Lucky In Love by Deborah Coonts Page A

unassailable, which scared me. “Who’s that?” I pointed to figure skulking behind the bushes at the edge of the pool. As I watched, a hand parted the branches and a face peered through... a face I knew. With two angry strides, I reached the sliding glass door, threw it open, and charged through. “Flash, what the hell are you doing?”
    She popped out of the bush as if she’d been Tasered. “It’s my job. What’s your excuse?”
    “Same.”
    “There has to be a better way to make a living.” Flash brushed the leaves from her sweatshirt and jeans as she stepped into the open.
    “Selling my organs one at a time springs to mind.” I motioned her inside, which was akin to inviting the fox into the henhouse. Flash might be my best friend, but she was also the primo investigative reporter in Las Vegas. But, as all good friends do, I had major blackmail material on her, so I wasn’t too worried about her spilling the beans on my wayward Couple Number Four.
    “Nice to have a plan B.” With her red hair piled on her head in riotous curls, she looked like a cute troll, to the extent that wasn’t an oxymoron. Overdeveloped and overdone, she screamed Vegas . She also screamed bimbo, but that would’ve been way off base. She was as sharp as a card-counter with a new shoe.
    “What’s she doing here?” Phil Stewart asked, coming late to the party.
    “Good question.” Hands on my hips, I used my full twelve inches of height advantage to look down on Flash. “What’s your angle?”
    “An inside piece on why folks pick the swinging lifestyle.”
    Phil looked interested. “Names and faces?”
    “If anybody wants the publicity, sure. Otherwise, not necessary. I’m just curious, that’s all. And if I’m curious, I figure other folks are, too.”
    “Any money in it?” Phil narrowed his eyes like a cat eyeing a canary. He didn’t know it yet, but he was in way over his head with Flash.
    “Look,” I interrupted. “I’m in a bit of a hurry here. Can you hammer out the details later?”
    Flash looked at me, her investigative radar on high alert. “Where’s the fire?”
    I’d trust Flash with my life, so I told her.
    “Wow,” she said with wide-eyed wonder, when I’d finished. “That would hit the highlight reel for sure.” She gave an appreciative whistle.
    “Yeah, best plays of the week.” I grabbed her elbow. “But not this week. You owe me for giving you the inside track on the gal who took a header off the hotel.”
    “You’re writing the rules today.” She gave me her trademark grin.
    “Thanks.” I turned to Phil, who was still clearly contemplating all the media opportunities. “Where is everybody?”
    “We had to move the party to the gym.” He motioned me down a hallway to the right. “This way.”
    I wasn’t about to admit I knew the way. The last time I’d been aware of a party in Phil’s gym, Dane had gotten sucked into some sort of grope-fest in the dark—he’d been a little hazy on the details.
    “If you take your happy little couple from Houston back to the Babylon, then maybe, without the photo op, the Spanish Trail swat team can round up the voyeurs and the party can go on as planned.” Phil pulled open one of the double doors to the gym and walked through. He let the door swing back.
    Bad man, bad manners. Hot on his heels, I blocked the door with a stiff arm and kept on motoring. Of course, the last time I’d been his guest I’d spilt blood and threatened him with all manner of unmentionables, so no love lost.
    One of the Bee Gee’s classics played over the speaker system, which struck me as funny. Something about bartering sexual favors to a melody sung by a guy who sounded like he hadn’t reached puberty... I don’t know. Maybe I needed a very long vacation.
    People clustered in small groups, talking animatedly, sipping the beverage of their choice—while they evaluated the other... opportunities. Casual sex made me queasy. I needed to find my quarry and