In her car, she set up her phone on the dash so she could follow Fox’s trail. She cleared her concern for her grandparents from her mind. She tried not to think about how upset her family would be if they discovered her half-baked plan. They’d say her own future was more important than her grandpa being comfortable at the end of his life. But watching Gran and Gramps suffer was too much for her or her parents to bear.
She barely kept from tearing up. If she was going to get Fox’s help, she had to be smooth, not emotional.
Focus. Think about the quarry.
A visual of the sexy thief rose in her mind, distracting her from thoughts of how short a time people were given on this earth.
He was going to be so pissed when he realized she’d planted a tracking device on his car. What would he do when he found out? The possibilities were delicious and made her want to tell him as soon as possible. Her imagination started to build fantasies about his possible reactions, fed by the memory of his body pressed up against hers, the way he took control when he kissed her, commanding her with his mouth.
Ugh. She could come from another kiss like that. Sexy, evil man.
Time to push that out of her mind and focus. She had a fox to catch.
***
Rave music poured into the hot night every time the door to the club opened and a patron walked out. There were more leaving than being allowed in. She grunted in frustration.
He was in there. Fox. He’d walked in with two other men. She’d watched them enter from the street after she’d tracked his car to the garage around the corner.
The line to get into the rooftop club stretched down the sidewalk. Earlier, when she’d realized they were heading into the ritzy place, she’d had to improvise a new outfit. The night clubs on the strip were notorious for being picky about the look of their patrons. Her friend and roommate, Mariella, had left a bag in the back of the car after they’d gone shopping last weekend. Luckily, Addison hadn’t returned it to her yet. She’d pulled on the black miniskirt and traded her sneakers for the gold pumps, hoping her friend wouldn’t mind sharing. Using the scissors from the first aid kit her father insisted she had in the car, she’d cut away her black fitted T-shirt to show cleavage and her belly button. The lip gloss and eyeliner at the bottom of her purse proved to be godsends. Though the skirt was a little too short for comfort, and her pinky toes were numb, she looked good enough to get into the club.
If only she could get past this line. If the rest of the girls weren’t also wearing miniskirts and pumps, she might have stood a chance of skipping ahead with a little thrust and smile at the doorman. But Addison wasn’t tall and model-hot by Vegas nightclub standards.
Three people walked out the door and the bouncer finally let one in. Ugh. By the time she got into the club, Fox would be gone. Time for a new plan.
She felt around in her bag until her keys jingled in her palm. On her key ring, there was a rectangular box that scanned for car alarm frequencies. She’d made it a couple of weeks ago and had been waiting for a reason to try it. If she pressed the right combination of buttons, it should make every car alarm within a half mile radius go off at the same time. It might cause enough of a distraction for her to slip past the line and the doorman.
Keeping her hand in the bag, she keyed in the combo and a few seconds later, dozens of car alarms pierced through the night. Vegas was a loud place by nature—with beeping slot machines, drunk partiers shouting in the streets, and music blaring from every club and restaurant on the strip. But the alarms cut through the background noise, and soon a good number of people in line were talking about checking on their cars.
Addison covertly watched the doorman, grinning to herself that her invention worked. With the line restless, he stepped out of the doorway to peer down the street and try to calm concerned patrons. She rushed out onto the sidewalk and toward the door, pretending to be confused and searching her bag for her keys. At the club entrance, she waited until the bouncer wasn’t looking then slipped into the darkness.
The heavy beat of the music vibrated from the floor through her body. The green neon lighting hurt her eyes. The lower level was mainly the dance floor with a bar on one side. Bodies gyrated and collided under the pulsing lights. Pushing past the crowd, she headed to the elevator. Somehow she knew Fox would be on the rooftop, not on the dance floor.
Even the elevator blasted club music under the neon lights. She looked down then slammed her knees shut. The elevator floor was a mirror.
“Jesus Christ,” she murmured.
Addison had never been a partier. In high school, when kids her age had snuck into places like this, she’d stayed home to tinker with her gadgets. Once she’d realized the market for fake IDs was huge, she’d started making them, collecting hefty profits that helped her afford the equipment she liked to take apart and rebuild.
Luckily, the couple in the elevator with her were too busy making out to care about what underwear she had on. She yanked on her skirt, willing it to miraculously lengthen two inches. The elevator dinged, then the doors opened, and she rushed out onto the roof.
The building was at least ten stories high, overlooking the south end of the strip. The lighting was more natural here—big round bulbs casting dim yellow over the space. A decorative overhang covered half the club, with round tables underneath. Farther toward the edge of the roof, cushioned upscale patio furniture formed cozier nooks for people to sit and chat. Waiters dressed all in black carried trays of drinks to the patrons. In the middle of the space, a lit-up fou
ntain gave a serene feeling so different from the lower club level. Her eyes were glad for the break from the assaultive blinking lights.
A cool breeze swept through and she grabbed her skirt before it decided it was a belt. Feeling more than a little out of place, she scanned the crowd for Fox.
She spotted his hair first—its lightness stood out against the dark sky. By the edge of the crowd, he stood in a circle with three other men, his back facing her. Trying her best to walk with poise, despite the torture devices Mariella called shoes, she made her way toward the edge of the building, skirting Fox’s group. She wanted him to give her a shot on his team, she didn’t want to ruin his business transactions. Or whatever he was doing. In a trendy place like this she’d bet a lot of underhanded deals went down.
A half wall separated the club from the edge of the building and she rested her palms on the coolness, peering out at the city below. Everything looked so small and insignificant from up above. The people bustling around below, cars honking their horns in a pointless bid to get through traffic faster, flashing lights of all colors . . . A busy world full of self-important people. And what did it all mean? Their lives—her life—was a blink of an eye in the spectrum of time. That was exactly why she felt like she had to live it to its fullest. Whether she spent twenty-five years or a hundred and five years on earth—what did it matter if she didn’t enjoy it?
“If you wanted to go on a date,” a familiar voice said from behind her, “you could’ve just asked.”
Startled, she spun to face the voice. Fox was there. Close. Too close. And he’d caught her off guard, making her lose some of her previous composure. Feeling flushed, she stood up straighter and forced her mask of confidence into place.
He prowled the few steps between them, looking especially sexy in his gray button-down shirt and dark slacks. For all his scruff, his long Mohawk, and the tattoos exposed by his rolled up sleeves, the man still cleaned up well.
“You know what I want,” she said, her voice shakier than she’d have liked. “But if it takes a date to get it, then sign me up.”