Dangerous Impostor Page 8

  Without wasting time to consider his actions, he covered those sweet lips with his own.

  It felt so right, so safe, within the circle of Brent’s strong arms. Lauren melted into the kiss, her knees going weak again, this time for an entirely different reason.

  Wait! What am I doing?

  Reality broke over her like a thunderclap. This was her boss. Had she learned nothing from the disaster with David?

  She broke the kiss, unwrapped her treacherous arms from around his waist and pushed away from him.

  “I…I can’t.” Sobs were still very close to the surface, and she had to swallow one back in order to speak.

  A hurt expression flashed across his features. His arms, a moment ago so strong and warm around her, fell like weights at his side.

  She couldn’t stand to see pain in the eyes trained on her. “I’m sorry, Brent. I just can’t do this, not again.” His brows jumped upward, and she rushed to explain. “I know you’re nothing like David. That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that…” She wrapped her arms around her middle and squeezed, searching for words to convey her feelings. She came up blank. At the moment, she had no idea what she was feeling beyond the tingling that lingered on her lips.

  Brent raised a hand to scrub at his scalp and averted his eyes. “You’re right. I’m the one who should apologize. Besides jeopardizing both our jobs, I shouldn’t take advantage of you when you’re in a vulnerable state. Only a jerk would do that.”

  She raised a hand in protest. “You’re not a jerk. You’re…” A lump lodged in her throat. She couldn’t tell him what she thought of him, how she admired his intelligence and strength and the commanding presence he exuded. If she did, she’d find herself in his arms again before she could stop herself.

  Instead, she lowered her hand to her side. “Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?”

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Of course. That’s what we need to do.” With jerky movements, he crossed the room to the computer he’d been working on when she left the room. “We need to get this stuff packed up and figure out what to do with that.” He nodded toward the cash-filled computer.

  Lauren choked back a surge of disappointment that she didn’t want to analyze. There was no future in a relationship with him.

  In fact, she might not have a future at all, if they didn’t get this situation resolved soon.

  She cleared her throat. “Did you figure out anything about those updated files from the internet?”

  “Not yet.” He shut down the server and leaned over the table to begin disconnecting cables. “I’ve got a code-cracking routine running on Sterling’s main servers. Hopefully that will uncover the encryption soon. In the meantime, I’d like to take this computer up to my room so I can keep working on it.”

  “What about that one?” Lauren glanced at the box in the corner.

  He straightened from his work to stare at it. “We can’t leave it here, and I don’t feel comfortable about taking it in either of our rooms. What about asking the casino’s manager if we can store it in their safe?”

  Lauren gaped at him. “You mean tell them about the money?”

  “No, they’ll just assume that the computer has some highly sensitive corporate information on it.”

  Doubt assailed her. Would it be considered obstruction of justice if they didn’t turn the money over to Detective Gaines immediately? But if they did, he would take her to jail.

  “It’ll only be for a few hours,” Brent assured her as he returned to his task of unhooking the server. “I’m not suggesting we keep the money or anything like that, but there’s something about that Gaines guy that rubs me the wrong way. What I’d like to do is call Sterling Foods’ corporate attorney and ask him for a referral to a lawyer out here. We need some legal counsel before we do anything else.”

  His plan made sense. Gaines certainly did rub Lauren the wrong way, too, and contacting an attorney sounded like wise advice.

  “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s get everything packed up and we’ll pay a visit to the casino manager.”

  A tiny bit of tension seeped out of the taut muscles in her neck. At least they knew their next step. They weren’t running completely blind anymore.

  Brent cracked open the door at the end of the service corridor and stuck his head through. The next conference session had not yet finished, so the convention center’s hallways were sparsely populated. A few attendees loitered here and there, talking with each other, tapping on their computers while seated at tables put there for that purpose. He saw no sign of Gaines.

  “Okay, it’s clear.”

  He pushed the door open wider with his back so Lauren could step through, the hollowed-out computer held firmly in his hands. She carried the server, which was much smaller and lighter than the ancient, clunky one. The rest of the equipment he had returned to the storage closet while Lauren stayed out of sight in the private kitchen.

  They fell into step side by side. “I still think we’re going to draw too much attention, lugging these things around.”

  He laughed. “You’re kidding, right? We’re at a technology conference. There are computers everywhere you look.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Okay, you’ve got a point.”

  As they walked, he tried to study her without appearing to do so. Though outwardly calm, her face bore signs of stress in the tight skin at the corners of her eyes. Guilt stabbed him at the knowledge that he’d added to that stress.

  He thrust the memory of their kiss away, along with a lingering sense of regret that a relationship with her wasn’t possible. In different circumstances…

  They passed through the glass-enclosed tunnel that separated the conference center from the casino without incident. As they approached the end, the musical sound of slot machines grew louder. Cigarette smoke stung his nostrils.

  Brent paused just inside the casino to get his bearings. Lights of every color of the rainbow glared from a thousand sources, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust.

  “There’s a cashier stand over there.” Her hands full carrying the server, Lauren nodded across the room.

