start on the top floor and work my way down.”
“And I’ll start at the bottom and head upstairs,” she finished.
With a nod, Jim peeled away, his keen gaze traveling over the floor and lingering for a long moment on Petrov and his companions.
Kathleen strolled slowly across the floor to the escalators. She rode down to the first public level where the food courts, shops, and parking elevators were located. It was quieter here, away from the hubbub of the floors with the gambling areas. At a leisurely pace, she paused now and again to glance at the merchandise in the shop windows, read a menu or two, then settled on a latte to sip while she finished her rounds of that floor and headed to the next level.
A line of a dozen or so people waited in the check-in area of the lobby, but they were being quickly serviced by the hotel personnel. There were more shops on this level, definitely high-end judging from the merchandise in the windows and the patrons within.
Nothing set off her radar. She did another slow circuit around the casino floor and struggled to listen to the chatter in her ear piece over the noise of the machines and patrons in the gaming areas. Her colleagues communicated their locations and updated her on Petrov’s activities. Apparently he was busy ordering enough food for the entire restaurant and insisting on his own personal waiter. If she hadn’t already disliked him, that would have pushed her over the edge.
She detested elitists. Which, she supposed, had been partly responsible for her initial disdain for Alexander. His actions over the past two days, however, had mollified that impression of him. Somewhat. Although she believed his explanation of the Lower East Side warehouse incident, her recollection of those captive women still haunted her enough to cause a niggle of doubt at the back of her mind about him—mainly because of her certainty that he was keeping secrets from her. Why keep secrets if he wasn’t guilty of anything?
With nothing happening on that floor, she moved to another, and then to the fourth, catching sight of Jim as he, too, patrolled that area. The high stakes tables were on this level, along with some gaming areas reserved for the hotel’s most important guests. The atmosphere was different, definitely not as boisterous as on the lower levels. Most of the people gambling here were either too sophisticated to show their excitement or professional gamblers who maintained a neutral façade as part of their business. But because this area was the kind of place where escorts might visit in the hopes of pairing with a well-off mark, she lingered, staying in the background as she walked from one area to the next.
After an hour of little progress, she went up yet another floor to where the restaurant and a nightclub were located. As she passed the restaurant, she noted the table in front of Petrov was piled high with dishes and a half-empty bottle of vodka. Gold flakes in the liquor shimmered under the restaurant lights as Petrov raised the bottle and refilled the glasses on the table. With the bottle now nearly empty, he hoisted it in the air and called out to the waiter for another.
“That’s their third bottle,” one of her agents advised as Kathleen walked away, trying not to be noticed.
“If he keeps on sucking down those raw oysters with the vodka, he’s going to be sick as a dog,” another agent chimed in.
Raw oysters and alcohol were never a good mix, she thought, working her way into the nightclub where the noise level made it impossible to hear a thing. She shut off the transmitter to avoid compromising communications between the others, and perused the jam-packed space, excited when she caught sight of a familiar face.
She was certain it was one of the escorts in the photos. She whipped out her cell phone and sent Jim a text message, giving her location and asking for his people to get the suspect on camera while she hung back.
The woman was alone, but did
“And I’ll start at the bottom and head upstairs,” she finished.
With a nod, Jim peeled away, his keen gaze traveling over the floor and lingering for a long moment on Petrov and his companions.
Kathleen strolled slowly across the floor to the escalators. She rode down to the first public level where the food courts, shops, and parking elevators were located. It was quieter here, away from the hubbub of the floors with the gambling areas. At a leisurely pace, she paused now and again to glance at the merchandise in the shop windows, read a menu or two, then settled on a latte to sip while she finished her rounds of that floor and headed to the next level.
A line of a dozen or so people waited in the check-in area of the lobby, but they were being quickly serviced by the hotel personnel. There were more shops on this level, definitely high-end judging from the merchandise in the windows and the patrons within.
Nothing set off her radar. She did another slow circuit around the casino floor and struggled to listen to the chatter in her ear piece over the noise of the machines and patrons in the gaming areas. Her colleagues communicated their locations and updated her on Petrov’s activities. Apparently he was busy ordering enough food for the entire restaurant and insisting on his own personal waiter. If she hadn’t already disliked him, that would have pushed her over the edge.
She detested elitists. Which, she supposed, had been partly responsible for her initial disdain for Alexander. His actions over the past two days, however, had mollified that impression of him. Somewhat. Although she believed his explanation of the Lower East Side warehouse incident, her recollection of those captive women still haunted her enough to cause a niggle of doubt at the back of her mind about him—mainly because of her certainty that he was keeping secrets from her. Why keep secrets if he wasn’t guilty of anything?
With nothing happening on that floor, she moved to another, and then to the fourth, catching sight of Jim as he, too, patrolled that area. The high stakes tables were on this level, along with some gaming areas reserved for the hotel’s most important guests. The atmosphere was different, definitely not as boisterous as on the lower levels. Most of the people gambling here were either too sophisticated to show their excitement or professional gamblers who maintained a neutral façade as part of their business. But because this area was the kind of place where escorts might visit in the hopes of pairing with a well-off mark, she lingered, staying in the background as she walked from one area to the next.
After an hour of little progress, she went up yet another floor to where the restaurant and a nightclub were located. As she passed the restaurant, she noted the table in front of Petrov was piled high with dishes and a half-empty bottle of vodka. Gold flakes in the liquor shimmered under the restaurant lights as Petrov raised the bottle and refilled the glasses on the table. With the bottle now nearly empty, he hoisted it in the air and called out to the waiter for another.
“That’s their third bottle,” one of her agents advised as Kathleen walked away, trying not to be noticed.
“If he keeps on sucking down those raw oysters with the vodka, he’s going to be sick as a dog,” another agent chimed in.
Raw oysters and alcohol were never a good mix, she thought, working her way into the nightclub where the noise level made it impossible to hear a thing. She shut off the transmitter to avoid compromising communications between the others, and perused the jam-packed space, excited when she caught sight of a familiar face.
She was certain it was one of the escorts in the photos. She whipped out her cell phone and sent Jim a text message, giving her location and asking for his people to get the suspect on camera while she hung back.
The woman was alone, but did
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