Tap Out (24 page)

Combing her fingers through her hair in a delayed attempt at fixing her appearance, she straightened and squared her shoulders. She had work to do.

“I’ll get the video camera.” Anthony marched over to the bedside table and retrieved the camera bag lying next to it.

“There is coffee on the table, and some clean cups...somewhere. Give me ten minutes to freshen up. In the meantime, I want you to come up with some interesting facts about Tetnus. The last minute preparations fighters perform in order to become top dog, information like that.”

Two weeks and counting
, she thought to herself as she grabbed a blouse and her last remaining unwrinkled pair of shorts from the pile of clothing dumped on the bed.

Time enough to get this film rolling.

Time enough to reinvent herself.

Time enough for her Sophie Morelle persona to eat dust—a good old mouthful of it.

Caden, too. She hoped the Las Vegas dust coming his way tasted saltier than the tears she’d shed over him. A little farewell present from the real Sophie Morelle.

Chapter Eighteen

DOUBLE-LEG TAKE DOWN: What happens when you wrap one long leg around a fighter’s calf, weave your other leg around his shin, and follow with a strategically-placed push to his chest

Vegas must have been a great deal in July. Booking Tetnus this time of year reeked of slimeball Jerry’s tight-fisted touch. Five days and the temperature hadn’t fallen below one hundred ten. A dry heat. Yeah, whatever—tell that to her darn armpits. Aside from the heat, by successfully avoiding the Double Jerks and having had to suffer through only one Caden sighting, Sophie considered her luck on the upswing.

“Thatta girl, roll those dice,” one of the Boys standing at the side of the craps table hollered.

She downed the shot of tequila, and performed the same exact routine that had helped build her nest of chips. Cupping her hands and shaking the dice over one shoulder then the other and then finally over her head, she sent them sailing down the table.

“Six. Come on Sophie. It’s almost midnight,” the same fighter encouraged.

Jerry had a strict curfew in place for his fighters. Not that they needed it because, much to her surprise, aside from an occasional night down in the casino, she’d never witnessed a more committed group of guys. They worked out constantly, running in the mind-boggling heat and weight lifting and sparring in three different gyms assigned specifically to Tetnus participants. She’d gotten it all, and more, on videotape.

The dealer moved the hockey puck onto the number six, whatever that meant. Sophie knew luck had a lot to do with her pile. It certainly wasn’t her keen sense of craps.

She giggled at the word, or was it the tequila? The dealer handed back the dice.

Anthony took a handful of chips and moved them onto the board. “Come on, Sophie. One more great roll and we’ll party like rock stars after Tetnus is over.”

“No can do. I’ll be somewhere doing correspondence work when this has all ended,” she murmured. The room spun slightly, causing her to regret that last shot. But, she deserved it. Had earned it, so to speak.

In three days, she’d accomplished more than anticipated. The Boys had warmed to her and with Sal’s encouragement and Anthony’s support, they’d filled her in on the ins and outs of mixed martial arts. She had more footage than she knew what to do with. More cuts and edits that needed to be pieced together.

The entire time, the question about Jaysin’s involvement with those pills had nagged at her conscience. The manhandling jerk was up to no good. Before she did another thing, she was going to review the footage she’d shot in Phoenix. There probably wasn’t enough incriminating evidence, just him with the duffel bags. It’d be an entirely different matter to catch him on tape with those green pills. That’s what he was about, right? Dealing drugs to mixed martial arts fighters and wannabe fighters. She straightened at the thought.

Tomorrow, she was going to catch Jaysin red-handed.

But what was Caden’s involvement?

Her throat burned, the lingering tequila adding to her pain.

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to watch the three videos he’d left. Exclusive or not, it was nothing but lies. Lies from lying cheat, from a less-than-credible source. A definite fast-forward, then cut.

Her palms cupped the dice tighter than necessary, and she focused on maintaining tonight’s winning streak. She deserved it.

She repeated her die-rolling routine but this time, the dice hit the table with a bounce. One flipped three times and came to rest showing a one. The second kept rolling. Slowly. Briefly, it tottered toward a five. Five, that’s the number she wanted, right?

All eyes were on the dice. The Boys looked worried. She noticed chips had been placed in front of almost everyone around. Were they piggybacking onto her good luck, luck that seemed about to end?

Sure enough, the die flopped over. Not a five. But a six.
Oh
,
crap
, she thought, thinking how the game was appropriately named, and not wanting to shred the thin fibers of trust she’d woven between her and the Boys. Hopefully, one bad roll wouldn’t overshadow her rather fortunate night.

