Lucky (20 page)

“I want security at every gate as well as circulating on the grounds…and at every possible exit. Do I make myself clear?”

Whoever it was he was talking to must have agreed rather promptly, because moments later, Nick hung up with a satisfied air.

Lucky’s appearance in the library coincided with the latter part of his conversation. From the worry on his face and the shadows in his eyes, she knew he would be grateful when this day was over.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“Honey…is there ever anything else?” And then he sighed with satisfaction as she circled his desk. When she was close enough, he pulled her down into his lap, then began nuzzling the hollow at the base of her throat. “Oooh, lady. You smell good. What are you wearing?”

“Not much,” she whispered, as a red flush swept across his cheeks.
The color of passion
, she thought as she noted his reaction,
is also the color of anger
. It was something she’d never considered before now.

“You will be the death of me,” Nick whispered.

“Don’t, Nick!” Lucky said, and threw her arms around his neck. “Don’t ever say that. Not to me. Not even in jest. I already almost was.”

The minute he’d said it, he knew it had been a mistake. But the phrase was so common, and so aptly fit the state his lust was in, that he’d forgotten the implications it had in their lives.

“Sorry, baby,” he said, and feathered a kiss across her lips. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Lucky shivered and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “I think, Nick. I think all the time. I think that I’m dreaming and one day I’ll wake up and this will all be
gone. I’m not a true gambler, and I’ve gambled everything I am on you. It makes me afraid.”

“How so?” he said softly, hoping that once she’d spoken of her fears they could be put away.

“I’m superstitious about certain things. When I’ve had a run of good luck…which, may I say, in my life has been rare, I start waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know what I mean…the ‘it won’t be like this forever’ feeling?”

“Nothing is going to happen to us, Lucky. I’m making sure of it. That’s why I have thirty extra security guards on the payroll today, and why your two favorite men have orders to stick to your pretty little butt like glue.”

Lucky rolled her eyes at the mention of the bodyguards. “Tell me you don’t mean Batman and Robin?”

Nick laughed. “Ah, honey, you make my day. Every minute with you is like a shot in the arm.”

At the word ‘shot’ Lucky bolted from his lap. “There you go again with the stupid clichés, mister. I’m leaving before you come up with one I can’t forgive. Besides, guests should be arriving anytime. I promised Paul I’d help play hostess. I need to change.”

“What are you wearing?” Nick asked, thankful that she’d changed the subject. The back of his neck had been prickling all day. He was starting to get a little paranoid himself.

Lucky waggled her finger. “It’s a surprise,” she said. “Fluffy helped me pick it out. You’re going to love it.”

“My God,” Nick groaned. “That’s what she always says right before she changes her hair.”

Lucky grinned. “At least I don’t intend to take off my clothes…except for you, of course.”

“Thank God,” Nick said, smiling as she walked out the door with a wiggle to her hips.

Soon he went to join his father, who was being installed in a place of honor out on the patio. A short time later, someone touched the back of his sleeve. He turned, expecting an old friend who was waiting to be greeted. It was Lucky.

“How do I look?”

She gave a graceful pirouette that sent the soft, fragile fabric of her white silk pants and jacket billowing and then clinging to the curves of her body like a jealous lover. The jacket hung open and loose, giving the viewer a more than generous view of wide expanses of a very bare top and totally bare tummy. A swath of gold lamé that just passed as a bra covered her womanly essentials.

“Lucky…sweetheart…you’re beautiful.” Nick’s voice shook with emotion. As he looked at the elegance of the woman before him, he couldn’t help but remember the ragtag woman/child who had gotten off a bus in Las Vegas many months ago. She might look like a pro, but hesitancy was still fresh in her eyes. Lucky Houston still needed the assurance of having done something right.

“Your hair is magnificent, dear,” Paul said, eyeing appreciatively the intricate loops and whorls she’d created from its thickness and length.

“I’m rather partial to that little bitty thing under your jacket that I suppose you’re trying to pass off as a blouse,”
Nick said, and then sighed, realizing that every man here was going to think the same thing.

