Wild Card (Leaving Las Vegas) Read online

  The beating Finn had told her about earlier. Suddenly it all made sense. He’d been attacked—defending a young boy—but he still felt guilty about what he’d done.

  As if he no longer belonged.

  As if he needed to be punished.

  That was why he’d left the priesthood and the only life he’d ever known. It was also why he’d spent all his time at work and hadn’t bothered finding friends to hang out with. He’d saved a boy’s life, and he still saw it as an irredeemable mistake. He thought he didn’t deserve a future, a home, or a family to come home to at night.

  Gina snuggled even closer to him, her fingers curling into the back of his shirt.

  Too bad. No matter what he thought he deserved, he had her now.

  “You did the right thing,” she murmured.

  “I know. I don’t need you to tell me that.”

  “It won’t stop me from reminding you every once in a while.” Of course, that would mean she’d have to stick around for the long haul.

  The thought invaded Gina’s mind and wouldn’t surrender no matter how hard she tried to squash it down—Finn in her small house, straddling one of her oak chairs or waiting for her in her king-size bed when she got home from work.

  Finn holding her tight and promising never to let her go.

  Working side by side with the strong man while she created a new life, one built on a solid foundation, not a showgirl’s sequins or a stripper’s glitter. Maybe she could work in a diner like Irma or run a kitchen like Kaitlyn.

  She took a bite of the eggs.

  They were good, damn good…better than anything she could make.

  Nope, she’d be better off sticking with her strengths. Even if she left the Rollio, she’d have to find somewhere else to dance. Another stage…another spotlight…

  Unless she opened her own dance studio…

  Not a ballet studio—like the one she’d dreamed about when she was younger—but someplace well lit and airy, where aspiring showgirls could learn the tricks of the trade during the day and other women could learn how to move at night. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to do. She’d need some money to get the studio started and a partner who could help her run the place.

  Someone who would dance with her after they’d closed down for the night. A strong man with broad shoulders and nimble feet.

  Like a certain LVMPD detective who claimed he could do a mean fox-trot—no matter what his mother might say.

  It was a nice fantasy. They’d be good together, her feistiness balancing out his stoicism, but still…

  The food was getting cold. They sat down and ate it in perfect silence, only talking when the last plate had been cleared from the table. “This was very good,” Gina said.

  Kaitlyn’s response was a sharp laugh. “Don’t mention it.” There was a dull thud.

  “Come on, Ma,” Colin yelped. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly. Even your brother’s girlfriend has better manners than you. I don’t know where I went wrong.”

  “She’s not his girlfriend.”

  There was a moment’s silence. No one said a word, not even Finn. Damn it.

  Gina blinked in surprise. There was no reason he should say anything. Not really. She’d offered him a one-night stand, not forever.

  It still hurt.

  Then Finn’s hand reached up to settle between her shoulders. His long fingers rubbed against her tension. “We haven’t talked about things, Colin, but I certainly hope Gina will be my girlfriend. The same way I’d hope you could be less of a jerk.”

  There was a long pause, and then Colin chuckled. “Why don’t you get out this evidence and we’ll take a look at it?”

  For a moment, Gina thought Finn was going to object a second time. But instead, he just nodded pleasantly, as if he’d be grateful for the help…

  He was a constant surprise. They’d only been together for a few days, but something told her that if it had been months—or even years—she still wouldn’t know everything about Finn. He definitely had layers. Like taco dip.

  They trooped back out to the living room. Finn—Gabriel Finn; Gina still couldn’t bring herself to use his first name—got the bag of evidence, and Colin brought two pairs of gloves from their mother’s kitchen.

  While the two men sorted their way through the collection of items together—their actions careful and meticulous—Finn had Gina recite the events back at the Rollio again. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d told the story, and every time she said the words, they tasted like wood in her mouth. Why the hell couldn’t she be more helpful?

  When Gina told Colin the part about the shooter asking if any copies had been made, his face went grim. “That narrows it down some.” He started putting certain bags to the side, anything containing a scrap of paper.

  It wasn’t much.

  “And the watch,” Sorcha chirped from where she was watching her older brothers. The teenager was sprawled across the couch where Gina and Finn had been sleeping not long ago.

  Gina’s face flushed at the thought.

  Sleeping with Finn had been so damn comfortable. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt. She needed to get those thoughts out of her head. The LVMPD detective might be interested in her for more than a one-night stand, but they were still very different people.

  He was a cop. She was a showgirl.

  He came from a warm, loving family, and she… She swallowed back a mouthful of bile.

  Never mind.

  “What do you mean?” Colin’s spine straightened. He turned to glare at his sister. “It’s just a watch.”

  “Nope,” Sorcha said. “There’s a memory card inside it. My friend Candy has the exact same one. She uses it to hide naughty—” Her throat cleared. “Never mind. I can show you how to open it, if you want.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Finn growled. “This is police evidence. You’re not touching it, but you can explain how it’s done. Carefully.”

  …

  The mechanism on Mendoza’s watch was small and delicate, designed for a teenage girl’s slim fingers or someone who knew what they were doing. It took Finn two tries before he managed to open it up, revealing the slim piece of electronics inside. After the card was out, it only took Sorcha a moment to grab her laptop from upstairs.

