8. Erin
CHAPTER 8
ERIN
H e’s not a weirdo, he’s not a weirdo, he’s not a weirdo. I repeated the mantra to myself as I led Rusty out of the Neptune’s dining room. Despite answering the door minus his shirt, he hadn’t done anything super creepy, so I was choosing to trust the results of Alexa’s background check, which had pinged into my inbox moments before I left the Galaxy with Ari this morning.
Rusty Bolt had grown up in the town of Savigny, Minnesota, population nine hundred and seventy-two at the date of the last census. He’d attended the local high school and been voted homecoming king, and maybe he’d been dating the homecoming queen because they sure looked cosy in the photo Alexa had dug up. Even in high school, he’d been a hockey star, so it had been no surprise to the local community when he was drafted by the California Commanders before his junior year of college. The fear of injury was always at the back of his mind, so he’d opted to finish his studies—he’d majored in business and finance with a minor in geology—before he signed his entry-level contract. Three years later, the Commanders offered him a new contract with a mind-blowing salary, and he stayed in Fresno.
In truth, Rusty seemed a little boring. He played hockey, and in the offseason, he disappeared, presumably back to Minnesota because his name occasionally popped up in the local newspaper when he guest-coached junior hockey classes or opened the town’s summer fair. As well as his seven-million-dollar salary, he had sponsorship deals with a drink manufacturer, various sporting goods companies, and a fashion label that specialised in jeans. That last deal was probably something to do with his ass. I didn’t go out of my way to look at men’s asses, but I could recognise a good one when I stumbled across it.
Anyhow, Rusty Bolt was a country boy who’d hit the big time playing hockey.
And now he was my partner in surveillance.
I thought Kelsey might go back to her room to brush her teeth after breakfast or pick up a sweater, but instead, she turned left for the lobby, checking her watch as she went.
“You think she’s meeting someone?” Rusty asked.
“Maybe.”
But she wasn’t meeting them at the hotel. She walked out of the lobby and joined the cab line.
Uh-oh.
“I’ll get my car,” Rusty said.
“No point in doing that.” Kelsey would be long gone by the time he made it out of the parking garage. “We’ll take a cab too.”
And we’d take it quickly. I speed-walked to the next vehicle in line, trying to look excited rather than stressed.
“We don’t have all day, honey,” I called over my shoulder. Ari often played a character on surveillance, and I had to do the same. Fortunately, Rusty got a hustle on.
“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.
“Wherever the car in front goes. ”
He twisted in his seat to look at me as I settled in the back beside Rusty.
“This isn’t the movies; I can’t just follow people. That doesn’t seem very ethical to me.”
Fantastic. I’d picked the only cab driver in Las Vegas with morals.
“I’ll pay you an extra two hundred bucks.”
He considered that for a second. “Buckle up, ma’am.”
Okay, not that many morals.
He peeled away from the hotel, put his foot down, and caught up with Kelsey’s car as it trundled south on Paradise Road. Caught right up.
“Hey, not so close. Don’t sit on his bumper. Haven’t you ever tailed anyone before?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Just keep a couple of cars between us, okay?”
“Two hundred bucks?” Rusty whispered in my ear.
“It’s the going rate.” Probably.
We followed Kelsey to Koval Lane, where she stopped outside a building advertising sunset helicopter tours. For the second time: uh-oh. I mean, it wasn’t sunset. Perhaps she wasn’t going to fly on a helicopter?
Rusty paid the driver while I watched Kelsey push open the front door of Sky’s the Limit Tours. Through the glass, I saw a man with sandy-blond hair rise from a seat in the waiting area, and she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. Hmm, this was interesting. The guy said a few words to a girl behind the front desk and then motioned Kelsey toward a door at the rear. The moment they disappeared, I went inside myself.
“Hi, excuse me? I’m hoping to book a sightseeing tour, and a lady I met by the slot machines recommended your company. Do you have any availability today?”
“What time are you looking for?”