  He squinted, still scanning the room. “The manager will probably be in the administrative offices.” Against the wall to their left he saw a flashing sign advertising the Best Celebrity Impersonators on the Strip, with an arrow indicating the direction of the casino’s box office and theater. Nothing resembled management offices.

  “We could ask the hotel desk clerk,” she suggested.

  “Good idea.”

  They began weaving their way through the casino toward the opposite end. Every Vegas casino operated around a certain theme. The Venetian offered gondola rides with an opera-singing Italian guide. The Paris included restaurants resembling French bistros and corridors designed like charming Parisian markets. Here at the Hollywood, they certainly made the most of the celebrity angle. Impersonators mingled with the gamblers at all hours of the day or night.

  A familiar figure snagged his attention. Elvis, his arm resting on the colorful blinking lights atop a slot machine, leaned toward a female gambler with a flirty smile on his full lips. This impersonator was portraying the older, heavier Elvis as evidenced by a white silk jumpsuit, covered with dazzling rhinestones and a diamond-encrusted belt.

  Beside him, Lauren stumbled to a stop. Her eyes were round as poker chips. “Look there.”

  Brent followed her gaze. Two more familiar figures stood near a roulette table, chatting with gamblers. Frank Sinatra’s suit would look like normal attire in any setting, but Joan Rivers’ flashy, low-cut dress and absurdly thick eyelashes stood out like a beacon. They struck a photographic pose, and several admirers lifted cameras and cell phones to take advantage of the moment.

  “Don’t tell me you want their autographs,” he teased.

  She gave him an uncomprehending glance, then caught sight of the celebrities. “Not them. Just beyond them, over there.” Her head nodded to a loc
ation beyond, amid the blackjack tables.

  His gut tightened. Definitely another familiar face, but not one he wanted to see. Gaines stood talking to two men.

  He had to get Lauren out of here before the detective saw her.

  “Quick,” he whispered, his feet already moving sideways.

  “No, wait.”

  She ducked behind a bank of tall slot machines and placed the computer on the floor. Her purse dangled from a strap on her shoulder, and from it she produced a cell phone.

  “What are you doing?” Brent hissed. “If he sees you, you’re going to jail.”

  Her pale face bore evidence that she was well aware of the fact. “I recognize that man, but I can’t place where.”

  Brent edged sideways until he could see the men talking with the detective. One was a slightly built guy with almost delicate features and short-cropped hair. The other was all too familiar. The blackjack dealer from this morning.

  Uh-oh. Another piece of false evidence in Gaines’s hand. He’d probably issue an arrest warrant for Lauren within a half hour.

  Her phone in hand, Lauren stepped boldly out from the cover of the machines.

  “Are you crazy?” He juggled the computer he carried to one arm, ready to grab her and pull her back with the other.

  She waved him off. Outwardly calm, she raised her cell phone and aimed it toward the other end of the casino. Probably no one else was close enough to see how it trembled in her fingers.

  Then he realized what she was doing. Between Lauren and the detective stood the Frank Sinatra and Joan Rivers impersonators, posing for pictures. At first glance, Lauren looked like one more camera-toting tourist.

  But what if Gaines didn’t stop with a first glance?

  Her phone clicked when she took the shot, and she immediately joined him behind the bank of machines.

  “There. I got it. Now I can try to figure out where I’ve seen that man before.”

  A frustrated grunt escaped Brent’s lips. Stubborn, risk-taking woman. “You should have let me take the picture.”

  “It’s done. Let’s get out of here.”

  She took a second to return her phone to her purse and pick up the computer. While she did, Brent watched Gaines through the crack between the machines. He said something to the blackjack dealer, who nodded and then walked away. Gaines and the other man stood together a moment longer, speaking without looking at each other. Gaines’s head moved as he scanned the casino. The shorter man half faced away, looking toward the other side of the room. His lips moved in response to something Gaines said.

  Suspicion erupted in Brent’s mind. Something wasn’t right. Why didn’t they look at each other when they talked?

  The next movement was so quick Brent would have missed it if he hadn’t been looking directly at the pair. Detective Gaines slipped something white out of his jacket. An envelope? Quick as a flash, the item was transferred to the other man and disappeared into a trouser pocket. Without another word, the two turned and walked in opposite directions. Gaines, thank goodness, headed for the hotel lobby on the far end of the casino.

  The other man strode directly toward them.

  “Quick,” he snapped at Lauren. “Over here.”

  He led her around another bank of machines that would block them from view. Thrusting her behind him, he peeked around the edge, waiting for the stranger to pass by. He did, swinging his arms nonchalantly. His pocket bulged with the contents that Gaines had given him.

  When he was out of sight, Brent straightened. Beside him, Lauren remained slightly stooped, her head well below the top of the slot machines. Her arms hugged the server to her chest.

  They couldn’t go to the hotel desk now, or they’d run smack into Gaines. And the shorter guy had headed toward the conference center, which cut off their escape route. Both of their rooms were certainly being watched at this point.

  His gaze swept the casino again. When he was sure the coast was clear, he nodded at Lauren.

  “This way.” He started toward the box office.

