It was now or never.
Matt edged through the concealed door, remembering to shut it quietly.
There must be a regular closet somewhere in this place. Certainly a linen closet, he thought with a wince. That would be the safest place until he figured out what was happening.
He moved as stealthily as possible over the bedroom floor, glancing back at the door to make sure no traces of his stay remained.
Then he forgot everything. Safety. Secrecy.
A woman lay on the bed that had been vacant. A half-clothed young, beautiful woman.
He couldn’t think. Maybe she was . . . only a prop. One of those blow-up dolls he’d first learned about only a month ago. This place was a fantasyland of forbidden sex.
He couldn’t just leave her without making sure.
Retracing his steps, he saw with every one that she was real; a young, beautiful, dead woman. She wore a corset missing the cups for her breasts and a garter belt with the silver garters loose and glittering. She was naked enough that he’d hesitate to approach her, but the black stocking wrapped tight around her neck assured the dead part. Or near dead.
There was spittle on those ripe red lips, and her staring eyes were bloodshot.
He put his fingertips to her neck, searching for any spasm in her carotid artery.
Her skin was soft and . . . warm. Like living flesh.
CPR was worth a try. He depressed her breastbone in rhythm until the bed bounded obscenely under her. Then he pinched her nostrils shut and blew into those parted lips, hard. Again and again. The Kiss of Life was not gentle.
“Jesus Christ, Matt! What are you doing with that woman?”
He turned to find Nicky Fontana in the doorway. “You got free? Help me! She’s still warm. She could be revived.”
“Yeah. But—” Nicky came over, swift but quiet, taking in the scene. “Good God, what happened here?”
He pressed the side of her neck, frowning.
Matt took another breather. “I don’t know.”
“Give it up. No pulse. You don’t know?”
Matt was breathless, and now Nicky’s diagnosis had taken his breath away again. It took a few moments for him to straighten up, to look dispassionately down on her as unrevivable, to give up the ghost.
He finally said, “There’s a secret room behind the mirrored wall. A peephole room. I ducked in there to hide, and when the hubbub outside died down, thought I needed a better hiding place. I only saw her when I turned to give the room a onceover before I left.”
Nicky glanced at the mirrored wall, then nodded. “You were in there, and saw nothing?”
“There’s a switch that closes the view window, like some kind of internal blind. I shut it. I didn’t know if anyone could see me with the window operational.”
“Probably not. The whole kick is not being seen.”
“It seemed like the perfect hiding place.”
“It was. Someone felt free to commit murder, never suspecting there was a witness.”
“A possible witness. I was totally in the dark. What are we going to do?”
Nicky washed his face with his dry hands, thinking. “You figure out what’s going on here?”
“The abduction, the laughing women, this? No.”
“I was in the linen closet, under a hell of a lot of scented sheets. I was also a lot closer to the hallway action. I’m getting that this whole thing is a prank. My brothers’ girlfriends decided to crash the bachelor party and railroad them here for some semi-serious ribbing about them not following Aldo into the bonds of holy matrimony. Instead we get unholy murder. Damn! It’s a bitch that you didn’t have some normal curiosity or self-preservation and keep the viewing window open.”
“I don’t know how these things work. I figure if I can see, someone can see me. Maybe it’s magical thinking, but I’m not used to places like this and figure the less I know about them, the better.”
“Not in this case.”
“If the kidnappers are only a bunch of annoyed girlfriends, we just have to tell them what happened and that the lark is off and we need to call the police.”
Nicky was pacing now, not caring if anyone downstairs heard him.
“Not exactly, pal. What police? Where are we? Who has jurisdiction? And you’ve just found a dead woman in a bordello. She’s been killed in a way that screams ‘sex crime.’ You are a semi-celebrity in this town, a radio personality. An ex-priest. Someone might hear the whole scenario and think that you flipped out and went psycho-religious at being exposed to the sleazy side of Vegas.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Not. Plus, we have Uncle Macho Mario bound downstairs. He was a major mob figure in his salad days. Sure, he’s only minced parsley today, but some cops, and some robbers, would really like to see him brought down.
“And then there’s me.”
“You? You have nothing to do with it.”
“I, like you, got away from the girl kidnapping ring. I hid out up here. Alone. Like you. I have a good rep as a businessman in this community, but my name is Fontana. The police always like to hassle a Fontana. We have no alibis, Matt. We call the police, the least we get is humiliation and suspicion and rotten publicity. The worst we get is a murder rap.”
Matt got it. The whole picture. Not blacked out at all.
“Molina—”
“Yeah, she’d probably give us the benefit of the doubt, but the weirdness of us all being here, and now, this murder . . . front page, instant online podcast, paparazzi up the wazoo, no wedding, no reputations, no way out.”
Matt felt his head spinning and it was champagne-free. “What’ll we do?”
“You have my cell phone.”
“I’ve tried using it. We’re out of range.”
“It can be rough out in the desert where these chicken ranches operate.”
“Chicken ranches?”
“An old term. Legal Nevada brothels are way more sophisticated now. Have Web pages. Sell certified once-worn thong panties. Give me my cell phone. We need to ditch the murder scene. I’ll see if I can find a spot where the signal will work.”
Matt did as Nicky said, following him into the empty hall. The other man had his cell phone on and was watching the small screen as they walked.
“This area is a dead spot. If we can find an outside wall—”
Nicky led Matt to a closed door that opened into shelves heaped with pillows and bed linens and lots of strange toiletry items. He ducked inside, up against the back wall, and hit the cell phone buttons again.
“Got a signal. One bar. Here goes nothing.” Nicky squeezed himself against the wall, and then walked his back down it, watching the cell phone screen all the time.
He listened intently. “Van? Van, baby? Can you hear me?” He pushed down until he was sitting on the floor. “Can you hear me now? Great. I’ve barely got a signal. Now listen hard and fast. It’s a matter of life and death and it’s all up to you now.”
Rescue Party
“It’s Nicky,” Van said, giggling. “I guess he just can’t stand being away from me for even one night.”
Temple smiled indulgently.
They were all smiling indulgently. They were all rosy-nosey high. Tipsy. Happy. Girly.
Kit took advantage of the interruption to rise and refill all their champagne glasses. As her left hand hesitated over the Lalique crystal flutes her ring sparkled like the light blazing out from the top of the Luxor pyramid, a light that could be seen in outer space.
“I bet those Fontana boys are getting rowdy,” Electra said. “That many brothers have got to be a handful.”
“I have four older brothers, and they are,” Temple said. “Total teases. It’s nice to be on my own here and not be overprotected and underrespected.”
“The Fontana boys are all darling with you,” Kit said. “Like the world’s sexiest big brothers.”
“I would never,” Temple said with the kind of slow solemnity several ounces of champagne produces, “flirt with a Fontana brother. We have a special relationship. They respect me, and I respect them. You will be marrying into all those brothers, Kit.”