Lucky grinned. Fluffy had been right. The gold bra was going to be a hit.

“Nope. It’s a bra, all right. Shiny isn’t it? Do you think it’s too much?”

Nick grinned and threw up his hands. “Hell no, it’s not too much. If anything, there’s not enough. But we won’t quibble about inches when there’s a party to be had. Come with me, lady. Introductions are in order.”

Lucky bit her lip and pasted a wide, charming smile on her face, just as Fluffy had taught her to do. It was the only defense she had against the memories that suddenly seized her…of dressing in hand-me-down clothes, of going to sleep hungry and cold, of the laughter and taunts that had followed her all of her life.

If it was the last thing she did, she would forget every memory she had of being a no-count gambler’s daughter.

In two hours, Lucky had met, greeted, and smiled at more people than she had in a day at Club 52. But it had all gone perfectly. No one had frowned, or pointed, or snickered behind her back. No one knew her past, and it seemed patently clear that her future lay in Nick Chenault’s arms.

“Drink, miss?”

Lucky turned around to find a waiter competently balancing a tray filled with glasses of white wine. It looked refreshing, but Lucky knew from experience that wine would make her sleepy.

“No, but thank you,” she said.

“If you would like, I can get you something else. Maybe a spritzer? A mineral water?”

Because he was so insistent, Lucky looked past the brimming glasses to the man behind them all. It was to her credit that she did not gasp, or in any way reveal the shock she felt at the sight of his face.

The skin on his face and perfectly shaped bald head was brown as a berry, in stark contrast to the white collar of his waiter’s uniform. In any other setting he could have passed as a distinguished-looking gentleman.

If it hadn’t been for the matching set of scars that angled across his face.

From temple to chin. Deep, puckered, and ragged. They should have dominated his face. Instead, they only added to the darkness of his demeanor.

“No,” Lucky said quietly. “But thank you. Thank you very much.”

He smiled. A slow, generic smile. Until she looked in his eyes. They were startlingly blue, and there seemed to be no emotion whatsoever within them. Lucky swallowed and tried not to shudder. Self-preservation made her turn and walk away. She tried to tell herself she did not hear him laugh beneath his breath, that she’d imagined it all. And then she turned back around, expecting to catch him in the act of watching her. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Good grief,” she muttered, and wrapped her arms around herself. “Where do the caterers come up with guys like these?”

“Baby, are you all right?”

Nick’s voice in her ear made her relax. “I am now,” she
said, and tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Have you seen your father or Fluffy lately? I seated them close together hours ago, and haven’t seen them since. I hope she hasn’t talked him into going off somewhere…. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Nick grinned. “Dad should be so lucky. Come on, I’ll help you look for them. And in the meantime, let’s get you something to drink. In spite of the fact that it started out cool, the sun is coming on strong.”

Lucky shuddered. “Thanks, Nick, but I don’t think I could drink a thing. At least not now. Maybe later.”

He didn’t pursue the issue. Later he would wonder, if he had, would it have made a difference?

Dieter was riding on a high that no drug could ever have achieved. It had been forty years since he’d set foot on North American soil—the United States of America…land of the free…home of the brave. And it felt like only yesterday.

But it wasn’t. It was a lifetime ago when he’d been broke, frightened, and alone and running for his life. And now he was back, and no one was any wiser. His anonymity rested on the fact that he looked nothing like the young man who’d made a narrow escape across the border into Mexico and points south. The simple horror of his appearance was a better disguise than any Hollywood makeup artist could have contrived.

He inhaled slowly, reveling in the feeling of success, and knew that he could not fail. It was his destiny to survive. It was what he did best.

With studied grace in every movement of his trim, fit
body, he laid his empty tray upon the bar and calmly picked up another with fresh glasses brimming, ready to be savored and shared with the man of the hour. Paul Chenault was having a birthday. It would be his last.

L
ucky hurried down the hall from her room where, moments earlier, she’d gone to freshen her makeup and her hair. A swift breeze had crashed the party, coming down off the mountains in flurry of dust and leaves, ruffling skirt tails and hairdos as was the case with such mavericks of weather. But with a swift squirt of hair spray and a new layer of lip gloss, she was as good as new.

