By Hook or By Crook (7 page)

“That bastard left me in the lurch. No-showed for the pre-fight meeting. I had to work my ass off to get somebody in to fight Dykeman at the last minute. Don’t know what the hell Pock was thinking. That’ll be the last time I schedule him for a fight.”

“Have you talked to him since he no-showed?”

“Nope. Sent somebody up to their room when he didn’t come to the meeting. It was empty. Wherever he went, he left in a hell of a hurry. Didn’t check out. Key cards were on the table. Luggage and clothes were gone, though. Good riddance.”

“Any idea where they went?” Joe asked.

“How the hell should I know? Don’t care, either. He’s finished in this town. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.” He nodded to the door in dismissal.

“Thanks for your time,” Joe answered, and they left him to his ramshackle office.

In the hallway, as soon as the door closed behind them, Ivy grabbed his sleeve. “They were staying here the whole time?” she asked, dismayed.

“That’s not much of a help. The desk clerks never would have told us their room number, and this hotel has more than a thousand rooms.”

For the first time since she’d learned of her sister’s crazy plans to marry, real fear gripped her. “Why would they be in a hurry to leave? She was thrilled at this opportunity for Pock.”

“That’s what worries me,” he said, his face grim. “Do you know of any reason why they’d bail?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense, running off and leaving the manager in a bind like this,” Ivy said. “This was Pock’s big break. Like the manager said, he’s not likely to get another chance after he’s run off at the last minute without telling anyone.”

“Which means they must have had a pretty good reason for getting the hell out of Dodge.”

The blunt words only worsened her dread. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. After all, Daisy could be a bit of a flake. She didn’t think in the same way Ivy did, not by a long shot. Taking off without telling anybody and blowing off a big opportunity in the process seemed monumentally stupid to Ivy, but to Daisy, it might be another whim that seemed like a good idea at the time.

Still, Ivy couldn’t totally banish the anxiety she felt for her sister. Daisy had been so excited about not only her upcoming wedding but the opportunity for Pock to fight on a big stage. They wouldn’t walk away from it unless they had to.

Joe dialed his cell. “Hey, Sheila. Need you to run some checks for me real fast.” He paused. “Yes, the Bellisimo is lovely.” Another pause. “She’s lovely too.”

He grinned at Ivy, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks. The man exuded charm, but that didn’t mean she had to fall for it. Charm in the hands of the wrong man could be fatal, to her heart at least. She couldn’t let her guard down for a second.

“I need you to run checks on the credit card number I gave you before we left.” Another pause. “Yes, I do realize it’s a Saturday night. And yes, I know you have a life. You are aware, however, that I’m your boss?”

Ivy raised her brows, surprised at the level of resistance he seemed to be getting from the mysterious Sheila, but Joe only rolled his eyes. “Atta girl. Call me back when you’ve got it.”

“How do you have Daisy’s credit card number?” Ivy wanted to know, and then the light dawned. “Oh. Dad pays the bill. He gave it to you.”

“Your Dad expects results,” he said simply. “And he likes to keep tabs on his daughters.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Ivy said quietly, unable to keep the stiffness out of her voice.

Joe said nothing, but his expression seemed almost sympathetic. Uncomfortable at being the object of his pity, she pasted on a smile and rushed to fill the void.

“What are we going to do now?”

“Pack,” he said.

****

Twenty minutes later, Joe heard a knock at his door. He paused in the middle of zipping his suitcase to check the peephole.

Ivy, wearing a frown.

He let her in, noting again the light floral scent that wafted his way as she brushed past. He wouldn’t have expected such a girly scent from such a self-contained woman. It surprised him, but pleasantly.

“Good, you’re ready to go,” he said, noting the chic leather bag slung over her shoulder.

She had changed into wool slacks and a bulky cable sweater, with a flat pair of loafers. She must have struggled to get out of the dress by herself, not wanting to risk asking for his help again. A pity. Her new outfit was a practical choice, but he missed the leg-baring gray dress, all the same. Did the skin behind her knees still sparkle under the utilitarian pants she was wearing now? The thought made his voice feel rusty again.

