Tex (Burnout) (49 page)

“Ignore it,” Mark ordered, reaching for the hem of her dress and pulling it up over her hips to reveal her panties.

It rang again and Abby groaned. “It might be important,” she protested.

“Nothing could be that important,” he decided, nipping her bottom lip.

The phone rang a third time and Abby sprawled across his lap to reach the extension on the end table.

Mark slapped her ass. She yelped.

“Bad girl!” he admonished, but he was grinning.

Abby picked up the receiver with one hand, balanced herself on her elbow, and rubbed her stinging cheek with her free hand.

“Hello?”

She listened for a bit, then glanced back at Mark over her shoulder.

“What now?” she asked. “You what?”

She rolled slightly off Mark’s erection, making him groan, but only in disappointment.

“I’ll be right there,” Abby promised to the person on the phone and hung up. She slid off him and off the couch entirely and straightened her dress. “I have to run downstairs. I’ll be back in ten minutes,” she swore, fleeing for the door.

“You are so getting an ass whooping when you get back!” Mark called after her.

Riding the elevator down to the lobby, Abby smoothed her hair and attempted to fix the wrinkles in her dress. Glancing at herself in the hallway mirror, she thought she looked halfway presentable as she reached the Hotel’s Security office. Not bothering to knock, she twisted the handle and let herself in.

Chris was sitting in one chair, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. He looked more irritated than anything else. Sarah was sitting next to him, crying. When she saw Abby she gave a huge sigh of relief, but she didn’t stop sniffling.

“Paul,” Abby said, acknowledging the Hotel’s lead detective.

“Abby,” he said, doing a very fine job of hiding his grin. He jerked a thumb toward Chris and Sarah. “These two say they’re guests of yours.”

Abby nodded. “They are. What, exactly, did you say you picked them up for again?”

Chris merely shook his head.

“Prostitution!” Sarah wailed.

Abby struggled mightily not to laugh.

“I caught her soliciting him in the Hotel bar just off the casino,” Paul intoned.

Abby shook her head. “I’ll take them from here. Thanks, Paul.”

Paul nodded.

Chris and Sarah may have been mortified, but they were far from the first married couple to attempt to spice up their sex life with a little role play in a Las Vegas hotel. Chris stood up and stalked toward the door. Sarah flung herself at Abby and weeped. Abby herded her friend out of the Security office and back toward the elevators.

“I’m so embarrassed!” Sarah cried.

Chris jabbed the button and the three of them stepped into the empty car. As the doors slid shut Sarah cried out, “I am not a hooker!
Why does this keep happening to me?
”

****

The next morning, Abby packed her bags and they were carried down to the lobby by the bellhops. She didn’t miss Kyle Dugan standing near the entrance to the administration offices, making sure she was actually leaving town. She took one last look around the Canyon. She’d spent her entire life here, had always thought that she would live here. But times had changed. And, if she was being honest, there were memories here that she didn’t necessarily want to keep.

Las Vegas was a town like no other. A jewel in the desert that shone like a beacon, an oasis. The trouble was, it could easily turn out to be a mirage. And by the time you realized the truth, it was usually already too late.

Mark took her carry on from her shoulder and slung it over his own. “We ready?” he asked her.

Abby looked at him and nodded. “Yep. Let’s go home.”

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

The next weekend, Mark had cancelled their Friday night session to work late at the garage. He’d told her he was swamped today, too, and that they were working to catch up from the weekend they’d lost in Vegas.

Abby changed into a pair of old jeans, boots, and a faded blue shirt and revved up the engine of the Camaro. She swung into the lot of Burnout and parked. After she killed the engine, which she noticed with no small amount of satisfaction no longer wheezed, she got out of the car and headed toward the open bay doors.

Shooter greeted her first, being closest to the doors.

“Hey, Vegas,” he called.

“Shooter,” she acknowledged. “I hear you’re holding my man hostage for the weekend.”

He nodded. “Got a bit behind.” He grinned. “Was worth it, though.”

“Hell yeah it was!” Easy shouted from underneath a truck.

Shooter laughed. “Tex can take a break, but I can’t spare him for too long,” he told Abby.

Abby shook her head. “Actually, I came to work.”

“Really?” Hawk asked, sidling up to the two of them.

“Not entirely selfless, though,” she admitted. “I want my man back tonight. And not so tired he can’t work his other job.”

Hawk glanced at Mark and laughed.

Abby jerked her chin toward the Camaro. “Brought my resume.”

Shooter looked at the Camaro, which, granted, still needed a new paint job, but he couldn’t have missed the purr of the engine as she’d pulled in or the lack of grinding brakes when she’d parked.

“Could use the help,” the former lieutenant admitted.

“Just tell me where you want me.”

“That’s my job,” Mark said, approaching the group. “What’s up, baby?” he asked, pulling Abby in for a kiss.

“I came to help out,” she told him.

“Hmm,” Shooter said, pretending to reconsider. “So long as Tex can keep his mind on his own work and not staring at your ass all day.”

“Does that go for us, too?” Easy asked from a few feet away. “Cause it’s a fine ass. And I’m tired of working in a sausage fest.”