The doorbell caught her in midstep as she came off the stairs. Instinctively, she paused, waiting to see who it was that Shari admitted. The last person she expected to see come to the party was Will Arnold of Las Vegas Metro.

“Welcome, Detective. I didn’t expect to see you today,” she said.

Will nodded, then grinned. For a second, he forgot why he had come as he tried not to stare at the elegant
young woman in white and gold. Finally, man that he was, he gave up in defeat.

“Miss Houston. You look very…beautiful…if you don’t mind me saying so.” The word “sexy” was what he’d been thinking, but he knew saying it would be strictly out of line.

She smiled. “No woman minds a compliment, sir. Come have a drink. Paul is somewhere outside. We’ll find him together.”

It was then that he remembered why he’d come. “No, thanks. I wish I could, but this is official business.”

Lucky frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you’ll wait, I’ll go find Nick.”

“Don’t disturb him or the party,” Arnold said. “Just give him this fax. It came in less than an hour ago. It’s the latest description of a wealthy North American living on the outskirts of a small village in Colombia. We have reason to believe that he
could
be Dieter Marx. The time of his appearance in the area, as well as his wealth and age, all fit the man we’re looking for.”

Lucky’s hand shook a little as she took the paper from Arnold’s hand. It was daunting to know that she might be holding the key to the danger and threats under which they’d been living.

“Do you mind if I read it?” she asked.

“Go ahead. In fact, you should. This mess involves all of you.”

Lucky began to read. She was down to the third paragraph when nausea swamped her. A film of cold sweat broke out on her body as she groaned and staggered against a chair.

“Miss Houston! What on earth? Are you ill? Shall I call a—”

“Dear God! This man is here!”

Arnold grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Are you sure, ma’am? This would be too much of a coincidence to be believed.”

“The scar. I saw a man with that scar. Three deep slashes all the way down his face. He spoke to me.”

“Jesus Christ! Are you telling me this man has somehow smuggled himself in as Paul Chenault’s guest?”

“No! Oh, God, no! He’s wearing a uniform…a white uniform. He’s one of the waiters serving the drinks.”

“I’ve got to call Metro,” Arnold said, and started for the phone.

“Wait!” Lucky shouted. “Security is all over the grounds. Nick’s bodyguards will know where they’re stationed.”

“Then come with me,” Arnold ordered, and grabbed her by the arm.

Moments later, Lucky flew off the patio steps, her hand held tightly within the detective’s grasp as he searched the grounds for the help she said was here.

“There they are,” Lucky said, pointing to Martin and Davis near the buffet, who up to this point had been a thorn in her side. In her eyes they had suddenly taken on the heroics of a marine battalion. “They’ll be able to help. They know where Nick had all the extra security guards posted.”

“Good,” Arnold barked. “Come on,” he said, tugging once again at her wrist. “At least I can keep one of you safe.”

At his words, Lucky suddenly realized the imminent danger that Nick and his father were in. “Oh, my God! Nick and Paul are in danger! We’ve got to warn them.”

Without thought for herself, she tore free from Arnold’s grasp and started running through the crowd, searching above the sea of heads, frantic to find Nick before it was too late.

Will Arnold cursed loud and then ran toward the guards. Moments later, the air crackled from the static of radio current as the two-ways came alive with the message.
The killer is here. Find him before he finds his prey
.

They were side by side, the handsome young man and his aging but dignified father. The Chenaults! It was fitting, Dieter thought, as he quickly slipped the poison into the drinks. His upper lip curled just thinking of their name. Destroying the old man would not satisfy. It was like stomping on scorpions. You had to kill them all, or one by one, they would keep coming back. It would not be enough to know that his nemesis, Paul Chenault, was dead. All of his seed must be destroyed. It was the only way.

The sun was warm upon his bare scalp. But he didn’t care. He was used to the heat. Where he came from, it was always hot. And wet. And lonely. So lonely.

