Dressed to the nines, Camden and I turned heads in every casino we entered. The cashiers and dealers regarded us with some sort of respect instead of the usual cageyness that would put us on their Suspicious Activities Report. We looked the part and acted the part, and that, combined with never cashing in amounts more than $7000 and actually playing more than a few games, let us slide under their radar. Of course, we didn’t stay in one casino. We went to the Cosmopolitan next door to start, then the Monte Carlo, then down the other side of the strip to the Venetian, the Palazzo, and the Wynn before ending at the Bellagio. We saved the best for last.
Though my leg ached and itched something fierce from the tattoo, and my feet hurt from the rhinestone straps, we made it through by cashing in $25,000 in total and cashing out $24,000 in cashier’s checks. We lost only $1000 during our gambling exploits which took us from casino to casino so that no one would be the wiser.
By the time we shuffled into the elegant Bellagio, it was one a.m. and we were tired out of our minds. Red Bull and coffee only went so far, even with our drinking kept at a minimum. We had spent most of the night on edge, and with midnight flying past us—my Cinderella hour—we were letting our guard down a bit.
I was done with gambling for now. We had cashed out, but Camden wanted to play a few rounds of blackjack with some of his own money. Not a lot, just enough to have some fun. It was nice to just sit beside him, perched like the perfect femme fatale, and yell at him to say “hit me” or not. Plus the blackjack players at the Bellagio were the perfect subjects for people watching. When I wasn’t lurking over Camden’s shoulder or making sure my nipple ring wasn’t poking through the lace inserts, I was watching everyone else, wondering if they too had a story to tell.
“Are you thirsty I?” I asked him, crooning into his ear as he raked his chips toward him. Oh, I also had a lot of fun with the whole pretending we were a high-rolling couple thing. It meant I got to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, breathe in the skin at the back of his neck, and shoot him suggestive glances from across the room. It was all an act and it wasn’t an act.
“Last one, I promise,” he said, slipping me a twenty. “Something that’ll kick my ass for the next hour.”
I took it with a sly smile and slinked off through the maze of tables and machines toward the circle bar. I say slink because it was impossible to dress like I had and not feel like Jessica Rabbit.
Almost every casino has a circle bar in it, usually smack dab in the middle of the main floor. It’s a great place to meet people without paying a cover, especially with the high turnover rate. I had picked Bellagio’s circle bar because the bartender took a liking to me and was giving me strong drinks for the cheap—I’d even scored some Red Bull off him for free. It was a little out of the way from Camden’s table, which was hidden in the back behind rows of slot machines, but if we were ever out of each other’s sight for too long we’d text each other. Yes, I gave him back his phone privileges.
Some of the clubs and bars must have been emptying out because suddenly there was a line of drunk frat boys in front of me. I tried to get the bartender’s attention, and though he saw me, he couldn’t ignore everyone else. I would have to wait.
I stood in line at the bar and debated going to another one, even if it wasn’t top shelf for cheap, when my phone beeped. Thinking it was Camden wondering where his drink was, I fished it out.
The screen on my phone showed a text message from a strange number. One word.
Hi.
It was attached to a 228 area code. Biloxi.
I don’t think the word “hi” had ever looked so terrifying. I nearly dropped the phone. But I didn’t. I went straight to Camden’s number.
I texted: Code Black.
I shoved the phone back in my clutch and gulped, dizziness swarming up my arms, toward my head.
I knew whose number that was. It had been left on my homemade Wanted poster. I hoped Camden did exactly what I’d meant with Code Black. We’d talked about it earlier, about what to do in a worst case scenario, the “what ifs” and our plan of attack. And now it was happening.
Javier had my number. He was closer than I ever thought.
“Miss?” the bartender called out to me. I turned to look at him in a daze. The line had dissipated. I was next.
I was about to wave at him a “no thank you” and shake my head then get a move on to the elevators, but my vision went right past him. It went to the opposite side of the bar where a man was sitting.
Sitting and staring at me with yellow-green eyes.
The man smiled and I felt a chunk of ice slide down my spine.