Shooter ushered her into the garage. “When she’s here, she’s one of us,” he declared.

Easy grumbled, but went back to the truck.

“Thanks, Abby,” Chris said. “For everything.”

Abby smiled at him. “That’s what friends are for. Plus, and I said up front that I wasn’t being completely selfless, do you think you guys could spare about an hour on Monday and come to the hotel?”

Shooter looked at Mark, who shrugged, not knowing what was up. “All of us?” he asked.

Abby nodded. “Yeah, I just need a favor. Nothing big.”

Shooter grinned. “We can swing by.”

“Great!”

Abby tied her hair up and got to work on a chopper that needed a new fuel line. Around noon, Slick brought lunch for the group, which Abby was supremely grateful for. She and Mark were the last ones in the breakroom and when Abby attempted to leave, he snagged her arm and pulled her back.

“He’s right,” Mark said, nipping her earlobe. “It’s totally distracting having you here.”

She giggled. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” she told him. “Because I’m enjoying myself. In fact, working on that chopper has inspired me to get another bike.”

Mark turned her around and pushed her up against the table. “Not happening,” he said.

His answer surprised her and she stared at him. “Why not?” she demanded.

He leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. “Because I don’t care if it’s on a bike, or in between the sheets, or right here on this table, if you think I’m giving up being between your legs, you’d better think again.”

Abby let out a surprised laugh and he tickled her with his nose behind her ear.

“Work!” Shooter called from the garage.

She laughed again. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”

She pushed Mark in the opposite direction and headed toward the parking lot where a man was pulling up with in a Ford Fairlane. He got out and she smiled at him. “Hi!” she said enthusiastically. “Help you?”

He eyed her warily. “Are you the receptionist?”

“Um, nope.”

“Well...I’d better talk to someone else.”

Shooter walked over at that moment. “Help you?” he said, repeating Abby’s words.

The guy nodded. “Yeah, I need an oil change, tire rotation, and a tune up. But I don’t have an appointment. And I need it back by the end of the day.”

Shooter glanced at the Fairlane. “Can do,” he replied.

The guy handed over the keys. Shooter turned to Abby. “Oil, tires, tune. Got it?” he asked, passing her the keys.

“Yes, Sir,” Abby replied with a mock salute.

The guy spluttered. “Hey now!”

Shooter turned and gave the man a look that could stop a freight train. “You don’t have an appointment. You’ve got a vintage car. You want a full day’s work done in three hours. Have I got all that straight?”

The man looked helplessly from Shooter to Abby and back again. “Yes,” he finally said weakly.

“Good,” Shooter replied. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He nodded to both the man and Abby and walked away. Abby gave the guy a reassuring smile even though she’d much rather kick him in the nuts and headed toward the car.

“Oh, please be careful,” the man pleaded.

Abby refrained from rolling her eyes at him. “Why’d you come to Burnout, Sir?”

His back stiffened. “Because it’s supposed to be the best in the city!”

Abby winked at him as though that was all there was to say on the matter.

***

On Monday morning, Abby tore through her closet, trying on outfit after outfit. She had no idea what was appropriate attire for stealing a hotel. In the end she chose a pair of black slacks and a matching black fitted blazer. She figured it would hide bloodstains. She lifted a cardboard box from her kitchen counter and lugged it to her Camaro, stuffing it onto the passenger seat. Her arms ached by the time she managed to heft it onto the check-in counter in the lobby of the Custer.

Susan, bewildered, looked from Abby to the box and back again. “What’s this?” she asked. Abby grinned at her.

“Susan,” Abby half-whispered. “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

An hour later the private car Abby had hired arrived out front and Mr. Hilliard, looking sharp in a gray pinstripe suit, emerged. He took in the facade of the historic hotel and Abby saw him nod to himself before he came through the double doors of the lobby. He positively beamed when he saw Abby.

She took his coat and led him into the conference room. Checking her watch, she bid Mr. Hilliard to wait a few moments as she marched down the hall to Kessler’s office where she could hear her boss and her boss’s boss chumming it up behind the closed door. Without bothering to knock, she opened the door and breezed in.

“Alice!” Burton said, his jovial tone was clearly fake and there was a menacing edge to his voice as he spoke. “So, what’s the big emergency?” the Custer’s soon-to-be former owner demanded.

“Conference room,” Abby snapped and without waiting for an answer, she turned and swept out of the room.

Kessler came out, hot on her heels. “Wait just a damn minute,” he demanded. “Why the hell would you call Burton and why-?”

Abby whirled on him, her glare so penetrating that Kessler actually backed up a step. “Conference room,” she seethed and threw open the oak door as though to punctuate her demand.

Kessler spied Hilliard and had no idea what he was in for but came into the room, Burton followed, looking vaguely amused at the whole thing.

Abby let Burton take a seat at the head of the table, with Kessler on his right.

“I’m on a tight schedule here, gentleman,” Abby declared. “So let’s get started.” She shut the door behind her and turned to face the two men who had been making her life miserable since she arrived in Rapid City.

“This hotel is in trouble,” she announced.