“This morning? I mean, right now would be great. ”
She gave a nervous giggle. “I’m afraid those were our last two passengers for the eight thirty tour. Our next availability is…”—she click, click, clicked with the mouse—“six p.m. for the sunset tour. That’s our most popular trip, and when it comes to making memories, you won’t beat it. A flight over the Grand Canyon with dinner included. Should I book you a seat?”
I leaned over the desk and caught a glimpse of the booking list as the desk lady scrolled through various pages. There were seven passengers on the eight thirty trip, and I memorised their names. Kelsey, three other women, and three men.
Amber Cassidy.
Becky Kehl.
William Caukwell.
Kellen Mazure.
Kim Rock Doyle.
Chris Clemente.
“Our flight leaves at ten tonight, and we wouldn’t make it to the airport in time. I hate to ask, but do you know of any other companies that might be able to accommodate two people?”
She looked around, then leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially. “Try Butterfly Tours—the guy who runs it is real hot on safety. And avoid Freddie’s Flights. I used to work there, and Fred cuts corners with the maintenance.”
“Wow, thanks. I’ll try Butterfly Tours.”
“Three doors along.” She pointed to my left. “Good luck.”
“Thanks again.”
If I’d remembered the roads right, we were at the northwestern edge of the main airport, and my assumption was confirmed when an airplane took off behind me as I exited the building. Rusty was hovering on the sidewalk.
“They’re going on a sightseeing tour,” I told him .
“They?”
“She met a guy in there.”
“As in, a secret boyfriend guy?”
“How should I know? She kissed him on the cheek; there were no tongues involved.”
A dark expression flickered across Rusty’s face, just for a second, and then it was gone.
“What?” I asked.
“Girls do that, right? They kiss men on the cheek when they like them.”
“When they like them? Or when they like them, like them?”
“The second one.”
I nudged him along the street toward the building that housed Butterfly Tours. I didn’t plan to go inside, of course—I just wanted to get out of sight in case the lady behind the Sky’s the Limit desk looked up. Unwanted attention could be awkward.
“I don’t think they do that. The way Kelsey gave him a quick peck, it’s basically friendzoning the guy.”
“A girl I know used to kiss a guy on the cheek, and now she’s engaged to him.”
“A girl? Or a girlfriend?”
Rusty looked away, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer. “The second one.”
He’d had a girlfriend, and she’d done him dirty? Was she off her rocker? I mean, I’d only known him a day, but he seemed kind, plus he was definitely handsome and he earned seven million bucks a year. Was he secretly a psycho? Had Alexa’s background check missed some critical piece of information? I took a half step back.
“Well, she probably kissed him on the cheek in front of you because she didn’t want you to know how she felt about him. Did she cheat?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We were on a break. ”
Ouch. “Yikes. I mean, I’m sorry.”
“Can we just get on with the job we’re here to do? We should book a sightseeing trip—I’ll pay.”
“I already thought of that, and there are no spaces left.”
“So now we go back to the hotel and wait for Kelsey to show up?”
“No, we wait here for the helicopter to take off. She’s on the eight thirty tour.”
I steered Rusty toward a spot in the shade and checked my phone. Nothing from Ari. She hadn’t magically solved the Cole-slash-Galaxy case and wrapped everything up before breakfast. Her breakfast, not mine. On a regular day, she woke up three hours later than I did and sleepwalked around the house until she’d downed her first cup of coffee. I began typing out an update.
Rusty fiddled with his phone too, and I got the impression he’d told me more than he wanted to about the girl he’d lost. Was it the homecoming queen? His high-school sweetheart? I felt kind of bad for him.
At eight thirty-two, a red helicopter rose over the top of the building, and I squinted at its tail. N-997CJ. That was the registration number, and it meant I’d be able to track the aircraft.
N-997CJ.
N-997CJ.
I added the number to the message I’d written and sent it to Ari along with the six names. When Kelsey returned, I’d be waiting to meet her, and hopefully, I’d be armed with a few facts too.