The big fix, p.23
The Big Fix, page 23
I held back, only because his ribs were still broken.
We kissed under the soaring Nevada sky, with the thrilling excitement of it still being one of our first, but also with an uncertain desperation, realizing it might have been one of our last.
“See you in Vegas,” he said when he eventually pulled back and planted one last kiss on my temple. He climbed into the Camaro. Portia tucked into the passenger seat, and I joined Gio in the silver sedan of no remarkable make or appearance.
“This car is generic on purpose, isn’t it,” I said to Gio as we pulled away from the house.
“Yes, ma’am. One of the most common cars on the road, actually. Harder to spot. Not exactly as exciting as that, but it gets the job done.” He pointed out the windshield as Anthony turned the corner in front of us.
The morning sun winked off the Camaro’s glossy sheen. With Anthony in the driver’s seat, wearing a pair of sunglasses, and Portia’s blond hair blowing out the window, they looked like a couple of movie stars. I wondered if we’d looked that sexy fleeing across the state in the middle of the night. I somehow doubted it.
“Did you know Portia before this?” I asked.
“No, but I care about her now. Being in close quarters with someone for several days can change things.”
“I’ll say.”
He detected the smile in my voice and glanced over at me. “Didn’t exactly expect to meet Tony in all this, did you?”
“No, definitely not. I wasn’t planning on meeting anyone anytime soon. I’m focusing on my career right now.”
He sighed a dreamy sound. “Gotta love life’s curveballs.”
I softly smiled and felt the sun splash my face through the window. We rolled out of the tiny town and onto the highway, where traffic was nonexistent. Compared to the rush and noise of a city, the rural emptiness held a certain shock factor—shocking in that I enjoyed it. I silently wondered what it would be like to live someplace so remote. So removed from the world’s radar.
“Where’s home for you, Gio?”
“Wherever it needs to be.”
I turned to him in surprise. “Really?”
He nodded. “I go where the jobs take me, but I guess if I had to choose a home base, it would be where my folks are in Texas. That’s where I grew up.”
“Interesting.” I had a vision of him as a little boy wearing a cowboy hat. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got an older brother, who thinks he knows everything.”
I snorted a laugh. “I have one of those, except a sister.”
“Ah, I knew I sensed a kindred youngest-child spirit. My brother is a neurosurgeon, so I guess he’s got a leg to stand on. He’s pretty smart.”
“Hmm. Do you think he can stitch me back together when my sister tries to kill me after all this?”
He chuckled a warm, jolly sound. “What does your sister do?”
“Besides try to set me up with every man under the sun? She’s a stay-at-home mom.”
“Ooh, a know-it-all and a meddler! The best kind. Does she know about Tony? Or is she going to be heartbroken when you tell her that her matchmaking skills are no longer needed?”
I shot him a glare that was halfhearted and mostly smile. “Actually, she was the one who introduced us. At the time, she didn’t know about all this”—I gestured at the car and our general surroundings—“and I’m sure she would have had an opinion, but too late for that.”
“That’s right. You’re in it now, baby sis. No turning back!” He thumped his hand on the steering wheel for emphasis.
I laughed. “How long have you known Anthony?”
“Long enough to know he cares about you. A lot. I’ve never seen him on the ground for a job. Granted, this isn’t a normal job, but the fact you’re here with him says a lot.”
A wave of insecurity hit me. Through all the hiding and escaping and running, I wondered if what had sprouted between me and Anthony grew from the situation and not something more organic. I felt oddly comfortable sharing my vulnerability with the hulk of a man beside me, who I’d only known for a day. “Portia said the same thing. You don’t think it’s a matter of circumstance?”
“No,” Gio said, shaking his head. “You’re here because of a choice. He made the choice to come save you. People don’t risk themselves for people they don’t care about.”
As his words landed, I realized I wasn’t only trying to get back home, but I was also helping Anthony. Because I cared about him.
“You’re remarkably intuitive, Gio.”
