Vicki Thompson: Werewolf in Las Vegas

“You think that’s her motivation? To find the man of her dreams?” Luke hadn’t thought of that. Cynthia probably wouldn’t want to hook up with a nerdy scientist or lawyer. She’d want a charismatic gambler like her dad had been. Unfortunately, Bryce Landry fit that profile.

“I have no idea if she’s hoping to re-create what your parents had. As smart as she is, that’s probably only a small part of her thinking. But you would know for sure if you asked her.”

“Which brings us back to the so what part of this discussion. No matter what her motivation is, being a showgirl is still a lousy idea. She could attract a psycho stalker just as easily as Prince Charming. Easier, actually.”

“But she wants to work in your casino, which means she’s putting herself under the protection of you and your staff. That’s extremely smart, don’t you think?”

“I’ve thought of that, and I swear it makes me break out in a cold sweat. What if she’s counting on the Silver Crescent being a safe environment and then one night it’s not?”

“You say that because you’re paranoid.”

“Damn right I’m paranoid. Vegas has its share of strange people. If you had a sister, would you want her putting herself on display for any weirdo who happened to be in the audience?”

She gave him a smug little smile. “I’d want her to do whatever made her happy.”

“Oh, bull. You’re here to drag your brother back home, whether he likes it or not. Why is that? Maybe he’s perfectly happy where he is. I wouldn’t doubt it, now that he’s met my sister. In fact, I’d bet he is happy, or he’d be coming home of his own accord.”

She lowered her lashes and her cheeks grew rosy.

Damn, she was sexy. He really would have to watch himself around this woman. He’d already caught himself admiring the cut of her emerald-green T-shirt, which gave him a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. Her designer jeans fit her well, too, and he was pretty sure she was wearing leather boots. She’d come in carrying a fringed leather jacket, which she’d laid across her lap when she’d taken a seat.

She had the kind of style he admired, and that was dangerous. More than that, she challenged him to question his assumptions. Irritating as that could be at times, he kind of liked it, too. Cynthia used to debate issues with him when she’d come home on vacation, and he’d enjoyed the mental exercise.

But now wasn’t the time to become interested in a woman, especially not this one. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Too much was at stake, and besides, she had insights he needed. He didn’t want to miss those insights because he was caught up in her as a person.

She met his gaze with a reluctant sigh. “You have a point. My brother’s not living up to the role I envisioned for him, either. But I promise you that if I have a chance to ask him why he’s acting this way, I will ask. I don’t know how we can judge someone’s behavior without finding out their reasons.”

“Bravo, Dr. Phil.”

“Bite me, Dalton.”

He laughed. “Don’t tempt me.” But she already had, and she wasn’t even trying. If she put effort into the task, he would be in big trouble.

His cell phone pinged again, and he picked it up to read the text. “Apparently, they didn’t rent anything. Owen’s reminding me that Cynthia has friends in town who might loan her a car.”

“Who’s Owen?”

“Owen Banks, master of intrigue, head of security. He lives for this kind of stuff, and I hardly ever give him enough of it.” Another ping. “Well, there you go. He’s done a rundown of Cynthia’s friends, and all of them are still in possession of their cars.”

“He knows all her friends? Are you telling me she’s been under this kind of surveillance all her life?”

He glanced up, surprised at her horrified tone of voice. “Yeah, probably. My dad was very protective. Why?”

“Because . . . if I were Cynthia—and thank God I’m not—I would deliberately disappear, too! The poor girl’s not allowed to breathe without being monitored by her father’s henchmen, who are now your henchmen.”

He bristled. “I think henchmen is a little harsh, don’t you? These are security people. My family has a lot of money. That draws criminal attention, especially in Vegas. We’ve always been at risk for things like kidnapping and ransom. Understandably, we want to avoid that.”

“I hope you’re not lumping my brother into that criminal element category.” Her green eyes snapped with indignation. “She went with him of her own free will. And he would never—”

“Easy, Giselle. Easy.” The fire in her eyes was compelling. “I never meant to imply that your brother was a criminal. I had my people do a preliminary background check on him a couple of weeks ago, and I’m not worried that he’s after Dalton money.”

“I see.” She narrowed her eyes, obviously not happy that he’d had her brother investigated.

“You don’t have to look like that. I didn’t pry into your family secrets. In fact, I didn’t pry into your family at all. I just made sure he didn’t have a police record or mountains of debt. It’s the sort of thing my father would have checked. You can’t blame me for that.”

“I suppose not.”

“So he’s not a fortune hunter, but he’s still a bad influence on her.”

Her indignation returned. “You don’t know that! I refuse to let you make my brother out as the villain in this scenario. He just happened to be around when she felt like giving you grief.”

“So, he could have talked her out of doing it!” Luke felt his control slipping.

“Why? I wouldn’t have! She’s twenty-two, and you’re trying to engineer her future.”

“I am not.” He felt a headache coming on. “I’m trying to keep her from making some really bad choices.”

“What’s the difference?”

“There’s a huge difference! She has hundreds of choices left, all kinds of options open to her, and money to finance them.”

“Except the one choice she wants.”

“It’s a horrible choice!” A light on his phone blinked. “Hang on a minute. She’s sent me a text.”

“Cynthia?”

“No, Madonna.” He heard the sarcasm in his voice and sighed. “Sorry. Yes, Cynthia. When she’s happy with me, she calls, but when she’s mad at me, she texts.”

“Probably because she knows you don’t like it.”

“Could be.” He read the message through twice and swore under his breath.

“What does she say?”

“God knows. Makes no sense to me. Here, I’ll read it to you: She who pulls the sword from the stone claims a power all her own. Then she has a four-digit number.” He glanced up at Giselle. “What the hell is that all about?”

“She’s sending you a riddle.”

“A riddle ?”

“Sounds like it to me. She’s inviting you to solve it.”

“Why?” He was completely at sea.

Giselle took a deep breath. “Well, I’d only be guessing.”

“Please, guess away. Cynthia’s never sent me a riddle in her entire life.”

“First of all, I think it’s encouraging that she’s communicating with you.”

“You call this communicating? I call it trying to screw with me.”

Giselle smiled. “Maybe that, too. But at least she reached out, and . . . I know something about this riddle business.”

“That makes one of us.” He had a sudden suspicion. “Why do you know?”

For the first time since she’d come into his office, she looked uncomfortable. “Bryce and I used to play riddle games all the time when we were kids.”

“Aha!” He pointed a finger at her. “And you were so sure he wasn’t influencing her. Now suddenly she’s sending me riddles, which she’s never done before. Where do you suppose she got that clever idea, hmm?”