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But she was long past sitting on the sidelines and playing bookkeeper. Rebecca wasn’t a woman given to fanciful notions, nor did she waste her time when there was a story to pursue. She had big footsteps to fill as a reporter for the Kansas City Journal. This wasn’t just about living up to her father’s reputation and making a name for herself in her chosen career. This was about living up to her father’s love. This was about proving his faith in her hadn’t been misplaced.
Her artificially long lashes tickled her cheeks as she opened her eyes and steeled herself for the task at hand. The only thing that warmed her tonight was the muggy summer heat. The only scents were the faint, seaweedy smell of the Missouri River and her own spicier perfume. The only laughter she heard belonged to a few of the lucky customers outside the Riverboat Casino complex, waiting for a cab or valet service. The players who’d been less fortunate filled the night air with damning curses and desperate ramblings.
Rebecca watched them all from the front seat of her cherry-red Mustang. Was he the one? Was she?
Who were the big guns with money-laundering and murder on their minds? And who were the innocent bystanders, unaware of the big money, big influence and big cover-up hidden beneath the Riverboat Casino’s polished-steel facade and glitzy excitement? They’d all come to the shiny steamship that had once been the rusted wreck of the Commodore riverboat. Renovation and expansion could only mask the Commodore’s secrets. A new name and facelift didn’t change the fact that her father’s life had ended here.
And where the trail of clues he’d left for her ended, her investigation would begin. If she could unlock the details of that last exposé her father had been working on, she just might be able to piece together the rest of the puzzle and find out who’d murdered him. Which was a hell of a lot more than those pathetic all-talk, no-action bozos at KCPD had been able to do over the past three years. They’d relegated Reuben Page’s murder to their unsolved cold-case files.
Rebecca had no intention of giving up on her father.
His memory was all she had left.
With her nerve firmly set into place, Rebecca locked the precious notebook inside the glove compartment and inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. Squeezing the university class ring that hung from a white-gold chain around her neck, she whispered, “This one’s for you, Dad.”
She bussed the man-sized ring with a quick kiss and tucked it inside the décolletage of her little black dress. Once out of the car, she paused for a moment to adjust the swingy hemline that stopped several inches above her knees. Any day of the week she preferred the practicality of jeans and khakis over a dress and three-inch heels. But what was the point of standing five-foot-ten if a girl couldn’t show off a little leg when the occasion called for it?
Tonight’s game plan definitely called for it.
As did the free fall of curly brunette hair that tickled the bare skin between her shoulder blades. Rebecca paused to open her tiny purse and pull out her compact, ostensibly to check the subtle pout of her ruby-tinted lips. In reality, she was verifying that the miniature recorder she carried would be ready at the push of a button should she need it. Tonight was more about identifying the players she’d been researching rather than finding any meaningful facts. If she could ingratiate herself into the casino crowd, get the layout of the place and the faces memorized, then she’d be in position to start digging beneath the surface. Deck by deck. Suspect by suspect. Clue by clue.
The Journal hadn’t sanctioned this assignment. Her editor had no idea of the personal nature of this investigation. He probably wouldn’t have granted her vacation if he’d known what she was really up to. But blessing or no, she intended to approach this job with the same diligence she’d use on any other story she was reporting. She intended to be just as prepared, just as thorough.
Rebecca snapped her bag shut and let the masquerade begin.
She curved her mouth into a subtle pout at the appreciative glances and outright stares that followed her across the wide, fixed gangplank leading over the water to the Riverboat’s light-studded entryway. Good. She didn’t have the money to throw around at the gaming tables necessary to garner the attention of the men she was here to investigate. And she couldn’t exactly flash her press pass or use her real name, in case someone connected her to her father or the paper.
But there was more than one way to get herself invited into the back rooms and private offices on board. And though it stuck in her feminist craw, Rebecca Page was relying on the long legs she’d inherited from her father and the dramatic sculpt of cheekbones she’d inherited from her mother to get her inside that inner circle to the secrets hidden there.
The noise of bells and whistles, chatter and music assaulting her ears nearly sent Rebecca back out the sliding glass doors. But, seeing the wine-red carpet and refined appointments of an Old South cruise ship as some sort of surreal memorial to her father, she curled her toes inside her stilettos and refused to retreat. Bright lights and false fronts aside, this was where her father had died. It was where he might have hidden a disk or notebook before taking a bullet and plunging into the river.
