Broken Saint by E.M. Gayle

5

Rock

"We need to talk."

I bristled at the tone those words were delivered in. Let alone who they'd come from.

"I don't have time." I said to his back, and that was the truth. I needed to get home, catch a shower, and change into a fresh suit before I was due downtown for a debriefing with my boss.

Asshole had impeccable timing, texting me just as I was trying to talk to Nova about our night. I'd bolted awake after crashing way too hard to find her tucked into the corner of her terrace, furiously scribbling across a sketch pad.

Her demeanor had been off, as had her words, but I'd had no time to investigate. Tonight, when I was able to return, she'd have a few questions to answer.

Gabe, the hotel manager, stopped and turned slightly in my direction, giving me only a cursory once over. "Considering I have video surveillance of you leaving one of my employee’s suites no less than eight times in the last few weeks, I think we do."

His presumptuousness fueled the annoyance already firing through my blood. The idea that he'd taken so much notice of my comings and goings made me err on the side of caution and follow him. Whatever the manager of The Sinclair needed to get off his chest could affect the outcome of the case I was trying to build against several of the guests at this hotel.

Checking my surroundings, as well as the gun I had holstered at my back, I followed Michaels to the security office where he entered a code to open the door. Not using a keycard to access this portion of the hotel was definitely a smart idea. Keycards weren't particularly difficult to reproduce and left a building twenty-three percent more likely to be breached over a private code with restricted access that got changed on a daily basis.

Most of the hotel casinos in Vegas took their security to the extreme, but I'd heard the Sinclair was still head and shoulders above the rest. Under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed discussing the various high-tech security measures the casino employed.

He led the way inside and down a web of corridors that eventually led to a private office. It took me by surprise that Gabe Michaels had taken me this far into his inner sanctum. From my experience, the hotels in Vegas liked to keep every aspect of their security under tight wrap.

Even a federal agent wouldn't be welcome under most circumstances.

When he opened the door, he froze in the doorway. “Lana. What the hell? I told you that you couldn’t stay down here. Minors aren’t allowed to linger near the casino floor and your incessant need to break the rules could cost me my gaming license. Go home.”

“You suck,” she spat from somewhere inside the office I couldn’t see yet. “I’m not supposed to be a prisoner.”

“You’re hardly a prisoner. But I’m not doing this right now,” he hissed under his breath. “I’m in the middle of something and you’re interrupting.”

The next thing I knew, I heard tears amid commotion that might have been her scraping a chair across the floor, and then a beautiful young girl who did not look underage pushed past me and fled down the hallway.

“Excuse my sister. She’s a little testy about having to move to Vegas.”

I had no experience with teenage girls and I was especially glad for it.

"Have a seat." Michaels indicated the chair in front of his desk before taking the one behind it for himself.

"Do you want to explain what's going on?" he asked, wasting no time in getting to the point.

As usual, I schooled my face to be devoid of all emotion. If he had hoped to intimidate me into some sort of conversation about Nova, he was mistaken. I had no intention of getting into the details of our encounters.

"Not at all. Do you?"

The man laughed and reached into his desk.

I automatically tensed, expecting the worst. I leaned forward in my chair. I could have my gun cleared from my holster before he could do anything to stop me.

Instead of a gun, he produced two cigars.

He froze when he noticed my posture and where I'd been heading. "Whoa. That's a serious case of paranoia you've got going if you think I'm going to pull a gun or worse on a federal agent in a building surveilled to the skin of its teeth."

I relaxed into my chair, pulling my jacket back over my gun again. He had no idea.

"These days, it pays to be cautious."

Michaels smirked. "There's cautious, and then there's out of line. I don't think I've seen a record of you checking in that weapon when you arrived here tonight."

Fuck.

Due to the complex gaming laws in Nevada and the security leeway casinos were given in their personal policing efforts, any and all local law enforcement officers were expected to check in with casino security upon entering the premises. Off or on duty, didn't matter if they were carrying.

Of course, I had not because I didn't want every move I made in his hotel to be watched. Especially tonight.

Since he didn’t, technically, ask me a question, I felt no compulsion to give him a response. I did, however, take offense to being summoned in here like one of his flunkies.

"Do you have anything important to say or is this some sort of circle-jerk bullshit? You do realize I have more important things to do, right?"

Gabe Michaels’ demeanor changed instantly and I found it rather enjoyable to watch. I'd experienced his temper before, and as it had been then, I found it rather telling. He would go to any lengths to protect the people he cared for despite their obvious connections to criminal activity. Which made me suspicious. What kind of man gathered this many connected people without being involved himself?

