Private Vegas (Private 9)

BARBIE SUMMERS COOPER was wearing short black silk pajamas when she met Lester Olsen at the veranda doors to the main house. She gasped, clasped her hands together, threw open the doors, and then, with a little shout, she jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Oh my God. Our day has come.”

He kissed her on the lips, a seal-the-deal kind of kiss, and patted her behind.

“Has anyone told you lately how cute you look in black?”

“Why, nooo,” she said. “But I’ve heard that black is the new gold.”

“And in your case, a great huge pile of it.”

He lowered Barbie to the ground, said soberly, “Now, you’re sure you’re sure, cutie? Not having any last-minute change of heart?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Lester. How about you? Any regrets? Will you please come inside, dear? Please.”

Lester entered the house and found himself in a great room of magnificent proportions: high cathedral ceiling held up by impressive beams, anchored with a stone fireplace you could roast a steer in.

Barbie said, “What are we going to do, Lester? I mean, what do I do? What do you do?”

“Where’s Bryce now?”

“I put the Ambien into his choc’lit. Triple his normal dose. Then I took him upstairs. He should be asleep.”

Lester said, “See this?” He took a little kit out of his jacket pocket, unzipped it, showed her the hypodermic needle. “It’s loaded with potassium chloride. This will stop his heart mid-beat. Guaranteed.”

“Is that one of your money-back guarantees?” She grinned. “Because I have put in my time, mister. I’m ready to be cut loose. I guarantee you that.”

“Shall we say good night to your husband?”

The staircase gripped the high fieldstone wall and climbed to the second-floor mezzanine, which was a half-floor deep by the width of the great room. Olsen followed Barbie across the floor, feeling that he was crossing a bridge into his new life.

At the end of the corridor was a massive handmade wooden door, which Barbie pushed open with the palm of her hand.

Bryce Cooper was in the middle of an enormous bed near the windows, ensconced in soft bedding and a dozen European-size pillows. Across from him, an old cowboy movie played on a sixty-two-inch screen.

“Barbie,” Lester said softly. “Sit down on the bed and just make sure he’s good and asleep.”

“Oh, once he closes his eyes, Lester, he is gone,” she said.

“Perfect,” Lester said. He held the needle up to the light of the television as Barbie gently called out, “Sweetie, I’m turning off the movie now.”

A flashlight beam appeared without warning, the light coming from a dark corner between a cabinet and the wall. It shone in Olsen’s eyes, blinding him and almost stopping his heart.

“Who’s that?” Barbie yelped.

She switched on the lamp on the end table. A man was sitting in a rocking chair at the far side of the armoire. The man kept the flashlight on Olsen as he got to his feet.

“I’m Bryce’s self-appointed bodyguard,” said the tall blond-haired man. “Don’t anyone move. I’ve got a gun.”

Chapter 109

SCOTTY PINNED BARBIE and Olsen with his flashlight beam. He had no backup and absolutely no authority to be in this house. Barbie could shoot him and be well within her rights.

Still, Pretty Boy Olsen had a syringe full of murder and would certainly send Bryce Cooper into the tunnel of death if he had two minutes alone with him.

The bedside lamp cast a romantic glow, but it left corners of the room unlit. If Scotty was going to survive this ad hoc rescue, he needed more hands—one to hold the gun, two to cuff Olsen, and another to call the cops.

Scotty saw how the situation could go wild in a hurry.