Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(66)

I shake my head and repeat what he told her. “Dream on.”

She cackles. “And she has claws. Love it.” She motions to the woman behind her. “Devon Michaels. She’s dating ‘the Stockbroker,’ who is Aaron, the guy in the suit, but she’s made her rounds in the poker scene. Unlike you, she really is a groupie.”

Mandy elbows her. “The resident whore.”

“Bitches,” Devon says. “I get lots of sparkly things, so whatever.”

I instantly think about Stephanie, and I want to know if these two know each other.

“Speaking of sparkly things,” Devon says, “for the record, I have never been with Jason, despite the hot jewel that he is. And believe me, I tried. Oh, I tried, but I failed.” She grabs a lock of blond hair. “Apparently he likes pretty brunettes, like you.” She holds up her hands. “Now you don’t have to hear about it from somewhere else.”

“Thank you for that,” I say, appreciating her frankness.

“You’re still standing,” Sheila points out.

“Don’t sit next to her,” Mandy says, motioning to the seat next to her. “Sit next to me. I want to tell you about this idea Davie has.”

“The answer is no,” I say, sitting next to her.

“All things are negotiable,” Mandy insists.

I move and sit next to Sheila, and laughter erupts.

? ? ?

AN HOUR LATER, there are still no calls from anyone, and Jason is finishing up a mock game of poker with Cowboy, while Sheila makes snide jokes. Her snarky side is growing on me, and I can’t say why. Mandy, on the other hand, still rubs me wrong, as does her pitch for a show she admits she wants to be a part of and just needs to make interesting. Devon truly owns the title of groupie, chatting about the bedroom habits of a list of players that’s mind-boggling. I try to get to some tidbit about Stephanie, but it just isn’t plausible without saying too much.

My cell phone rings and I glance down to find my neighbor’s number. “Molly,” I say, standing and walking to the back of the room. “Thanks for calling back.”

“Honey, your place got robbed,” she says. “I’m so sorry. The police are here. They want to talk to you.”

My heart falls to my feet. “Did my friend Ella stop by? She has red hair, in her twenties.”

“No, I didn’t see anyone. But your furniture is ruined.” She stops to say something to someone, and then a man comes on the line.

“Skye Montgomery?”

“Yes,” I say, keeping my voice calm, but I barely hear what the officer is saying. All I can think about is Ella and my need to get home. I scan for Jason, who has cameras shining on him right now. I inhale and try to hear what’s being said to me.

“Nothing valuable was taken,” the officer says. “They shredded furniture like they were looking for something. Any idea who would do that, or what they’re after?”

“No,” I say. Sheila is now glancing over her shoulder at me, and I worry that my panic might be more obvious than I think.

“No?” the officer asks, repeating my reply and sounding rather irritated. “Just ‘no’?”

“No,” I confirm. To get out of the spotlight I head for the door, exit to the casino, and start walking toward the elevator. “They must have had the wrong address. I’m boring.”

“Aren’t you in Vegas with Red Bull?” he asks, clearly having chatted with the ever-so-talkative side of Molly.

“Is that your business?” I ask, glowering as if he can see me.

“It doesn’t sound boring,” he comments dryly, and when I offer nothing more, he thankfully runs down some report details, locks up my town house, and then puts Molly back on the line.

“I’ll handle things for you, honey. Do you need me to check on this Ella person?”

“No,” I say quickly, not about to put her in danger, too. “I’ll be home this afternoon. Thank you for your help.” I punch the elevator button, end the call, and text Jason: Went to the room. The rest can wait until he gets upstairs.

The elevator doors open and I don’t hesitate to enter, already dialing Ella, but by the time I face forward, Daniel is stepping inside with me.

And claustrophobia doesn’t begin to describe what I feel in this moment.





CHAPTER NINETEEN


“OBVIOUSLY YOU DON’T understand instructions,” Daniel snaps, holding the doors open. “I said, don’t leave the event area without telling me. Come back. Now.”

I breathe out with the realization that in his * way, he’s only trying to protect me. “I can’t. My town house was robbed and my friend is missing.”

Understanding registers in his expression and he steps fully into the car, the doors shutting on us instantly, but we aren’t moving. “Give me your key card,” he says. “I’ll get you to the room safely and then get Jason the hell away from Davie.”

“I forgot about the card,” I say, opening my purse and handing it to him, while my phone sounds with a text. I grab it and look at the message from Jason: You okay?

“It’s Jason,” I say, and start typing a reply.

“Well, for God’s sake,” Daniel says, “don’t tell him what’s wrong while he’s filming. He’s human, despite what he wants everyone to believe. Tell him I walked you to the room.”