License to Thrill (7 page)
Links to newspaper articles and magazine interviews and high-society pages. She discovered his family held a seat on the New York Stock Exchange.
When she stumbled across a detailed listing of the numerous companies they owned—including a silver mine in New Mexico, a flagship hotel in the Bahamas, and a top accounting firm in Hollywood—Charlee realized his family was richer than God and she was in far deeper trouble than she ever imagined.
Damn her and her illogical Prince Charming complex.
She found a photograph of Mason escorting a glossily beautiful blonde to some debutante shindig and the pinch of jealousy biting into her stomach scared her.
Good gravy. What did she have to be jealous of? She could never compete with such a woman. Nor did she want to. She’d had her fill of rich men.
Briefly, she thought of Gregory Blankensonship, the first man she’d ever loved, and winced. Would she ever recover from his betrayal?
Oh, stop whining. You’ve got work to do.
Determined, she logged off the Internet, picked up the telephone, and began calling hospitals, hotels, airlines, and bus stations. Maybelline, Nolan, and Elwood simply couldn’t have disappeared into thin air.
She might not be lucky in love, but she was a damned fine private investigator. And one way or another, she would find them.
Mason had come to Vegas to find his grandfather and drag him back home in time to prevent his brother from taking sole credit for closing the biggest deal in the history of Gentry Enterprises. Retrieving Gramps should have been quick, clean, and simple.
But instead of achieving his clear-cut goal, a little more than twelve hours after arriving in town, Mason found himself embroiled in a royal mess featuring one testy lady P.I., her missing granny, a ransacked trailer house, a disgruntled gunman, and a very suspicious fire. What he couldn’t figure out was how Gramps fit into the chaos.
Mason had tumbled into bed, certain he would fall asleep within minutes, but slumber eluded him. Two-thirty and he lay wide awake listening to the bedside clock tick off the seconds. Dammit. Charlee had promised to come around for him at six
A.M.
SO they could start searching for their grandparents again.
Charlee.
Now there was one hell of a woman. Tough and unflinching, she didn’t coddle her fears or back away from the truth.
It was a thrill watching her mind work. He could actually see her mental cogs whirling. It was in the tilt of her jaw, the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her facial muscles. The way she focused on whatever task lay at hand was a thing of beauty.
And being with her was strangely exhilarating. As if by proxy her fervor would rub off on him. He wondered if she realized how the intensity came over her. The way her green eyes changed colors and took on a lively ferocity when she was on the hunt.
She was a woman warrior, proud and strong. He thought of the way she’d looked at Maybelline’s house, gun in hand, a determined set to her chin. Suddenly his senses were as full of her as they had been at the moment the gunman fired.
The womanly aroma of her hung in his nose, the imprint of her firm body lingered against his back, the sound of her rich, smoldering voice haunted his ears. She stirred his imagination and aroused a dormant passion he never realized he possessed.
He liked her long, lean limbs and the bronzy glow of her skin. He liked the straightforward scent of her—honeysuckle soap and crisp spray starch. Not frilly or overdone. Just clean and honest and free.
And her luscious tresses. Masses of straight black hair hanging down her back in a curtain of sheer delight or bouncing provocatively when pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Too bad…
Too bad what, Gentry?
Too damned bad he was stewing in his hormones. Charlee Champagne was strictly off-limits for so many reasons he couldn’t begin to count. Groaning, Mason stuffed a pillow over his head and willed his mind empty.
He must have finally dozed off, because he woke with a jerk when the telephone rang. Blindly, he fumbled for the receiver in the dark and brought it to his ear.
“Lo,” he mumbled.
“Gentry, it’s Charlee.”
As if he didn’t recognize her sexy, smoky voice. “What time is it?”
“Four o’clock.”
“What are you doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Go away for a couple of hours, will you?”
“Can’t. Got some hot news.” He could tell from the thrill in her tone she was jazzed up. A cougar on the prowl.
Shaking his head to clear away the cobwebs of aborted sleep, Mason propped himself against the headboard. “I’m listening.”
“I did some digging and I found out Nolan and Maybelline booked a red-eye flight to L.A. last night.”