  “Where are we going?” Anxiety tightened her voice as she hurried to match his long-legged stride.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  TWELVE

  Trotting at Brent’s side, Lauren looked over her shoulder. No one was following them. At least not yet. Every faster-than-normal step jarred the breath out of her chest, but she didn’t dare slow down and fall behind Brent. At least she’d worn sensible shoes today instead of heels.

  They rounded a turn and saw the box office ahead of them, a large kiosk-style structure outlined with the same ornate molding that decorated the walls throughout the casino. Several mesh-reinforced windows punctuated each of the four sides, though only one cashier was in evidence. They saw no one else. Since it was hours before the first show of the day, the place was deserted.

  “Just act like you belong,” Brent mumbled sideways to her.

  Lauren gulped. Easy for him to say. Confidence seemed to seep from his very pores. No doubt she looked like the nervous wreck she was.

  Brent strode straight up to the window. The cashier, a bored middle-age woman with gray-streaked straight hair chopped off at her jaw line, looked up from the pages of the book lying open before her.

  “Hello.” Lauren marveled at Brent’s easy tone. How could he sound so calm? “We’re supposed to take these backstage and leave them for the technical crew.”

  The woman’s expression remained impassive. “What are they?”

  “Computers.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know what for. Something about a problem with the lighting during last night’s show. Everything is run by computers these days.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” The woman heaved herself out of her chair and retrieved a ring of keys from a drawer. “Even my car has a computer in it, and my husband hates it. Says it’s a ploy by the auto industry to stop people from working on their own cars. Now you can’t even hardly change the oil without a computer.”

  As she spoke, she let herself out of the ticket box. Was this actually going to work? Just walk up and say you want to go backstage, and in you go? Lauren didn’t dare to move as the lady rounded the corner toward them, fiddling with the keys while she walked on thick ankles.

  “I’m pretty worthless when it comes to cars, I’m afraid.” Brent’s smile stayed in place as she walked past them. “But you have to admit, computers can do some pretty impressive things these days.”

  Lauren followed behind them as they headed toward a side door she hadn’t noticed. How could he carry on a conversation in such a normal tone? Weren’t his nerves about to jump through his skin, as hers were?

  “That’s true,” the woman admitted. “Look at the dancing fountains in front of the Bellagio. Beautiful, and all done with computers.”

  She selected a key and slid it into the lock. Brent glanced at Lauren over the woman’s head as she turned the key and plunged the heavy steel handle downward. Lauren bit down on the tip of her tongue. Would she insist on following them in and watching them deliver the computers?

  The cashier pushed the door open and flipped a switch on the inside wall. Dim lights illuminated a long, narrow corridor.

  The woman pointed. “The stage manger’s office is down there on the right. It’s probably locked up, and I don’t have a key. I’m guessing they’ll be okay if you just set them down in front of his door.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’ll do. Thank you.”

  Without a backward glance, Brent took off down the corridor with a determined stride, as though he didn’t expect anyone to follow. The woman hesitated, the activity on her fluid features clearly indicating that she was considering following him anyway.

  Quickly, Lauren stepped past her and flashed a smile of thanks as she trailed after Brent. She didn’t trust her voice to speak. Instead, she tried to follow Brent’s advice and act confidently, as if she belonged. Maybe the lady would leave them alone.

  It worked.

  �
��This door opens from the inside,” she called after them. “I’ve got to get back to my window.”

  “Thanks again,” Brent replied without turning around. “We’ll just be a minute.”

  A metal clang from behind Lauren echoed down the corridor. She glanced backward. The cashier had left.

  She hurried to catch up with Brent. “I can’t believe she let us in.” The bare walls carried her whisper down the narrow corridor.

  “Most of the time, if you act like you have every right to be there, people won’t question you.” He glanced sideways at her. “Sort of like you taking that picture. Which was a pretty risky thing to do, by the way. If Gaines had seen you, he would have hauled you to jail for sure.”

  A shudder rippled through Lauren. The last thing she wanted to do was visit the Las Vegas jail—not even as a visitor, but especially not as an inmate.

  “Probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done,” she conceded, “but when I saw that man talking to the detective and the dealer, I couldn’t help it. He attended our workshop, you know.”

  “He did?”

  She nodded. “I thought at the time he looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where. I still can’t. But maybe looking at this picture will prompt a memory.”

  They neared the end. A doorway on their right was labeled in large words Stage. Ah. So this hallway ran the length of the auditorium. Performers probably used it to get from the lobby to backstage before, or even during, a performance. Just ahead, the walls opened up into a cramped backstage area. Racks of clothing stood everywhere, and huge full-length mirrors were placed at either end. The only light came from the red letters of an illuminated Exit sign above a door in the far corner. Another closed door was on the other side of the room, painted white letters identifying it as the stage manager’s office.

  “This is great. Perfect.” Brent set the computer he carried on the wooden plank floor and started flipping through the clothes on the nearest rack. “We only have a few minutes before that cashier comes to find out where we are, so we have to move quickly. Here. Put this on. We’re going to disguise ourselves.”