Raising the Stakes

“What man?” Keir swung around. “The guy in the tux?” He grinned. “I guess he had a late night.”

“Not him. The other one. See? The one standing near the photo shop?” She took a deep breath. “He looks like the man who helped me yesterday.”

/> “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean, it is him. I didn’t think he was checking in here. I mean, I suppose it’s possible. I mean…”

Keir lifted an eyebrow. He’d never seen the unflappable Miss Carter flapped, or whatever you called it when a woman looked the way this one looked.

“What’s his name?”

“Why?” She flushed and looked at Keir. “I mean, what does it matter?”

“Well,” Keir said pleasantly, “I’m going to walk over and thank him for his good deed. I figured it might be a nice idea to greet him by name.”

“I don’t know his name.” Dawn saw the surprised look on Keir’s face. She picked up the papers Becky had left and unwittingly clutched them like a shield. “I didn’t ask. And anyway, you don’t have to thank him. I wouldn’t want to—to embarrass him or any—”

Her protests were useless. Keir was already walking toward the stranger. She watched helplessly as the men exchanged a few words, then a handshake. Keir gestured toward her and she forced a smile to her lips. She felt awkward and on display. Every survival instinct she’d cultivated during the past four years was shrieking the same message.

Run. Run!

But she couldn’t run. She wouldn’t. There was nothing to run from, except her own imagination. She held her ground with a polite smile.

The man said something. So did Keir. Then he put his hand lightly on the stranger’s shoulder and they began walking toward her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

GRAY stared across the lobby. There were lots of tall, slender redheads in the world. Vegas had to be loaded with them. But this wasn’t just any redhead. Even at this distance, he recognized her.

This was the woman he’d helped yesterday.

He could tell by the way she held herself, by the tilt of her head as she looked up at the man who was talking with her. Her conversation seemed animated. She was smiling and Gray remembered how difficult it had been to coax those first smiles from her and how foolishly pleased he’d felt when he finally had.

Why should he be so surprised to see her? She’d gone into the hotel through the employees’ entrance; he’d figured that she worked here. It was just that he hadn’t expected to stumble across her so easily. The Desert Song was the size of a small town; after last night, he’d assumed he’d have to search for her the same way he was going to have to search for Dawn. Instead he’d stepped out of the elevator and there was the mystery woman, standing next to a desk and smiling, though not at him.

Definitely, not at him.

He knew the exact instant when she saw him because her smile disappeared and she stiffened. The guy with her said something. She didn’t respond. She kept her eyes locked on Gray instead. The guy spoke again. She answered, and now the man turned and gave Gray a long, assessing look. Then he said something to Red. She shook her head and took a step back.

Gray’s smile faded. What was going on? She acted as if he really might be the serial killer they had joked about. The hell with her. And the hell with being Mr. Nice Guy. Dammit, he was going to tell her that. If she was that distrustful, she shouldn’t have gotten into his car in the first place.

He started toward her, his step purposeful, just as the man with her started toward him. Gray felt a quick pump of adrenaline. Had she sent a watchdog to chase him off? But the guy began to smile; the closer he got, the more he smiled, and he had his hand out even before they were close enough for Gray to decide whether he wanted to accept the handshake.

“Hello.”

“Yeah,” Gray said, his eyes still on the woman. He had the feeling she was ready to cut and run.

“I’m Keir O’Connell.”

“Yeah,” Gray said again…and then the name registered. He tore his gaze from Red and focused it on O’Connell. He was a big man, about Gray’s own height, with a pleasant smile and watchful eyes, the kind you saw on some prosecutors and lots of defense attorneys—and on their more intelligent clients.

“I manage the Desert Song.”

Gray took the hand O’Connell offered. The woman could wait. He was in Las Vegas to find Dawn Carter and this man was her boss or maybe her lover. He was Gray’s best lead so far.

“Nice to meet you.” The Desert Song’s manager had a firm grip. No way did he spend all his time pushing papers. “My name’s Baron. Graham Baron.”

O’Connell’s smile broadened. “The pleasure’s all mine, Mr. Baron. I’ve been hoping to meet you.”