His killer worked here. Or played here. Had rebuilt the place from below the waterline on up to the bright-red smokestacks. Someone here knew something or somebody. The money that had created this gambling mecca was tainted. Her father had known that and had been silenced for that knowledge.
If she couldn’t find the actual killer, then Rebecca was certain this place would provide the clues to lead her to him.
“WELCOME to the Riverboat.” A young woman wearing a mini version of a dance-hall girl’s costume pressed a brass coin into Rebecca’s hand. “We’re giving a token to every new player who comes in tonight. It’s good for one game at the quarter slots, or a free drink at the Cotton Blossom bar.”
Rebecca glanced at the token in her palm, arching an eyebrow with skepticism. “How do you know I’m a new player? You’ve been open since the Memorial Day weekend, haven’t you? Maybe I’ve been in here before.”
The hostess’s blank expression told Rebecca she’d interrupted the girl’s memorized spiel. Then the young woman laughed.
“Okay.” Rebecca waited for a “like, totally” to pop out of the blonde’s giggly mouth. “So we’re really giving a token to every customer who comes through our doors all summer long, whether it’s your first time or not. We want you to play the games and feel at home.”
In the enemy’s camp? Not likely. Rebecca returned a smile to the two men who entered behind her and who walked past before she dropped the token into her purse. Her questions had only just begun. She scanned the bubbly golden girl’s nametag. “Who’s ‘we’, Dawn? You and the other dance-hall girls?”
“Of course, us. Oh, you mean, who’s in charge?”
Rebecca nodded, gesturing around her and acting duly impressed. “Somebody laid out a pretty penny for this extravaganza.”
She knew the names on public record, but it wouldn’t hurt to know who the employees felt they really had to answer to. And if the perky blonde was willing to chat…
Dawn greeted two more guests and handed out tokens before she answered. “Well, there’s Mr. Kelleher. He does a lot of the boring business stuff.”
Rebecca ticked the name off her memorized list. That would be the chief financial backer from the Kansas City area. Local gossip claimed he had a grudge against the Westin family, who owned another wildly successful casino about two miles farther down river. Just how far would Kelleher go to get one up on the Westins? Would he murder a man whose story could close him down before he ever opened for business?
The hostess greeted another guest and continued, enjoying the opportunity to show off her inside knowledge of the place. “Let’s see. There’s the security guy. He used to be a bouncer, but now he’s in charge. Never smiles. And I don’t know Mr. Cartwright’s title, but I guess he designed the place and now he’s, you know, like the fix-it-up guy? Except he doesn’t do the work himself. I see him here more than I do Mr. Kelleher.”
Cartwright? Rebecca’s blood simmered as her subtle interrogation took a sharp turn into unexpected personal territory. That was a name she could have lived without hearing again. Shauna Cartwright was the stubborn lady commissioner of the KCPD whom Rebecca had interviewed more than once since assuming the position of crime beat reporter for the Journal. Even though the older woman had ultimately earned Rebecca’s grudging respect, she couldn’t exactly say they were friends. And, as if the chief cop wasn’t difficult enough to get along with, an even bigger thorn in Rebecca’s side was the commissioner’s bull-headed son, Seth Cartwright.
Another cop.
Built like a tank. To compensate for height issues, no doubt. Rebecca might even be a shade taller than KCPD’s lean, mean, testosterone machine.
But there was no debating the vivid memory of taut, hard muscles. Once, they’d been pressed intimately against her, and all that man and heat had left an indelible imprint on her skin and her psyche. Contact with Seth Cartwright had ignited her temper, along with something at the core of her that made so little sense that she’d dismissed it. Denied it, actually.
Maybe if her previous run-ins with the detective had had more to do with passion, and less to do with her right and his refusal to get to the heart of a story, she wouldn’t resent this visceral response to the mere mention of his name.
