Sucker Bet (27 page)

Gwenna rang Kelsey on her cell phone as she went down to the parking garage to collect the car she'd borrowed from Ethan. She needed to warn Kelsey to stay away from Ringo. If Roberto hadn't ordered hits on the slayer members, then someone did. Or Ringo had acted alone.

But somehow Gwenna thought Ringo didn't have convictions or passions or a plan. He merely acted in the interest of making money, to buy his drugs. Either way, Gwenna wanted to make sure Kelsey didn't renew any contact with him. He was potentially a very dangerous man.

"Hello?" Kelsey answered on the fourth ring.

"Kelsey, it's Gwenna."

"Hey, Gwen, what's up?"

"Listen, are you alone? Or are you with that David Foster guy still?" Alexis had told her Kelsey had gone home with the bass player from The Impalers. Gwenna had a vague memory of a charming smile when he'd seen them leap up onstage, but they hadn't been formally introduced.

"Why would I be with Davey?" Kelsey sounded genuinely puzzled. "I'm at home with Ringo."

"What?" Gwenna dropped the car keys as she tried to unlock the doors. "Why? You left him."

"We're back together."

"But… he tried to prostitute you for drugs. You left and you were going to play tambourine for The Impalers." Shit. Ringo was probably sitting in the room right behind Kelsey. How on earth could she warn her the man was a murderer with him listening to every word Kelsey spoke?

"Oh, that wasn't going to pan out. Davey only said yes to get in my pants."

It continued to amaze Gwenna that Kelsey was almost always actually paying attention. She looked and sounded ditzy, but she was usually spot on about people. "Can I meet you somewhere? I need to chat with you."

"Right now?" Kelsey sounded doubtful. "We're kind of making up here, Gwen. I'd like to hang out with Ringo if you don't mind."

"It's really, really, really important. It will only take ten minutes, I promise. Meet me at the fountain in the lobby of the Ava in fifteen minutes, okay?"

"Alright." Kelsey still sounded skeptical.

"I need sexual advice," Gwenna lied, feeling a little desperate. "I don't think I'm making Nate happy."

"Oooohhh. Okay, sweetie, I'll be there. I have a book and a DVD I'll bring for you."

"Brilliant." Gwenna only hoped it wasn't a home recording.

Nate was debating going back to his place and passing out when he recognized a familiar face behind the yellow tape. Wonderful. Just what he needed to complete his day from hell— Gwenna's ex-husband arguing with the officer guarding the area. Yeah, he needed this guy around like a fucking hole in his head.

Still feeling less than one hundred percent, Nate went over and eyed Donatelli. "What do you need, Donatelli?"

The man's eyes widened and he let out a snort. "I should have known. Of course Gwenna wouldn't let it alone. She saved your sorry ass, didn't she?"

"Saved me from what?" Nate waved the officer off.

"Death. Or did the bullet miss?"

"What are you talking about?" Not in the mood to play head games, Nate started to move away, though he did think it was odd that Donatelli would mention getting shot after Nate's strange dream. "You need to stay away from this crime scene or I'll get a lot of enjoyment from throwing you out of this hotel."

"I heard you need an ID on the victim. I believe I can be of assistance."

"Oh, yeah?" Nate eyeballed him. "Who told you that?"

"Ethan Carrick. One of his security men overheard your team mention Gregor Chechikov… I have known Gregor for a number of years. I'm sure I could tell you conclusively if the victim is Gregor or not."

Interesting that Ethan Carrick had communicated that information to Donatelli after he had sworn he did not know the victim by sight or by name. It made Nate question the integrity of Gwenna's brother, too, and wonder just how he had earned all his giant piles of money. He had no doubt that Donatelli knew Chechikov. Nate was guessing they both had a lot of mutual acquaintances in the Mafia. What was interesting was that Donatelli would seek him out and confirm the relationship when it wasn't necessary.

"Fine. Come on over and take a quick look." He was curious what kind of reaction Donatelli would have, because he was fairly certain the victim was Gregor Chechikov based on his passport picture tucked into his jacket.

"How did he die, by the way?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Donatelli followed him. "Has anyone contacted his wife?"

"No. Any idea who his wife might be? We haven't found a next of kin yet."

"Her name is Sasha Chechikov. She's very young, early twenties. Very beautiful. I'm sure she'll be quite devastated to learn she's a widow." This was clearly sarcasm given the smirk on Donatelli's face.

"Does she live in Vegas?"

"She and Gregor have been here for the last six months, though I don't believe Gregor intended the move to be permanent. It was just a temporary move for business reasons. They've been living at the Bellagio."

"Thanks." Nate led Donatelli to the brawny Russian still lying on a chaise where the killer had left him. It was starting to really infuriate Nate that the deaths were piling up so quickly, and there was no time even to get physical evidence analyzed before the next victim turned up. The killer was arrogant and clearly very driven to commit his crimes.

If Gwenna was right, and his intent was to rile up the faux slayers, then three deaths immediately ought to do it. Which might lead to more murders. Though Nate found it hard to believe a Russian mobster was on a vampire slayers' loop. They hadn't uncovered his name at present, and they had two-thirds of the members identified.

"Here he is." Nate took a deep breath. He still wasn't feeling all that great, and the overwhelming stench of death that wafted up from the victim was making his stomach churn again. While Nate wouldn't say he was used to the odor of death, he'd been exposed to his fair share of it, many victims in far worse shape than the guy in front of him. Yet for some reason tonight it seemed thick and noxious, crawling up his nostrils, tightening his gut, and making his gums itch.

"That's Chechikov." Donatelli raised an eyebrow. "He's looked better, but it's definitely him. Wonder who he pissed off this time."

Clearly Donatelli and Chechikov hadn't been great pals. The guy didn't look broken up in the least. "So you're saying he had a lot of enemies?"

