Wild Card (Leaving Las Vegas) Read online

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “I’m serious.” At the church, he’d been a favorite with new mothers because their babies always stayed calm in his arms. “It’s a gift.”

  The grizzled police captain held perfectly still for a long moment. His cropped gray hair gleamed in the low lights. His expression was hard, making his entire face look like one big callus. Then he laughed. “Remind me to have you over the next time my sister-in-law’s in town. Her kid’s a brat. Always drives me crazy.”

  “Good to know.” Finn inclined his head toward the file. The photo was a candid shot—Gina hadn’t posed for it—and she looked happy. Her curved body was poured into a soft white T-shirt, and a pair of worn jeans skimmed those memorable legs. There was a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose, and her rich auburn hair curled wildly around her face. “Why not turn this over to the task force?”

  “It might not be important.”

  “If it’s not important…” Finn frowned. He was a freaking homicide detective. He was supposed to be hunting down murderers, not chasing showgirls. “I want to come back to work, Captain.”

  “Was Taub corrupt or just bad?”

  It was a blunt question. Finn shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t know if he was corrupt… Maybe.”

  Probably. It would make sense.

  “Then maybe it’s better for you to find this woman instead of his buddies.” Howard opened a drawer. He pulled out a familiar badge and placed it squarely on the desk between them. “Track her down, talk to her, and bring her back. If she knows something…” He let out a long sigh. “If she knows something, then we’ll deal with it. Is that clear?”

  Good enough. Finn snatched up the badge. It was just a symbol, but—damn—the familiar weight felt good in his hands. “Crystal.”

  Chapter Two

  Getting out of the Rollio had been a close thing—Donovan had been at her heels, and bullets were flying everywhere. Luckily, her busted old jalopy had chosen that moment to start on the first try, and Gina had peeled out of the employee parking lot like the hounds of hell were behind her.

  Of course, the damn car still wouldn’t go over thirty-five miles an hour. By the time she’d made it back to her trailer on the surface streets, Donovan had been walking through the front door.

  He wasn’t alone.

  The suited killer had two men at his back and another waiting in an SUV out front. He must have gotten the address from her license plate…which meant he hadn’t been kidding about having other friends on the police force.

  Any thoughts she might have had about going to the police died in about two-point-five seconds. The last thing she needed to do was turn herself over to someone on Donovan’s payroll.

  Which meant she needed to get the hell out of Las Vegas until things blew over. She’d called work for time off—claiming a family emergency—and hit the road heading out of town.

  Going west would take her into California, first Barstow and then Bakersfield. The city was a grease stain on the freeway between San Francisco and Los Angeles. It was also where she’d grown up. Not that anyone would be eager to see her back there. The good-time daughter of an alcoholic, she’d been persona non grata even before she’d burned down half the red light district.

  Instead, she turned east, driving for over an hour before hitting the freeway with one foot on the gas pedal and her emergency lights blinking in the darkness. After some coaxing, her car finally made it up to the hair-raising speed of fifty miles an hour.

  Around six o’clock, the freeway started filling up, so she pulled off somewhere in Utah. She needed to sleep, and her car was her only option. She’d done it before when she was new to Las Vegas. At least out in the middle of nowhere, she wouldn’t have to worry about someone trying to steal the moldy sedan while she was in the backseat. With the windows rolled down and her purse tucked under her head, it was almost pleasant.

  Of course, that didn’t stop every inch of her body from protesting when she woke up. She forced herself into an upright position, stretching out her long legs. Her feet hurt, but that was nothing new. She checked the time.

  Damn.

  It was a little after noon. She’d been sleeping for more than six hours. Now, she needed to figure out her next steps. She flipped over to the map application on her phone. She was sixteen hours from Dallas and thirty-one hours from New York City. For a girl who’d never been east of Las Vegas before today, the options were endless and confusing. She could go anywhere.

  First, coffee.