The prickly sea of goose bumps bathing her skin was no trick of the Riverboat’s air conditioning. Rather, it was an involuntary response to the humiliating memory of being wrestled to the ground like a common criminal. Like an overprotective bulldog, Cartwright had pinned her beneath him to keep her from approaching his mother and questioning her about a baby’s murder that had sent the entire city into a panic nearly eight months ago. The jerk. Hadn’t he ever heard of freedom of the press? Or respect for a woman? Or…hell.
Rebecca rubbed her arms to dispel the unwanted memory that refused to fade from her body. The name had to be a coincidence and she was doing a mental freak for no reason. A cop in his mid-twenties couldn’t have put away enough money to invest in an operation like this one.
Unless he’d quit the force and gotten a new job. Or was on the take.
Now there was a story she’d love to sink her teeth into.
“And there’s Teddy, of course.”
Rebecca dragged her attention back to the present and Dawn’s eager smile. “Teddy?”
Her father’s ring burned against her skin inside her dress. Rebecca fisted her hand around her purse to keep from reaching for it. How could she have forgotten her purpose here, even for a moment? How had she let a man, especially that one, distract her from her investigation?
Burying all thoughts of her nemesis at KCPD, Rebecca asked, “Who’s Teddy?”
“I mean, Mister Wolfe, of course,” Dawn’s cheeks pinkened as she corrected herself. “He manages the casino, bars and restaurants. He’s more of a people person than Mr. Kelleher.”
Now the name registered. Theodore Wolfe, Jr. Daniel Kelleher’s not-so-silent partner. Rebecca’s colleague in charge of the Journal’s business pages said Wolfe was a British investor who’d come to the U.S. to expand the successful gaming establishments his father’s company owned in London, Monte Carlo and the Bahamas—Wolfe International. Did his arrival in Kansas City have anything to do with her father’s death?
But Dawn was still talking. No, gushing was a better word. “You should get a load of that British accent. If James Bond had a twin…You know, they’re not all stuffy and tea and crumpets over there. At least, Teddy isn’t. Now his executive assistant, on the other hand—”
“Dawn, dear—are you monopolizing this beautiful lady?”
Rebecca “got a load” of that melodic, articulate British accent an instant before the scent of fine tobacco filled the air and a hand brushed the small of her back. She stiffened at the unexpected touch, then forced herself to relax as one of the men she’d come to investigate circled around her. Theodore Wolfe, Jr. Thirty. Boy wonder of the business world. As handsome in person as his publicity photo had indicated. Rebecca tipped her chin, unaccustomed to meeting many men she had to look up to. Teddy had expensive taste in smokes, deep-blue eyes and a killer smile that could make a woman with twice Dawn’s experience blush like a schoolgirl.
He also had a thick-necked sidekick who positioned himself behind his shoulder. Rebecca was guessing the older man with the nearly-shaved, silver hair was the executive assistant Dawn had sneered about. Looking more bodyguard than business associate, despite his tailored suit and tie, he stood far enough away to be removed from the conversation, but close enough for Rebecca to see his dark eyes studying her, then dismissing her as though she wasn’t worth his interest.
Cold, Rebecca thought, looking away before another attack of goose bumps betrayed her. Creepy.
“The idea is for you to welcome each guest,” Teddy chastised and flirted at the same time, though Rebecca wasn’t sure if the charm was aimed at her or Dawn. “Then we send them on his or her way to enjoy their evening. We want them to play.”
“We were just chatting, Mister Wolfe,” Dawn emphasized, as though she’d earn points for making the distinction.
With his silent shadow glowering just a few feet away, it wasn’t as difficult as Rebecca would have liked to respond to Teddy Wolfe’s smile. “I hope I didn’t get Dawn into trouble,” she apologized. “She really has been very welcoming.”
“She’s a good girl, isn’t she?” Though Dawn beamed at the praise, Rebecca thought she detected a subtle slur in the word girl. As opposed to woman. As opposed to the heavy-lidded interest he gave to Rebecca’s long legs and the deep plunge of her neckline.
Score one for the femme fatale persona she’d donned for the evening. Rebecca forced herself to breathe normally, despite the surge of confidence racing through her veins. This guy was interested. If she played her cards right, and didn’t come on too strong with a barrage of questions, he’d eventually tell her everything she wanted to know about his new business, and whether any blood—namely, her father’s—had been spilled to make it happen.
