Chapter Nine
The location of Rare’s sister restaurant, Raw, was three blocks west of the Strip in an old pool hall off Flamingo Road. Its last tenants had already converted the back into a commercial kitchen before going under, so little construction had to be done to prepare it structurally for opening in three weeks. Instead, the majority of the work was cosmetic, setting a theme that built off the Rare brand but with an edgier, more Vegas feel.
This was not Cole’s forte. Restaurant management—at least this kind of restaurant—wasn’t really in his wheelhouse. He liked the business well enough, but wanted something smaller, more intimate. He’d never been comfortable in big groups, had always done better one-on-one. Looking at the blank walls and the open floor plan gave him a gnawing sense of discomfort. Marsi had turned Rare from a dilapidated biker bar into an upscale ski chalet, a refuge within the city itself. Raw would need to be different. The clientele here was faster paced, had money to burn, and was only in town for a matter of days. Raw had to stand out without being kitschy or outrageous.
Cole had no idea where to start.
Marsi would have. She probably would have drawn up ten different options by now. He wanted to go back to the conversation they’d had earlier. To hear more about what had happened with their father when she’d gone to Reno. The my little girl act had thrown Cole for a second, but only that long. August Talent lied about everything. Marsi didn’t. For the truth, his bet would always be on his sister.
He felt sick imagining what she’d been though.
But when he’d had her on the phone, he’d been torn so many different ways he could barely hold up his end of the conversation. He was relieved that she was alive, and pissed that she hadn’t called sooner. Frustrated that he couldn’t see her in person, and flat-out furious about the whole Jake thing.
I love you, she’d said. I didn’t tell you where I went because I didn’t want you pulled into this. You’re better than that.
It didn’t matter if he was or he wasn’t. And though he believed now she was innocent, it didn’t matter what she’d done or she hadn’t done. His sister had looked out for him since their mom had left, and now it was time to repay the favor.
Jake might be able to hide her, but Cole could assure her safety for the long-term. He was the only one who could. And until then he had a restaurant to open. If it came to following in his father’s footsteps, he needed to have what August’s drug dealing friends wanted.
It didn’t matter what he wanted.
What he wanted was something he couldn’t have.
He scratched at the back of his neck, remembering too clearly the feel of Kenzie’s hands there. He’d been trying all morning not to think of her. So far the longest he’d kept her out of his head was about forty-five seconds.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her.
He didn’t know what he was thinking. He’d been torn up about Marsi, and then Kenzie had been there, warm and beautiful, her soft voice focusing the war of emotions inside him. He’d told himself to walk away, but he couldn’t. He’d told her he didn’t deserve to touch her after what he’d put her through, but it didn’t matter. He was falling off a cliff and she was reaching out her hand, and he taken it and held on for dear life.
For one minute there’d been only Kenzie. Her mouth. Her sigh. Her soft chest sliding against his. He’d wanted her like he’d wanted nothing else, and she’d taken the last of the control he had left.
He couldn’t do this. His job was to protect her. There was a reason Bruce Wayne didn’t end up with Rachel Dawes in the Batman movies. Bringing Kenzie close would put her in more danger. Soon enough he’d have to send her away anyway.
I like you, Kenzie had said. But it was too dangerous to like him. She must have sensed that—that’s why she’d pulled back, stiffened in his arms.
He’d crossed a line, and he had to fix it. She needed to know she was safe. He’d come back from five hard miles on the treadmill fully intending to apologize, but she hadn’t even come out of the bedroom.
It was better that way. She needed to hide, and he needed to concentrate on keeping her safe. That’s why he was here at all, not keeping hidden along with her. If his father was able to arrange a meeting, he wanted to be available, and the only way to stay ready was to be ready. To get the restaurant moving. To be accessible, should someone want to talk. There was still work to be done, but when the time came, he needed to be able to move.
His phone beeped with an incoming text. He snagged it from his pocket too quickly, but any hope that it was her crashed a second later when he saw the message from a Reno number.
Miss you. Free tonight? Followed up with two emojis of kissing lips.
Candi, the part-time hostess at Rare in Reno. He didn’t have to have inputted her caller ID into his new phone to figure out it was her. The manager at Rare must have given her this number, and that pissed him off, because he thought he’d made it clear that no one else could have it.
He knew better than most, though, that Candi could be persuasive.
His scowl etched even deeper.
“I’m beginning to think you don’t sleep at all.”
Cole tucked the phone in his pocket and turned toward the woman sauntering in through the front door of Raw. Her jeans had all sorts of shiny stones near the pockets, and her belt was nearly one hundred percent rhinestones, but her sunshine yellow hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her phone was poised in one hand, ready to make calls or take notes.
Carson Fontierre was smart, personable, and hardworking, and Cole had liked her from the first moment he’d met her, eight months ago. He’d come for the weekend to view the property his father had gifted him, and instead spent the rest of the night getting drunk, alone, in the hotel bar. When the manager had come to check on him, he’d explained his predicament, and they’d spent the next five hours devising strategies. By noon the next day he’d her drawn up an offer to manage the Vegas branch.