“Thank you. Now, find us a good radio station. We’ve got a long way to go.”
We pulled into Vegas midafternoon.
Las Vegas in the daylight always felt naked to me. As if someone had turned on all the lights inside a club, and I could see the imperfections and blemishes: the dirty sidewalks, the faded signs, the used-up people still awake from the night before. As a place designed around the debaucheries of nighttime, the sunshine did it no favors.
Also, it was hot as hell.
The Venetian sat at the north end of the Strip, almost like an endcap to the main drag. A few more resorts scattered beyond it, but most of the foot traffic of boozed-up revelers walking the Strip any given night ended their journey at the ode to Italian opulence.
We skipped the valet and navigated the maze of a parking garage. When we parked among a field of other cars, we climbed out into the musky, exhaust-tinged desert air. Portia had let me borrow an outfit a little classier than athleisure: jeans and a silk blouse. I still wore the pink running shoes. She, on the other hand, was dressed down in leggings, a hoodie, a low ponytail, and oversized sunglasses. Along with Anthony and Gio in their streetwear, we looked like any pair of couples checking into their hotel for a stay in Vegas.
Given the whole point of this trip was to meet a federal agent, Anthony felt it best to leave the bag of guns in the car. No one in Vegas was going to question a suitcase of cash, but a bag of guns was another thing altogether. We carried the green suitcase full of clothes, and Portia’s two roller bags so we didn’t look completely out of place showing up for a supposed stay.
A parking garage elevator delivered us to a glossy marble walkway a world away from the concrete tomb we’d left. The acrid smell of smoke already curled in from the casino floor the second we stepped inside. We found our way to the registration desk inside a towering room with marble pillars and a dizzying checkered floor. I gazed up at the gold accents and domed ceiling, feeling like I could have been in an Italian palace. It was positively buzzing with activity. Guests zipped around, dragging luggage or swinging shopping bags. Women clicked by in sharp heels and carried tiny handbags. Men hung off each other, loudly laughing and enjoying the revelry. I saw a few clusters of people in business attire, with lanyards dangling from their necks; they were in town for a convention. All walks of Las Vegas life were on full display.
Gio, Portia, and I hung back while Anthony approached the registration desk. He briefly had to wait in line, so Gio and I formed a protective yet casual-looking wall in front of Portia to shield her from onlookers. But as far as I could tell, no one was looking at us. Anthony got to the front of the line, and I imagined him speaking some code word to the clerk. When she snapped into action and produced keycards almost instantly and with no paperwork, I assumed I hadn’t been far off.
“Seriously?” I muttered. “Just like that?”
“Just like that,” Gio muttered back. I hadn’t realized he’d heard me.
“All set,” Anthony said when he rejoined us. “Luxury king suite, twentieth floor.”
“Damn, Lou had style,” Gio said. “What else will dropping his name in this town get us?”
Anthony pocketed the keys with a grin and led us to another bank of elevators.
I seriously wondered what the answer to Gio’s question was. “Did Lou have any connections with, I don’t know, Michelin-starred restaurants or anything?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
Anthony shot me a knowing look over his shoulder. “There’s hardly an industry his business didn’t touch.”
“Good to know.”
Visions of the kinds of favors at Anthony’s fingertips unfurled before me as our elevator arrived. We stepped in, and before the door slid shut, a young couple slipped through to join us. From the rigid shift in his posture, I thought Anthony was going to tell them to get out—and, arguably, the car was pretty full with Gio inside it—but he didn’t. Instead Portia shrank back into the corner, and Anthony and Gio strategically stood in front of her. All four of us stopped breathing.
Luckily, the pair was too drunk in love to pay any attention. They hung off each other, gooey-eyed and giggling, probably legitimately drunk, and departed on the fifteenth floor, none the wiser they’d been in the presence of the missing woman all over the news.
I released a breath when no one else climbed in after they left.