  Examining evidence using his sister’s bright pink computer wasn’t exactly the manliest thing Finn had ever done, but it didn’t change any of the information he uncovered.

  The first file he opened contained a spreadsheet with Mendoza’s books on it, including every dollar he’d taken in through his nefarious enterprises, as well as every penny he’d spent on wine, women, and song.

  Finn skimmed through it quickly.

  There was a line item for the LVMPD and another notation for his lawyer’s fees.

  Finn clicked out of the spreadsheet and started going through the other files on the memory card. There were half a dozen video files with numbers instead of names. He double clicked on the largest one.

  The computer screen flickered for a moment. An image loaded.

  The clip had been filmed in a large living room with overstuffed leather couches and a thick Oriental rug on the floor. There was a window in the background, and Finn could just make out the Las Vegas skyline in the distance. The neon from the Hendrix’s sign glowed bright enough to put the location inside a mile or two.

  Finn hit play.

  Two men walked onto the screen. One of them was Mendoza. The other one was—

  “Him,” Gina said. She leaned over his shoulder to tap at the computer’s screen, her finger leaving a smudge over the man’s face. “That’s the guy. He’s the one who was in the Rollio. He shot the police officer.”

  It was a positive identification.

  Now Finn just had to figure out who he was.

  On the screen, the men sat down and started to talk. Their conversation was lighthearted and conversational. It wasn’t the first time they’d met.
It wasn’t until halfway through the clip that Mendoza let a name slip out.

  “Come on, Dasher. I’m just following orders,” Mendoza said. “Wilson’s in charge of the defense.”

  “Wilson’s an asshole,” the shooter sniffed.

  “You’re the one who told me to hire him.”

  “I told you to get yourself a good lawyer. I didn’t tell you to hire a partner at my own fucking firm.”

  “He’s the best defense attorney in Las Vegas.”

  “That’s the problem.”

  Dasher had to be Edwin Dasher, the managing partner at Wilson, Dasher, and Smythe, Finn calculated.

  “He’s dragging this thing out too long. Our friends in the police department are getting nervous. It’s time to go away. You’re going to jail, no matter what. Get it over with. You did the crime—you might as well do the time.”

  “You did the crime, Dash,” Mendoza uttered, his voice calm and certain. “You’ve got to do the time.”

  That was all Finn needed to hear. He turned off the video.

  “Now, that’s something worth killing over,” Colin said.

  “But it’s still not worth dying for.” Finn copied the files and emailed them to himself. Then he emailed a set to Colin. He sent off a third set to Captain Howard.

  “You better call it in.” Colin handed over his cell phone.

  Finn’s fingers fumbled with the hard plastic keys. He dialed from memory, brushing his hand against the small of Gina’s back before walking upstairs to the long hallway. The room he’d shared with Colin was near the back. Stepping inside it was like walking into his past. There were still posters on the wall from high school, and trophies littered the top of the bureau.

  He could hear the phone ringing on the other end of the line. It seemed like forever before Howard picked up.

  “I don’t recognize this number,” the captain growled. “This better not be a sales call.”

  “It’s Finn.”

  “Where the fuck are you? I’ve been trying your number for ages. I told you to keep the girl safe. I didn’t tell you to go completely off grid.”

  “I’m in Chicago.”

  There was a long pause. “I never thought you’d go home.”

  “It’s the place where they have to take you in.”

  “That from the Bible?” Howard asked.

  “Robert Frost, I think. But I didn’t get the quote exactly right.”

  Finn sat down on his old bed, listening to the squeak of springs under his ass. He still hadn’t made it to a real bed with Gina, but he definitely had plans. He gave another experimental bounce. The bed sagged.

  It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be seducing Gina in his mother’s house anytime soon. Hopefully.

  “Finn! Detective Finn! Are you listening?”

  Finn winced as he realized the captain had been talking the entire time. “I’m sorry, sir. I was thinking about something else.”

  “Pertaining to the case?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Gina was more than just a case. She was someone he could see himself loving for the rest of his life.

  Finn started to tell Howard exactly what he’d found. He started at the beginning, explaining about the bags of evidence with the police seals and ending with the memory card in the watch.

  “Have you seen the files?” Howard asked.

  “Yes,” Finn replied, clearing his throat. “It’s a copy of Mendoza’s books.”

  “That it—”

  “There are some videos. I only looked at one of them.” Finn let out a sigh. “It’s got Edwin Dasher talking with Mendoza—he’s in this up to his eyeballs. The witness gave me a positive ID. Dasher is the shooter.”

  There was a long pause. “And that’s why you’re my wild card. You do what nobody else can. Has anyone else seen this video? Just you and Gina?”

  “Of course,” Finn lied. No reason to tell the captain that he’d shared Las Vegas evidence with an Illinois State Police captain. “I emailed you a copy a few minutes ago. I’m sure there’s more to find in the other videos.”

