was, of course, expected to act like Jeeves, which unfortunately wasn’t that much of a stretch from how he was expected to act around the boss. Although Todd wasn’t particularly hung up on the words. “Sir” was good, but not essential. “Very good, sir,” was over-the-top. The important thing to Todd was that when he said jump, his employees already knew how high. Todd didn’t give second chances.
Nick put on his lightweight black suit, the one that made him look more like a mortician than a chauffeur. His shirt was silk, the tie Hermès. When you worked for C. Randall Todd, you dressed the part.
He took a final look in the mirror, satisfied that he would pass muster, then he headed out. He lived on the fortieth floor of the hotel, the floor below the really expensive suites. It had taken getting used to, living in a place like this, but it had its advantages. Housekeeping was one. He just had to make sure he put everything important in his room safe. There was no doubt in his mind that Todd had the staff search the rooms on a regular basis. Paranoia was the word of the year around Xanadu, and Nick was just as guilty as anyone else. Todd’s basic belief was that everyone was out to get him, including his own family. Probably why he was as successful as he was.
The man was worth billions. And not only from his gaming and hotel interests. He was also incredibly powerful in the military surveillance business. That little sideline had begun fifteen years ago, when Todd’s first hotel had hosted an arms show.
The El Rio had been his maiden venture into the world of Vegas, but the relatively small hotel had outlived its usefulness and was scheduled for destruction. As with everything else in Sin City, the event was being made into a spectacle. Like the Dunes, the Sands and the original Aladdin, the El Rio was going to be imploded. On the Fourth of July, no less.
In its place, Todd planned another luxury hotel, this one smaller but even more exclusive than the Xanadu. It would make the Belagio look like a Motel 6.
Nick got to the elevator and pressed the button, his gaze moving from the ornate flower arrangements on the antique tables to the mirrors on the walls. He did look as though he was about to get into a hearse. At least he wasn’t required to wear a damn hat.
The elevator doors opened and he got in, expecting a long, slow ride down. There were express elevators in the hotel, but not from his floor. He amused himself by counting the stops on the way to the lobby. Six. He always left about ten minutes early to accommodate.
Finally he reached the basement level. He’d go to the employee’s lounge and grab something to eat. Then he’d be on his way. He wanted the airport run over quickly so he could get back. Todd had canceled one important meeting this afternoon with Steve Wynn, but he hadn’t canceled his appointment with Rafe Shaharid, one of his major customers. Everything about the meeting was legal, at least on the surface. But Nick had a feeling there was something more going on.
He had no intention of being left out of the loop on this one. It could be big. Real big.
NICK PARKED THE LIMO on the tarmac and got out. Todd’s Gulfstream IV was already here, just shutting down. Nick straightened his jacket and waited for the passenger to disembark.
The jet door opened and the attendant stepped out first. Gina was her name, and she was as beautiful as any of the showgirls at the hotel. She was a favorite of Todd’s and Nick knew for a fact that she offered more than coffee and tea whenever the boss was on board.
Another woman stepped onto the platform and Nick stopped breathing.
What in hell was she doing back?
Chapter Two
Nick pulled himself together as it registered that it really was Jenny. He would have known her anywhere. God, how many times had he thought he’d seen her in a restaurant or at a gas station? How many nights had she haunted his dreams…?
She’d come back. If he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes, he’d never have believed it.
She walked down the metal ladder to the tarmac, a purse over her shoulder, an overnight case in her hand. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, as if she’d thrown it up in a hurry. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but the thin line of her lips telegraphed her anxiety.
His gaze moved down the rest of her, the long, slender body he’d known too briefly. She seemed awfully thin, fragile. He’d always thought of her as fragile, though.
Her jeans were worn Levi’s, her shirt plain white, short-sleeved, pressed. None of the designer clothes she’d worn when he’d known her before. Why in hell was she back? Surely she wasn’t going to hook up with Todd again. Hadn’t she had enough?
He remembered the last time he’d seen her. She’d been scared. No, terrified. As he had with every other possession, Todd had held on to her with an iron fist. She’d had to plan an escape, as daring as any prison break. Like a fool, Nick had helped her, putting everything he had on the line. He should have stayed out of it. But the welts on her back, the bruises on her legs…
She said something to Gina, then turned his way, walked as if each step cost her, which, if she was headed back to the Xanadu, was sickeningly true.
He opened the back door of the limo, took his place beside it. Waited as she got closer. Wondered…
She stopped about twenty-five yards from the car. Her mouth opened slightly as she recognized him. With a slow hand, she took off her dark sunglasses.
Where she’d looked anxious a moment ago, he now saw surprise furrow her brow. She hadn’t expected him. Was she pleased? Embarrassed?
Moving forward again, her gaze moved down to the tarmac until she was even with the front of the limo. “Nick,” she said, her voice bringing back memories he’d just as soon forget.
“I never expected to see you again.”
She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again he saw a hardness that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. “Things change.”
“Yeah,” he said. He took her overnight bag, like the good little chauffeur that he was, then helped her into the cavernous back seat, startled at how she nearly disappeared against the white of the interior.
He put her bag in the trunk, then got in behind the wheel. The moment he turned on the engine, the bullet-proof Plexiglas that separated the wheat from the chaff lowered a few inches. Not enough for him to see more than the top of her pale blond head, but enough for him to hear her.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“Me? Swell. In fact, I haven’t had to be a driver for over a year, with the obvious exception of this trip. I’m moving up the food chain.”
“I see,” she said, although he knew she didn’t see at all.
“What brings you back to sunny Las Vegas? Come to see the new Celine Dion theater?”
She didn’t answer until he’d reached St. Rose Parkway, heading toward 15. “I see you’ve still got that charming wit.”
He glanced in the rearview, but she was staring out her window, hidden once more behind her sunglasses. “I just do what I’m told,” he said. “Keep my nose clean.”
He heard her sigh, and for a moment he felt bad. But only for a moment. She’d gotten
