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The men glared at each other. Gray took a deceptively casual stance, legs slightly spread, hands loose at his sides. It was something he’d picked up studying aikido. He’d ridden New York subways at night and strolled dark Manhattan streets but he’d never felt the need to be ready for whatever was coming the way he did, right now.
“What do you want, O’Connell?”
“What do you want? That’s a better question.”
“Well, this is great.” Gray flashed a quick, lazy smile. “Is that what you wanted to discuss? Hey, I’m easy. A million buck payoff from one of those slots would be a cool start but since I have the feeling you’re going to say you can’t tell a machine what to do, we’re done talking. I have better things to do than stand here, playing games with—”
Keir wrapped a hand around Gray’s arm as he turned toward the door. Gray jerked free, his smile gone and his face close to the other man’s.
“I’m going to tell you this one time,” he said softly. “You touch me again, ever, and I’m going to rearrange your face.”
Tension, taut and delicately balanced as the web of a spider, crackled between them. Slowly, deliberately, Keir took his hand from Gray’s arm.
“Why are you in Las Vegas, Baron?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You’re wrong, buddy. It is my business. I run this place. If I think you’re bad news, you’re gone. So let’s start again. What are you doing here?”
“Amazing.” Gray leaned a hip against the desk and folded his arms. It was a safer posture; it would keep him from what he wanted to do, which was put his fist into Keir O’Connell’s face. “Such personalized service. Do you provide it for all your guests?”
“It’s a simple question. Why not answer it?”
“Sure. I’m here on vacation.”
“Don’t hand me that crap. You’re the kind that goes native on some Caribbean island nobody else ever heard of when you want to take it easy.”
Close. Gray decided not to show his surprise and, instead, smiled with his teeth. “Good guess. I’ll be sure to tell that to my travel agent. Should make it easier for her to figure out where to send me in the future.”
“You don’t know a damn thing about gambling.”
“Is that a prerequisite for a stay at the Desert Song?”
Keir could feel his gut tightening. A couple of hours ago, he’d agreed with Dan Coyle that they’d keep a low profile, not let Baron know they were watching him. That seemed like a fine idea until he spotted the man in the lobby, his face grim, his eyes cold. He’d thought of how the girls at Special Services were becoming concerned about Dawn, of how she’d phoned in sick yesterday as well as today when she wasn’t sick at all. He’d talked to Cassie, who said Dawn was home with a virus, but made it sound like a white lie.
It all added up to the fact that this man was trouble.
“You’ve got a smart mouth, Baron, you know that?”
“And you’ve got a nose you like to stick where it doesn’t belong. This discussion is—”
“What’s your interest in Dawn Carter?”
“That’s definitely none of your business.”
“She’s my employee.”
“Is that all she is, O’Connell? Or is this interview even more personal than I thought?”
“I’m told that the lady made her position clear,” Keir said, ignoring the barb. “She doesn’t like you.”
“Really.”
“She’s tired of having you around. She wants you to stop bothering her.”
Gray was sure that was true, but he had no intention of letting Keir O’Connell deliver the message. “She can tell me that herself, if she wants.”
“She doesn’t have to. I’m telling you for her.”
