dark. Like an aging woman best seen in soft lighting, Vegas’s imperfections were all visible in the daylight. Natalie supposed that was why people like her sister didn’t like to get up until well past noon. They lived for the night.
Except that Candace could no longer do that.
The thought brought a fresh, sharp ache with it.
“Damn it, Candy, what a waste,” Natalie murmured under her breath, calling her sister by the nickname she hadn’t used in years. “What an awful, awful waste.”
Reaching her destination, she pulled up before The Janus. As she did so, Natalie saw one of the three valets currently on duty make a beeline for her vehicle.
The lanky young man was quick to hide the frown that had begun to curl his lips.
He was undoubtedly used to parking a higher class of vehicle, Natalie thought. Unlike her twin, she was determined not to touch any of the family fortune or the trust fund that her grandfather had set aside for them on the day they were born. Instead, she lived on and spent only what she earned. Perforce, that limited her lifestyle. The salary of an LVPD detective didn’t stretch very far, restricting her to the basic necessities of life. Consequently, her automobile was a six-year-old Honda Accord, but it proved to be more reliable than most of the people she knew.
“Welcome to The Janus,” the young attendant said cheerfully as he opened the driver’s side door for her with a flourish.
“We’ll see,” she replied solemnly.
As he pulled away with her car, Natalie looked up at the casino’s logo. Janus was the Roman god with two faces, one pointed toward the past, the other facing the future. It struck her as rather ironic, given what she was doing here, seeking out someone from her past in order to get answers so that the future could be settled.
The moment she entered the casino, the Vegas phenomena took hold.
It was like stepping into a world where time did not matter or even make an appearance. Though there were cameras everywhere, capturing and time-stamping every movement that was made by the casino’s guests, there were no clocks displayed throughout the actual casino, no measurement of time passing in any form. All there was was a sense of “now.”
The feeling of immortality was created out of this sort of fabric, Natalie thought.
Because, in her experience, she’d discovered that bartenders knew the inner workings of any establishment they worked for better than anyone else, Natalie made her way to the first bar she came across.
The bartender in attendance was a gregarious man who looked to be in his early forties. He had premature gray hair and a quick, sexy smile, which was probably one of the main reasons he’d been hired. That, and his dexterity when it came to mixing drinks. She noted that he had fast hands.
His name tag identified him as Kevin.
Moving to her end of the bar, Kevin asked, “What’ll it be, pretty lady?”
Slipping her hand between the bottom of the glass and the bar, Natalie stopped him from placing it down. “Information.” She saw a dubious look cross his brow. To counter that, she took out her badge. Granted she wasn’t here in an official capacity, but “Kevin” didn’t need to know that. “Were you on duty last night?”
Because there was no one else at the bar seeking his services, Kevin began to wipe the gleaming black surface, massaging it slowly. “You mean during the gala?”
“Yes.”
The smile gracing his lips was a satisfied one. Last night had obviously been profitable for him, she figured. “I caught an extra shift.”
She took out Candace’s photograph and carefully placed it on the bar, turning it around so that he could look at it head-on. “Did you happen to see this woman there?”
The bartender glanced at the picture. Mild interest turned to recognition. “You mean Candace Rothchild? Yeah, she was here, loud and brassy as always. But not for long,” he added, looking rather disappointed. There was always a circus when Candace was around, Natalie thought. People came along for the entertainment. “The boss and she had at it, and then he had Schaffer ‘escort’ her out.”
She latched on to the first part of his statement. “They argued?”
“Yeah.”
“About?”
He shook his head. “Couldn’t tell you. Too far away for anything but body language,” he confessed.
“And Schaffer?” she repeated.
“He got her to leave.”
She leaned in over the bar. “Tell me about him.”
“Don’t know much,” the bartender admitted. “Just that his name’s Matt Schaffer, and he’s Montgomery’s head of security for the casino. Boss flew him in from L.A., where he’s head of security for Montgomery Enterprises.”
There was no avoiding it, she thought darkly. She was going to have to talk to Matt. The thought left her cold. “Do you know where I can find him right now?”
Kevin glanced at his watch. “He should be in his office.”
She rarely frequented casinos, and when she did, they weren’t ones that belonged to her father’s rivals. Luke Montgomery had made no secret that he wanted to be the King of Vegas, a position that her father had once aspired to.
“And his office would be—?” She waited for the bartender to enlighten her.
“On the second floor, toward the rear.” He pointed her in the right direction.
Taking out a twenty, she placed it on the bar. “Thanks for your help.”
In a practiced, fluid motion, Kevin slipped the bill into his vest pocket. “Any time, lovely lady,” he called after her. “Any time.”
She debated going up the stairs, then decided on the elevator. The car that took her up to the second floor was empty. Natalie stepped out of the elevator, looked around to get her bearings and then walked toward the rear of the floor.
The office where the monitors and the people who watched them were housed was encased in dark, tinted glass walls. It gave her an opportunity to scan the room and its occupants before she entered.
None of them were Matt. But then, as head of security, he’d probably have his own area, she thought, most likely removed from the others.
Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred, she silently recited, digging deep for a line from a poem by Tennyson. Wrapping her hand around the brass handle, she opened one of the glass doors and walked in.
The woman whose desk was closest to the door looked up and then began to cross to her. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come in here. This is a restricted area.”
Natalie already had her ID in her hand and held it up. “I’m looking for Matt Schaffer,” she told the woman.
God, even saying his name made her mouth go dry. She was supposed to be over