Dieter’s hands were steady as he positioned the two glasses bearing the deadly potion in the center of his tray. An insurance against the danger that someone else would unwittingly grab them before he made it across the lawn to where they were standing.

A surge of adrenaline shot through his body as he moved
across the grounds with the tray in hand. Soon it would be all over. Vengeance would be sweet, and no one would be any wiser as to how it had happened. Everyone would be in a panic over the two men who would lay writhing on the ground in death throes while he slipped out unobserved. Who would notice a humble waiter trying to get out of the way during the ensuing tragedy? It was a perfect plan, as was everything he did.

“No, I don’t plan on living forever,” Paul said, laughing up at the friends who’d stopped to pay their respects. “I’ll be satisfied with just hanging around long enough to hold my first grandchild in my arms.”

Nick grinned. That sounded good to him too. And at the thought of children, his mind instantly turned to Lucky. He raised his head and began to slowly scan the crowd, absently wondering where she’d gone. The last thing he remembered was that she’d gone to powder her nose.

“Just look at Fluffy,” Paul went on, waving at Lucille LaMont who was working the crowd like a pro. “That lady’s a charmer in spite of being eighty-four. I’ll bet she was a terror in her youth.”

“Was?” Nick’s voice was laughter-filled. “What makes you think she’s changed?”

“Drink, sir?”

Nick turned at the sound of the voice. The wine was a tempting and sparkling enticement against the onset of the warm breeze riffling through the crowd.

“Dad? How about a glass of wine?”

Paul looked up. The waiter’s shoulder was all that was
visible from where he was sitting. He considered how many of the half-filled glasses he’d already had, and decided that one more would be safe. The thought of refreshment suddenly sounded too good to pass up.

“Sounds good to me,” Paul said.

“Sir.”

Nick reached out, intent on lifting the two nearest glasses from the tray. But the waiter was quicker. “Allow me.” Seconds later Nick found himself holding two glasses of wine and nothing but a view of the man’s back as he disappeared into the crowd.

He shrugged, then leaned down. “Here you go, Dad.”

“Just what the doctor ordered,” Paul said.

“I doubt it,” Nick said. “But enjoy anyway. It is, after all, your birthday. To your health, Dad…and many more birthdays to come.”

Glasses clinked as, son to father, the intimate toast was made. Paul lifted the glass. The wine glittered like liquid gold as the sunlight caught and then speared through the glass and liquid. His lips parted in anticipation of the taste to come.

Lucky ran, pushing her way through knots of laughing people, constantly searching the crowd for bald men wearing white jackets. Twice she thought she’d achieved success, only to find upon spinning them around that she was wrong. All she could do was gasp an apology before moving on to the next and the next.

Fear, coupled with the urgency of her search, increased her desperation as she dashed through the partygoers. With each wasted minute that went by, they were a
minute closer to Nick’s imminent death. Her pulse pounded and every breath that she took was a pain-filled draft against burning lungs.

And when she thought she could run no more, the crowd suddenly parted. Only for a heartbeat. But it was long enough to see the white jacket, the hairless head, and the horrific scar gouged into the side of his face.

“Thank God,” Lucky muttered. At least he was still on the premises.

It was reason enough for her to believe that whatever he’d planned, she wasn’t too late to stop. She started toward him, aware that the risk was great, but hoping that by the time she got to him, security would have spotted him too.

Then before her eyes, he paused, raked the crowd with a furtive gaze, then pulled something from his pocket. It was impossible to see what it was, but as his hand paused over the tray, she knew that whatever it was, was going into the wine.

“Oh, no!” she groaned. “Nick, dammit, where are you?”

Before Lucky could think, the waiter disappeared in the crowd with the tray in his hands. She didn’t have to see him to know that he was finally making his deadly move.

Seconds passed. Long, horrifying seconds in which she stumbled twice in her high heels before kicking them off in desperation as she continued to run. Shocked whispers of the guests she knocked aside were not important. Her wild, undignified behavior brought sneers of disdain she chose to ignore. There was no time to explain. And less reason to care what they thought. If Nick died, she would not survive the loss.

