Power Play
Author
Beverly Long
Reads
16,4K
Chapters
21
Chapter 1
Trey Riker grilled a steak, tossed a salad and uncorked a bottle of wine. He ate outside, enjoying the quiet of the Vegas night. His place, twenty minutes from town in the foothills, was a continent removed from the blitz and glitz of the strip.
He’d had a rare day off and spent it digging post holes for the fence that he’d hoped to put up six months ago. But one shouldn’t complain about business being good. He and his three other partners, Royce Morgan, Rico Metez and Seth Pike, had opened Wingman Security more than four years ago and hadn’t looked back since. A few crazies in a basically good world spooked people, and both personal and property security were high priorities for many.
He tipped his wineglass up, drained it and considered a second. But the knowledge that he was due at the job at five the next morning had him pushing back from the table. He was never late, couldn’t understand others who were.
He went inside and locked up behind himself. Put his plate and silverware in the stainless steel dishwasher that he ran every three days, usually just for the hell of it. He’d bought his house two years ago. The 2800-square-foot ranch was probably too big for a single guy, but he’d loved the location. Every night he could sit on his patio and see the sun set. Every morning he could look out his bedroom window and see the sun rise.
He made sure the coffeepot was set up for morning and ten minutes later, he was in bed, lights off, listening to Bach’s Toccata in D Major when his cell rang. He reached for it, not recognizing the number. “Riker,” he answered.
“I had a hankering for Beethoven...”
“You wouldn’t recognize Beethoven if he came up and sat next to you,” he said, stretching his toes, settling in for the conversation. Anthony McGarry didn’t call often but when he did, it was generally a marathon. There was nobody better at taking a five-minute story and turning it into fifteen minutes of chatter. “Did you get a new number?”
“Yeah, made the mistake of giving it to a patient who I thought was just needy but, as it turned out, she was really, truly crazy. Hailey got tired of the phone ringing and was punishing me by making me get up with the baby.”
“Dr. McGarry, I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I’m a surgeon, not a psychiatrist.”
He was one of the best spine surgeons in the country. But didn’t like to talk about it. “How are the queen and the princess?” Trey asked.
“Magnificent,” Anthony answered. “Didi will be a year on Sunday.”
He knew that. Was genuinely happy for his friend who’d fallen hook, line and sinker for a fellow physician. Wasn’t his life. Maybe someday. If it was absolutely right.
“What’s keeping you busy?” Anthony asked.
“I put up a fence today.”
“What? You had some bubble gum, toothpicks and a letter opener?”
His friends frequently teased him about his MacGyver tendencies. Give him a Popsicle stick, a battery and some dental floss, and he can power up a small country. “Funny. I actually had real boards and nails. No challenge at all.”
There was a moment of silence before Anthony cleared his throat and said, “Hey, there’s this thing.”
Trey sat up in bed. Something was wrong. Anthony’s voice had changed. “What’s going on, my friend?” he asked.
“Listen, I hate to ask but I was wondering if you could do something for me?”
“Name it.” A lifetime ago, when he’d been a freshman in college and Anthony McGarry had been a sophomore, Anthony had saved Trey’s life. It took a long time to pay back that debt.
“Do you remember my sister, Kellie?”
“Uh, sure.” Trey had met her once. His freshman move-in day. She’d been a twelve-year-old with braces who was sobbing at the idea of her older brother leaving home for college. He’d been nervous about meeting his roommate, though, and hadn’t given the guy’s little sister much thought.
“She lives in Vegas now,” Anthony said.
Trey had not known that. “For how long?”
“About six months.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m not sure,” Anthony said evasively.
Trey knew he was lying. Anthony had always thought Trey was a bit of a hound dog. Probably because Anthony had only dated his high school sweetheart, until that had ended badly in medical school, and then Hailey. He had some crazy idea that Trey had a different woman every night. Had teased Trey about needing a spreadsheet to keep track.
Trey hadn’t bothered to defend himself. He’d dated a lot of women. But the last time he’d checked, that wasn’t illegal.
But being an older brother himself, he understood his friend’s reluctance to bring his little sister into the mix. Friendship only went so far. “What’s she doing here?”