“Guess you were right about hiding in plain sight,” Anthony said as he jabbed the button to close the doors. A noticeable tension released inside the small space as we continued our journey.
“I told you Vegas was perfect,” Gio said. “Everyone here is too focused on their own pleasure to see beyond their nose. Just a bunch of hedonists.”
When we arrived on our floor, the tension from the elevator returned. Every step toward the room felt like a step closer to danger. Although the whole point of this mission was to remove the danger. Still, heading to a covert meetup in a Vegas hotel room, accompanied by a suitcase of cash—even if the cash wasn’t part of the deal—made for one hell of a jittery journey.
The lavish suite had walls in shades of ivory and cream, and its furniture was purple and gray. A sunken living room boasted a view of the Strip. The marble bathtub was big enough to swim in. I almost regretted we were only using it as a base camp and not staying for a weekend.
“So, what’s the plan from here?” Gio asked from where he’d generously spread himself on the sofa. His arms layered over the back of it like logs.
“We wait,” Anthony said. “And we prepare. Agent Ives is meeting us here in two hours.”
Portia had busied herself at the minibar. Bottles of top-shelf liquor clinked as she lifted and set them back down. She settled on vodka and began uncorking the cap.
“Portia, I’m not sure that’s the best idea right now,” Anthony said in a gentle tone.
She yanked off the cap and reached for a glass. Her hands visibly shook. “Tony, I’m about to turn my husband over to the FBI so he doesn’t kill me, and in hopes they don’t arrest me with him. I think I am allowed to have a drink,” she snapped. She poured half a glass and sipped it. “Can someone get me some ice?”
Gio popped up at the bite in her voice. “I’m on it.”
He stalked back over to the door as Anthony came around to Portia. He put his hands on her shoulders and coaxed her into taking a deep breath. I heard him muttering to her and didn’t want to intrude. I took the opportunity to find the phone to call my sister. It sat in a cradle on a nightstand beside the enormous bed.
I sank onto the crisp linens and felt the mattress embrace me. After splitting a bed with Portia last night, and the motel bed the night before, it called to me like a Siren. It took all my strength not to fall back against the pillows. I wondered if anyone would mind if I took a nap for the two hours before the FBI showed up.
Libby answered on the second ring, probably tipped off by the strange area code. “Hello?”
“Hey, Lib. It’s me again.”
“Penny! Now where are you?”
I flinched and realized she was probably going to yell at me every time I called, until I came home. Luckily, that event was on the horizon.
“Getting ready to come home.”
“Why aren’t you home already?”
I gazed over at Anthony and Portia still chatting by the minibar. The backdrop of the Strip in daylight loomed behind them. It felt garishly bright from the other end of the long room.
“Because we have to take care of something.”
“We? Are you still with Anthony?”
“Of course I am. And we’ll be home tomorrow.” The plan was to see Portia off, assuming things went well, and they took her into protective custody; use the room for the night; then we’d leave first thing in the morning for the long drive home.
Libby sighed. Her voice took on a pained and weary plea. “Penny, please just put an end to whatever is going on. I need to know you are safe.”
I ached at the sound of her distress. “That’s what we are doing, Lib. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hung up before my guilt got the best of me and made me cry.
“Who’s thirsty?” Gio asked when he barged back in the door with a bucket of ice. He made his way to the minibar to deposit it.
The suggestion didn’t sound half bad. The last three days had been hell, and I had no part to play in what was about to happen anyway. Gio and I were going to head down to the casino while the room was occupied and then meet up with Anthony, once Portia was securely gone. Having a drink with her now seemed like a proper way to send her off.
“I’ll take one,” I said, and pushed up off the bed.
“I like your style, Professor,” Gio said, and scooped some ice in a glass. “Tony?” he asked, and pointed the little silver shovel at him.
“No thanks,” Anthony said.
Portia clucked. “Tony, come on. Best-case scenario here, we’re never going to see each other again. The least you can do is have a drink with me.” Her voice already sounded looser. I noticed her glass was nearly empty. She handed it to Gio to refill.
