Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

“See that guy there?” Dom pointed to the one with the largest stack of chips in front of him. He wore a black silk T-shirt and dark shades, had pale skin, and was otherwise unassuming. “You recognize him?”

“Should I?”

“You should if you watch a lot of poker on TV.”

Kind of like watching bowling on TV, wasn’t it? “Can’t say that I do.”

“Fair enough. He’s one of us.”

Him? A vampire? I wasn’t close enough, or the air wasn’t right for me to smell him. The dealer laid out a card, and the crowd let out a sigh. The guy Dom had pointed out, the TV poker star, raked in the pile of chips from the middle without smiling.

“He does pretty well,” Dom said. “And that’s part of why Burger’s legislation will never pass, because there’s no profit in keeping people out of the casinos. He thinks he’s doing the casinos a favor, but we all know better.”

I looked at him. “The casinos lobbied against the bill, is that what happened?”

“The casinos? No, never. Not directly. But we have a lot of friends in this state.”

I had faulted Dom for not knowing enough about the supernatural goings-on in his town. But maybe he was something I hadn’t met before: a vampire more interested in mundane, mortal politics and economic concerns than in vampire internecine bickering. It was almost refreshing.

Still no call from Ben. I really had to get out of here.

“Dom, thanks for everything. But I need to go track down a couple of more leads on Ben.”

“Right,” he said, nodding with sympathy. “I’ll ask around, see if I can find anything out for you.”

“I’d really appreciate that.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” he said, with an expansive smile. “Just you wait. He’s probably out winning you a million bucks as a surprise.”

Dom lived in a very pretty world, didn’t he?

The vampire walked me to the lobby and called a cab for me, bypassing the huge line at the cab stand, which was nice. Power had its privileges, didn’t it? One less thing to think about. I was ready to be off the street and away from all the people.

Dom went back inside the lobby, and my cab was pulling away from the curb when I spotted Sylvia, the bounty hunter, standing at the corner behind me. Tonight she wore leather pants, high heels, and a black silk vest. One hand was on her hip, and she was smiling as she watched me drive away.

Chapter 15

On the cab ride to the Hanging Gardens, I checked my phone for messages. Still nothing from Gladden, or Evan and Brenda. Or Ben. Out of curiosity, I called up to the room and got no answer. I was not going to freak out. Yet.

In the hotel lobby, Balthasar’s face, smiling on his show’s poster, greeted me.

The troupe was probably done with its last performance for the evening. I needed to know if Balthasar knew anything about what had happened to Ben. If he’d had a hand in it himself, as Dom had suggested, I’d smell it on him. I checked the theater area, and it was dark and quiet after the performance. They were probably back at their lair, then. Eighth floor. I found the elevator and wondered if I should be doing this after those martinis.

No, don’t think like that. I was in control. I was an alpha wolf. I squared my shoulders, concentrated on being sober, on asking the hard questions and not falling prey to that charming smile. I was here to get answers. When the elevator stopped, I marched through the doors, determined to channel Lois Lane. Without the always-needing-to-get-rescued part.

Follow your nose, he’d told me. The hallway here branched off, and the doors seemed much farther apart than on other floors. These must have been suites. I stood at the intersection and took a deep breath. From the left came the musky, wild scent of lycanthropes. The trail blazed clear. I wondered if Balthasar walked home in the evening, his tigers and leopards trailing him through the hotel corridors. What a sight that must be. Especially if someone in one of the other suites opened their door at the wrong time.

The next turn brought me to a short hallway that ended in a set of double doors. This was the pack’s place, the heart of its territory. I approached the door like it might jump and bi

te me. At the same time, in all of Las Vegas, this smelled more like my kind than anyplace else.

I knocked on the door and waited. Waited some more. Knocked again, then figured everyone was probably asleep. Or out partying, which seemed to be the thing to do at midnight on the Strip. I had turned to leave when the deadbolt clicked back. The door opened. Eyes peeked through, and when they saw me, the door opened wider.

Slightly taller than me, a very young man—eighteen or nineteen—stood in the doorway, shirtless, barefoot, wearing a pair of faded, tight jeans. He worked out and was well tanned, his chest broad but still boyish, smooth, with well-defined muscles. His sun-blond hair was several inches long and swept back from his face, which had dark eyes and a curious expression. He kept his hand on the doorknob and looked me up and down, like he wasn’t sure what to do next. He seemed a little sleepy, like he’d just woken up from a nap.

I wasn’t just staring at a model. I was staring at an underwear supermodel, and I wasn’t sure my knees could handle it.

When I managed to take a breath, I recognized his scent. Avi the were-leopard, from the show. “Hi,” I said.