Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8)

Nightwalker (Harrison Investigation #8) Page 35

“I’m still not sure why you’re so convinced that someone wants to kill you,” Dillon said, drawing a small notebook from his pocket. “When we first met, you said you were being followed. Green and Blythe both worked for you for some time, right?”

“Right, but…hell, that’s why I finally called Harrison Investigations. I kept feeling I was being watched, even when I knew there was no one around. It was eerie. Even with those guys around, you know? And I figured you guys don’t just prove there are ghosts around, you debunk them, too, right?”

“Right,” Dillon agreed. “So what about Green and Blythe? What did you have them doing? And what was Green up to the night he died?”

“When one was on, the other was off,” Landon agreed. “Where the hell Tanner Green was before he was murdered, I have no clue. It was his night off.”

“All right. But these men were there to protect you, and you still felt unnerved enough to ask for outside help because your car was followed a few times when you went out to dinner. What else? A man of your position and power…it had to take more than that to convince you that someone was trying to kill you.”

“Someone shot at me one night,” Landon told him uneasily.

“Someone shot at you? And you didn’t inform the police? Why?”

“What the hell were the cops going to do? I was in the parking lot of a restaurant. I heard shots. Blythe threw himself on top of me, and we heard a car speeding away.”

“What kind of car?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see the car, I only heard it.”

“If you’d called the cops, they might have found the bullets.”

“Look, my bodyguard is dead, and you haven’t found a damn thing. The cops are working on it, you’re working on it, and what the hell do I have? Zilch.”

Dillon wanted to tell him to go to hell then and there. There had to be something more going on, and Emil Landon just didn’t want to talk about it.

If it weren’t for Jessy, Dillon would have told Landon to stuff it then and there.

But Dillon wasn’t going to find himself barred from the casino on some trumped-up charge when he needed to be there to keep an eye on Jessy.

“I’m going to head back over to the Sun later today,” he said, rising. “I just wanted to make sure you knew you had trouble in your own casino first.”

“Trouble? This is a casino. We throw angry drunks out on a daily basis, and the cops are in here at least once a week because some asshole gets nasty. This was some prankster messing around where he didn’t belong,” Landon said, but he must have seen something in Dillon’s eyes, because he quickly added, “I value my employees. Trust me, I’ve made sure that the situation has been taken care of. I’m not a great humanitarian, but that pirate show makes money hand over fist—not just on ticket sales, but because it brings people into my casino. What do you think the parents are doing while their kids are being entertained? Losing money, that’s what. My security staff are good. Interview them at your leisure, and you’ll see that I’m telling the truth. It’s me I’m worried about. I’m getting cabin fever, afraid to leave my own penthouse. Get out there and find out who the hell killed Tanner Green—and who the hell is gunning for me.”

Dillon left, bidding Hugo Blythe a cheerful goodbye as the goon saw him to the outer door.

But as he rode down in the elevator, he reflected grimly that he didn’t believe Emil Landon, and he didn’t trust him.

But he didn’t want a showdown with the man.

Not now.

Soon, but not now.

The show went smoothly. The entire cast had been a little on edge, she had realized during the performance, which had somehow made her feel calm. The sail fell right on cue, with everyone in proper position, and then it was returned to its original position just as it was every day, seven days a week. When the show was over, Jessy did notice that the techs hurried backstage more quickly than usual, and Ron Pearl himself was there, keeping an eye on everything as the cast posed for pictures and gave autographs to the children. Ron was still there as the last of the audience departed, and when he shooed the cast back to the dressing rooms he seemed both relieved and happy.

Ringo didn’t follow her back to her dressing room; now that she was aware of his existence, she was certain that she would know if he was there. Although, she realized, now that the show had gone off without a hitch and she’d had some time to calm down, having a hundred-and-something-year-old ghost in her corner might not be a bad thing.

She found herself actually wanting to have a discussion with him.

As she had the night before, she gave Sandra a call on her cell, then was surprised when Reggie answered the phone.

“Hey,” she told Jessy, approval in her tone. “I hear you’re dating Mr. Hottie.”

