Private Vegas (Private 9)

Gozan stood in front of the dancing fountain, watching it shoot up jets of water in time to one of Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits. He couldn’t keep himself from singing along: “‘The summer wind came blowing in from across the sea.’”

Someone put a hand on Gozan’s shoulder, and he jerked around. Khezir was calling his name, breaking into his thoughts.

“Don’t leave me by myself with them,” Khezzy said, reminding Gozan that they were not alone.

The three men from Ra Galiz, standing with their hands behind their backs, were not amused by the many delights of the Grove. To them, the mall was obscene, but it was also a noisy backdrop for a meeting, a place where they would not be noticed.

They were here to issue directives and warnings to Khezir and they had given Gozan an actual headache, right at the top of his head. They didn’t understand Khezzy. Talking to him as if he were slow only angered his nephew and would make him defiant.

Gozan turned his back on the incredible fountain and joined the men strolling along the street. He was thinking that there could not be a more bizarre collection of people than the five of them walking together in sports jackets among the waves of visitors in shorts and flip-flops and floaty summer dresses.

He assumed a studious expression. He walked, listened, interjected a patriotic comment every now and then, but he was also watching the women who were everywhere, shopping and smiling and showing themselves off.

He caught the eye of a lovely, plump woman who was dallying in the doorway of Nordstrom, and she returned his look, boldly. She was with a friend. Blondes, both of them. Out here, they were almost always blond.

Gozan had spent a long week with Khezzy at Shutters, keeping a low profile, as they’d had to do. But now he was hungry for the touch of a woman. He’d heard an American expression that he found hilarious: chubby chaser. He wanted to say it to Khezzy right now, because it made both of them laugh.

Gozan interrupted the top man of the Ra Galiz unit, said, quietly, “I think this is a good time for us to part company, Balar. Good to see you again.” He shook the man’s hand. “We’ll be in touch. Khezzy. Come have lunch with me.”

Khezir gladly fell into step with his uncle, who said, “There is a time to discuss politics and a time to be chubby chasers.”

Khezzy started laughing and he kept at it until tears came into his eyes. Gozan turned back before the crowd swallowed them up, called to the men in black, “See you. Have a nice day.”

Then he forgot them. He and Khezir backtracked toward Nordstrom. Gozan hoped he could find that fleshy woman now. The way she had looked at him was promising.

Chapter 81

VAL KENNEY WAS enjoying the first massage of her life in the spa at the Black Diamond Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas. Not only was this her first massage, her first spa, her first hotel of this magnitude and splendor, but she had never been to Las Vegas before. And what she’d seen of this town in the past four hours had been dazzling.

Too bad there was no one to tell.

Katrina’s strong hands rubbed oil into Val’s shoulders, and she moaned. This was sooo good, and she was so grateful to Jack for letting her run with her idea.

As of four hours ago, she was no longer Val Kenney of Private Investigations, former scholarship student at Boston and Miami Universities and part-time worker at the Miami PD, typing up files, approving expenses, and keeping the schedule logs.

Mo-bot had given her a different background, one that she was memorizing even now.

Her new name was Valerie Fernandez. Her father was a Cuban-born doctor and her mother was black, a Miami native who taught eighth grade until she died, a year ago.

Valerie Fernandez lived in Los Angeles now, a professional events planner who had created stupendous bachelorette parties for several celebrities and gala affairs for corporate clients.

As her story would go, she was twenty-five, never married, in perfect health. All true.

She would say that both her parents were dead, and that was also true.

In fact, in her real life, before her mother died, she had encouraged Val to interview with Private for a job she had wanted since Jack Morgan gave a guest lecture at her school. Val was pretty sure that if her mom could see her now—an undercover investigator, u

nder the cover of a perfumed sheet, getting a three-hundred-dollar massage—she’d be laughing hard.

Katrina wrapped the sheet entirely around Val, tucking her in so that she was a cocoon of happiness. She rubbed Val’s scalp and gently pulled her hair out to the ends. She said, “Miss Fernandez, please just lie still and rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take you to your mud treatment, okay?”

Val said okay.

She listened to the soft music and went over her new life story in her mind. And she also thought about the $3,480 in wonderful clothes she’d charged to her expense account. Later, she would put on the sexy black jumpsuit and the crystal beads and go to the casino. She’d watch the poker players, maybe feed the slots, but all for research, and she would be in bed by midnight. And when she woke up in her amazing room tomorrow, she’d be rested and ready for her class in how to land a rich husband with Lester Olsen.

Oh, man, she could hardly wait.

Too bad there was no one she could tell.