He cleared his throat. “I got a call from Sheila. They used Daisy’s card at a gas station in Indian Springs.” At her bemused look, he explained, “It’s about an hour, hour and a half north of Vegas.”

Discovering that Daisy’s credit card had been used eased Joe’s mind a little. He’d wondered if they’d been the victims of a crime. If they’d been using their own credit card, they were probably okay, although the possibility still remained that someone else had stolen and used the card.

“Daisy’s still not answering her phone.” Ivy paced to the window and then back again to perch on the edge of the bed. “That worries me.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She may just still be mad at you, or she may be out of range in the mountains.”

“Do you think we can catch them?” Ivy asked. “I can contact Dad and tell him to have the pilot draw up a flight plan to Indian Springs. Do you think there’s an airfield there?”

Now they had a clue about where Daisy and Pock might be, Ivy stalked the room like a fierce cat, intent on her target.

“No.” Joe instinctively refused. Something inside him chafed at the way Ivy always wanted to turn to her father for help—but he had other reasons, too. “They’ve got a head start on us,” he pointed out. “If we get there and they’ve already moved on, we’ll be stuck until they use their credit card again. And who knows where or when that will be, or if we’ll be able to reach it by air. Being at the mercy of the storm complicates everything. I’ve called for a rental car. The agency is dropping it off in ten minutes.”

“At the mercy of what storm?”

He nodded at the TV in the corner, tuned to the live weather forecast. “Western Nevada is due for a heavy snowfall, probably within ten or twelve hours. In the Sierra Nevadas, a snowstorm can turn shitty fast.”

“But we don’t know that Daisy and Pock are headed for the mountains.”

“There isn’t a whole hell of a lot in western Nevada besides mountains and desert. They could be headed to Reno, I guess, but that’ll still take us into the foothills.”

“God knows Daisy would never have thought to check the weather report ahead of time,” Ivy said, brow furrowing. “Neither would I,” she admitted.

She half intended that as an apology, he suspected. He took it gracefully, not rubbing it in. “It’s my job to be prepared for eventualities.” He clicked the TV off. “We’re going to be cutting it close as it is. I don’t know where they’re heading, but it’s going to be dicey to catch up to them and get off the roads before the storm hits. Snow in the mountains is nothing to screw around with. If you don’t want to come, tell me now.”

“I’m coming with you.” She didn’t hesitate, and he admired her for it.

“Are you sure?” His eyebrows lifted. “I can drop you off at the airfield and you can fly home if you want. Hell, you could even extend your stay at the Bellisimo. Learn how to play blackjack or something, or visit the spa. I’ll check in with you after I find Daisy and Pock.”

Ivy stopped her pacing long enough to glare at him, arms crossed. “No. I’m coming along. She’s my sister. You think I could relax and get a hot stone massage while my sister might be in danger?”

After a moment, Joe nodded. His suggestion had been a test, and she’d passed. He respected her a bit more for being willing to take the risk. She might be an uptight, snooty, meddling busybody, but she loved her sister enough to venture out into the mountains with a storm threatening, putting herself in danger. Smithson paid him well to take these kinds of risks, but Ivy did it out of love for her sister.

He had to wonder what it must be like to have someone love you that much. He doubted he’d ever know, but as he hefted his bag onto his shoulder, he reminded himself he liked it that way.

“Ready?” he asked.

****

“Jesus Christ!”

Phil Cantor clicked his cell phone off and carefully lowered it to the bar, only just restraining himself from tossing it across the room. He let his arm fall limp, staring into the mirrored bar. What the hell should he do now? The mirror, mercilessly reflecting his receding hairline and weary face, gave him no answers.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?”

The dark-haired girl on his arm snuggled closer, brushing her breast against his arm. After a stressful week, he’d wanted to wind down at the Viennese, the martini lounge that was the centerpiece of Bellisimo nightlife. Not having a regular woman in his life, he’d made a call and arranged for paid companionship, which didn’t bother him a bit. He’d get laid later and he wouldn’t have to call her. Perfect.

