Nightwalker. Part 7

Jessy groaned. "I prefer not to kiss and tell."

"He's an Indian, isn't he?"

"The correct terminology these days is Native American."

April rolled her eyes. "I call you an Indian all the time. People think I'm crazy, cuz you're so light."

"Timothy's half Lakota," Jessy said.

"So there you go. You are are an Indian. Sorry, Native American." an Indian. Sorry, Native American."

Jessy shed her boots and put them in the box under the table, then s.h.i.+mmied out of her pirate apparel, and quickly slid into her own sandals and knit sheath. "Gotta go," she told April, giving her friend a pat on the shoulder.

"Take Mr. Creepy with you, okay?"

"What?" Jessy froze, turning around to stare at April.

April laughed. "Just kidding. That feeling of being watched, you know?" She shuddered. "Maybe it's because of the newspaper."

"The newspaper?"

"The front page is all about that guy who was killed last night." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He worked for our boss, you know. Emil Landon, the guy who owns this place. So in a way, it was a coworker who was killed. He died right on top of some poor woman." She looked more closely at Jessy and gasped. "What's wrong? You're white as a ghost. Hadn't you heard about it?"

"No, I knew about it."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with us. It was probably someone he used to know before he took up the bodyguard business. Still, I guess none of us should go walking to our cars alone these days. Vegas has never been number one in the low-crime sweepstakes."

"No," Jessy agreed.

"You're not walking to your car alone now, are you?" April asked her, concerned.

"No, I'm meeting-I'm going to the Strip. You have someone to walk you to your your car, right?" car, right?"

"I'm going to the Strip, too. Now get out of here. I'll be right behind you!"

Jessy left the dressing room, unnerved. As she closed the door behind her, she guiltily hoped she was shutting "Mr. Creepy" in with April. She hurried past the empty theater, anxious to get to the casino floor, where there would be bells, lights and lots of people.

Dillon wondered if she was really going to show, or if she would find a way to avoid him.

But it was almost exactly half an hour from the time she had left him that she walked through the front door of Chen's.

Vegas was filled with beautiful women. Most of them not only had killer bodies but glorious faces and legs that went on forever. And in this city, where a good showgirl was pretty much guaranteed a high-paying job, most of them came with enhanced b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as well.

As he watched Jessy Sparhawk come through the door and pause to look around the restaurant, he tried to a.n.a.lyze her appeal. Long sleek hair cascaded like a sunset down her back. Her eyes were large and expressive. Her figure was perfectly curved, but natural in every way. Her legs seemed long enough to stretch to China, and the symmetry of her features made her look simultaneously elegant, confident-and sweetly vulnerable. Nothing about her had grown hard yet, as so often happened to women out here.

He tried to figure out what made her so special, but an answer escaped him. It might have been her voice, the way she could speak so quietly yet be heard so clearly.

h.e.l.l, it might have been her ears or her kneecaps, for G.o.d's sake. It was impossible to fathom what made her so appealing. She just was.

She was casual now. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, and she had donned a cobalt-blue dress that echoed the color of her eyes. There was nothing showy about the way it fell to her knees and bared her arms, but when she moved, the outfit became a thing of beauty.

Ringo gave a low whistle.

Ignoring him, Dillon stood as she approached the booth and extended a hand. She accepted and sat, though she was actually perching on the edge of the seat, rather than actually sitting sitting.

"Miss Jessy," their waitress said, hurrying over before Dillon could say anything. Evidently Jessy had chosen a place she frequented. Was that a good sign? Or just the first thing that had come to her mind?

"Hi, Mai," Jessy said, smiling broadly at the pretty, young Chinese woman. "How are you?"

"Good, good, I bring Michael on Sat.u.r.day?" Mai asked anxiously.

"Please do. I promise we'll see that he has a great time," Jessy a.s.sured her.

"Thank you. I pour your tea," Mai told her, suiting her action to her words and picking up the pot of tea in front of Dillon. He'd been pleased to discover that they brewed some of the most delicious green tea he'd ever tasted.

"So our waitress is Mai and she has a son?" Dillon said after Mai left them to decide on their order.

"She and her husband own the restaurant," Jessy said. "And they have a four-year-old. He's the cutest little thing I've ever seen."

"If the food is as good as the tea, this is going to be a great dinner."

She c.o.c.ked her head toward him and almost smiled. Apparently she appreciated a man who knew good tea, he thought.

But not that much, he added silently as she spoke.

