Wild Card (Vegas Underground 8)

Try to ignore the way the room spins when the pink plus sign appears.

Okay.

I’m pregnant. With Paolo’s baby.

And he’s not interested in having kids. There are suddenly too many disturbing possibilities crowding me. Would he ask me to get an abortion? Or would he support me keeping it?

I have a feeling if he did support me keeping it, we’d be locked in together. There’d be no getting out of our arrangement. He would own me for the rest of my life or at least until the kid was eighteen. Keeping this baby means keeping Paolo.

Forever.

A hitman for the mob.

I stuff my knuckles in my mouth as the tears hit hard. I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell Paolo. Not until I’ve had time to think through things.

Somehow, I get myself showered and ready for the day and out the front door.

And that’s when my craptastic day gets even worse.

The two FBI agents who arrested me before are standing at my door.

“Ms. West? We need you to come in and answer some questions.”

I don’t feel a shred of remorse for puking on his shoes.

Chapter 12

Caitlin

“I’m not saying a word without my lawyer present.”

Yeah, I’ve watched a lot of crime television. Plus, I now have the experience of having had an actual, powerful lawyer in my court. And I want her here, right away.

“You aren’t being charged with anything. We just have some questions for you, that’s all,” a female agent dressed in a silk button-down and starched slacks says from where she stands in the corner observing. Agent Docker, I think she said her name was. Her partner, a pompous weasel with bad teeth, sits across from me at the table. I missed his name.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Lawyer. Present.”

Bad Teeth responds by sliding a blown-up photo in front of me. My mouth suddenly goes dry.

The photo is of my dad.

And Paolo.

And a few other guys I don’t recognize—maybe his other brothers or soldiers.

They are standing in front of a coffee shop with awnings in the colors of the Italian flag and the sign Caffe Milano in script across the top.

I want to heave again.

“I need something to eat. Crackers or something. Unless you want me to puke on your photo.”

Since Bad Teeth is the same guy who got puke on his shoes earlier, he sort of leaps back from the table and curses. “I’ll find you something.” He nods at Agent Docker and she nods back and takes the seat across from me.

“What we want to know is why you’re screwing the guy who killed your father.”

The words hit me like a cannonball, somewhere between my heart and my gut. My solar plexus, I guess.

I can’t even breathe for a moment. All I can do is wheeze with the pain of it.

“H-how do you know he killed my father?”

“Everybody knew. It’s common knowledge on the street, with the local police, and the FBI. The locals searched for the body so they could pin it on him, but he hid it too well. Probably buried in concrete like a lot of their vics.

I’m still wheezing. Barely able to get air in. “How do you know it was Paolo, specifically?”

The look she gives me is one part scorn, one part pity. “Seriously? They are all one family. You feel comfortable sleeping with the guy whose brother killed your dad? Or father? Or the guy who gave the order?” She shakes her head.

I stand up and heave.

“Oh shit,” Agent Docker says and lurches for the garbage can, which she shoves in front of me.

I heave again, but nothing comes out.

I sink slowly back to my chair.

I’m suddenly cold. So freaking cold.

Ice cold.

“Listen, I get it. He’s a good-looking and powerful man. I’m sure he’s very suave. He’s also good at making threats. He knows how to get people where it hurts so they do exactly what he wants them to. Is that what happened with you?”

It’s hard to even think through the nausea. Plus, I’m starting to leave my body, which is a godsend at this point.

“Did Paolo pay you to hack into the Luxor?” she asks, but it’s from far away. “Or did he blackmail you into it?”

I’ve retreated. Blessedly.

As if from underwater, I watch the other agent return with a granola bar, which he tosses on the table. I watch myself open it and eat it, tasting nothing.

It’s dry and chews up the inside of my mouth, but I barely register that, either.

“We think you might be in trouble, Ms. West, and we want to help you.”

“I’m sure you do,” I hear myself say.

“He made you believe you were safe from the law. He sent in his expensive lawyer and made a deal that got you out, but let me tell you something, Ms. West. There’s only one reason we let you walk, and that was to find out who you were working with. We figured it had to be someone big, but when we found out it was the guy who killed your father and left you and your brother in foster care, we figured you might be in trouble.”