“They’re in L.A.?”
“No, they never got on the plane.”
“So they’re still in Vegas?”
“That’s what I aim to find out. I’m headed over to the airport to interview the gate agent and figured you might wanna come along.”
“Sure. Sure.” Mason yawned and ran a hand through his hair.
“See you there in twenty minutes,” she said and hung up the phone.
Twenty minutes later, Mason parked his Bentley in the infield parking garage, then walked over to wait on the curb outside the terminal.
Charlee screeched her Corvette to a stop in a passenger loading zone and leaped from the car. She wore a straw white Stetson cocked back on her head and twin braids streamed down her back. She looked absolutely adorable; although he had the impression she was shooting for badass. Daphne would proclaim her a fashion disaster, but Mason appreciated that she dressed the way she pleased, in-vogue styles be damned.
He pointed at the
NO LONG-TERM PARKING
sign. “You’re not going to leave your car here.”
“Nobody’s gonna tow me away at this time of the morning.” Her fast-talking disregard for the posted sign told him she was wired on adrenaline and so eager to leap into the investigation she couldn’t be bothered looking for a parking space.
“Don’t count on it.”
“I’m on the hunt. I need my vehicle at the ready in case I need to make a quick exit.”
“Parking in a passenger loading zone and risking being towed is not the way to achieve your goal.”
“Oh, hush. How are they going to know I’m not loading passengers? We won’t be long. Come on.”
Mason didn’t budge. “Charlee, move your car,” he insisted.
“Relax, Gentry. Boy, you are uptight. Love the sheet creases by the way.” On her way past him, she reached up and lightly fingered his cheek.
Her touch burned electric. Mason growled, desperate to deny the tingle of awareness warming his face.
Blithely, she stalked into the concourse and he had no choice but to follow or get left behind. Fine, let her car get towed.
In spite of himself, Mason found his eyes locked on the sassy sway of her blue-jeaned behind. Good thing she wasn’t his girlfriend. They would clash like cymbals over every little thing. He couldn’t imagine living with someone so stubborn.
Girlfriend? What in the hell prompted that outlandish concept?
Because she’s the girl of the dreams you never even dared to dream. She’s wild and free and full of spirit. And she would scare the living hell out of your family.
He shook his head. Blame his crazy meandering thoughts on his poor sleep-deprived brain. He was officially losing his marbles.
Gramps, you owe me big time.
Charlee pranced through the security checkpoint, but Mason set off the buzzer. The attendant motioned him aside for a wanding. They required him to empty his pockets and remove his shoes before they were satisfied he wasn’t planning on blowing the place to kingdom come.
He hurried through the terminal. His impatience escalating when two thick-necked guys in black sunshades bumped into him. If he hadn’t been so intent on locating Charlee, Mason might have paid more heed to the duo, but because he was in a hurry, he blew off their rudeness. By the time he caught up with her, she was deep in conversation with a gate agent.
He walked over and touched her shoulder. When she turned away from the gate agent, he was startled to see her normally golden skin had gone pale. The look on her face sliced a chill straight through his bones. He felt confused, angry with whomever or whatever had created her obvious distress. He fisted his hands, ready to beat someone to a pulp on her behalf.
“Charlee? What’s wrong?”
She quickly gained control over her emotions, smoothing out her forehead and pressing her lips firmly together.
“We’re in luck. The same gate agent is still on duty. He remembers Maybelline and Nolan. They left with some guy just before the plane arrived.”
“What guy?”
Charlee didn’t meet his gaze and he realized instantly she was keeping something from him.
“Charlee?” he prodded.
“I dunno, but the gate agent said he watched all three of them head over to the rental car area.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Is that everything?”
She hesitated.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She studied the scuffed toe of her boots, jammed her fingertips into her front pockets. “Our grandparents were arguing with the guy. Like they were upset and didn’t want to leave with him. Actually the gate agent even offered to call security, but your grandfather told him everything was all right.”
“Does he remember what the guy looked like?”
Charlee took a deep breath. “Yeah. He was wearing a white, rhinestone-encrusted jumpsuit.”
“That’s certainly memorable. Sounds like Elvis Presley.”