“She finished her doctorate in geosciences last May. Worked her butt off. I contacted Rodney Ballure to see if he might have something.”
Ballure had been the third roommate in their triple dorm room. Anthony and Rodney had always been tight but Trey hadn’t felt the same. Had good reason, but that was old news.
When they’d opened Wingman Security in Vegas four years ago, he’d known that Ballure was already in the area because he’d been involved with mining in Nevada since he’d gotten his degree. He’d never felt the inclination to look the man up. Had run into him once at a restaurant, had a couple minutes of very awkward conversation, but that had been at least two years ago. “And he did?” Trey said.
“Yeah. I really appreciated that. Damn hard to find that first job sometimes. Anyway, says she likes the work. But I’m worried about her. She’s normally really good about returning calls but I’ve left messages over the last few days and haven’t heard back.”
“Maybe she’s just busy,” Trey said, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He put the phone on speaker and picked up his jeans.
“She’s got two jobs, so that’s probably true,” Anthony said, his voice full of pride. “She’s got a lot of school loans. Won’t let me help her. Says I have my own loans to pay off.”
That was probably true. Mrs. McGarry had not had the resources to help her children with college expenses. She’d given them a great deal of love, however. And Trey, by virtue of being Anthony’s friend and roommate, had gotten included in the outpouring.
“I’d just feel better if somebody I trusted had eyes on her,” Anthony continued. “I thought about calling Rodney since he probably sees her at work but I think Kellie might not like it if I drag her boss into our personal lives.”
“Considerate it done,” Trey said. “What’s her address?”
Anthony rattled it off and her phone, as well. “But she’s probably at Lavender tonight. She’s a cocktail server there on Friday and Saturday nights. I did call there but they’re jerks about passing personal phone calls through to their employees.”
He’d never been to Lavender but he recalled that his partner Rico had mentioned it a few months back. New to the strip in the last year, it was building steam as a place to see and be seen. Had a chef from New York who was supposed to be amazing.
He squinted at the clock. It was a twenty-minute drive from his house. He could get there, make sure she was fine, and be back in bed by eleven. “I’ll call you within the hour,” Trey said.
“I owe you, man,” Anthony said.
Not even close. “Keep your phone on.”
Traffic was very light and he was circling the right block in seventeen minutes. But then he lost a few finding a parking spot. Finally, he was walking up the marble staircase to the second-floor restaurant. There was a young woman in a short black dress with a stack of leather-bound menus. “Table for one, sir?”
Anthony had said Kellie was a cocktail server. “Just the bar.”
She made a sweeping motion with her arm, ushering him through an oversize archway. The carpet got thicker, the music louder and the lighting dimmer. It was a big bar, with two long sides that came to an outward V in the middle. Lots of brass and glass and mirrors that made the most of it.
He took an open spot, three from the end on the side closest to the lobby. There were two bartenders, both males, both probably in their early thirties wearing dark pants and white shirts. One came his direction and slid a cocktail napkin with a lavender L on it toward him. “What’s your pleasure?” the man asked, his tone easy.
“Scotch, straight up,” Trey said.
He turned on his bar stool so he could see the tables in the bar area. They were low and surrounded by equally low couches and chairs. Lots of grays and violets and darker purples. He counted five, no make that six, different cocktail servers. Most had their backs to him as they took orders. They all wore black skirts and white shirts.
The bartender set down his drink. Trey threw a twenty on the bar. “I’m looking for Kellie McGarry.”
There was a subtle shift in the man’s posture. “Oh, yeah?”
Trey nodded. Took a sip. “Looking her up for a friend,” he said.
The man hesitated, then pointed at a server across the room. “Don’t give her a hard time, man. She’s had a rough night.”
What the hell did that mean? Trey wanted to drill him for information but at that moment, the woman he’d pointed at turned.
Long dark blond hair caught the light. Shimmered.
Three steps.
Her short black skirt was tight, her white sleeveless shirt maybe a little tighter. Three more steps.
Her tanned legs were bare and a mile long.
She was smoking hot.
And he felt wildly off balance.
She was no longer a gawky twelve-year-old. Maybe if he’d been at Anthony’s wedding seven years ago, but he’d been in the middle of a tour, unable to come home. If he’d seen her there, he now wouldn’t feel as if he’d taken a punch to the gut.