“Sleep is for humans,” he said, glancing around for a clock. There wasn’t one out, of course, because he’d yet to hire someone to decorate.
“And you’re a vampire?” she asked. “That explains the sparkly skin.”
He almost argued that real vampires didn’t sparkle but caught himself just in time.
“Sorry it’s so early,” he said.
It occurred to him he hadn’t eaten breakfast. He probably should do that.
His eyes widened as he remembered Kenzie saying there wasn’t much food at the hotel. She could order room service, but he doubted she would. He’d left her stranded.
He’d call in a few. And he had the list she’d left folded on the counter in the Camry. He’d get everything she wanted. Making her more comfortable was the least he could do.
Carson waved a hand. “I had to get my kid to school at seven. This works out perfectly for me.” She narrowed his eyes at him. “You going to tell me about the bruises, Fight Club, or do I get to make up my own story?”
He frowned. Clearly she was already making up her own story.
“Just clumsy,” he muttered.
“Well, remind me to stay out of your way.” She snorted. “I’ll email you the name of the eyeglass shop where I get my contacts.”
“Fine,” he said, ready to change the subject. “Thanks. Where are we with the designer?”
“First one coming in around ten. The second at noon. I’ll have to miss that one if it’s all right. Max has half days at school for teacher conference week.”
He didn’t know why it bristled his nerves, but it did.
“Can you come back after?”
She snorted. “Sure. Long as you don’t mind a ten-year-old running around.”
His chin lifted. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you going to do once we open? You know we’re nights and weekends, right?”
She glanced at him, amused, but her smirk faded when she saw he was serious.
“Not every week is conference week,” she said, a little quieter. “I’ll get a sitter tonight. You’re right, we’ve got work to do.”
If possible, he was becoming a bigger jerk by the second. First with Kenzie, now with Carson. But this was what owning a restaurant meant, right? Making hard decisions. It wasn’t personal. Carson wouldn’t be able to feed that kid, much less pick him up early if she didn’t have a paycheck.
He wondered if Kenzie had run her diner this way. He doubted it.
This was different, though. This was a life and death situation. This restaurant had to work. It had to be ready by the time his dad scheduled the meeting with his criminal pals.
“Thanks,” he said.
“No problem.” Her tone was cool now, and he tried to ignore it.
This was business.
• • •
They worked through the morning, Carson stepping out only a few times to arrange for babysitting. He watched her each time standing outside, seeing the lines between her brows smooth out when she talked to her son.
He’d wanted that once. Maybe it was a weird thing for a guy to think about, but he’d always thought he’d make a decent dad. Different than his father. He certainly wouldn’t leave his kid searching the stands at a track meet to see if anyone would bother to show. There’d be movie nights, and comic books, and tea parties—Marsi had made him an expert on tea parties. There’d be someone counting on him who he couldn’t let down.
But that was before everything had happened with Rare, and Marsi, and August’s arrests. Cole had other responsibilities now.
It was just a matter of time.
He brushed off his father’s words. Considering a deal with a drug lord wasn’t what he wanted. He wasn’t happy about this scenario. He wouldn’t even have had to consider these actions if his father hadn’t put them in this situation.
But the darker part of Cole wondered if there wasn’t some truth to August’s words. If this hadn’t been his destiny all along.
Maybe they were all cursed.
At five, he sent Carson home early, telling her they’d scout out the competition tomorrow for ideas. He’d texted Kenzie twice, and even called, but she hadn’t answered. Half convinced she’d taken off, he packed up in a hurry, already mapping out the route home that would pass the grocery store. If she was still there, he’d make sure she had what she needed.
After a quick run-through of the kitchen, he headed toward the front door, finding a man standing just inside, looking out.
“We’re not open for a few more weeks,” Cole said.
The man turned, revealing a black suit with a salmon dress shirt open at the collar. His hair was black as coal, a strange contrast to the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and when he smiled, Cole was put on edge by the intensity of his blue-eyed stare.
“I’d hope so,” he said, his Irish accent clear as day. “You’ll need tables and chairs ’fore you start seating customers.”
Cole froze. He’d only talked to his father yesterday—had he been able to schedule the meeting this fast? His gaze darted around the empty room. The restaurant wasn’t ready. He’d contacted the interested buyer from Reno, but still hadn’t heard back on whether or not the man could organize the offer in cash.
An image of Jeremy and the driver, standing outside their car in Ambrose, flashed through his mind. Maybe this wasn’t his father’s doing. Maybe they knew he’d come here. If so, they could know about Kenzie.
“Sorry,” said Cole stiffly. “I didn’t catch your name.”
This could be anyone. A random stranger. A man working for his father’s old business associate—Lynch. Though August hadn’t even been sure if that was an alias.
“My apologies.” The man moved closer, reaching out a hand. Cole flinched. The man’s expression grew puzzled.
“Name’s Sean Connell. I own—”
“Haley’s Comet,” Cole finished, shoulders tensing as he shook the other man’s hand. “I’ve been there.” The steak house on the north end of the Strip had a comparable clientele. He’d stopped in twice for research.
