Read Online Diva Las Vegas (Book 1 in Raven McShane Series) by Caroline Dries, Steve Dries - Free Book Online Page A

wisdom was right because it was based on common sense.
    “Well, I guess it doesn’t look promising for me,” I said.
    “Sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you.”
    We sat in silence for a minute, our eyes fixed on the baseball game.  I checked my watch discreetly.  It was only 7:45.  That meant we’d polished off a night’s worth of booze in less than an hour, and Whelan seemed only to be hitting his stride.  I expected if I left him alone he’d stay by himself for five or six more whiskeys.  He hadn’t opened up about his marital troubles at all, but it seemed like the man could use some company—and maybe something to distract him from his problems on the home front. 
    I didn’t feel like sucking back more drinks and then having to call a cab home, and I wasn’t about to ask Whelan if he wanted to go out for chocolate malts or ice cream sodas.  The idea came to me in a flash.  
    Whelan drained his Jameson and replaced the glass on the bar extremely delicately, as though performing a part of some intricate Japanese tea ceremony.  He was starting to seem a bit drunk.  “Easy there, big fella ,” I said.  “Hey, my friend dances at Cougar’s, and I was going to head over there to catch her on stage.  You in?”  It seemed the perfect way to distract this horny Irishman.
    Whelan gaped at me as though I had been speaking Swahili, but his expression was a mixture of confusion and interest.  He looked perfectly sober except for the slightest tinge of pink in his eyes.  Over the years I’d learned that although lots of men weren’t the strip club “type,” very few men actually said no when the opportunity arose.  Whelan did not disappoint.  “You shitting me?” he asked.
    “Nope, let’s go.  I’ll get a cab.”
    “You sure?  I don’t want to horn in on your social scene or anything.”
    “You’d be doing me a favor,” I said.  “I’ll feel like a weirdo if I go by myself.”
    “Sold,” he said. 
    We got our things together and I left a pile of cash on the bar.   After our cab dropped us off, we shared a quick drink and then I handed Whelan off to one of the most popular dancers working that night.   When she led him away to the back room, Whelan looked like he’d just won the lottery.   If anyone could take Whelan’s mind off his troubles, it was Shayla .  

Chapter 8
     
     
    I was getting antsy.  A whole week spent on a single case was a record for me, and I had almost nothing to show for it.  Last night Lieutenant Whelan had pretty much confirmed what I already knew, which was that Cody Masterson was probably, but not definitely, guilty of the crime but that there was no other magic evidence lurking out there that could help Rachel win her civil case. 
    Mel Block, the former general manager at the Outpost who Rachel had said I should call, was about the only person in the world I hadn’t talked to about this case.  He was getting on my nerves.  In this day and age, who doesn’t have an answering machine or voicemail?  I even Googled him.  A blank.  It was time to pay him a personal visit.  I picked up the phone.
    “Mike, it’s too hot here.  You’ve got to come with me to San Diego.”  It was totally out of left field, but I thought it was worth a shot.
    Silence.
    “It’s for this case I’m working on.  You can bill the time to my client.  And just think, you’d get your ten hours of supervising me done with all at once.”
    Nothing.
    “Hello?”
    “Still here.”
    “Well?”
    “I have a report I need to get done today.”
    “I’ll drive.  Bring your laptop and write it in the car.”
    “No,” he said.  There was a pause, and then an opening.  “Where would we stay?”
    “I don’t know, maybe a youth hostel?”
    “A youth hostel.”
    “A little joke.  I’ll find something nice.  Go home, pack for a night, and I’ll pick you up there.  The client has deep pockets.”  I didn’t tell him that the client also had empty