"I don't understand what you want. I don't understand what you think I can tell you. You were there last night. I never saw that man before he died on top of me," she said, cutting to the chase.

"I just thought that, if we spent a little time talking, something might occur to you," he said, watching her eyes.

She stared across the table at him and shook her head. "You work for Emil Landon."

"Actually, you've worked for him longer than I have. I've only just been hired by the man."

"Because he thinks he's in danger," Jessy said flatly.

"Yes."

"What do you you think?" think?"

"I don't know what to think yet," Dillon told her truthfully. "I'm trying to find out more about the man. There are a lot of rumors, but if you go through public doc.u.ments and legal records, you can get a feel for someone. He's rich. He owns a casino. Whether he's really played it rough and created a few financial corpses along the way, or gotten in with the wrong connections, who knows? He doesn't trust anyone."

"It doesn't sound as if you like him much."

"Do you?" he asked her.

She shook her head. "I don't know him. I've seen him on the news, but I've never actually seen him in person. It's unlikely I would have any cause to meet him, unless he suddenly decided to bring in a pack of little kids."

He sipped his tea, not wanting her to see him smile at the thought of how well she dealt with children. It was nice. Although, admittedly, he found himself so entranced by her that she might have said that lap dances were her thing and he would have found a way to find that that nice, too. nice, too.

Mai returned to the table, and to Dillon's pleased surprise, Jessy looked at him hesitantly and asked if it would be all right if she and Mai decided on their order. He grinned and told her to go right ahead.

Jessy seemed to be relaxing. She was at least sitting all the way back in the booth now.

"It must be difficult for you," she mused, sipping her tea after Mai had left again. "Emil Landon certainly has a past, maybe a lot of enemies. And Tanner Green-from what I saw on the news, he had a past, as well. It does seem strange that a man as big as he was went down without a fight. You have to get close to use a knife."

She looked thoughtful as she spoke. Dillon wondered if she was disturbed or just stating facts.

"It suggests that he was with someone he trusted," Dillon said. "Also, in a place as densely populated as a casino, it's easy to get close to someone without them noticing. But he might have been stabbed before he even got to the casino. Not enough evidence yet to be certain of much."

She gave a little shudder and offered him a rueful smile. "I feel guilty saying this, but it's rea.s.suring to think that someone wanted Tanner Green dead. It's better than thinking there's a killer out there, seeking victims at random."

"It's more comforting, yes," Dillon agreed.

The meal arrived, and Dillon thought he had pa.s.sed muster, because Jessy introduced him to Mai as a friend. Jessy had ordered two dishes, one chicken and one beef dish, one Cantonese and one Mandarin, and both were delicious. There were a few precious moments when the food first arrived that felt almost like being on a regular date. But she hadn't agreed to go on a date with him; she'd agreed-reluctantly-to see him because he needed to talk to her. She didn't dislike him, he was pretty sure, but she seemed determined to create a wall between them, and she apparently hoped that he would stopped banging on the gate.

But they couldn't talk about food forever, and finally he brought the subject back to Green's death.

"I don't know what you think I can tell you," she said, staring at him while he chewed a piece of beef.

"I think that there's something. Maybe in your subconscious. Something you don't think is important or even realize you know, but it might just be the clue that changes everything."

She set down her fork and leaned toward him. "I can't help you. A man I had never seen before stumbled through the crowd, fell on me and died on top of a c.r.a.ps table. You know I didn't know him, that it happened just the way I've described it, and just that quickly."

"He spoke to you," Dillon said quietly.

Her instant frown of surprise and confusion was definitely real. Had she forgotten? Was the information he needed actually buried in her subconscious? She sat back, thinking. "We didn't carry on a conversation," she told him.

"I saw the security tapes. His lips moved."

"He might have whispered something," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't know. He was dying. He could have said anything. I don't remember. All I remember is the feeling of being trapped, the horror of realizing that he was bleeding to death on top of me. And those are images I would just as soon forget."

He couldn't let it go at that, even though he sensed that this wasn't the time to push her. She knew what Tanner Green had said, either consciously or subconsciously, but for now, he had lost her. Time to change the subject.

"How was your grandfather last night? Everything okay?"

"Yes, thank you very much." She stared at him. "Timothy is...slipping," she said, as if she thought the idea might frighten him away.

"I'm sorry. Is it Alzheimer's?"