“Or an Elvis impersonator.”
Their eyes met and he knew what she was going to say before the word left her mouth.
“Elwood.”
F
oreboding slithered through Charlee’s insides like a snake shedding its skin. Why would Maybelline and Nolan run off with Elwood? She had a bad feeling about the whole deal. Mason’s grandfather had arrived in Vegas with a large sum of money in his pocket and large sums of money attracted Elwood like flies to cow patties.
Her father had been jailed for many penny-ante schemes from peddling weed to hoodwinking tourists with three-card monte to blackmailing a high-profile exlover. However, none of his crimes had merited a felony charge. Maybelline had washed her hands of him years ago, but Charlee couldn’t admit defeat when it came to her father no matter how many times he disappointed her.
Maybelline rarely spoke to her only child. Why would she leave the airport with him when she’d planned on catching a flight to L.A.?
Unless…
Charlee started to gnaw on her thumbnail and realized Mason was studying her. Shamefaced, she quickly tucked her hand behind her back.
“Let’s go talk to the rental car people,” she said in a decisive tone and stalked toward the counter.
The woman behind the desk didn’t glance up from her tabloid magazine. Charlee splayed her palms against the black Formica countertop and cleared her throat.
“Excuse me.”
Unhappy at being dragged from her celebrity gossip, the woman glared at her. “Yeah?”
“A middle-aged Elvis impersonator along with an older couple rented a car from you earlier this morning. I’d like to know where they were headed, please.”
The woman frowned. “I can’t release that kind of information.”
“I’m a private detective,” Charlee said in her most professional tone and flashed the woman her ID. “And I’m investigating a possible crime. If you could do a little finger-tapping on your computer keyboard I’d really appreciate it.”
“Sorry, no can do.”
“It’s a matter of life and death. I must know where they’re headed.”
“You’re not the police. I don’t have to tell you anything.” She continued reading her gossip rag.
Charlee gritted her teeth and contemplated shoving Ms. Congeniality out of the way and commandeering her keyboard, but before she had time to discard the idea as a not particularly viable one, Mason placed one finger on the woman’s magazine and slowly pushed it downward so she was forced to look him in the eyes.
“Hi there.” He shot the woman a grin so dazzling even an ardent man hater could not have resisted him: and clearly she was no man hater.
“Oh, my!” the woman gasped breathlessly as if one of the movie stars from her magazine had sprung to life right in front of her. “Where did you come from?”
Mason leaned nonchalantly closer and studied the name tag situated just above the woman’s breast. “Lila,” he crooned. “What a lovely name.”
“Why thank you,” the woman simpered and batted her eyelashes. “I was named after my great-grandmother.”
“How do you do.” He offered his hand.
“I’m doing very well now that you’re here.” She angled a sultry glance at him and pumped his hand as vigorously as if she were pulling the handle on a slot machine.
Charlee snorted. Enough with the friggin’ foreplay, Gentry, get to the point.
“Listen, Lila, I’m hoping you can do me and my”—Mason glanced over his shoulder at Charlee—“sister here a favor.”
Sister? Charlee burned a hole through him with her stare. What was the big idea telling Ms. Congeniality she was his sister?
“She’s your sister?” Lila asked.
Mason lowered his voice. “I know. Her manners are so atrocious you’d never suspect we were raised by the same parents.”
“No indeed,” Lila whispered back as if Charlee weren’t standing right in front of her.
Mason murmured something else that Charlee couldn’t quite hear. Lila giggled girlishly and then typed into the computer. Let some rich handsome guy smile at her and ole Lila folded like a house of cards.
“The party you’re interested in rented a red and white Chevrolet camper. License number LYG-123. It’s supposed to be returned to the Tucson office on Monday.”
Monday? Why so much time? It didn’t take but maybe eight or nine hours to drive to Tucson. Why keep the rental until Monday? Charlee nibbled on her bottom lip and tried to figure out what stunt her father was pulling.
“Thank you so much, Lila.” Mason gazed deeply into the clerk’s eyes and flashed her his dimples, looking like some swoonily gorgeous soap opera star. “You’ve been an immeasurable help.”