Werewolf in Las Vegas by Vicki Lewis Thompson

had hours to devote to such a project.
    â€œIt’s nothing bad,” the woman said. “I’m not going to serve you with a subpoena or anything. But you fit the description I was given, and I was told you’d be here with a redhead, watching the Bellagio fountain do its thing.” She pulled a manila envelope out of her large tote.
    Luke recognized his sister’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope. “When did you get that?”
    â€œI’m not supposed to say. I’m just supposed to give it to you and leave.” She smiled. “I wouldn’t refuse a tip, though.”
    Luke dug out his wallet and located a hundred-dollar bill tucked behind the twenties. “If you’ll tell me when and how you got the envelope, and what the woman was wearing at the time, you can have this.”
    Her eyes widened. “Uh . . . no. As much as I could use that, I promised her I wouldn’t tell you. You should let her dance, though. It’s not like she’s going to strip. I can see why you’d object to that, but what she wants—to dance with the Moonbeams—that’s classy.”
    Luke was very aware of Giselle standing next to him listening to every word. “She told you about that?” he asked.
    â€œSure. We shared a moment. My family didn’t want me to get the tattoos and the piercings, but it’s my life, you know?” She glanced at Giselle. “You get what I’m saying, right? Once you’re an adult, you get to decide.”
    â€œI agree,” Giselle said.
    â€œI thought you would.” The woman moved a little closer to Giselle. “You look like a take-charge kind of lady. We can’t let other people push us around. Like present company, for example.”
    Luke sighed.
    â€œI completely agree,” Giselle said, suppressing her smile. She could see Luke was suffering through this conversation.
    â€œHere.” Luke shoved the hundred-dollar bill at the woman. “Take it with my blessings. Now give me the envelope.”
    â€œYou bet.” She handed it over.
    â€œThank you. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to get—”
    â€œWait. I have something else for you.” She reached into her tote, pulled out a pink squirt gun, and shot him in the face. “Bye, now!” She hurried away.
    As water ran down Luke’s face and into the open neck of his shirt, he didn’t look at Giselle. “Don’t you dare laugh.”
    â€œI won’t.” But her voice quavered as though she wanted to. “I have a tissue in my pocket, if that would help.”
    â€œThanks. I’d appreciate it.”
    The white tissue fluttered in front of him like a flag of truce. “Can I hold the envelope for you?”
    â€œSure.” He handed it over and accepted her tissue so he could mop his face. “I don’t know where Cynthia found that squirt gun, but it packs a punch.”
    â€œLuke, I have a confession.”
    â€œOh?” Balling the tissue in his fist, he glanced around for a trash can. One happened to be nearby, so he lobbed the wet tissue into it. Two points. “About what?”
    â€œMy brother. As a kid, he was fascinated with practical jokes. The bucket of water trick is something he spent hours getting right. And he knows his squirt guns, too. He considers the superpumper ones too obvious. So he’ll take a normal-sized one and fool with it until it delivers a blast of water that’ll drown you on the first shot.”
    Luke stared at her in disbelief. “And your brother is how old?”
    â€œThirty. And you know what? I never connected that significant birthday with him shucking his responsibilities and coming to Vegas. But that might be part of it. Maybe this is a last fling before he has to settle down.”
    â€œBully for him.” Luke was in no mood to hear about some guy’s birthday angst. When he’d turned thirty,