He watched her go to the far side of the bar and enter her order on a touch screen. She smiled at the other bartender.
Trey picked up his drink, leaving the napkin and his change on the bar. He passed the point of the V, kept going, until he was standing right behind her. She turned, tray in hand, drinks on tray.
Startled, she jerked but nothing spilled. “Excuse me,” she murmured, shifting to the side. Her eyes were hazel and her face was a perfect oval. Her hair, parted deep on the side, swept across her forehead. She wore very little makeup, didn’t need it. Her lips held just a hint of gloss.
“Kellie?” he asked.
She said nothing. But he got the feeling she was just about to run. She’s had a rough night.
He stepped back, giving her some space. “I’m Trey Riker,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’m friends with your brother, Anthony.”
Still, she said nothing. And the bartender was looking a little too interested in their conversation.
“I was his college roommate. He was the smart one. He stayed and I decided to go to war.”
“Anthony has mentioned you,” she said. She looked California and she sounded pure Texas.
That and her sexy painted toes peeking out of her black heels were a hell of a combination. But crashing upon that thought was the realization that he was having these thoughts about Anthony’s little sister.
Which was almost as bad as if he’d had the same thoughts about his own sister.
“Your brother gets worried when he doesn’t hear from you,” he said.
Something, maybe regret, maybe frustration, he wasn’t sure what, flashed in her pretty eyes. But then she summoned up a smile that would have made her orthodontist proud. “I hope you weren’t in the middle of something important when he sounded the alert.” She cocked her head, narrowed her amazing eyes. “I think he’s always been secretly envious of your life.”
He wasn’t sure what to say to that. Actually, his brain felt really scrambled. “Are you sure he was talking about me?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. But I didn’t realize you were in Vegas. I thought you were from Texas like us.”
“Been in Vegas about four years,” he said. “I understand you’re pretty new to the area.”
She nodded.
“Anthony’s not going to sleep until I assure him that everything is just fine.”
“Of course,” she said quickly. “I’ve just been so busy. Working, you know.”
“Sure.”
The silence stretched on.
“You’ve...uh...got drinks to deliver,” he said.
“I do.”
He stepped aside. She hesitated for only a second and then walked past him. He caught a whiff of a scent—something dark and complex. He went back to his spot, sat on his stool.
And sipped his Scotch. Trying to get his head straight.
He’d seen beautiful women before. Dated many. And he’d never had a reaction like this.
She delivered her drinks and moved onto a middle-aged couple who had empty glasses sitting in front of them. They smiled, then shook their heads. Next stop was a table of three young men. All had beer bottles in front of them, all seemed to be talking at the same time, waving their arms.
And then one arm reached out and a hand landed on Kellie’s hip.
He was half off his stool when she gracefully edged away, efficiently clearing up empties. She came back to the bar, set the bottles down and waited to get three fresh ones. Didn’t look his direction. He discreetly picked up his phone, clicked on the camera and took a picture of her. Then he sent the photo of Kellie to Anthony. He added, Eyes on little sister. Working at Lavender. Said she will call you soon.
Within seconds, he had his reply. Thank you. Now I can go to bed.
Which is where he probably should be. But Kellie was on her way to deliver beers to the table of drunks.
When she set down the bottles, she was careful to stand on the other side of the table, away from the idiot who wanted to play grab ass. The man kept his hands to himself but Trey didn’t like the looks he was giving Kellie. And when he said something that she appeared to ignore, Trey wanted to be closer so that he could hear.
Trey nursed his drink. Kellie moved away from the drunks and slid easily between other tables, clearing glasses, discreetly offering checks in little padded folders. It was fifteen minutes before she walked his direction.
“It was good of you to come check on me,” she said. “Really.”
He got the distinct impression she was trying to get him out of the bar. Wasn’t that interesting? “The bartender mentioned that you’d had a hard night.”
He could tell by the quick press of her lips together that didn’t make her happy. “I had a four-top that had two rounds of drinks and they walked out without paying.”
“Are you on the hook for that tab?”
“Yes.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t happen very often. But rent is due next week, so the timing was bad.”
