Not-So-Secret

Chapter four

In its place, Jones planned another luxury hotel, this one smaller but even more exclusive than the Xanadu.

It would make the Belagio look like a Motel 6.

James got to the elevator and pressed the button, his gaze moving from the ornate flower arrangements on the antique tables to the mirrors on the walls.

He did look as though he was about to get into a hearse. At least he wasn't required to wear a damn hat.

The elevator doors opened and he got in, expecting a long, Slow ride down.

The were express elevators in the hotel, but not from his floor.

He amused himself by counting the stops on the way to the lobby.

Six.

He always left about 10 minutes early to accommodate.

Finally he reached the basement level.

He'd go to the employee's lounge and grab something to eat.

Then he'd be on his way.

He wanted the airport run over quickly so he could get back.

Jones had cancelled one important meeting this afternoon with Steve Parkin, but he hadn't cancelled his appointment with Charlie Moore, one of his major customers.

Everything about the meeting was legal, at least on the surface.

But James had a feeling there was something more going on.

He had no intention of being left out of the loop on this one.

It could be big. Real big.

JAMES PARKED THE LIMO on the tarmac and got out.

Jones's Gulfstream IV was already here, just shutting down.

James straightened his jacket and waited for the passenger to disembark.

The jet door opened and the attendant stepped out first.

Gina was her name and she was as beautiful as any of the showgirls at the hotel.

She was a favourite of Jones's and James view for a fact that she offered more than coffee and tea whenever the boss was on board.

Another woman stepped onto the platform and James stop breathing.

What in hell was she doing back?

James pull himself together as it registered that it really was Kelly.

He would have known her anywhere.

God, how many times had he thought he'd seen her in a restaurant or gas station?

How many nights had she haunted his dreams...?

She'd come back.

If he hadn't seen her with his own eyes, he'd never have believed it.

She walked down the metal ladder to the tarmac, a purse over her shoulder, an overnight case in her hand.

She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, as if she'd thrown it up in a hurry.

Sunglasses hid her eyes, but the the thin line of her lips telegraphed her anxiety.

His gaze moved down the rest of her, the long, slender body he'd known to briefly.

She seemed awfully thin, fragile.

He'd always thought of her as fragile, though.

Her jeans were worn Levi's, her shirt plain white, short sleeved, pressed.

None of the designer clothes she'd worn when he'd known her before.

Why in hell was she back?

Surely she wasn't going to hook up with Jones again.

Hadn't she had enough?

He remembered the last time he'd seen her.

She'd been scared. No, terrified.

As he had with every other possession, Jones had held on to her with an iron fist.

She'd had to plan an escape, as daring as any prison break.

Like a fool, James had helped her, putting everything he had on the line.

He should have stayed out of it.

But the welts on her back, the bruises on her legs ...

She said something to Gina, then turned his way, walked as if each step cost her, which, if she was headed back to the Xanadu, was sickeningly true.

He opened the back door of the limo, took his place beside it.

Waited as she got closer.

Wondered...

She stopped about twenty-five yards from the car.

Her mouth opened slightly as she recognised him.

With a slow hand, she took off her dark sunglasses.

Where she'd looked anxious a moment ago, he now sort surprise furrow her brow.

She hadn't expected him.

Was she pleased?

Embarrassed?

Moving forward again, her gaze move down to the tarmac until she was even with the front of the limo.

"James," she said, her voice bringing back memories he'd just as soon forget.

"I never expected to see you again."

She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them again he so I had pneus that hadn't been the the last time he'd seen her her.

"Things change."

"Yeah," he said.

He took her overnight bag, like the good little chauffeur that he was, then helped her into the cavernous back seat, startled at how she nearly disappeared against the white of the interior.

He put her bag in the trunk, then got behind the wheel.

The moment he turned on the engine, the bulletproof Plexiglas that's separated the wheat from the chaff lowered a few inches.

Not enough for him to see more than the top of her pale blonde head, but enough for him to hear her.

"How have you been?" She asked.

"Me? Swell. In fact, I haven't had to be a driver for over a year, with the obvious exception of this trip. I'm not moving up the food chain."

"I see," she said, although he knew she didn't see at all.

"What brings you to son in Las Vegas? Come to see the new Celine Dion theatre?"

She didn't answer until he'd reached the St Rose Parkway, heading toward 15.

"I see you've still got that charming wit."

He glanced in the rearview, but she was staring out her window, hidden once  more behind her sunglasses.

"I just do what I'm told," he said. "Keep my nose clean."

He heard her sigh and for a moment he felt bad.

But only for a moment.

She'd gotten away once.

He doubted she'd get away again.

The woman knew who Jones was, had seen what he could do and still, she'd come back.

Probably for the money.

Wasn't that always the bottom line?