Out of nowhere across the crowd, as if in answer to a prayer, she saw him, standing tall above the rest. His short dark locks of hair were blowing easily against his forehead in deference to the breeze. He lifted an arm to wave at someone across the crowd, and she saw the oatmeal-colored blazer that she’d helped him choose for today’s occasion.

She was going to be too late. She saw the waiter handing him the glasses. As the man turned away, she saw his face. To her horror, the scar twisting upon his countenance writhed like a coiling snake, and she knew that he was smiling. Horror overtook her as everything slipped into slow motion. Raising her arm heavenward, she threw herself forward through the mass. With one last burst of energy, she screamed.

“No, Nick, no!”

The scream shattered the moment, startling the crowd milling around the buffet and sending everyone near into a sudden, startled silence.

Nick spun around toward the sound of her voice. When he finally saw her, she was several yards away and running toward him, her arm outstretched. Her eyes were wide and filled with horror as she pushed and shoved her way through the people between them.

“Don’t drink it! Don’t drink the wine!” Lucky shouted.

Nick’s heart stopped. Without questioning her warning, he pivoted and slapped the wineglass out of his father’s hand. Then he dropped his own upon the ground as his father watched in shock.

“What on earth?” Paul muttered.

Dieter Marx froze, and then someone jostled his arm
and the tray full of drinks slid from his hands, falling to the ground in a shatter of crystal.

He turned, unable to believe that it was happening again. But the woman’s warning screams could not be ignored. She must have seen him preparing the wine. It was the only explanation.

Rage filled him as he watched Nick Chenault knock the drinks to the ground, saturating the grass beneath with the deadly brew. A red haze slid across his vision and his mouth went slack. A small spittle of drool slid from one corner of his lip as he started to shake. It was that woman…Chenault’s woman…who had called out the warning. For this, she would pay.

And then he heard someone utter her name.
Lucky Houston? Her name was Houston?
He stared…and remembered…and recognized. He laughed softly to himself. It was fitting that she was here. She deserved to die more than she knew.

Thought became deed as the gun appeared in his hand. There was no turning back, nor time to escape. But it did not matter. The Chenaults would still suffer knowing that the woman had died for their sins. He smiled and aimed through the crowd, leading the barrel just enough that the bullet, when fired, would hit her square in the chest.

Several people saw the gun at the same time. Shouts of warning rang out from different directions at once.

“Get down! Get down!” someone screamed.

Nick grabbed his father and rolled, tilting the chair and tipping the old man into his arms, then shielding him with his body as they fell. All around them, the crowd of
partygoers dropped to the ground as a barrage of shrieks and frightened wails filled the air.

Lucky froze. Suddenly she was the only one standing. And all she saw was a man with a gun. He was pointing it at her. His smile was the only warning she would get.

Instinct told her to run. But common sense asked her where. There was nowhere left to go but to her maker. She thought of Queenie…and of Diamond, then searched the people upon the ground for Nick’s location. She wanted to see his face. Just one more time. Before it was too late.

Nick rolled over just in time to see Lucky’s terrified gaze. A man stood less than twenty feet from her with a gun aimed straight at her heart. Fear swamped him as he bolted to his feet.

He never made it.

The gun blast rocked the air.

Lucky jerked, then forgot to breathe, expecting at any moment to feel the onset of pain. It didn’t come. And then Nick’s arms engulfed her, and she felt nothing but his strength and the beat of his heart against her ear as he clasped her tightly within his embrace. He was shaking.

“Lucky! Lucky! My God, baby. I thought I’d be too late.”

Lucky turned in his arms to look behind her. The man who’d held the gun was on his knees, staring at her in amazement as blood ran through his fingers from the hole in his chest. Once again, when it seemed he could not fail, she had prevailed.

The two bodyguards who’d shadowed her every
move for the past few months moved past her to the man on the ground. One kicked Dieter’s gun aside while the other raked the area for signs of accomplices. There seemed to be no one else standing except Will Arnold, who was coming toward them across the lawn at a lope.