  She slid into the driver’s seat, kicked her heels to the side, and stuck the key in the ignition, turning it—and praying. The old car rumbled to life. Threadbare tires barely gripped the asphalt as she pulled off the shoulder and moved back onto the dusty country road.

  Utah was a barren wasteland without any place to stop for caffeine. She finally found what she was looking for over the border in Colorado. The gas station wasn’t much to look at, but the neon doughnut flickering in the window made her stomach growl. The word “Coffee” in red lights underneath it had her making a fast U-turn.

  She tucked the purloined bag into her purse, then filled up her tank before making her way inside for a fresh cup of coffee and a Boston Cream. The doughnut was perfect. The pastry was thick and yeasty, the chocolate frosting was homemade, and the creamy filling was enough to put a smile on any girl’s face.

  She was finishing off a second pastry when the man walked through the service station door. Her stomach churned as his gaze met hers, blue eyes narrowing slightly when he saw her.

  Damn.

  He was a force of nature. Sir Galahad, with shoulders wide enough to hold up the world, an ass that could crack walnuts, and piercing blue eyes that left her tingling in all the right places. Even his clothes—a rich blue combed-cotton T-shirt that tugged across muscular biceps, worn blue jeans, and a pair of red high-tops—added up to an all-American hero.

  If they’d met in a club, Gina wouldn’t have thought twice about skimming her fingers over the gold chain gleaming at his neck, tugging his mouth down to meet hers, and then jumping his bones.

  Instead, she licked the rest of the cream off her fingertips—flushing slightly when she realized his gaze was locked on her mouth—and forced herself to take a deep breath.

  It had been almost twelve hours since anyone had shot in her direction, but she wasn’t about to let her libido lead her down the dusty road to stupidity.

  She shook off the bolt of lust, picked up her coffee, and headed for the exit. Her path brought them so close together, she could feel the heat from his body and smell the clean, soapy scent that clung to his clothes. He was yummy. Oh, yeah. She wouldn’t mind pulling off that T-shirt to see if he tasted as good as he looked.

  Bad girl. She gave herself a mental head slap as she walked out the door and onto the baked concrete.

  It had been more than six months since the last time she’d taken a man home. She needed to get laid—and not just by her battery-operated boyfriend. But that didn’t mean she should fall for the first knight in faded denim who crossed her path.

  She walked over to her crumbling sedan and climbed into the driver’s seat. Her coffee went in the cup holder, and her purse went on the passenger seat. She turned the key in the ignition, and the engine sputtered twice before screaming to life.

  Half a mile down the road, she turned the radio up to drown out the mechanical noises.

  That’s why she didn’t hear the car accelerating behind her.

  Bang. Crash. Metal hit metal, crunching loudly as an oversize SUV slammed into her from behind. Gina’s entire body whipped forward, and her head slammed into her steering wheel. The seat belt bruised her shoulder. There was a grating noise as the SUV reversed and then came at her a second time.

  Screee. Her poor little car bumped ten feet farther down the road and came to a stop. The entire back end was gone now. The driver’s side window had splintered into a million pieces.
She could feel fresh air on the back of her neck and sense blood running down her shoulder.

  Her coffee had spilled out into the wheel well.

  The SUV rumbled ominously behind her.

  The passenger side door opened and a man got out.

  Forget the nicely muscled guy at the gas station. This guy was a monster, with biceps bursting through the arms of his shirt. His hair was dark. His skin was gnarled.

  Gina tried to remember her self-defense class from six years earlier. The instructor had been pretty clear on what to do if someone tried to steal her purse or grab her from behind, but the retired Marine hadn’t given her any advice for dealing with a deranged behemoth on a mission.

  Time to improvise. She shoved open the door to the car, grabbed her bag, and stumbled back out onto the street. The radio was still playing inside her decimated vehicle. “Mustang Sally” belted out over the speakers.