  “Who would have thought Mendoza was a surveillance freak? He makes Nixon look like a pussycat.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was a long pause. “This needs to be done by the book. Dasher might be a criminal, but he’s also a good lawyer. The last thing we need is for some idiot to throw another joker in the deck. It’ll take an hour or so to verify your information. I need you to email me a witness statement saying that Edwin Dasher’s the shooter. Once I’ve got that, I’ll try to find a judge who doesn’t belong to Dasher’s golf club. Then we can arrest the son of a bitch and you can bring our girl home.”

  Finn’s teeth clamped together at the thought of Howard claiming Gina for any reason. He let out a grunt of affirmation then hung up the phone.

  Time to go to work.

  It took longer than an hour. Hell, it took half the day before the news of Edwin Dasher’s arrest hit the online version of the Las Vegas Sun News. His two stooges were still at large, but there was a manhunt under way.

  Watching it unfold from his mother’s couch, Finn pulled Gina tight against his chest and started to breathe easier. His fingers curled in her hair. “You’re safe now.” He’d kept his promise. “It’s over. We can go home.”

  Of course, once they got there, he’d have to let her go.

  All the other problems that had seemed so monumental—so soul crushing—could be avoided, but a few simple facts still remained.

  Finn was a cop, and Gina was a material witness in what was quickly shaping up to be the biggest case of his career. Their time together put all the information he’d gathered at risk—the district attorney was going to have a heart attack—and if they continued seeing each other, he’d be taken off the case. It was protocol.

  Worse, it made sense.

  A police officer shouldn’t have a relationship with a witness.

  That didn’t stop him from snuggling in closer to her on the couch and luxuriating in the soft scent of lilacs that still clung to her. Her curves fit against his muscles like they were made for each other.

  It was only temporary.

  It could only ever be temporary.

  But he was determined to make the most of it while it lasted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The trip from Chicago back to Las Vegas was swift and uneventful. Traveling on the major highways, it took them half the time. With no need to worry about someone tracking their movements, Finn insisted on paying for every meal. When they stopped for the night, they checked into a lush luxury hotel room with a king-size bed, where he spent hours bringing Gina to orgasm over and over again.

  He could do things with his tongue that left her gasping for air and writhing with pleasure.

  But they still didn’t talk about the future, not even when he pulled up in front of the tiny blue-and-yellow tract house with the brightly colored sunflowers planted out front. She hadn’t been home to water in almost a week, and the sunflowers were seriously drooping. Still, it was home.

  “The captain said he’d had someone over here to check things out,” Finn said. “But I can always do another sweep if you want.”

  Gina nodded. “I’m going to miss having someone watching my back.”

  “Right.” They both climbed out of the truck and walked up to the house.

  Gina’s hands fumbled with the spare key from under the mat, opening the door with a shove. The air inside was cool and well circulated by the powerful central air system. “Do you want to stay for dinner? There’s a great taco place two blocks over that delivers.”

  “I’d better not,” Finn said. “I’ve got to go over to the station and make my statement.” His stride lengthened as he walked through the place, just to be sure, from her small living room to the eat-in kitchen and then upstairs to the two elegantly appointed bedrooms and the bathroom with its oversize tub—the entire reason she’d bought the house in the first place. “I’ll pro
bably be there all night.”

  “How about breakfast? We can get huevos rancheros.”

  Finn paused in front of the door to her bedroom, his eyes locked on her deep scarlet comforter. His tongue darted out to moisten firm, curved lips that—Gina knew from experience—tasted like pure temptation. “I can’t.”

  “What about lunch?” Gina’s teeth sank into her bottom lip. Hell, she sounded like a kid again, looking for attention in all the wrong places.

  “I can’t, Gina. I’m a cop, and you’re a—”

  “I know what I am.” She wasn’t good enough. Their time together on the road had been a fantasy, nothing else. “I’m not good enough. Just a dancer from the desert.”

  “That’s not it,” Finn said. “It’s not—” He sighed. “I’m the one who’s not good enough for you.”

  “That’s a load of bull,” Gina snarled. “Yeah, something happened. It was horrible. A man got hurt—but you keep forgetting something. You saved a kid, Finn. He’s better off because of you. He’s alive! That’s something to celebrate.”

  “You’re a witness, Gina. We can’t be involved,” he said, softly. “We can still be friends.”

  And just like that, her knight in shining armor turned into a jackass. She wanted to push him away, but she couldn’t find the will. Not when she was so desperate for one last kiss. “I’ve got enough friends.”

  She took a tentative step in his direction. He’d managed to find clothes at his mother’s house—a combination of things left over from high school and things from his brother’s gym bag—and was currently dressed in a black T-shirt that clung to muscles he hadn’t had ten years earlier and dark jeans that cupped his ass.

  He smelled like the hotel shampoo they’d used the night before and—when she finally pushed her way up onto her tiptoes to kiss the side of his mouth—he tasted like the sugary snacks they’d eaten in the truck and like something ineffably Finn.

  Sex.

  For a man who’d been a virgin when they’d met, Finn sure knew how to make Gina’s insides explode. It wasn’t just the way he touched her—as if he was worshipping her body—but the way he listened to every word she said.