Rebecca’s sultry, satisfied smile drew his gaze up to her mouth. “I’m Teddy Wolfe. My assistant, Shaw McDonough.” He waved in the general direction of the dark-eyed hulk behind him, but never took his eyes off Rebecca. “What have you two been chatting about? Something fascinating, I expect.”
“I’m Rebecca.” Rebecca extended her hand before the hostess mentioned the questions she’d been asking. “This is my first time at the Riverboat, and Dawn was very graciously giving me the rundown so I wouldn’t get lost.”
Teddy’s gaze made a reluctant descent back down to her outstretched hand. But instead of the businesslike shake she was expecting, he pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed them. His grip was gentle, his lips moist and warm and as precise as that swoon-worthy accent. He’d done this before. More than once. “I’d be delighted to give you the grand tour myself. I’ll even show you the private gaming rooms and offices upstairs.”
Dawn’s gasp was audible. “Teddy.” The blonde made no effort to correct her familiar address this time. “I get off in an hour. You promised…”
And though Rebecca saw the accusatory look on the young girl’s face, Theodore Wolfe, Jr., ignored it.
Maybe there was something more than a crush on the handsome Brit that Rebecca had intruded upon here. Or maybe it was the sudden wedge of Shaw McDonough between boss and hostess that soured Dawn’s expression.
McDonough whispered into his employer’s ear. Another British accent, though deeper, gruffer. “Daniel Kelleher is waiting in your office, Mr. Wolfe. He wants to review the agenda for the meeting regarding the poker tournament coming up next weekend.”
“Of course he does.” Teddy leaned in to Rebecca as though he was sharing some inside joke. “I expect Kelleher plans an agenda for each trip to the loo. If he wasn’t so damn good with numbers, he’d annoy me.” The smooth stroke of his thumb across the back of her knuckles reminded Rebecca that he still held her hand. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you. Rebecca.”
She ignored the urge to pull away and reach for Dawn. A reassuring hug was definitely not a femme fatale move. Instead, she fixed her pout into place. “Maybe if I haven’t lost all my money and I’m still here later, I’ll take you up on that private tour.”
His grip tightened as he stroked her hand again. “Be here.”
“Mr. Wolfe.” His executive assistant tapped his watch. “The meeting?”
“Dawn.” Teddy draped his arms around the hostess’s shoulders and kissed her cheek, despite her stiff posture. “Now, now. Give Rebecca all the tokens she can carry. I want her evening here to be long and successful.”
“Sure, Teddy.”
For a moment, she had the boss’s full attention. “What was that?”
“Yes, sir, Mister Wolfe.”
He traced his finger across her cheek. “Ahh. Where’s that pretty smile?” His wink restored Dawn’s color, and a playful jab at her chin earned a soft giggle. “Good girl.”
“We still need to talk. Remember?”
Teddy Wolfe turned away without an answer. He took center stage, striding through the maze of slot machines that filled the main room, shaking hands and greeting players as he passed. Shaw McDonough, with his ever-watchful scowl, scanned the crowd, urging his employer forward whenever a conversation lasted more than a few seconds.
Once the two Brits reached the boat’s grand staircase at the far end of the room and headed up the stairs, Dawn turned and shoved her entire cup of tokens into Rebecca’s hands. The smile she’d given the boss was gone. “Here. Enjoy your evening at the Riverboat. All of it.”
Rebecca cringed at the accusation in the younger woman’s voice. She wondered if there were any words she could put together to get back into Dawn’s good graces without giving away her real purpose here. But guilt chased away her normal fluency, and all she could come up with was, “Thank you.”
Dawn didn’t even want to hear that much from her. Just as well. Rebecca was here to dig up a story, not make friends.
She had that scenario down to an art form.
She bristled at the silent admission, then straightened as if Dawn’s cold shoulder didn’t bother her one damn bit. “Can you point me toward the nearest Cosmopolitan?”
In reality, she’d be drinking ginger ale. But a bar tended to be a friendly place where people were either too drunk or too eager to please, making it easy to get them to talk.
With a roll of her eyes, Dawn pointed to the Cotton Blossom, a brightly lit archway which nearly blinded Rebecca to the dark woods and brass trim inside. “Knock yourself out.”