On the next roll, the casino came alive with whoops and hollers so loud, the table shook. Sophie was hoisted into the air. “Five! She rolled five!”

“Just before curfew too,” someone added.

Anthony put her down long enough for her to scoop up her chips and stuff them in her bag. A second later, she was back in this arms and being carried across the casino floor. The Pied Piper to a trail of boisterously happy fighters.

Sophie giggled. It looked like she wouldn’t have to relocate off of Las Vegas Boulevard after all.

“Man, when I saw you the first time on the bus, I thought you were bad luck. Was I ever wrong,” a younger fighter named Billy commented as he came up alongside them. His fist tightened around a bunch of chips and his smile grew even fuller.

Another guy chimed in. “Yeah, after the blow to Caden, and after watching your show, I thought you ate guys like us for dinner. You know, you’re not at all what I expected.”

“If Anthony doesn’t put me down, I’m going make him my appetizer.”

“Sounds good to me,” Anthony shot back, his tone changing.

Great
,
just great.
The last thing she needed was his interest. The sweet, bulky mass of a man had been a much-needed friend. And had turned into one of the focal points of her documentary. But, that was it. He didn’t even register on her would-consider-dating radar. She’d learned her lesson about mixing business with pleasure. She had donned her investigative reporter hat and no way was it falling off again.

They’d exited the casino, and had made it down a long carpeted corridor leading to the bank of elevators that would take them up to the hotel level. Anthony pressed the elevator button, his grip on her steadfast. At least they were surrounded by a small gathering of Boys, and not alone. Better do something about the situation, though, before it escalated any further.

“I think the tequila made me nauseous. One more step, and I’m not going to be able to keep it in,” she lied through her teeth. Lightheadedness, perhaps. Giddiness, unfortunately. But Sophie wouldn’t be caught dead barfing in public,
not
that she was remotely close to doing so.

Mercifully, her exaggeration did the trick, and she found herself out of Anthony’s arms and back on her feet without further argument.

The door chimed and slid open. Hundreds of pounds of muscled fighters, plus a not-so-willing one-hundred-thirty-five-pound journalist, got on. Now, how to shed some weight and ditch them before Anthony and company decided to escort their lucky charm to her room?

She made a theatrical production of looking at her watch, then at her cell. “Golly, my battery must be acting up again. My watch says twelve but according to my cell phone, it’s 12:05.” Her words sounded way too obvious, like a pink neon sign flashing a false advertisement, one that read: “She’s full of shit.”

“Holy crap. Jerry said he’d disqualify anyone found lurking about Las Vegas after curfew.”

“Damn, his room just had to be on the same floor as ours. We’ll have to be super quiet.”

Good luck with that, she thought. Lord help them, with their girth and height, they were going to sound like a stampede of elephants headed down the hallway.

She took out her cell and text a message to Sal:

Call Jerry’s room. The Boys made curfew. Won lots of money.

She shared her text with them. “If we time this right, Jerry will be checking his phone while you sneak back into your rooms. As soon as the door opens, I’ll send the text. Wait a minute for Sal to call him.”

“Damn, she’s not just lucky but smart.”

“Did she have to tell Jerry we won?”

Sophie grinned.

The door chimed. Sophie hit Send. And Anthony looked like a dog that just had his bone whisked away.

Brother.
She needed another tequila and a moment to celebrate her small victory. Alone.

Change of plans. There was a bar one floor above casino level. One drink in celebration of beating the Vegas odds, and bamboozling the Boys into working with her. Tomorrow, she’d secured permission to film sparring matches at the temporary cage set up at the casino next door. Up-close-and-personal footage depicting exactly how an MMA fighter differed from other fighters. Show viewers the self-control and discipline professional fighters had, and balance the brutal footage she’d shot at the motel in Wichita.

The following day, she had some video to preview. Within the comforts of her room, she planned on viewing the material, deciding what to cut and what more she needed. Time to review, reflect and reconstruct her final plan of attack.

Yep, maybe an alcohol-infused mind might shed some light on what to do about Caden, as her rational mind turned to muck every time she thought about him. Should she finish the interview or delete him entirely from the documentary and keep him back in the dirt, in her past, eating her dust? The question continued to plague her as the elevator descended, then stopped.

The door opened.

She stepped forward, nearly tripping over her feet at the sight that greeted her.

