Lucky Bang by Deborah Coonts Page B

was true, I resisted leaning over his shoulder as he worked. Instead, I turned my back. Putting my elbows on the counter behind me, I surveyed all the toys in the dealership. Nervous glances at the clock on the far wall marked the glacial passage of time.
    Ten minutes had passed and my nerves were jumping when Bert said, "Bingo."
    I whirled around in time to see him circle a name on his list.
    "Here's the guy."
    "Albert Campos. Does he still have the car? Can we see where he is now?"
    Bert checked his records. "No, he turned the car back in yesterday."
    I knew that was asking too much. "Anything you can tell me?"
    Bert fell to work once again, his fingers flying over the keyboard. When he stopped, his eyes widened.
    "What?"
    He turned the monitor to face me. I leaned in to read where he pointed. I read it twice, then looked up. "You sure?"
    "Yup." Bert said. "Your Mr. Campos was personally recommended by the Big Boss."

    ***

    Still reeling, my life on tilt, I paused in the lobby trying to regain balance by absorbing some of the normal flow of nightlife in Vegas. Social creatures being primarily nocturnal, nightfall heralded an increase in activity. Tonight was no exception. Couples and herds of momentarily unattached hipsters, spiffed for the evening in their five-hundred-dollar jeans with holes in them, gathered in clusters or strolled. Five hundred bucks for something I used to make with a pair of Wranglers, a shotgun, and a washing machine.
    Casual observers eyeing potential attachments, or the already attached clutching each other in a show of ownership, they all not only partook of the magic of the Babylon, but helped create our aura of coolness as well, a perfectly symbiotic relationship. And it seemed to be working.
    Except for one strident note. Several teams of beefy guys checking every nook and cranny caught my eye, dispelling some of my elixir of self-satisfaction. They were so inconspicuous in their tight t-shirts with ATF printed in six-inch letters across the back and holding onto their bomb-sniffing German Shepherds. It wasn't going to be pretty once the Big Boss got wind of it, but there wasn't much I could do. Self-preservation dictated a flak jacket but Kevlar just wasn't part of my fashion-forward style.
    Thankfully, nobody seemed too alarmed, if they even noticed the sniffers at all. One bullet dodged.
    Registration was not particularly crowded—most folks coming in town for the Fourth already had arrived. Stepping to the counter, I caught the eye of Sergio Fabiano, our front desk manager, and motioned him over.
    A trim man, dark and swarthy, with chiseled features and a body like those immortalized in marble by ancient Italian sculptors, Sergio attracted female attention wherever he went. If he considered it a burden, he shouldered it well. His dark hair, long and straight, obviously tickled his eyes as he kept flipping it—a habit I found a bit irritating. After finishing with the couple he had been dealing with, he moved down the counter stopping in front of me. "Ms. O'Toole, how are you this evening?" His brows creased into a slight frown. "Raw steak or cold cucumber will help that eye."
    "Thanks, but I'm a moving target—ducking and weaving—no time for home remedies. But you can help me with something else."
    "Your wish." He shot me a grin—how I wished it was infectious.
    "Do we have a guest by the name of Albert Campos registered here this weekend?"
    "One moment." He bent his head and began scrolling through screens in the hotel reservation system. He pursed his lips as he worked. Before he looked up, I knew the answer. "It doesn't appear there is an Albert Campos staying with us. I'm sorry."
    "Not nearly as sorry as I am." I tapped the counter as I let my eyes wander over the crowd's reflection in the large mirrors behind the desk. "Thanks anyway."
    "By the way, I love your song." Sergio clasped his hands, his eyes bright. "So romantic."
    My eyes snapped back to his. "What?"
    " Lucky for Me .