SIXTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
Lady Luck Strikes Again
LAS VEGAS, BABY. My kind of town.
Home to five different Cirque du Soleil shows, about 197,000 slot machines, over thirty-six million annual visitors, who knows how many Elvis impersonators and, of course, one Lady Luck.
However, as luck would have it, I’d spent the past half hour in a hot car, my digital camera poised near the small opening at the top of the tinted window. One of my best friends had let me borrow the Toyota from her used car dealership. My beloved Harley Davidson Softail motorcycle isn’t exactly conducive to surveillance.
Downtown, the casinos are smaller than on the Strip, the hotels cheaper and the atmosphere more nostalgic than glamorous. “Glitter Gulch” is where you’ll find the Golden Gate’s ninety-nine-cent shrimp cocktails, the annual World Series of Poker at Binion’s Horseshoe and VegasVic, the forty-foot neon cowboy. However, once you move past the four main blocks of interest, downtown feels meaner, gritty and weather-beaten.
The February temperature was a balmy eighty degrees, which meant it was over one hundred in the Toyota’s driver seat. And I wasn’t exactly sitting here for the fun of it. Waiting across from a run-down bar like a paparazzo anxious to snap photos of a clandestine meeting wasn’t my idea of a good time, but it is part of my job.
My name is Stella Mezzanotte—midnight star in Italian— and I’m a private eye.
Damn, I like saying that.
Which was why I was roasting my ass outside of the Polar Lounge. At the moment I was following a client’s girlfriend of two months because he thought she was messing around on him. Well, duh. With clown-red hair, capped teeth, collagen-filled lips and saline-filled boobs, did he honestly think she’d be genuine about her feelings?
People lie about anything and everything, especially when it comes to relationships. I hate these cases. I usually end up finding out things my clients don’t really want to know and then nobody wants to pay for bad news. But, until I get full ownership of the agency, I’ll take almost any case that comes in my door.
My mind was drifting toward a heat-induced nap when something—or rather someone—caught my attention.
The man walking out of the Polar Lounge was all kinds of gorgeous, but there was something else about him… An aura of quiet violence. This guy wasn’t bulging with