“Reggie, please. Your mom has already tortured me enough on that score. And speaking of your mom, where is she?”

“I don’t know, and she forgot her phone here when she went out, so I couldn’t call and ask her. I’m sure she’ll be back soon. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to see what she’s up to.”

“Don’t know. I just came in from school. But I’ll tell her you called.”

“Okay, thanks.” She hung up, wondering what she should do. A second later her phone rang and she answered it, even though she didn’t recognize the number.

“It’s me calling from a pay phone,” Sandra said quickly in response to Jessy’s cautious, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Jessy asked her.

“I’m down the street,” Sandra told her. “I suck as a friend—sorry. I was going to meet you right there at the show, but I stopped in at the Rainbow, and a new slot machine sucked me in. I just realized the time, so don’t worry, I’ll be there in five minutes, and we can hang out until tall, dark and stunning returns.”

“Sandra, you really don’t have to babysit me,” Jessy said, but in fact, she was glad that Sandra was on her way. Just in case she really was in danger, she would rather not be alone.

Of course, now she had a ghost watching out for her, as well. Or maybe he’d been there all along. Although apparently Ringo went off on his own periodically, and she was pretty sure he could only be in one place at a time. She wondered what rules, exactly, ghosts had to follow.

“It’s not babysitting to spend time with a friend,” Sandra assured her. “Consider me on my way.”

“No,” Jessy said, suddenly sick of everyone—including herself—seeing her as a potential victim. “You’re just down the street. I’ll come to you.”

“Are you sure?”

“The Strip is crawling with people. I’ll be fine.” Besides, I have a cowboy ghost following me, she added silently.

“Okay, but come right here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Jessy hung up, smiling.

She gathered her personal belongings and left her dressing room.

Tanner Green had departed somewhere toward the end of the show, but Ringo had remained, so she looked around for him when she got back out front. She was surprised that he was nowhere to be seen and wondered if he had tried to follow the elusive Tanner Green.

It didn’t matter. The Strip was crawling with people. She would be just fine.

It was time to find Darrell Frye, which proved to be easier than Dillon had thought, because the pit boss was back at work. All Dillon had to do was wait fifteen minutes and Frye would be on break. He headed off to the casino’s coffee bar to wait.

The Strip was crowded with people.

As she walked down the street, staring at the neon and glitter that defined Vegas, Jessy found herself amazed that someone had come to the desert, started with nothing and ended up with the fantasy playground that was Vegas. Sure, a lot of it was false and plastic, but underneath the facade, it was just like any other place. Lots of people came to play—but others came to work. People built homes, and raised families, and it was a mecca for young entertainers.

And for her, it was—and always had been—home.

Suddenly that comfortable thought fled from her mind, driven out by the realization—immediate and absolutely certain—that she was being followed.

She told herself that it was Ringo, but she knew it wasn’t. She realized that she’d always known when Ringo was around, even when she hadn’t been able to see him, because of his spurs.

This wasn’t Ringo. This was someone who was stalking her. She hadn’t seen anyone when she left the theater, so this had to be someone who knew when she got off work, someone who had timed her movements and waited in the crowd to pick her up when she left, someone who knew exactly where she was right this second and could easily attack her if he chose.

She stopped dead in the street. No one would take a chance on attacking her with hundreds of people around, would they?

Then she remembered that Tanner Green had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, a knife in his back.

There was a large group of tourists ahead of her. She hurried to join them, looking for safety in numbers.

“Hey, Wolf,” Darrell Frye said, approaching Dillon at the table where he was sitting. He offered Dillon a broad smile and a handshake, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I heard you’re working on Tanner Green’s murder. Horrible business.”

“It was. And since you were there that night, I was hoping you might have noticed something that could help me.”

“I doubt I can help you. Martin was running the table when Green actually died.”

“I know,” Dillon told him. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“I’ll grab some—it’s a freebie for me. No alcohol on the job—but we get all the coffee we can drink. Do you want a refill?” he asked, indicating the cup Dillon had in front of him.

“I’m good,” Dillon said. “Thanks.”