  Her eyes watered. Her feet hurt. She started to run in her high heels, cursing herself for not taking them off earlier.

  “Just give it up.” Her attacker laughed. “You think I can’t catch you?”

  Probably, but she wasn’t going to make it easy. Her stride lengthened. Her long legs ate up the pavement. Dust and sand surrounded her in every direction. There was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide—but maybe she could buy herself some time.

  The sound of his footsteps grew closer.

  Gina bit her lip to keep from crying out. Why the hell was she wearing heels? The movies were wrong. No one could run in these damn things. She wasn’t out of shape—she was a professional dancer—but it had been a long day. Her lungs were screaming for air. She forced herself not to care and—

  Smack. The man’s hand landed solidly on her back, sending her sprawling. Pavement bludgeoned her knees, and she tried to push herself up. “Stay down.” His booted foot dug into the small of her back, keeping her in place. “Give it to me and I might leave you breathing.”

  The bag. He wanted the bag. Gina forced herself to concentrate. If she gave him the bag, would he let her go? Probably not. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He snickered. “You’re going to die either way—Donovan was clear about that—but you’ve got two choices. Give me the bag, and I’ll kill you fast. You make me search for it, and I’m going to enjoy ripping into you.” He bent down to run a grubby finger down her back. The scent of menthol colored the air. “Tell me, any man ever given it to you rough? Some girls seem to like it. Or maybe they just prefer it to dying fast.”

  “Better men than you have tried.” Gina’s gut churned. She wanted to throw up. She needed to fight, but with his weight putting pressure on her spine, she couldn’t even move.

  Time to get smart.

  Gina squirmed slightly, trying to shift to the side. Nothing happened. The world was spinning in front of her eyes.

  The music had stopped in the background. Now there was an advertisement about a local all-you-can-eat buffet.

  “It’s in my car.” She bit back a yelp as the man ground his heel down. “I’m telling the truth!” Every nerve in her body was screaming. She wanted to curl up into a little ball and sleep for a week. Not yet. Not until she was safe.

  “You’re going to show me, girlie.” He yanked her up onto her feet, not seeming to notice when she faltered dizzily and almost fell a second time. “Right now.”

  “Right.” Gina hugged her purse—containing the stolen treasure—tight against her side. Time to go. She kicked out, hard, a spiked heel connecting with his leg. The shoes might not be great athletic wear, but as weapons, they couldn’t be beat. His body crumpled and shuddered to the side. This time, his knees were the ones to hit the ground. His hand released her arm.

  She ran as fast as she could. Her life depended on it. Her heart slammed against her chest. Sweat streamed down her back.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” he shouted. “The things I’m going to do to you…”

  Click. The sound of a safety coming off a gun filled the air. Gina’s entire body trembled.

  Bang. The first gunshot sounded.

  Bang. A second bullet whizzed past her head.

  Squeal. A candy apple–red pickup appeared in the corner of her eye. At first, she thought it was a mirage, grinding across the desert sand beside the road, but then it turned hard and accelerated onto the road in front of her. A cloud of dust flew up in the truck’s wake, spreading a fine layer of grit all over Gina’s body.

  The passenger side door popped open. “Get in,” the denim-clad hero from the gas station ordered.

  It wasn’t exactly “Come with me if you want to live,” but Gina didn’t have to think twice. She dove into the pickup truck, her legs knocking awkwardly against the hard bench seat, her hair tumbling down her back as her hero reached past her to slam the door shut.

  Two more bullets landed solidly in the truck’s side.

  “Keep your head down.”

  Her knight palmed the steering wheel, put one hand on the stick, and shifted into gear. Gravel clattered under the truck’s wheels, and a moment later, they were driving down the road at a hell of a lot faster than thirty-five miles an hour.

  “My name’s Finn.” His voice was rough, like sandpaper scraping at her soul. His gaze never left the road. “And you’re Gina Malloy.”

