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Authors: Vivi Andrews
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it.”
Nate cut the connection and dialed his boss’s cell. It went straight through to voice mail. He left a message, and then tossed the cell phone onto the mattress behind him. “Dammit.”
Cutter was a likeable guy—even criminals seemed to get along well with him—but if Nate could have picked someone to take his call, Sam Cutter would have been pretty far down the list.
Cutter hadn’t taken him or Ciara’s lead seriously. Nate couldn’t even be sure his message would get passed along. The odds of more resources being allocated to Atlantic City were crappy at best.
He’d certainly come down in the world. Special Agent Nate Smith used to be a name that was whispered with awe around the Bureau. He was a badass undercover agent with an unprecedented arrest record. He had a reputation for being a hardass. A little edgy. Certainly someone no one ever mocked.
Now he was like a toothless shark. He still had the killer instinct, but he couldn’t act on it anymore.
The water had stopped running in the bathroom and he could hear Ciara humming tunelessly. He crossed to the door and knocked on it softly. “Ciara? You getting anything more?”
The sound of water splashing helped him conjure up a vivid image of her bathing nude on the other side of the door.
“Just more of the same,” she called. “No luck with the room number yet.”
Nate dropped his forehead against the door. He couldn’t catch a break. “Keep trying,” he requested. “I’m going to go see if I can find anything out from the hotel staff.”
Technically he was on medical leave and shouldn’t even be here, but he couldn’t wait around here and do nothing. He was not a useless cripple behind a desk. He was a trained field agent. He didn’t need a woman in a pink bustier to find the necklace. He’d solved dozens of cases without psychic intervention.
Maybe someone in hotel security had seen something. Casinos could be real bitches about the privacy of their clientele. Without a warrant, he couldn’t demand to see a guest list or access their security tapes, but often if the guys manning the security monitors felt like running their mouths, he could get all he needed without bothering with the slower-than-hell proper legal channels. He wasn’t without resources.
He would prove this shark still had a tooth or two.
Chapter Eight—Finders Gone Wild!
Ciara tried to wait patiently in the room for Nate to return. Really she did.
She tried finding the necklace a dozen different times, but she just got the same flashes over and over again. Usually she could pick up on some new clue, a visual hint she’d missed the first time, but this time she kept seeing the same woman, the same safe.
Ciara gave up and climbed out of the tub. She dried off and pulled on her dress, which was slightly the worse for wear.
Standing in the luxurious bathroom, Ciara studied herself in the enormous mirror. She looked…frumpy. Her dress had been chosen for comfort rather than style. It hung loosely from her shoulders with about as much shape as the average potato sack. Her hair hung straight and boring to the middle of her back. She’d never bothered with elaborate hairstyles, since fancy salons were out of the question, with the fancy stylists putting their fingers all over her head.
She didn’t have makeup. She didn’t have accessories. Even the little things added to the static—which she still heard. She’d tried listening to objects the same way she did to Nate, but she just got the same static feedback. No tuning-fork hum of perfection reverberating through her. But she wasn’t giving up. Ciara had every intention of trying until she figured out the right frequency for the objects. She wasn’t going to give up so easily ever again. She’d wasted too many years believing she couldn’t touch people because she’d stopped trying.
She was a new Ciara now.
She studied her reflection. She needed to look new.
She’d seen a shopping mall off the
Nate cut the connection and dialed his boss’s cell. It went straight through to voice mail. He left a message, and then tossed the cell phone onto the mattress behind him. “Dammit.”
Cutter was a likeable guy—even criminals seemed to get along well with him—but if Nate could have picked someone to take his call, Sam Cutter would have been pretty far down the list.
Cutter hadn’t taken him or Ciara’s lead seriously. Nate couldn’t even be sure his message would get passed along. The odds of more resources being allocated to Atlantic City were crappy at best.
He’d certainly come down in the world. Special Agent Nate Smith used to be a name that was whispered with awe around the Bureau. He was a badass undercover agent with an unprecedented arrest record. He had a reputation for being a hardass. A little edgy. Certainly someone no one ever mocked.
Now he was like a toothless shark. He still had the killer instinct, but he couldn’t act on it anymore.
The water had stopped running in the bathroom and he could hear Ciara humming tunelessly. He crossed to the door and knocked on it softly. “Ciara? You getting anything more?”
The sound of water splashing helped him conjure up a vivid image of her bathing nude on the other side of the door.
“Just more of the same,” she called. “No luck with the room number yet.”
Nate dropped his forehead against the door. He couldn’t catch a break. “Keep trying,” he requested. “I’m going to go see if I can find anything out from the hotel staff.”
Technically he was on medical leave and shouldn’t even be here, but he couldn’t wait around here and do nothing. He was not a useless cripple behind a desk. He was a trained field agent. He didn’t need a woman in a pink bustier to find the necklace. He’d solved dozens of cases without psychic intervention.
Maybe someone in hotel security had seen something. Casinos could be real bitches about the privacy of their clientele. Without a warrant, he couldn’t demand to see a guest list or access their security tapes, but often if the guys manning the security monitors felt like running their mouths, he could get all he needed without bothering with the slower-than-hell proper legal channels. He wasn’t without resources.
He would prove this shark still had a tooth or two.
Chapter Eight—Finders Gone Wild!
Ciara tried to wait patiently in the room for Nate to return. Really she did.
She tried finding the necklace a dozen different times, but she just got the same flashes over and over again. Usually she could pick up on some new clue, a visual hint she’d missed the first time, but this time she kept seeing the same woman, the same safe.
Ciara gave up and climbed out of the tub. She dried off and pulled on her dress, which was slightly the worse for wear.
Standing in the luxurious bathroom, Ciara studied herself in the enormous mirror. She looked…frumpy. Her dress had been chosen for comfort rather than style. It hung loosely from her shoulders with about as much shape as the average potato sack. Her hair hung straight and boring to the middle of her back. She’d never bothered with elaborate hairstyles, since fancy salons were out of the question, with the fancy stylists putting their fingers all over her head.
She didn’t have makeup. She didn’t have accessories. Even the little things added to the static—which she still heard. She’d tried listening to objects the same way she did to Nate, but she just got the same static feedback. No tuning-fork hum of perfection reverberating through her. But she wasn’t giving up. Ciara had every intention of trying until she figured out the right frequency for the objects. She wasn’t going to give up so easily ever again. She’d wasted too many years believing she couldn’t touch people because she’d stopped trying.
She was a new Ciara now.
She studied her reflection. She needed to look new.
She’d seen a shopping mall off the
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