The last time he'd turned his anger on me, it had been about Vincent, his close friend and occasional sparring partner in the hotel gymnasium, who I'd suspected as the original smuggler of the blood diamonds I was searching for. His private plane, trips out of the country, and his connection to the Rossi family had made him an obvious choice.

I’d been right about the plane, but Vincent’s involvement had not been proven.

That suspicion had eventually taken a different direction, when mobsters Romeo Rossi and Anthony Cullotta got in bed together and involved in my case. That investigation continued, and whether Michaels realized it or not—and I wasn't yet convinced either way—his hotel seemed to be a hotbed for all the players involved. My thief may not be on-site, but they were connected.

I don't know what he expected from me, but I supposed my attitude wasn't it. I was on more of a hair trigger than I wanted to admit.

The situation with Nova had taken a decidedly chilly turn tonight, which was a complete one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn from our session. I'd slept longer than I'd intended, and when I woke to find her sketching in a notebook with an angry look on her face, I didn't know why.

I'd considered asking, but a text from my boss had left me no choice but to leave. Now, this fucker was wasting my time, and I could feel my threads of civility unraveling as the seconds ticked by.

"I'm thinking that your visits to The Sinclair should be curtailed to business only, and since there is no FBI related business going on here, then there should be no reason for you to be exiting one of my employee's suites in the middle of the night,”—he glanced at his watch—“or in the early hours of the morning, if you prefer to get technical."

The smiles and smirks were gone. He'd taken my not-so-subtle hint and gotten down to business.

Good.

"Considering The Sinclair has recently turned into a hotbed for known and suspected criminals, I would expect you to be grateful for our presence."

While Michaels did a decent enough job of keeping a stoic facade stamped across his face, I saw beyond it. A man could hide a lot, but not many could disguise the storm brewing in their eyes, and he was no exception.

I'd hit a nerve.

"Nova is—"

Mine.

"A grown woman, capable of making her own decisions." And someone he had no intention of talking about with anyone. "If she and I develop a friendship, it will be no one's business but our own. And, considering the company you keep these days, I would think you would have more important things to do than stalk an employee and her guests during her off hours."

I stood, no longer interested in playing this game.

Gabe wasn't her father, and I didn't need to be warned off.

"I get that you want to be protective, and under different circumstances, I could appreciate that. However, you and I are not friends, colleagues, or anything else. Never suggest I come here like this again for something so trivial."

"You fucking her is not trivial."

The quiet, dark edge of Gabe's voice drew me up in surprise. He'd definitely crossed a line.

"You should watch what you say to me." I kept my voice even and low. The anger, however, bled through my facade.

Gabe stood, placed his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "Are you threatening me, Agent Reed?"

If he thought I was going to take that question seriously and give him a verbal answer he was mistaken. He could take my words however the hell he wanted as long as he got the message I needed him to.

"Nova is none of your business."

Gabe's posture eased a fraction. "You know that's not true. My wife and her are close, and the success of her business means a lot to the success of The Sinclair. We have a lot invested in her. However, your non-answers and your anger have given me the information I needed."

The more he said, the more my head wanted to blow.

"I don't play fucking games, Michaels. You shouldn’t, either. In fact, if I were you, I would take my presence here more seriously. I may not have anything on you or your casino, yet, but if you don't get your house clean it's only a matter of time."

"That's bullshit." His voice turned ice cold. "We here at The Sinclair are squeaky clean. Our records have been audited as appropriate and more importantly it's that way because that's the way we want it. My brothers and I have no interest in pushing any legal limits."

I narrowed my eyes. Michaels certainly talked a good talk. Even made it sound convincing.

"If that's true, then someone in your organization needs to be fired. You need better background checks on who you get into business with."

With that, I turned and exited the room.

"Fucking Reed!" Gabe shouted. "You can’t drop a bomb like that and walk away."

I jerked the door closed behind me on a rough pull. Gabe Michaels had it all wrong. I could walk away whenever I wanted. It wasn't my job to clean up his messes.

I also didn't need him looking out for Nova.

We were two consenting adults who both knew exactly what we were getting into when this thing started. I'd made the rules as clear as possible with her.

As I slammed my way out of what felt like the bowels of this hotel, my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. Not getting a great feeling about who or why someone would be texting me this early in the morning, I yanked the device from my pocket and read the message.

The caller's name and number were blocked.

Got some information on those diamonds. Something is going down tonight. You ain't got much time. G

Shit. I couldn't believe my eyes. One of my informants had actually come through with some intel. Fuck. It had better be actionable. I was sick and tired of spinning my wheels on this case. Maybe this day wouldn't be a complete and total shit show after all.