Read Online the Second Horseman (2006) by Kyle Mills - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kyle Mills
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spring what's probably an impossible job on me while you butter me up with images of a vineyard in South Africa." He took a breath. "Pretty close?"
She didn't react at all, instead concentrating on weaving through the traffic in a way that seemed more like meditation than impatience. Brandon pushed his seat back and turned toward the window, gazing at the graceful lines of the Stratosphere as they passed by. If there was one positive thing that had happened to him in the last forty - eight hours, it was ending up in Vegas. The city was, more than anywhere, his home. He knew every casino, every strip joint, every cheap diner. Hell, he'd worked in about half of them at one time or another -- covering the full spectrum from front - office suit to dishwasher.
"So if that's everything you need to know," Catherine said finally, "what is it you want to know?"
He rolled down the window again an d s ubtly felt around for the latch on his seat belt. His stop was coming up.
"Where they found you."
"Me? Why?"
"Because I've been around a lot of criminals over the years and they all have a certain ... I don't know. A certain je ne sais quoi. You don't have it. Which means either you don't belong here or you're the most amazing liar I've ever met."
"If I don't belong here, then where do I belong?"
"Advertising. You look like an advertising person to me."
"Do you know a lot of advertising people?"
"Not a single one, actually."
They rode in silence until Brandon saw an almost imperceptible shaking of her head in his peripheral vision.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Come on. What?"
"Nothing . . . I t's just that . . . Well, it's funny. I actually thought about going into advertising when I was in college."
"Why didn't you?"
"I wish I had."
The Treasure Island hotel and casino became visible ahead and Brandon leaned a l ittle farther toward the open window. The entire front of the building was dominated by a man-made lagoon with life-size floating pirate ships. They were props in what had been "The Battle of Buccaneer Bay," an over-the-top exhibition of sword-wielding pirates and dangerous-looking stunts that an old girlfriend of his used to perform in. A few years before he'd been sent away, she'd given him a tour and explained how it all worked.
He'd heard that show had been replaced with a more sexed-up version now, but the set looked pretty much the same. Or at least he hoped it was.
"I'm not feeling good about that," Catherine said suddenly, disrupting his concentration.
"Huh?"
"You said I was feeling good about you being between a rock and a hard place. I'm not. It's just that you don't understand how important this is. We --"
"Do you gamble?" he asked, trying to change the subject while he searched the rearview mirror for the chase car.
"Do I what?"
"Gamble. Do you gamble. We're in Vegas."
He finally spotted the vehicle tailing them. Catherine's opportunistic driving had left i t f our cars back in traffic too thick to move through. They were traveling at about ten miles an hour at this point, though it looked like the cars ahead were starting to slow. Treasure Island was only about twenty yards away.
"Slots sometimes," she said. "That's about it."
"Slots are for suckers, you know."
"You sa--"
Brandon pressed the button on his seat belt and pulled himself through the open window all in one semigraceful motion. He had his butt on the sill and was trying to slip the rest of the way out when Catherine's hand clamped around his ankle and threw off what he'd hoped would be a balletlike maneuver. Instead, he fell backward, ramming his head into the asphalt with his legs still inside the car. The driver of the truck coming up alongside them slammed on the brakes and narrowly missed running over his face.
"Brandon!" Catherine shouted. "Get back in the --"
He managed to get his free foot out of the window and used it to push against the door, holding his pants up with both hands. A moment later, she lost her grip and
She didn't react at all, instead concentrating on weaving through the traffic in a way that seemed more like meditation than impatience. Brandon pushed his seat back and turned toward the window, gazing at the graceful lines of the Stratosphere as they passed by. If there was one positive thing that had happened to him in the last forty - eight hours, it was ending up in Vegas. The city was, more than anywhere, his home. He knew every casino, every strip joint, every cheap diner. Hell, he'd worked in about half of them at one time or another -- covering the full spectrum from front - office suit to dishwasher.
"So if that's everything you need to know," Catherine said finally, "what is it you want to know?"
He rolled down the window again an d s ubtly felt around for the latch on his seat belt. His stop was coming up.
"Where they found you."
"Me? Why?"
"Because I've been around a lot of criminals over the years and they all have a certain ... I don't know. A certain je ne sais quoi. You don't have it. Which means either you don't belong here or you're the most amazing liar I've ever met."
"If I don't belong here, then where do I belong?"
"Advertising. You look like an advertising person to me."
"Do you know a lot of advertising people?"
"Not a single one, actually."
They rode in silence until Brandon saw an almost imperceptible shaking of her head in his peripheral vision.
"What?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Come on. What?"
"Nothing . . . I t's just that . . . Well, it's funny. I actually thought about going into advertising when I was in college."
"Why didn't you?"
"I wish I had."
The Treasure Island hotel and casino became visible ahead and Brandon leaned a l ittle farther toward the open window. The entire front of the building was dominated by a man-made lagoon with life-size floating pirate ships. They were props in what had been "The Battle of Buccaneer Bay," an over-the-top exhibition of sword-wielding pirates and dangerous-looking stunts that an old girlfriend of his used to perform in. A few years before he'd been sent away, she'd given him a tour and explained how it all worked.
He'd heard that show had been replaced with a more sexed-up version now, but the set looked pretty much the same. Or at least he hoped it was.
"I'm not feeling good about that," Catherine said suddenly, disrupting his concentration.
"Huh?"
"You said I was feeling good about you being between a rock and a hard place. I'm not. It's just that you don't understand how important this is. We --"
"Do you gamble?" he asked, trying to change the subject while he searched the rearview mirror for the chase car.
"Do I what?"
"Gamble. Do you gamble. We're in Vegas."
He finally spotted the vehicle tailing them. Catherine's opportunistic driving had left i t f our cars back in traffic too thick to move through. They were traveling at about ten miles an hour at this point, though it looked like the cars ahead were starting to slow. Treasure Island was only about twenty yards away.
"Slots sometimes," she said. "That's about it."
"Slots are for suckers, you know."
"You sa--"
Brandon pressed the button on his seat belt and pulled himself through the open window all in one semigraceful motion. He had his butt on the sill and was trying to slip the rest of the way out when Catherine's hand clamped around his ankle and threw off what he'd hoped would be a balletlike maneuver. Instead, he fell backward, ramming his head into the asphalt with his legs still inside the car. The driver of the truck coming up alongside them slammed on the brakes and narrowly missed running over his face.
"Brandon!" Catherine shouted. "Get back in the --"
He managed to get his free foot out of the window and used it to push against the door, holding his pants up with both hands. A moment later, she lost her grip and
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