Against The Odds. Donna Kauffman
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breasts heavenward. “Come and get me,” she growled.
TUCKER WANDERED down another corridor into the newly finished part of the resort, studying the map the Blackstone security team had provided him. The cameras weren’t working in this area yet, but then, there were no guests sequestered here. However, he was sent to make sure no one else was hiding here, either. Considering the rather tricky layout of the resort, Mig had done an admirable job in sealing off the area immediately surrounding the scene. Lucas Blackstone had been completely accessible and willing to do whatever was necessary to help. But the very private nature of his business had made the very access they needed—namely to the other guests who might have heard or seen something—next to impossible to accomplish.
A handful of the guests had left the premises before the police had arrived and many of the others had contacted legal counsel, refusing to speak until their attorneys were present to insure their privacy was not abused. The media was already encamped just beyond the now-closed gates at the end of the winding drive, distanced but by no means forgotten. Mig had taken over the forensic team, while the two homicide detectives assigned to the case had taken over the investigation. Patterson was representing the medical examiner’s office, dealing with the body. Tucker had been pressed into service by the officers presently fanning out, searching for any additional guests who hadn’t been accounted for.
He didn’t mind the duty, only wishing he could do something more substantive to help out. At least he was getting an inside look at the place. And what a place it was. In his wildest dreams he couldn’t have come up with anything like this.
Blackstone had spared no expense. Not in the richly detailed layout, the lavishly appointed rooms, the training of his staff—if the security team was anything to go by—or the extent of security he was installing. Tucker had also gotten wind of the rates, and while it appeared the guests got their money’s worth, he still couldn’t get past the fact that people would pay so much for what basically amounted to sex camp for adults.
He glanced at his map again and ducked into another grotto, then around yet another lagoon toward the cluster of rooms behind it. Each room had two entrances, to ensure privacy, he was sure, but also to maintain the fire code. The man really had thought of everything.
He used the house key card he’d been given and slipped it into the first door. He opened it quietly. The room was dark, as expected. He found the pressure pad and brought up the lights, and tried not to boggle at the array of, well…toys he supposed some would call them. If you were into that sort of thing. He did a cursory check under the bed—or rack he supposed was a better term—and in a few of the leather-covered cabinets, but found nothing. Nothing having to do with the investigation anyway. To each his own, he thought, closing the door behind him…and trying really hard not to imagine what one did with a two-headed dildo on a chain. Or why they’d want to even try.
He checked the next several rooms in the same manner, each of which had a completely different decorative theme. He’d actually been sort of intrigued with the one that had its own private lagoon right in the center of the room. There had been all sorts of tub toys for that one. Ones he’d actually be interested in playing with.
Other than piquing his curiosity though, nothing was out of place. He finished the last room and clicked on his radio. “Greywolf. Sector 12 is clear.” He spoke as he ducked into the internal hallway, but noticed another alcove on his map with a door marked at the rear. “Wait, there’s one more room.”
“Copy. Report when it’s clear.”
It took a few seconds to find it, as it was behind another grotto in what initially looked like a wall of stone, but he finally found the curved entrance to a short recessed entryway. “Some people must really have some privacy issues,” he muttered, wondering how many celebrities Blackstone’s catered to. “Or government officials,” he added with a wry smile.
He was still shaking his head as he slid his key into the slot and opened the door. He automatically went to touch the light pad before he realized that the lights were already on.
He immediately stilled and shifted to the side of the open door, inside the room.
“Halloo?”
The voice was cultured, British. And decidedly female. Tucker recovered quickly, but didn’t respond. He was tucked behind what looked to be a hand-painted Japanese screen. Why hadn’t security known someone was in this sector? Unless she was hiding. But why call out then? He peered through the slit between the panels, thinking maybe she’d been detained somehow, or that it was a trap of some kind. “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured as he got a good look at the raised dais in the center of the room.
If this was a trap, it was a damn good one.
She was splayed, all dewy skin and wide eyes, across a pile of silk and satin. She certainly didn’t look like she was being held against her will. Nor did she look like a homicidal maniac. But she was most definitely dangerous. All long glisteny limbs, aroused nipples and naked skin.
Maybe vacations weren’t such a bad idea after all.
“I say, are you my…my— What do I call you?”
Turned on, was his immediate thought. Tucker cleared his throat…and the wild thoughts careening through his mind. Thoughts of what it would be like to be the man she was waiting for. Shucking his jeans and shirt and climbing over that pile of satin…and right into what she was so willingly offering.
It was clear she had no idea he wasn’t a Blackstone employee. Not that he had much experience in anything like this setup, but his instincts told him she was simply a guest who had been put in this room by mistake and security hadn’t been alerted. Now he had to come up with some way not to mortify her any more than she’d already be when he explained who he really was. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am, I’m terribly sorry, but—”
“I can’t understand what you’re saying, the screen is muffling your words. It’s alright, you know, you can show yourself.” It wasn’t until she took a visibly steadying breath and pushed herself back into her centerfold position that he realized she wasn’t as confident of the situation as she’d first appeared. He also realized that he was still staring at her.
He quickly shifted his gaze, but his body wasn’t so easily diverted. “No, ma’am, you don’t understand,” he tried again. “I’m not your—whoever it is you’re waiting for. I’m—”
She interrupted him with a light, somewhat forced laugh. “Is this part of the plan then? Am I to take the upper hand? Because, I must honestly tell you that I’d been made to understand it would be quite the opposite. At—at least for this first time.” Her voice had faltered near the end. “Come, show yourself. If it’s breaking some rule, I won’t tell. But it would make things easier for me.” Another shaky breath. “Please?”
Tucker sighed, hating the embarrassment he was about to cause. “I’m not with Blackstone’s,” he said clearly. “I’m assisting the LVMPD. There’s been a problem here in the resort. I’m going to need you to cover up and come with me.”
There was a gasp, then a sudden rustle of satin. “This isn’t part of the…the plan then?” she asked weakly.
Tucker took a quick peek. She was wrapped in some thin paper silk-looking thing that was somehow almost more sinfully erotic than her nakedness. “No, ma’am. And I apologize for the interruption. I was told these rooms were empty and I wasn’t expecting to find…what I found.” He glanced through the screen again. She was tying the knot in her robe, so he stepped out from behind the screen, wishing he were just about anywhere else.
“The room I was supposed to be in wasn’t ready, so Marta, that is, my assistant, brought me here. She must not have alerted my director to the shift. What happened?”
She was obviously mortified, but he didn’t know what else to do except act as professional as possible—and deliver her to someone else’s care as soon as possible. “If you’ll follow me, I can explain on the way.”
He turned for the door,