Dressed in gray cotton shorts, a ripped white Rolling Stones T-shirt, worn running shoes, and dripping sweat like it was nobody’s business, Caden should have been a sight for sore eyes—except he wasn’t.

With his damp hair and wet T-shirt, he was a cautionary tale about the powers of raw and oh-so-male sex appeal. Heck, the lesson she’d learned was to avoid him like the plague. But despite herself, every nerve in her body shifted into high alert as her eyes unwillingly devoured him.

She froze in indecision. This time, there was no potted plant to hide behind, which is what she’d done a day earlier when she’d spotted him in the hotel lobby. Nowhere to hide, especially as his gaze pinned her in place, then slowly raked over her, starting with her hair, which dangled freely about her shoulders, and traveling all the way down to her open-toe pumps.

She felt an irrational tug deep within herself, urging her to step forward, wrap her arms around his neck and pull him in tight.

Her lips felt dry. She moistened them with her tongue.

His lips tightened into a fine line.

The elevator chimed and the door closed. If the elevator had legs, it’d be giving her a swift kick in the butt, knocking her both away from this man and some sense into her, the foolish, idiotic, irrational woman on her third ride within minutes.

Except it didn’t move. Glancing down, Sophie spotted the reason why. Caden had stuck his foot in the door.

The doors slid open, allowing him entry, his big, sweaty body blocking the exit. He reached over and pressed Close.

She stepped to the right in an attempt to squeeze by him but he was too fast, blocking her just as the doors closed.

He shifted sideways and after a quick swipe of his room card, pressed the penthouse button.

Caden was staying in one of the luxury suites reserved for the very rich, or the very lucky. Or the very corrupt.

Her gaze shifted away from the illuminated button and met his bold stare.

He smirked.

Smooth operating bastard.

A bead of sweat followed a path along his cheekbone. He tugged the bottom of his T-shirt up and wiped it away, not before giving her an eyeful of exquisitely toned eight-pack abs and massively bulging pecs.

God, he was more chiseled, more defined than a few days ago. She’d run her hands along his chest and down to his abdomen as she straddled him in the Aston. Touching him was like sunshine on a winter day, you never got enough of it and never wanted it to stop. The feel of his sculpted physique was such a turn-on. And, wow, if Caden had been in fighting shape before, his opponents didn’t stand a chance now. She couldn’t imagine another man cut so beautifully in all the right places.

She swallowed hard, remembering what a masterful liar he was.

His eyes narrowed, piercing her. “What a difference a few days makes, huh? Where’s your entourage? Ditch them after some fun at the craps table?”

She frowned. Keeping tabs, was he? His tone was mild, yet still felt like daggers. And, for some bizarre reason, she wanted to rattle his smug, self-serving attitude. “The Boys have been extremely supportive, helping me with my documentary. Except for Jaysin, I underestimated them. They’re...sweethearts.”

“Sweethearts? Every MMA fan in America is going have your head if you use that freakin’ word to describe the Boys. Is that the kind of guy you want, a sweetheart? A sweetheart who’s got you spread eagled on the hood of a car with his tongue in your honeypot.”

She flushed at the memory but forced it away. Bastard. How dare he argue the merits of a word with a goddamned journalist. Way too confident in his abilities, too. Too self-assured. Too smug. And way too capable of pissing her off.

If he could toss down lies like shots of tequila, without wincing or fearing the inevitable hangover, well so could she.

“You’re assuming one of my sweethearts isn’t lying spread eagled, as you so eloquently put it, on my mattress right now.”

He moved and punched a button with his fist. Number 25—her floor. The entire elevator rattled under the impact.

She jumped. “Are you crazy?”

“I’d say so.” He stood glaring at her, like he’d been the one left stranded in the desert with an inoperable luxury rental car and a wad of large, unbreakable bills. The cab driver had been overjoyed to be handed a week’s worth of fees. A two-week stint at the MGM Grand was pricey so she’d been thankful the officer had let him toss her the wad of money, even if it was dirty drug money. She intended to make a donation to the Nevada State Police after all was said and done. Sooner than planned, if her luck at the craps table continued.

“Fuck, you’re bluffing,” he muttered, his fingers unwinding from his tightened fists. Her breath caught, knowing her lie had struck a nerve. Knowing he cared.

And knowing, too, that she shouldn’t give a damn.

“Ready to listen yet? Or are you going to keep avoiding me?” He folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head, his clear, green gaze holding her captive. “I deserve a chance to explain, considering our history.”