“How much do you need?” he asked.
She looked startled. “You don’t even know me.”
“You’re Anthony’s little sister,” he said. “I would give him the shirt off my back. I can certainly float you some rent money.”
She stared at him. Her sexy mouth in the shape of a small O.
And he felt something shift. Something inside of him.
“Mr. Riker, I can pay my own bills,” she said, her tone a little frosty.
Damn. “If it makes you feel better, I’d have been willing to charge you outlandish interest,” he said, wanting to get back to where they’d been before he’d offered the money. He sure as hell hadn’t meant to offend her.
“Tell my brother that I’m fine,” she said. “I’ll call him...really soon.”
Trey picked up his phone, held it out to her. “I already did.”
She read the message. “Very efficient.”
It didn’t sound as if she meant it as a compliment.
“Well,” she added, “good night.”
He rather desperately wanted to run his hands through her long blond hair to see if it was as silky as it looked. That likely made him no better than the drunk at the table.
“Right. Good night,” he said.
He watched her walk away. Waited until her attention got snagged by a new table in the corner. Then he raised his hand, got the bartender’s attention, and pointed to his glass. “One more,” he said.
* * *
Kellie McGarry remembered Trey Riker. And given that she’d been twelve and had only met him once, somebody might think that was odd. But she remembered every trip to drop off Anthony. Every tearful goodbye.
It had been Anthony’s sophomore year. When they’d arrived at his dorm, Trey was already there, had already hung an ugly picture of flying pigs on his wall.
She hated that college. Hated that it was taking her brother away from her. It didn’t matter that they’d already been through the drill the previous year. Having him home for the summer had made it a fresh wound.
Anthony had been her hero. Still was.
Which made it seem impossible that he was involved in this thing. But the proof had been there in black and white. She couldn’t call him. Not until she figured out what to do.
She walked through the bar, checking on her tables. People generally sipped drinks at Lavender. Beer went for ten bucks, wine and well drinks for thirteen and brand-name cocktails for sixteen. The bill got big fast if you were pounding them back.
Every once in a while, there would be somebody who was in a mood to be overserved, but the bartenders at Lavender were well trained to deal with that. Hagney and Bryce, the two behind the bar tonight, wouldn’t hesitate to turn somebody away if necessary.
She assumed it was Hagney who had talked too much to Trey. Since her very first night at Lavender four months ago, they’d clicked. Not romantically. He had a wife and two little boys at home. But they’d become good friends really fast. He’d been super angry on her behalf when the table had skipped. He probably would have hidden it but the assistant manager had been on the floor and had seen it go down.
It was likely that part of Hagney’s indignation had stemmed from her reaction, which on most nights would have been quiet indignation that somebody could be so inconsiderate. Tonight, a few tears had slipped out. She’d made up the excuse about rent money being tight, both to Hagney and to Trey later, but that wasn’t the truth. Well, not the whole truth. Rent money was always tight but the tears had slipped out for a much simpler reason.
Lately, she’d felt like crying about everything.
But to tell anybody that, and tell them why, could be disastrous. If she was wrong, she’d be making a serious allegation against people who wouldn’t forget her lapse. She could kiss her job goodbye. Maybe any job because that kind of thing would follow a person. She’s the one, people would whisper. Can you believe she made a mistake like that? Anthony would be incredulous that she could ever suspect him of something so heinous. It would ruin their relationship.
If she was right, however, it would be worse. How was she going to face her mother, face everyone who cared about Anthony? Didi was her godchild for goodness’ sakes.
Trey Riker had been quick to offer a loan. Seemed as if it was an authentic offer which, for just a second, had touched her. But then she thought of her most recent conversation with Rodney Ballure. I know you appreciate the limb I’m perched on because I offered you this job. The words themselves were not horrible, but the way he’d said them made her feel uneasy. His tone had been suggestive. As if there was some expectation of repayment.
She wasn’t going to get into another situation like that with one of Anthony’s friends. Although, Trey was considerably more handsome than Rodney. His light brown hair had a good cut that made the most of the thick texture. The lights in Lavender had picked up the natural gold highlights. Great bone structure, with a wide jaw and a very nice mouth. Dark lashes meant to make every girl in the room jealous.
