Private Vegas (Private 9)

“Who’s the publisher?”

Val sputtered nonsense, then tried to get out of the chair as Olsen swung his hand and slammed the side of the gun into her jaw. Val fell back into the seat, put her hands to her face, and stifled a cry of pain.

“Who’s on the other end of the mic?”

“FBI. My people have been listening. They’ll be in here any second now. I suggest you back away from me and figure out how you’re going to explain what you’ve just done.”

“Shut up, Val, and don’t bother lying to me. You’re an amateur and I can spot your lies before they hatch.”

He lifted her purse from where it hung at the back of her chair and emptied it onto the desk with one hand. He turned off the recorder and the phone, put both in his pocket.

“Stand up,” he said.

Val gripped the arms of the chair. She said, “Nothing has happened, Lester. I was taping into my purse. Let me go and I’ll say I walked into a wall and I’ll forget I ever met you.”

“Stand up. Put your hands behind your back,” he said. “Or I’ll kill you right here and right now.”

Chapter 101

WHEN VAL STOOD up, she had to fight to keep her balance. She was feeling sick and in pain, but she was also experiencing a lot of clarity.

She understood that Olsen was protecting something more than a high-end matchmaking scheme and he was not kidding around. This was real. He could kill her and get away with it. And she understood that this was her best, last moment to regain his trust and save her life.

“I don’t even understand why you’re so mad,” she said. “Look, you’re right. I don’t work for the FBI. I don’t work for anyone.”

Olsen spun her around and shoved her hard against the wall. She felt the gun muzzle at the back of her neck.

“Your hands, Val. Put your hands behind you.”

He forced her right hand behind her, and she felt a zip tie go around her wrist.

“I could teach you about lying,” Olsen said. “See, an innocent person doesn’t go on the defensive. An innocent person goes on the attack. And here you are, pleading and defending.”

“Will you let me explain?”

“Give me your other hand, Val. Or whatever your name is. I don’t want to shoot you. Tha

t’s the truth, by the way.”

Val complied. She was shaking now, rummaging through her mind for anything she’d heard or read or seen, even in a movie, that might turn Lester around.

Lester cinched her wrists together, pulled the tie tight.

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“That depends. What are you, Val? A cop?”

“I’m a freelance writer. I saw your ad online—”

“Here’s what we’re going to do, bitch. We’re going to walk quietly out of this room and you do what I tell you to do. Okay? Say okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to put my arm around your shoulders, and if you try to get anyone’s attention, I’m going to shoot you on the spot. And then I’m going to shoot the bystander. I will then walk away.”

“Whatever you say, I’ll do it. Just take it easy, okay?”

“Let’s go.”