guy.”
“For what? Leilani said that Ralph’s not the one who hit her.”
“Yes, but clearly he’s involved in something illegal.”
Ha! Now Trina could return the same huffy look of
did you really just say that really stupid thing.
It was the first time she’d ever been able to do it to Darcy, and it felt great. “That’s not a specific enough charge for an arrest warrant. We don’t have anything concrete. Nothing the police could act on. But the situation’s off. Off enough that I have to keep digging.”
“Of course you do. We can’t let that poor girl just keep getting pummeled. But—with all due respect to your yellow belt in karate—this seems dangerous. Do you have to do it alone?”
Whew. Better for Darcy to volunteer than to have to ask her. “I hope not. My favorite partner is here, ready to work out a plan with me over lunch.”
“We chased bad guys on our last vacation. I was hoping to mix things up this time.” Darcy widened her eyes hopefully. “Maybe not end my road trip with a gun pointed at me.”
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises.”
Chapter Seven
Brad lowered his voice and pulled Coop down a couple of steps on the escalator ahead of the girls. “Are you sure you’re going to have any money left to gamble? That prime rib dinner was over-the-top amazing—and expensive. You didn’t have to cover all of us.”
“How often do we get to do a double date at the swankiest joint in town?” Coop shot his cuffs with the smoothness of a wise guy. Damn. Since when did his cousin even own cuff links? Or a shirt that required them? “No point in half-assing it.”
“I appreciate your whole-ass-ed-ness, believe me.” Brad patted his belly. He could cook well enough for a single man. Not just burgers or dorm room food like grilled cheese, either. There were a couple of chicken recipes he used to impress dates, and a handful of pasta recipes that kept him going. But he never went to the trouble to make himself a feast of shrimp cocktail, lobster bisque, Caesar salad, prime rib and au gratin potatoes.
“Do you think Darcy and Trina are having a good time?”
What kind of a question was that? It gave Brad déjà vu to the first time he and Coop had double dated, back in eighth grade. “Of course they are. We all are. The four of us just laughed for two hours straight through dinner. This is a night we’ll be talking about for years—and we haven’t even hit the tables yet. Why the hell are you asking?”
“No reason. Nothing.” Coop charged off the escalator onto the mobbed casino floor.
Now that it was Friday, the place was wall-to-wall people. Guys their age who seemed to run in packs of seven, all in a uniform of jeans and untucked button-down shirts. Bachelorette parties full of women in too tight, too short skirts they tugged down every two steps, pink sashes and pink boas. Obvious hand-holding dates that matched their own foursome with suits and slinky dresses. There was a constant din of slot machines at different pitches. Groups of shouts came from the direction of the craps tables. Loud music drifted over from the bars. Brad did a double take. The nearest bar sported three women gyrating on top of it dressed only in knee-high boots, sequined bras and shorts that turned into thongs in the back. He reached back and grabbed for Trina’s hand.
“We clean up good. We should take a picture.” Coop threw an arm around Darcy’s waist and hustled her over to the showgirl with a red plume shooting out of a gold helmet. Her only job seemed to be posing for pictures with tourists. That, and avoiding the handsy men walking by who seemed to think her barely-covered-anything red and gold sequins were an invitation to touch. Too bad he couldn’t arrest anyone for being a stupid jerkwad.
The idea of a picture with her was just cheesy and stupid enough to be fun. Brad looked down at Trina. She’d done something with her makeup he couldn’t begin to pin down.
“For what? Leilani said that Ralph’s not the one who hit her.”
“Yes, but clearly he’s involved in something illegal.”
Ha! Now Trina could return the same huffy look of
did you really just say that really stupid thing.
It was the first time she’d ever been able to do it to Darcy, and it felt great. “That’s not a specific enough charge for an arrest warrant. We don’t have anything concrete. Nothing the police could act on. But the situation’s off. Off enough that I have to keep digging.”
“Of course you do. We can’t let that poor girl just keep getting pummeled. But—with all due respect to your yellow belt in karate—this seems dangerous. Do you have to do it alone?”
Whew. Better for Darcy to volunteer than to have to ask her. “I hope not. My favorite partner is here, ready to work out a plan with me over lunch.”
“We chased bad guys on our last vacation. I was hoping to mix things up this time.” Darcy widened her eyes hopefully. “Maybe not end my road trip with a gun pointed at me.”
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t make any promises.”
Chapter Seven
Brad lowered his voice and pulled Coop down a couple of steps on the escalator ahead of the girls. “Are you sure you’re going to have any money left to gamble? That prime rib dinner was over-the-top amazing—and expensive. You didn’t have to cover all of us.”
“How often do we get to do a double date at the swankiest joint in town?” Coop shot his cuffs with the smoothness of a wise guy. Damn. Since when did his cousin even own cuff links? Or a shirt that required them? “No point in half-assing it.”
“I appreciate your whole-ass-ed-ness, believe me.” Brad patted his belly. He could cook well enough for a single man. Not just burgers or dorm room food like grilled cheese, either. There were a couple of chicken recipes he used to impress dates, and a handful of pasta recipes that kept him going. But he never went to the trouble to make himself a feast of shrimp cocktail, lobster bisque, Caesar salad, prime rib and au gratin potatoes.
“Do you think Darcy and Trina are having a good time?”
What kind of a question was that? It gave Brad déjà vu to the first time he and Coop had double dated, back in eighth grade. “Of course they are. We all are. The four of us just laughed for two hours straight through dinner. This is a night we’ll be talking about for years—and we haven’t even hit the tables yet. Why the hell are you asking?”
“No reason. Nothing.” Coop charged off the escalator onto the mobbed casino floor.
Now that it was Friday, the place was wall-to-wall people. Guys their age who seemed to run in packs of seven, all in a uniform of jeans and untucked button-down shirts. Bachelorette parties full of women in too tight, too short skirts they tugged down every two steps, pink sashes and pink boas. Obvious hand-holding dates that matched their own foursome with suits and slinky dresses. There was a constant din of slot machines at different pitches. Groups of shouts came from the direction of the craps tables. Loud music drifted over from the bars. Brad did a double take. The nearest bar sported three women gyrating on top of it dressed only in knee-high boots, sequined bras and shorts that turned into thongs in the back. He reached back and grabbed for Trina’s hand.
“We clean up good. We should take a picture.” Coop threw an arm around Darcy’s waist and hustled her over to the showgirl with a red plume shooting out of a gold helmet. Her only job seemed to be posing for pictures with tourists. That, and avoiding the handsy men walking by who seemed to think her barely-covered-anything red and gold sequins were an invitation to touch. Too bad he couldn’t arrest anyone for being a stupid jerkwad.
The idea of a picture with her was just cheesy and stupid enough to be fun. Brad looked down at Trina. She’d done something with her makeup he couldn’t begin to pin down.
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