When she’d first arrived in Vegas, she thought about how nice it might be to meet a guy. She would be twenty-nine in two weeks. Most of her friends were either married or in serious relationships. She’d dated, of course, and had one rather long relationship that had fizzled out in the end. But she’d been mostly busy getting a doctorate degree. It had taken a couple extra years because she’d worked a series of part-time jobs—waitressing, retail, telemarketing, you name it—to offset the expense of her degree. But now she had her first real job.
And as she’d unpacked her boxes at her new apartment, looking out at the low mountains that surrounded Vegas, she’d been excited about the possibilities. Romance. Marriage. A child. That last bit was all sweet little Didi’s fault. Nothing better than the pudgy arms of a baby around your neck.
It could be so good.
But now, six months later, she couldn’t think of any of those things.
She needed to stay sharp. Watchful.
Which was why Trey needed to take his offers down the street. In this town, there would be plenty of takers.
She stopped at the two-top in the far corner. The newly arrived couple was holding hands across the table. They were in their early thirties. Both wanted champagne with a side of chocolate-dipped strawberries. The woman was busy looking at her ring finger that had a sparkly diamond on it.
“Congratulations?” she ventured.
They both beamed. “We got married today,” said the man. “Didn’t tell a soul we were doing it. Got on a plane in Chicago, arrived at three and here we are.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said, meaning it. Just because circumstances had put her life on hold, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be happy for others.
On her way to enter the newlyweds’ order, the three men who’d been initially fairly polite but, after five beers each, were getting rather obnoxious, waved her over. She kept a smile on her face. Earlier, when the one had grabbed her butt, she’d quickly stepped away. Hadn’t made a scene. Things like that happened in bars. But there was a line and she thought these three might be just about to cross it.
She kept a safe distance. “Ready for your check?” she asked.
“Hell no, darling,” said the one who hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself. He smiled at her. “Come closer,” he said. He patted his leg.
Not on your life. “Got to scoot,” she said. “Bosses don’t like it if we keep the customers waiting.”
“I’m a customer, darling, and I could give you three suggestions on how you could make me real happy,” he said, his tone full of innuendo. The other goofballs at the table laughed, maybe a little uneasily.
She kept the polite, yet distant, smile on her face that she’d perfected when she’d started cocktailing. “Then, another round?” she asked.
He tapped the table, as if he couldn’t be bothered to speak. Great. She didn’t intend to talk to them any longer anyway. She’d let Hagney know that this trio had worn out their welcome. He’d deliver the bad news that there weren’t going to be any more drinks and they’d be gone by the time she got back with the strawberries.
She walked back to the bar and entered her orders. She ignored Trey Riker, who appeared to have ordered another drink. What the hell was he doing? He’d come, he’d checked and reported back to her brother. His work was done here.
She motioned for Hagney to lean close. Told him that his services were needed. “I’m going to run back and get the strawberries,” she said.
He nodded and cracked his knuckles. She winked at him.
The kitchen was behind the dining room. Bar staff were not supposed to cross the dining room, but rather, connect to the kitchen through the back hallway. It was rather inconvenient and required them to sidestep around customers on their way to the restroom, but she understood the rationale.
She was coming back, with two plates of delicious-looking chocolate-dipped strawberries, when it all went to hell. Table-tapper came out of the men’s room. He saw her and headed her way.
“Darling, I don’t like being told that my business isn’t wanted.”
“Happens to the best of us,” she said lightly. “Have a good evening,” she said, working to keep her tone even, polite. De-escalate. First rule of handling an unhappy customer.
Sometimes it didn’t work all that well with a drunk. And it looked as if this was one of those times. The man swaggered toward her. She tried to sidestep around him but he was faster on his feet than she anticipated. He grabbed her upper arm and swung her toward him. She lost her grip on the plates and heard them shatter over the roar in her ears.
He pushed her up against the wall, pushed himself against her and tried to kiss her. She screamed, knowing that it would be hard to be heard over the music in the bar and the noise in the kitchen. She flung her arms and tried to kick, but he had at least seventy-five pounds on her.
He gripped her chin hard. “Kiss me, damn you.”
No. No. No.
