Casey. Her first love.
The man she could never be with again.
She’d meant to stay in the room, but her innate restlessness was eating her alive. It wouldn’t hurt to take the elevator down to the street and go for a little walk. She didn’t have enough money to get into trouble. She’d locked her credit card in the room safe, and she barely had enough cash on her to buy a candy bar or drop a few coins in a cheap slot machine.
She slipped on a flannel-lined denim jacket, twisted up her long red hair with a clip, and covered it with a battered Stetson. For a moment she debated wearing her sunglasses. But it was night outside. Besides, she wanted to blend in with the cowboys and rodeo fans who had swarmed into Vegas for the PBR finals. The movie-star glasses would be out of place.
Deciding to leave her purse, she slipped the key card into the hip pocket of her jeans, put her cell phone in her jacket pocket, and left the room. Tess wouldn’t be back here for at least an hour. If she needed to get in touch, she could always call.
Stepping out of the jammed elevator was like plunging into an ocean of noise. People shouted to each other across the crowded lobby and at the registration desk, their voices raised to be heard above the din. From the nearby casino the relentless ding of the slots mingled with the calls of the dealers and occasional whoops from lucky winners. In the bar off the lobby, a country western singer was belting out old Merle Haggard songs.
In the old days, Val could’ve wandered into the bar and bought herself a free drink with a smile and an empty promise. But those times were behind her. Tonight, she would settle for fresh air.
Zigzagging through the crowd, she made her way out the main entrance to the busy sidewalk. There were signs everywhere welcoming PBR fans and inviting them to come on in and spend their money. People in western gear wandered past, taking in the sights. Ticket hawkers, most of them scammers, waved their wares in front of unwary customers. Girls in skin-tight denim skirts and low-cut blouses prowled the edges of the sidewalk, smiling when a man made eye contact. Val couldn’t help feeling sorry for them. She’d known desperate times herself—but never that desperate, thank God.
As she left the shelter of the hotel entrance and launched herself up the Strip, she took a moment to check her surroundings and scan the crowd for anyone who might seem a bit too interested. Old habits died hard. But Val knew there was no need for caution. Nobody was going to recognize her and ask for her autograph. Not that many ever had.
She’d tried the Hollywood thing and had gotten a few small movie parts. But she’d never made it past the bottom third of the credit list. At the time, she’d rationalized that it was because she wouldn’t go the casting couch route. But Val knew better. She knew what real talent was. She’d seen it in women like Meryl Streep, Laura Dern, and Cate Blanchett—and she knew she didn’t have it. She was merely pretty. And in Hollywood, pretty girls were a dime a dozen.
She’d made a few TV commercials and done some modeling. Between gigs, she’d waited tables to make rent on a one-room studio with roaches in the walls and the bathroom down the hall.
Then she’d met Lenny Fortunato.
The blinking signal at the corner crosswalk ended Val’s musings. The light was changing, and she’d already stepped off the curb.
For an instant she hesitated, torn between stepping back and making a dash ahead of the heavy Las Vegas traffic. It was just enough time for a black limo with darkened windows to come barreling around the corner, heading straight toward her.
Val jumped out of the way as it hurtled past, swerving just enough to miss her by an inch.
Pulse slamming, she watched the vehicle merge with the traffic and vanish from sight. A few people glanced at her as they passed, as if curious to see what kind of idiot would step off the curb in front of a moving vehicle. She could just imagine the limo driver cursing the fool woman who’d almost gotten herself killed, which would have caused a major inconvenience for his passengers and probably cut into his tip.
No damage done, except that she’d drawn attention to herself, something she never liked to do. But the walk she’d set out to enjoy was spoiled. It was time to head back to her hotel and wait for Tess to return.
But as she turned around and wove her way back through the crowds, a feeling crept over her—sickening in its familiarity. It was the vague, prickling sense that something was wrong.
The close brush with the limo couldn’t have been anything but a coincidence. No one could have known she’d be at that corner, and if anyone inside the vehicle had meant her any harm, the driver wouldn’t have swerved.
Maybe she was imagining things. But the chill that crawled along her nerves was too real to be ignored. She should never have left the hotel alone.
Correction—she should’ve known better than to come to Las Vegas in the first place.
Resisting the urge to rush, she entered the hotel and crossed the lobby to the elevator. A tired-looking couple with two whiny children rode up to her floor and got off with her. Val followed them down the corridor, continuing on after they stopped at their room. Would that have been her life if she’d followed a different path and married Casey? Would it have been enough?
But there was no point in thinking about that now.
Her hand shook as she used the key card to open the door. When she went inside and double locked it behind her, she could feel a headache coming on—maybe karma for lying to Tess earlier. In her purse, she found a bottle of ibuprofen, shook a couple of tablets into her hand, and swallowed them with tap water. There was an ice dispenser and a soda vending machine at the end of the hall, but she didn’t want to go out again.
Kicking off her boots, she picked up the TV remote. She wasn’t up to watching the PBR finals, but maybe she could find a good movie to pass the time.
As she flipped through channels, she found just the thing—Voyage to the Black Hole, a low-budget sci-fi film she’d made years ago with a crew of barely known actors. She’d played a member of a spaceship crew, her single spoken line: “No damage to report, sir.”
Watching it now might at least be good for a few laughs.
She propped a couple of pillows against the headboard and settled back to watch. She’d known the movie was bad, but until now she hadn’t realized what a stinker it really was.
She was chuckling over a dramatic battle scene when the room telephone on the nightstand rang. Val reached for it, then hesitated as the phone rang again, then again. Tess or Lexie would call her cell, not the room number. But what if there was some emergency? Or some question at the front desk? With the phone still ringing, Val picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
There was no reply.
“Hello?” Her pulse quickened slightly.
Again, there was silence, followed by a faint click and the hum of the dial tone. Nothing more.
CHAPTER TWO
INSIDE THE ARENA, THE LAST RIDE OF THE NIGHT HAD ENDED IN A buck-off. As the fans began filing along the rows and pouring toward the exits, Tess slipped out of her seat and made her way down to the press box. Lexie’s husband, Shane Tully, had been a great rider before a fall under a bucking bull had crushed his spine and cost him the use of his legs. Now he was doing color commentary for the PBR finals. Lexie, as always, was at his side.
“So, how did it go?” Tess asked, although their beaming faces had already answered her question.