Then Dawn announced to the other hostesses at the bank of doors that she was taking a break. Ignoring their reminders that each of them had already had their fifteen, she wove her way along the same path Teddy Wolfe had taken. Though, instead of following him up the stairs, she paused at the curving white balustrade. The feathers on her headpiece stirred as she tilted her chin in some mark of pride or defiance.
She glared back over her shoulder, making sure Rebecca understood that her welcome to the Riverboat had only been superficial. Teddy Wolfe was off limits—whether her intentions were personal or professional.
Then, with a stamp of her button-top boots, the blonde turned and disappeared through a shadowed recess beneath the staircase, letting the door marked Employees Only swing shut behind her.
Chapter Two
Left to fend for herself, Rebecca spent an hour strolling around the islands of slot machines and gaming tables, pausing to watch a craps game before trying her hand at blackjack.
She hadn’t been entirely alone. Two men had offered to buy her a drink. Another coaxed her to rub his cards for luck. And when the dealer turned over a card and gave him 21, he invited her to be his good-luck charm at the Riverboat’s upcoming high-stakes poker tournament. Rebecca agreed to think about it. Serving as arm candy was one way to get into the Riverboat’s inner circle. But it wouldn’t give her much of a chance to talk without drawing undue attention to her questions. Still, she took the man’s card. If she couldn’t create her own access into Wolfe International’s secrets, then she’d show up as retired businessman Douglas Dupree’s date.
“Congratulations again, miss.” There was a smattering of applause from the guests lined up behind Rebecca as the dealer pushed another stack of chips her way.
Good grief. She must be up to over four hundred dollars by now—and that didn’t even count the tokens Dawn had shoved into her hands earlier.
“Thanks.” She added her chips to the cup of tokens, catching the ones that spilled over in her hand. She looked across at the young man wearing the Riverboat’s ubiquitous uniform of a silk vest and pinstriped shirt with black armbands and string tie. “Is it bad form if I walk away from the table while I’m ahead?”
The dealer grinned. “Around here, we call that good sense.” He scooped up the cards and the chip she left him as a tip. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Two guests vied for her lucky seat as she got up. Pushed aside for the moment, she searched for her next information target.
Despite her amazing success, Rebecca was bored with the tables. And after already sounding out the dealers on some of the same questions she’d asked Dawn Kingsley, she’d run out of connections to explore here. Though she hadn’t wasted her time, there were faster, more direct ways to get the results she wanted. She needed to get chummy with an employee farther up the hierarchy—if not Teddy Wolfe, his partners and executive staff themselves.
Besides, she sensed she was drawing someone’s attention. And not in the way she’d intended. The feeling of being watched was too intense, too malevolent to attribute to the legs or the hair or the little black dress. Was it the pit boss with the long black ponytail, who seemed to show up in her peripheral vision every time she placed a bet? Was it Dawn’s jealous evil eye, condemning Rebecca for distracting the boss she’d already set her sights on? Could it be a potential mugger, sizing her up to rob her of her winnings once she left the cameras and security of the casino?
Or was there someone else she needed to guard against?
Rebecca shivered, feeling those eyes on her even now as she stood outside the entrance to the Cotton Blossom Bar.
A subtle glance to either side revealed no one more suspicious than the next person. Short of spinning around and making eye contact with every soul on the Riverboat’s vast main floor, there was nothing she could do to identify and stop the unwanted interest.
Watch my back, Dad, she prayed, invoking her father’s memory and finding her own strength.
Her laid-back father would have hated a place like this, with all its glitz and glam and commotion. But she could feel him with her, like a restless spirit lurking in the shadows until revelation of the truth could finally give him peace. Rebecca fingered the chain around her neck, imagining his warmth before the chill of isolation could take hold of her.
“Has to be done,” she whispered. She tipped her chin, stood straight and tall, and walked into the bar.
Rebecca nodded to the faceless bouncer who waved her inside without checking her license. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dimmer ambiance, her ears to the more human, less mechanical sounds. By the time she’d pulled up a stool at the polished walnut bar and ordered her ginger ale and lime, she’d introduced herself to the bartender, Tom Sawyer.
“You’re kidding, right?” She looked up from the nametag on his black silk vest and offered a teasing smile.
