Chapter One

      Mariella’s Halloween masquerade ball was a little more than twelve hours away, and Gabe now regarded the clock as his mortal enemy. Time was evaporating, the calm before the storm going up in smoke. Circumstances today were about to force him to do something he’d never considered—taking a human life.

      Vanessa had flown into Vegas two hours ago with the gowns Mariella had ordered for the ball. Like it or not, and he didn’t like it at all, especially since the suggestion had come from Rachel, this was his best window to deal with the Vanessa situation. They were away from Santa Barbara and Casa Cat. The murder would be a sad story, but it wouldn’t cast a permanent pall over the Marshalls and their estate. People would eventually forget about the whole thing.

      His sleep had been fitful and fragmented last night, after reaching the conclusion that he had no choice but to get rid of Vanessa permanently. Knowing that it had to happen today put him even more on edge. Every nerve in his body was raw and agitated. That was the most unsettling part. He was the unflappable one. He did not get rattled.

      Ever.

      To make it worse, his damn phone would not stop ringing, and it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet. After his call from Rachel last night, it was nice to have a break from the business of being the Fixer and deal with something as benign as a party, but this one had become a royal pain in the ass. The list was incredibly tight. Guests couldn’t merely buy their way in. A person had to be somebody. A big somebody. It was Gabe’s job to determine who was in and who was out.

      In his suite at the Grecian, he rolled his neck to work away some tension, then stared down his phone’s caller ID. Trudy Binghamton, newly divorced socialite. She’d called twice yesterday. He hadn’t taken either call, on purpose. People like Trudy were accustomed to getting whatever they wanted, but she was a gossip of epic proportions and had been one of the first people to cast suspicion on the true nature of Harrison’s accident. She had to pay for that misstep, even though Gabe ultimately wanted her at the masquerade, sucking down French champagne and stuffing her face with the finest party food MSM had to offer. The Marshalls needed lips flapping about their fabulous party. He needed people with big mouths chattering away that the Marshalls still had it. They were boldly marching forward with business as usual, showing the world that Harrison’s physical state was of little concern, even when it was a worry that never left Gabe’s mind.

      “This is Gabriel,” he answered.

      “Gabe. It’s Trudy. Trudy Binghamton. You didn’t call me back yesterday.”

      Gabe smirked and spun a pen on the desk blotter,