of range or something’s blocking the signal.”
Given that Thomas Wesley’s most recent start-up had specialized in security tech, I was betting on the latter. I tried to text Sterling, but the message came back as undeliverable.
“Cell signal is blocked, too,” I reported.
“You know,” Michael said, a spark in his eye, “I’m feeling like a bit of a stroll. Possibly in the direction of the Desert Rose?”
“No,” Dean said flatly. “Sterling and Briggs can handle Thomas Wesley, with or without us.”
Lia twirled her ponytail contemplatively around her index finger. “Judd went to grab food,” she commented. “And I did hear that the Desert Rose has the world’s largest indoor swimming pool.”
“Lia,” Dean gritted out. “We’re staying here.”
“Of course we are,” Lia told him, patting his shoulder. “And I am in no way planning to go no matter what you say, because I always do what I’m told. Goodness knows I have no real attachment to making my own decisions,” she gushed. “Especially when the person issuing orders is you!”
We went to the pool.
Sloane chose to stay in the suite. Given how much she hated being left out, I took that to mean that she hated the idea of not delivering the answer Briggs had asked for more.
“Not bad,” Lia announced, lying back on a lounge chair and casting her face toward the artificial sky. The Desert Rose’s massive indoor swimming complex was bustling, both with families and with those who’d cordoned themselves off in the adults-only area—despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon.
Dean gave Lia a much-abused look, but said nothing as he scanned the area for threats. I claimed the lounge chair next to Lia’s. Thomas Wesley had said that his suite had a lovely view of the pool. I eyed the balconies with pool access, and my hand went to the earpiece hidden beneath my hair. I’d turned the volume down so that the static wasn’t so deafening—but static was still the only thing I got.
“You’re frustrated.”
I looked up to see Michael staring at me.
He claimed the chair on the other side of Lia. His hands went to the bottom of his shirt, like he was about to take it off. Then he aborted the motion, running one hand through his hair and allowing the other to dangle over the side of the chair. He looked perfectly at ease, perfectly relaxed.
It took everything I had not to picture the bruises on his stomach and chest.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Michael said quietly. “Not you, Cassie.”
I wondered what, exactly, he’d seen on my face. Was it my eyes or my lips or the tension in my neck that gave me away?
He knows that I know why he can’t take his shirt off.
“Like what?” I said, forcing myself to lean back and close my eyes. Michael was an expert at pretending that things—and people—didn’t matter. I wasn’t quite so adept, but I wasn’t going to force him to talk about this with me.
We don’t talk about much of anything anymore.
Michael cleared his throat. “Well, this could get interesting.”
I cracked my eyes open. Michael nodded toward the adults-only area of the pool. Daniel de la Cruz. The professor. Person of interest number two. I recognized the man a second before Lia did. After a moment’s consideration, she rolled off her lounge chair, tossing her long ponytail over her shoulder.
As Lia strolled over and ducked under the rope and Dean grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like bad idea under his breath, I went back over what I knew about Daniel de la Cruz. Intense. Perfectionist. And yet, there he was, holding a drink well before noon.
“Bad juju at the other one,” Wesley replied, “what with that whole murder business.” His tone sounded flippant, but—
Michael filled in the blanks. “He’s more disturbed than he wants to let on.”
“You do realize,” Agent Sterling replied to Wesley, “that there was—”
“Also a murder here at the Desert Rose?” Wesley said glibly. He shrugged. “Four bodies in four days at four different casinos. Given the choice between staying at a fifth casino on day five and staying at one of the four, I decided I liked my odds better at the latter.”
You always play the odds, I thought, studying Wesley. And based on your background in business, you usually win.
“Can we come in?” Sterling was the one who asked that question. She must have been playing the odds herself—specifically, that Wesley, a self-professed womanizer, was less likely to turn down a request from a female agent.
“Mr. Wesley actually has several commitments this morning,” the assistant started to say.
“James, go organize the liquor cabinet,” Wesley ordered lazily. “Alphabetically this time.”
With one last dark look at the agents, Wesley’s assistant did as he was bidden. Wesley opened the door to his suite wider and gestured. “Please,” he said. “Do come in. I have an excellent view of the pool.”
Three seconds later, Briggs and Sterling were inside the suite. I heard the door shut behind them. And then the feed went black.
The sound of static was deafening in my ear. I jerked out my earpiece. The others did the same.
“What the…” When it came to swearing, Lia was both creative and verbally precise. She hit several buttons on the tablet.
Nothing.
Dean stood. “They’re either out of range or something’s blocking the signal.”
Given that Thomas Wesley’s most recent start-up had specialized in security tech, I was betting on the latter. I tried to text Sterling, but the message came back as undeliverable.
“Cell signal is blocked, too,” I reported.
“You know,” Michael said, a spark in his eye, “I’m feeling like a bit of a stroll. Possibly in the direction of the Desert Rose?”
“No,” Dean said flatly. “Sterling and Briggs can handle Thomas Wesley, with or without us.”
Lia twirled her ponytail contemplatively around her index finger. “Judd went to grab food,” she commented. “And I did hear that the Desert Rose has the world’s largest indoor swimming pool.”
“Lia,” Dean gritted out. “We’re staying here.”
“Of course we are,” Lia told him, patting his shoulder. “And I am in no way planning to go no matter what you say, because I always do what I’m told. Goodness knows I have no real attachment to making my own decisions,” she gushed. “Especially when the person issuing orders is you!”
We went to the pool.
Sloane chose to stay in the suite. Given how much she hated being left out, I took that to mean that she hated the idea of not delivering the answer Briggs had asked for more.
“Not bad,” Lia announced, lying back on a lounge chair and casting her face toward the artificial sky. The Desert Rose’s massive indoor swimming complex was bustling, both with families and with those who’d cordoned themselves off in the adults-only area—despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon.
Dean gave Lia a much-abused look, but said nothing as he scanned the area for threats. I claimed the lounge chair next to Lia’s. Thomas Wesley had said that his suite had a lovely view of the pool. I eyed the balconies with pool access, and my hand went to the earpiece hidden beneath my hair. I’d turned the volume down so that the static wasn’t so deafening—but static was still the only thing I got.
“You’re frustrated.”
I looked up to see Michael staring at me.
He claimed the chair on the other side of Lia. His hands went to the bottom of his shirt, like he was about to take it off. Then he aborted the motion, running one hand through his hair and allowing the other to dangle over the side of the chair. He looked perfectly at ease, perfectly relaxed.
It took everything I had not to picture the bruises on his stomach and chest.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Michael said quietly. “Not you, Cassie.”
I wondered what, exactly, he’d seen on my face. Was it my eyes or my lips or the tension in my neck that gave me away?
He knows that I know why he can’t take his shirt off.
“Like what?” I said, forcing myself to lean back and close my eyes. Michael was an expert at pretending that things—and people—didn’t matter. I wasn’t quite so adept, but I wasn’t going to force him to talk about this with me.
We don’t talk about much of anything anymore.
Michael cleared his throat. “Well, this could get interesting.”
I cracked my eyes open. Michael nodded toward the adults-only area of the pool. Daniel de la Cruz. The professor. Person of interest number two. I recognized the man a second before Lia did. After a moment’s consideration, she rolled off her lounge chair, tossing her long ponytail over her shoulder.
As Lia strolled over and ducked under the rope and Dean grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like bad idea under his breath, I went back over what I knew about Daniel de la Cruz. Intense. Perfectionist. And yet, there he was, holding a drink well before noon.