  Chapter Three

  Tracking down Gina Malloy was supposed to have been a cakewalk—a do-nothing assignment given to a broken detective. Instead, it had turned into a disaster of epic proportions. Finn’s grip tightened on his steering wheel as he tore down the empty country highway.

  It was his fault.

  He should have nabbed her from the freaking gas station, but he’d been too distracted by her sudden appearance, and the way her tongue had darted out to lick cream from her fingertips, to make his move in time.

  And since when did he notice details like soft tongues and silky skin?

  He’d figured he could catch up with her the next time she stopped.

  He hadn’t thought her pursuers would come for her on the road.

  He hadn’t figured on them having guns.

  He glanced in the rearview mirror to see if they were being followed, but the coast was clear. The thugs in the SUV wouldn’t give up—they were probably just regrouping—but for the moment, he and Miss Malloy were safe. He allowed his truck to slow to a less-than-supersonic speed.

  He glanced over at Gina, frowning when he realized she was still quivering in the foot well with her purse cradled up against her chest. “It’s going to be all right, Miss Malloy. I’ve got you now.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “Not today.”

  She didn’t look like she believed him, but that didn’t stop her from levering herself up into a sitting position on the truck’s big bench seat. Dirt stuck to her heart-shaped face, and her sleek ponytail was pushed awkwardly to one side. Her pretty pink T-shirt was ruined, and there was blood flowing from a cut on her arm.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked, her voice quivering with unused adrenaline. Her hands were shaking. Every muscle was taut; her body was a violin string that had been tightened too much. One more turn of the screw and she’d break in two.

  They should have sent someone else. Finn frowned. He wasn’t good with this sort of thing. After Chicago, he’d stopped talking to people, stopped caring. It was too freaking hard to keep his emotions in check, and after the fight—

  His mind swerved away from the closed subject. He couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved. He couldn’t risk losing control. Not again.

  He shifted into fifth gear. “I’m from Las Vegas. I’ve been looking for you.”

  “You aren’t the only one. Are you here for the bag? I didn’t look inside.”

  “I don’t know about a bag.” Was that what the thug in the SUV had wanted? “Put on your seat belt.”

  “Ex—excuse me?” she stuttered.

  “Put on your freaking seat belt,” he
repeated. “It’s a safety issue.”

  “I just got shot at in the middle of the street, and now you’re telling me that my seat belt is a safety issue.” She gaped. “What are you? The traffic police?”

  “No, cupcake.” He snagged the badge out of his back pocket and slammed it down on the dashboard. “I’m the real police.”

  “Fuck.” Her hands fumbled at her side as she put her seat belt on. The dark webbing pulled tight across her firm, round breasts, and every breath she took gave him the smallest glimpse of dark lace under the collar of her shirt. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ve got a friend at the phone company. He triangulated your location. You didn’t get very far.”

  “My car’s a piece of shit, but it’s all I could afford.”

  “Next time you run, get a rental.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.” She frowned. “Do you think they found me the same way?”

  “Probably.” There was no other explanation, but still… He frowned. “Do they have access to your computer?”

  She shrugged. “There were men in my house last night. That’s why I left.”

  “They probably turned on your lost phone program. It’s not hard to do, especially if they can find your password.”

  “No password. I didn’t see the point.”

  “That makes it even easier.”

  “Hell.” Gina rolled down the window, letting air into the truck’s cab, then dug into those itty-bitty shorts and pulled out a smartphone in a shiny pink case. She tossed the phone out the window, then reached for the leather bifold on the dashboard that held his badge. The attached identification card was less than crisp, but it gave her all the information she needed.

  “Detective G. Finn,” she read off. “What does the G stand for?”

  “None of your business,” he said. “You can call me Finn or Detective.”

  For a moment, it looked like she was going to argue, but she just shrugged and tossed the badge back up onto the dashboard. She started to make herself comfortable, taking off her silly shoes and curling her feet up underneath her on the truck’s bench seat.