Sucker Bet (Vegas Vampires #4)(58)
Author: Erin McCarthy

They had skirted the front of the Bellagio and the fountain, not wanting a chance encounter with Slash, whoever he might be. Gwenna wasn’t scheduled to meet him for another hour, but who knew if he was lurking about already, so they’d gone in the side door to the hotel from the parking lot.

As they headed for the elevator, Gwenna shrugged. "I admit I have a bias against Sasha. Brittany told me that when Gregor kidnapped her—and keep in mind Brittany was five months pregnant at the time—Sasha just sat in the room and read a book while Gregor slapped Brittany around. That makes me sick."

Nate hit the elevator button. "Maybe she was scared of her husband. The dude didn’t sound like a nice guy."

She made a face. "That’s true. I guess Sasha could be a victim here, too, though my gut says she isn’t."

"Well, let me do the talking, alright? I’m the detective with the badge. And we’re going to approach this initially in an official capacity."

"Then why am I with you?"

"You’re not. You’re going to wait down the hall."

Gwenna glanced over at him as the elevator opened and they got on. "Oh, really? I’m glad we discussed it and came to that conclusion together."

She sounded snappish and knew it, but Nate needed to understand she was not going to do the submissive girlfriend routine with him. She was done with that dreary scene and they needed to start as they intended to go on.

Not that he looked the least bit offended or put off. He was grinning down at her and his fingers had started to make inroads into her inner thighs, just brushing along the zipper of her jeans. "Let’s discuss it."

"Great. Since you’re here in an official capacity, I probably shouldn’t be seen. I’ll wait down the hall." It wasn’t the idea she had objected to, just the delivery.

"Excellent."

He hauled her over to him by yanking on her waistband with his large man hands. It was easy to see where the expression manhandled came from, and now that he was a vampire, too, she couldn’t even resist his force. Not that she wanted to. There was something about the way Nate touched her that was sexy, not controlling. He wanted her, but he wanted her to want him. He had no interest in domination. His woman would benefit from his loyalty, his sense of protection, and his instinctive urge to take care of her, but he would never control. Seduction was his style, not the quest for power.

Gwenna supposed she was Nate’s woman—technically girlfriend. That seemed spot on, but strange to think of. She’d never been a girlfriend before. But whatever the hell she was, she was going to be the recipient of that protection, loyalty, caring. Seduction.

"I want you," he said, murmuring into her ear. "We should have finished what we started before we left."

"We’re on a time crunch," she said piously, even as she pressed her br**sts against his chest and wished the elevator would die and strand them for a good thirty minutes. "We can manage all that later."

"We have all the time in the world, don’t we?" he asked, his expression suddenly darkening.

Gwenna would have responded—with what, she had no idea—but the door opened and Nate strode down the hall. "This way."

"I’ll hang back here," she said, flicking her finger over the faux flower arrangement in front of the elevators.

Nate stopped and looked back at her. He made as if to say something, then clearly changed his mind. "Yeah, okay. I’ll be back in five."

"Let me know if you need me."

Giving her a wave, he went down the hall.

Damn it. Why had that somehow sounded needy on her part? She had meant it as a reassurance, but it somehow sounded clingy. Frustrated, Gwenna leaned against the console under the mirror opposite the elevators. She was lousy at this relationship thing.

A glance clown the hall showed Nate and his very fine butt had disappeared around the corner. She needed to relax or she was going to scare the wits out of the man and send him running for a vampire chick who actually had her act together. And bigger br**sts.

Gwenna scowled at her thoughts. Since when had she worried about her lack of a sizable chest? She had utterly lost her mind.

The elevator door to the right opened. She stood up straight, prepared to start walking and look like she had a purpose and wasn’t just lingering in the hall. Then she saw who it was.

"David?" It was David Foster, the guitar player from The Impalers, looking freshly showered, his hair still damp. He must be staying in the hotel. "How are you?"

The knife was at her throat before she even realized he wasn’t smiling back at her.

"Just come quietly with me if you want to live."

Bloody hell.

Sasha Chechikov was attractive, Nate would give her that. She had smooth skin, long legs, and full plump lips. The outfit was a bit much, in his opinion, tight narrow jeans and high-heel boots that went to her knees. Lots of gold chains and rings and a shirt that looked like it had gone a round with a cat and lost. Designer, obviously, but all a little over the top for his taste. She was pretty, maybe even gorgeous by some standards, but her eyes ruined the effect of her features. The eyes stared at him, cold and calculating, sweeping down the length of him and back up again.

Gwenna was right. Sasha was a bitch.

She said something in Russian. Nate flashed his badge. "Detective Thomas with the Las Vegas Police. Are you Sasha Chechikov? I need to speak to you about your husband."

Though Nate suspected she understood every word he said, she shook her head and shot off another round of Russian.

"Would you like me to get a translator?" he asked, irritated to still be standing in the doorway, and not enjoying the feeling that she was playing him for a fool. "I’m sorry to be the one to inform of you of this, but your husband, Gregor Chechikov, is dead."

Sasha went pale. "Dead? Gregor is dead?"

Yeah, he thought so. Her English was accented, but perfectly coherent. "Yes, he’s dead. I’m sorry. He was found murdered poolside at the Ava hotel and casino."

Gripping the doorknob tightly, she frowned, shock on her face. "I do not understand… are you sure it is him?"

"We got verbal confirmation of his identity from Roberto Donatelli. When was the last time you saw your husband, ma’am?"

"I do not know." Sasha looked distracted, but not particularly grief-stricken. "Very early this morning I imagine."

Nate knew he wasn’t going to be able to trust a damn thing she said. "Did he mention his plans for the day?"

"No."

And there it was. The shutdown he’d been waiting for. The moment her shock wore off and her sense of self-preservation kicked in. She had pursed lips and a frown line on her forehead, her eyes narrowed and intense. Nate could practically see her assessing her options, running through them one by one mentally, looking for an escape.