"He's just slipping...that's all. He's fine, he takes care of himself, he just...he just needs to be watched. He has his moments. He's functioning. He knows me, and he knows the people who care for him." She hesitated. "He actually lives in a home, but he loves it because he has a wonderful doctor, and the people there are terrific." Once again she hesitated, as if saying more than she wanted, but spilling it out anyway. Maybe it was still an involuntary attempt to scare him away. "My folks died when I was young. Timothy raised me. I love him to death, but I can't work and keep him at home. He forgets things on the stove, and he talks to friends in the walls and in the sky."

"As long as they're friends, it sounds as if it's all right to me," Dillon said lightly.

"I have friends who can help me out when he's home," she said, toying with the food on her plate.

"You were gambling last night to pay for his home, weren't you?"

Her gaze shot over to him, and she shrugged. "It's extremely expensive to get old in this country, you know."

"I do know. I've seen it many times. I'm glad the numbers came in for you. I didn't get the impression that you gamble that often."

She laughed. "I pretty much never never do. I grew up here, went to school here, and now I work here. Timothy is the only family I have left. I have friends, of course, and I love working with kids. There you have it. My life. Let's hear about yours. Rumor has it you're a secret agent of some sort. So what's the truth?" do. I grew up here, went to school here, and now I work here. Timothy is the only family I have left. I have friends, of course, and I love working with kids. There you have it. My life. Let's hear about yours. Rumor has it you're a secret agent of some sort. So what's the truth?"

"Hardly a secret agent," he said, hiding his surprise that she'd been talking to someone about him. "It's certainly no secret that I've been hired by Emil Landon."

"But that's not what you usually do," she said flatly.

"I'm basically a free agent-licensed, of course," he said. "These days I work for a business called Harrison Investigations, headed by a man named Adam Harrison who hires people from around the country-around the world, actually. My roots are here, though. My folks are gone, but I have family who live not too far away. The case came up, Adam suggested I take it, so here I am."

"Why?"

Dillon hesitated. Why? Because the ghost who hangs around with me wanted me to take it, and Adam thinks if a ghost has a feeling about something, it needs to be looked into. Why? Because the ghost who hangs around with me wanted me to take it, and Adam thinks if a ghost has a feeling about something, it needs to be looked into.

"I'm not exactly sure," he said. That much, at least, was honest.

"Does your family live on reservation land?"

"Some of them, and some on private."

"Why is your employer so secretive, and what are all the jobs he supposedly does for the government?" she asked.

"Adam's been called in over the years to investigate various crimes, some of them federal, and he's cultivated a lot of contacts in the various law enforcement agencies around the country. I don't know everything about him, or even about my fellow agents or the cases they've worked. Sometimes a few of us work a case together, and sometimes things are handled on a smaller and more personal scale, and they're settled. There's nothing undercover about us, though Adam doesn't seek publicity. And he chooses our cases carefully, or sometimes a particular investigator chooses a case, that's all."

"But Adam Harrison suggested you take Emil Landon's case. And I think that's interesting," she said. "Why do you suppose he chose the case of a powerful man who has lots of money but, from what I hear, few scruples?" The question was a challenge, he thought. She sounded as if she wanted to find out that there was something not quite legit about him.

"I don't know yet. Hopefully, by the time I get to the bottom of things, I will. So far, I've met Emil Landon and his retinue, and now one of his bodyguards is dead-a death you were involved in through no fault of your own. That's why I can use all the help I can get." He watched her eyes, her face, hoping for a sign of trust. The slightest possibility that she might admit to seeing a ghost.

Nothing.

Instead, she stood suddenly. "Forgive me, but I'm exhausted right now. I'll think about it. I'll try to remember if he said anything, but as I said...I never saw the man before. Technically I work for Emil Landon, too, but I've never met him, him, either. I'm sorry." either. I'm sorry."

She started to walk away, then returned, blus.h.i.+ng. "I forgot. The check-"

"Please. I asked you to meet me." She blushed harder, as if she didn't want him to get the impression they were on a date. "Consider it a business expense. Our mutual boss will pay it."

He watched her go, torn. He wanted to follow her through to the garage and make sure she got into her car okay. Whether she knew it or not, she was being followed by Tanner Green, and though Dillon was certain the specter had no intention of doing her harm, someone had had murdered the man, she had been there when he died, and that meant she could be in danger, too. murdered the man, she had been there when he died, and that meant she could be in danger, too.

"I'm on it, sagebrush," Ringo said.

Dillon had actually forgotten about the ghost's presence. But now Ringo followed Jessy Sparhawk from the restaurant, the barely perceptible jingle of his spurs and the slight breeze of his pa.s.sing causing frowns of confusion as he pa.s.sed.