The call he’d gotten put an end to that prospect, however.

“Nothing’s wrong, honey.” As he spoke the words, though, he wriggled out of her clutches. He had to think fast, and he couldn’t do it with a silicone-enhanced bimbo hanging onto his elbow.

His plans for the Beatdown at the Bellisimo had gone slightly awry, thanks to one ungrateful son-of-a-bitch. The caller had been the Bellisimo’s fight manager, telling him that Pock had no-showed for the fight.

The manager had been irate over having to scramble for a last-minute substitute, having no idea that the fight had been fixed for Jesse Dykeman. Cantor had offered Pock a hefty fee to make sure he lost. The manager had expected congratulations for finding a fighter to take on Dykeman on short notice. Unfortunately, nobody told the substitute to tank the fight.

He hadn’t.

Worse still, the sub broke Jesse Dykeman’s collarbone.

Damn. Phil had made big plans for that punk Dykeman, and now his career was on hold before it had begun. More importantly, he’d directed his assistant to bet heavily on Dykeman.

Shit. Eager to curry favor with powerful men, he’d bragged to several of the most dangerous men in the Vegas underworld that Dykeman was a safe bet, too. If those guys had lost money, they’d be pissed at him for sure. Certain his assistant had placed the bet regardless of Dykeman’s last-minute change of opponent, he confirmed it with a quick call.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Cantor? Did I do something wrong?” Jerrie, his assistant, asked nervously.

He couldn’t bring himself to yell at her for following his orders. Jerrie annoyed him with her perpetual fluttering, but she was the best damn assistant he’d ever had, even if he wanted to curse her efficiency at the moment.

“Never mind,” he growled, hanging up.

How much had his friends lost? Probably a ton, and they weren’t the kind of guys who took losing lightly. Would they come after him? Maybe, and all because some dumbass had a pang of conscience at the last minute and decided he didn’t want to throw the fight.

But it wasn’t over yet. He’d make sure of it. He would take care of Pock and send the whole city a message they wouldn’t soon forget. You didn’t screw around with Phil Cantor and get away with it.

“Get a refill, babe, and put it on my tab. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The girl pouted, but she didn’t waste any time flagging the bartender down, he noticed. He escaped to the bar office and kicked the manager out, nearly slamming the door on the man’s foot. Cantor didn’t own the place, but one look at his face had convinced the manager to leave without further protest. Everybody at the Bellisimo treated Phil Cantor with respect. Soon, everybody in Vegas would.

He dialed Ramirez. He needed a certain kind of help on this one, and Ramirez was the right guy for the job. Ramirez answered on the first ring. Quickly, Phil explained the situation.

Ramirez swore. “I told you that
puta
was trouble. I know about these things. My mama did Santeria. She knew things, too. She read cowry shells and communicated with Oya, goddess of the whirlwind. She passed the gift along to me.”

Phil rolled his eyes. Ramirez had been with him for years, ever since they started out together running numbers rackets and loan-sharking. Phil scarcely noticed Ramirez’s freaky talk about Santeria goddesses and spells anymore. It had creeped him out at first, but he’d stopped listening after a while. That mumbo-jumbo could bug the shit out of him if he paid attention, so he never did.

“Like I need your opinion. We’ve got to get him. The fight manager said some guy and a girl were poking around, asking questions about him.”

“And you think they know where Pock would have gone?”

“They’re the best lead we have. Get on them, and don’t let them get away.”

“You got it.”

The finality in Ramirez’s voice reassured him a little. He clicked off the call and pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. Smoking wasn’t good for you, but what the hell, he thought with a humorless laugh. He didn’t expect to live a long life anyway.

****

Indian Springs sat in the vast desert like a bleak outpost of civilization. Only a small army installation kept the tiny town from total obscurity. Ivy looked disbelievingly at her watch, realizing they’d been in Vegas a mere hour ago. She glanced at Joe.