"Oh, yeah. A lot that go back centuries."

"Centuries? Like a family feud?" Nate grabbed the back of a pool chair, struggling to keep from getting sick or going down and kissing the concrete.

"If you need to feed, why don't you go inside and ask Carrick for some blood?"

Nate felt saliva puddle in his mouth and his stomach burned, as he watched Donatelli in confusion. "What?"

They stared at each other, Donatelli's brow furrowed, Nate getting dizzy.

"She didn't tell you, did she?" Donatelli asked.

"Who tell me what?"

"Gwenna. That she turned you into a vampire."

The words took a second to process their way through Nate's foggy brain. "A vampire… you're insane."

"No. But I am a vampire. As is Gwenna. And now are you. I ordered you killed, and you took a bullet in the garage at the Ava from one of my men. You died. Gwenna turned you, something I hadn't intended to happen. And now it seems she's lied to you."

Nate just stood there, feeling a full sentence behind Donatelli's convoluted explanation. Vampires were not real. Yet there seemed to be a whole lot of people who thought they were. "You know what, it's time for you to leave." He didn't have time to listen to that crap. Even if Donatelli had somehow managed to describe Nate's dream. That was just a freaky coincidence.

And he needed to get home and to bed before he passed out on the pavement.

"I'm leaving. But before I go, turn around with me and look in the pool. Neither one of us has a reflection."

If he had been himself, Nate would have reached the point where he just grabbed Donatelli by the collar and bodily removed him. But he was sick as a dog and brain dead, so he turned automatically, his skin clammy and everything sharp and focused, a slight buzzing in his ears.

Huh. He didn't have a reflection. That was fucking weird. Especially considering the evidence bag in his hand did. As did the chair behind him.

"This is vampire business," Donatelli said, gesturing to Chechikov. "The police will never solve the crime." He then held the cup he'd been carrying around toward Nate. "Have a drink before you drop, then I suggest you go find Gwenna and ask her why she would turn you and yet leave you without the knowledge to survive."

The cup Donatelli had handed him smelled fantastic. Sweet. Necessary. He shouldn't touch it since it had been handed to him by a crazy man, but he was beyond thirsty and he couldn't control himself. Nate tipped it back and drank it all in one swallow. It was the same taste and consistency of what Gwenna had given him, and it had the same effect. He felt immediately better.

"What is this?" Prying the lid off, he glanced inside. It was red, staining the sides, and it smelled like…

"Blood."

It was. And Nate felt panic rise in his throat.

He needed to find Gwenna.

Gwenna had ringing ears and a DVD on sexual positions in her possession when she went back to the casino, hoping Nate hadn't left yet. The only thing she had concluded from her meeting with Kelsey was that Ringo wasn't lacking for sexual satisfaction or creativity, both of which she could have done without knowing. For eternity, really. Kelsey was in no way afraid of her husband, despite Gwenna's attempts at hinting he was a loaded cannon. Nor did she seem to have any interest in leaving him. The only thing Gwenna could feel the least bit reassured about was that Ringo killed for money, not malice. If he was responsible for murdering the men on the slayers' loop, there was someone who had paid him to do it. That's who Gwenna wanted to uncover.

She was walking through the lobby, pulling her phone out so she could call Nate, when someone touched her arm.

"Excuse me."

"Yes?" Turning, she recognized the guy behind her. It was one of The Impalers. David Foster. The one she had sort of done a body grind behind when she'd been plastered on martinis before she'd been hauled offstage by a bouncer. An incident she'd just love to forget actually, though the follow-up sex with Nate had been lovely.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" He had a friendly face, with a nice straight smile.

Gwenna gave a noncommittal shrug, embarrassed as hell. "I don't think so."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn…" Then he stuck out his hand. "Anyway, I'm David Foster."

"Gwenna Carrick. It's a pleasure."

His face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "That's where I know you from. You're Carrick's sister. Not that I've met him or anything, but he seems cool."

"Thanks, I like him well enough." Worried about Nate, Gwenna removed her hand from his and gave him a smile. "Well, I hate to dash off, but my boyfriend's not feeling well and I want to check on him."

"Sure, that's cool. I hope he feels better. Nice meeting you." David gave her a wave and took a step back. "And do yourself a favor, Gwenna, and stay away from Slash."

Gwenna stared at his back, heart pounding as she processed his words. "What?" she asked, but he was already gone, walking with vampire speed, brushing past mortals so quickly they would only notice a breeze and briefly wonder where it came from.

He knew about Slash. He knew she knew Slash. What the hell did that mean?

Rushing through the lobby at vamp speed herself, she headed for the pool, and just about collided with Nate coming into the hotel through the glass double doors.

The color was back in his face, but he didn't look good. He still had the look of a man about to lose his lunch at any given minute. There was a glaze of pain over his eyes that worried Gwenna. She wondered if his actually dying and returning to immortal life was somehow a bigger problem than she could have guessed. It had been her impression most mortals took to the change easily, but it was clear Nate wasn't.

"I need to talk to you," he said.

"Okay, let's go to my room." She tried to take his hand, but he pulled away. Hoping it was from his nausea and nothing more, she gestured to the pool. "I guess you were called to the murder. I can't believe there was another one already and that it's Gregor."

Nate was quickly moving toward the elevators, but he stopped and glanced at her. "It's amazing how all of you seem to know the victim's identity when that information hasn't been released. We're going upstairs and I want some answers, Gwenna."

It was certainly time for that. She nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea."

He said nothing else the whole way up, staring at the floor, holding his hand to his chest like he had a pain there. It made Gwenna feel horrific, guilty, appalled at what she had done, at how she had destroyed his life because she had been selfish enough to want his attentions, his affection, his normalcy. She didn't know where to start, how to explain.