“Portia—” Anthony started, his voice pained like he was going to scold her, but she cut him off with a raised hand.
“Don’t tell me not to say that. It’s true: If this works, none of you will ever see me again after tonight.” She looked around at each of us in turn, and I felt my throat thicken with an acute sadness over the reality of it all. I’d only known her for around twenty-four hours, minus our professional encounter a year ago, but it felt like longer, and I cared about her and wanted her to be safe. She gave me a soft smile; I felt she knew what I was thinking. Her eyes washed over with a shiny sheen. She swallowed hard. “You’ve all been through so much for me. You’ve scarified so much, and there’s no possible way I could ever thank you. But please know that my decision to turn in Connor is as much to set myself free as it is to set you all free. You don’t deserve to be caught up in any of this, and I’m sorry you are, and this is what needs to be done. So, please, before I go, do me one more favor and let me have one final drink with my friends.”
I couldn’t hold back the tear that spilled over my lid. I dashed it away with a quick hand as Gio sniffled. Anthony was flushed and rapidly blinking, obviously fighting to keep his eyes dry.
Gio elbowed him and whispered loud enough for everyone to hear, “Dude, you’re going to look like a huge jerk if you say no right now.”
Portia and I laughed wet, soggy sounds. She leaned her head over on my shoulder and clinked her glass to the one Gio had handed me.
Anthony finally caved, smiling reluctantly. “Fine. Pour me one.”
Portia cheered and looped her arm through his.
We stood in a little huddle, a hodgepodge of humans brought together through a bizarre chain of circumstances, and somehow already loyally bound. We clinked glasses.
“To freedom,” Gio said.
“To sunny days at the beach,” Portia added.
“To friendship,” Anthony said.
They all turned to me, and the outsider status I’d felt back in the safe house’s kitchen when they were mourning Lou vanished. I was theirs now. And they were mine.
“To new beginnings,” I said, and then we all drank.
We killed the remaining two hours before Agent Ives was set to show up eating room service and laughing, behaving like we really were in town for a fun weekend. Portia declared she didn’t want her final moments as herself to be a solemn occasion, so we lived it up. And she sobered up. She cut herself off after her second drink to be prepared to talk to Agent Ives. I was the only one who kept sipping, and mainly because I was nervous.
I couldn’t shake the sense of a ticking clock counting down to some imminent detonation.
At ten to five, Gio and I said our goodbyes to Portia. The occasion left both of us puffy-eyed and looking like we’d suffered an allergy attack. Anthony kissed my temple and promised to come find us in the casino when everything was said and done.
I kissed him on the mouth and told him what he was doing was selfless and brave. I left him flushed and shyly grinning.
Gio and I made our way down into the casino. Time didn’t exist on the floor—literally; there were no clocks—but I could tell the evening crowd had started to descend. The skirts were shorter, the laughter louder, the cocktails flowing. It was pregame happy hour for whatever the night would hold. Dinner, a show—a night losing and winning money, only to break even before bed. The room was intentionally disorienting: a glittering, flashing maze of lights and sounds designed to snare attention and not let go. I kept my eye on the elevator bank, not wanting to lose sight of our way back to Anthony, as we walked past a dimly lit, roped-off room full of poker tables.
“High rollers,” Gio muttered. “Speaking of . . .” He glanced over his shoulder before he turned toward me and flashed a wad of cash from inside his jacket.
I playfully gasped, still a little woozy from the farewell drinks. “You didn’t. Is that from the suitcase?”
He gave me a sly, guilty grin. “Figured we could have a little fun while we wait.”
“Well, I am not much of a gambler, but I am not opposed to a slot machine.”
“Pfft. Might as well light this money on fire if you’re going to do that. Let’s play a real game. Come on.” He led us to the cashier and exchanged several hundred dollars for chips. “For the esteemed professor,” he said with a small bow, and placed a stack in my hand.