“Ah, you know it. I trust you had a good experience?”
Cole nodded. The food had been perfect. The waitstaff, attentive. Even the pictures on the wall, all old oil paintings of classic boxers, had dripped with class and masculinity. “How can I help you, Mr. Connell?”
“We have a mutual friend.”
Cole withdrew his hand. His father. This was the meeting after all. He felt his phone in his pocket. He needed to call Kenzie. Tell her to go somewhere. Hide. He’d find her when he could.
“I didn’t expect—” Cole began.
“Carson,” the man continued. “She tended bar for me back in the day.”
“She did,” Cole said slowly.
“A fine worker,” he said. “And a beautiful woman, to boot.”
Cole nodded.
“She called earlier today. Said you were having trouble with designers. I’m happy to share a referral, if you’d like.”
He fought the urge to call Carson and ask if she was all right. To verify that this man was telling the truth.
He reminded himself that there were Irish men in the world who were not involved with the mysterious Mr. Lynch.
“Giving away your secrets?” he asked.
Sean laughed, and slapped Cole on the back. “For Carson, I’d give away a lot more.”
Gradually, Cole’s pulse settled. This wasn’t the meeting he’d asked be arranged, nor was it a threat, a follow-up from the men he’d met in Ambrose. He needed to get some sleep. He wasn’t thinking clearly.
“Thank you,” said Cole. “I’d appreciate the referral.”
“Great,” said Sean. “I’ll have my assistant send it over. You’ll let Carson known I stopped by?” He chuckled again.
“Of course.”
They walked toward the door.
“Glad you’re branching out, Cole,” he said. “I’ve heard good things about Rare.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’m sorry to hear about your father. I’m sure you’re ready to get back to work.”
Sean wasn’t smiling anymore as he looked over to Cole. He gave only a firm nod, a movement that had Cole’s spine pulling straight.
We want our cash flow back on track.
Coincidence, he told himself as the man walked to the corner, where a black car was waiting. The windows were dark, and Cole couldn’t make out the driver as they pulled away.
He wasn’t sure he believed in coincidence anymore.
He pulled out his phone, dialing Carson’s number.
“Hey, boss.” He didn’t miss the subtle disappointment in her tone. She hadn’t sounded that way before he’d snapped about picking up her son.
“Sean Connell just stopped by.”
“Oh!” Her voice brightened. “I talked to him this morning. I didn’t know he was coming in.”
“You know him?”
“Yeah,” she said, as if this were obvious. “Didn’t he say so?”
“He did,” said Cole, still frowning, though now at his car across the street. Sean, or whoever he was, would have seen the Camry. He needed to change cars, just to be safe.
“He’s a good guy? Never been in trouble for anything?”
“Sean Connell?” She sounded shocked. “Maybe drinking too much Scotch. Why would you think that?”
He shrugged. “Just being careful.”
“You sure?” Her voice grew quiet. “Look, boss, I know what went down in Reno. I vetted you, too.”
They’d never spoken of his father, or the trial, but it wasn’t like it was hard information to find. August Talent had made them celebrities—for the wrong reasons.
“And,” she said, “I saw your note on your website about your sister. That you’re not looking anymore. I’m sorry about all that.”
He’d posted the same message on all his social media outlets the night he’d spent on Kenzie’s couch in Ambrose. That Marsella Talent was gone. She didn’t want to be found. He’d even said a good-bye to her for effect.
It might have not have fooled the guys looking for her, but he had to try.
“You ever want to talk to me about any of that, you can,” she said. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
It was a kind thing to say, and he appreciated it.
“What happened there, with my father, and the drugs, and the lies . . . It can’t happen here,” he said. “We’re clean. Above board on everything.”
Saying this reminded him of Bellows, the man whose family his father had asked him to pay off, but he pushed the thought aside for now.
“Course, boss.”
Knowing they were on the same page made him feel a little better.
“Sean’s giving us a referral for a designer,” he said.
She laughed, breaking the tension. “That’s Sean. Heart of gold. Or heart o’ gold, I should say.” Her Irish accent was about as good as the leprechaun in the cereal commercials.
He sighed, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still off. He didn’t want to take any chances, not when it involved Kenzie’s and his sister’s safety.
“You sure everything’s all right, Cole?” asked Carson.
“Yes,” he said. “Thanks, Carson. See you tomorrow.”
After locking up, he went to the car and sent Kenzie another quick text.
Everything ok? I might be a while.
He didn’t want to panic her if there wasn’t a good reason.
While he waited for her response, he searched the area behind him, looking for anyone who might be following. There were plenty of pedestrians, none of them overly suspicious.
He found the list Kenzie had made tucked in the cupholder and unfolded it. His eyes rounded.
There were two pages. A lot of words he’d never heard of.
And some things he was pretty sure they didn’t carry at a supermarket.
“Shit,” he muttered.
His phone beeped. She’d texted back.
No problem.
Swallowing the guilt, he put the car in drive. This was Vegas. Surely they had everything.