Forty minutes later, pampered, painted, and fluffed to perfection, they strolled back along the mezzanine toward the French restaurant. Seeing their reflection in a shop window, Lexie giggled. “We look like we’re trolling for men, don’t we?”
Val gave her a smile. “I haven’t seen any men to compare with the one you’ve already got.”
“But what about you?” Lexie teased. “Hey, that old guy over there with the walker’s giving you the eye. He looks rich. Do you know how I can tell? Expensive boots.”
“I’m not in the market for a man, not even if he’s rich. Come on, you troublemaker.” Val nudged her sister into the restaurant, which was decorated with posters of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, and other well-known French scenes. Wrought iron bistro tables and chairs were arranged under artificial trees. Édith Piaf’s voice crooned “La Vie en Rose” over a hidden speaker.
A young waiter who spoke with a comical fake French accent ushered them to a table and gave them menus. The few customers in the place, all women, looked like out-of-towners. Val hadn’t expected much from the food, but the quiche Lorraine they ordered with tall glasses of iced tea was surprisingly good.
Lexie finished her plate and put down her napkin. “Thank you for today, Val. With Shane and the ranch taking so much energy these past few months, I’d almost forgotten how to be good to myself. I feel like a real live girl again.”
“My pleasure. And wait till Shane sees how gorgeous you look. You’ll knock his socks off.” Val found her credit card in her purse and held it up to summon the waiter. The spa sessions would go on the hotel bill, but she wanted lunch to be her treat.
“You can put your card away, madame,” the waiter said. “A gentleman already paid for your lunch.”
“But who—?” Val glanced around restaurant, seeing only women at the tables and the bar.
Lexie hooted with laughter. “See, Val? I told you that old rich dude had his eye on you. He’s probably outside waiting for you to thank him.”
Val struggled to ignore the tension crawling along her nerves. Lexie could be right. But what if she was wrong?
“The gentleman, was he old?” she asked the waiter. “White hair, using a walker?”
“Nope.” The waiter shook his head, dropping the fake accent. “It was a guy in a suit, maybe about forty, black hair. He gave me fifty bucks, said that should cover any order, plus the tip.”
Val’s throat had gone rigid. She forced the words. “But I didn’t see anybody.”
“Oh, yeah—he came by before you got here. He said two ladies would be showing up, and he described you both, even your clothes.”
Val fought back waves of panic. Only the manicurists had known where she and Lexie were going for lunch. The two girls had looked completely innocent. But they’d passed on what they’d heard.
Passed on to whom? That was the question.
She forced herself to speak calmly. “I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this,” she said, rising and reaching for Lexie’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”
The elevator was only a few doors away. It was empty when they stepped inside. Val willed her hand not to shake as she pushed the button for their floor.
“That was creepy,” Lexie said. “Who do you think paid for our lunch?”
“I don’t know,” Val said. “I used to hang out with some people here. Maybe one of them is playing games, having a little fun. But be careful, Lexie. Until we learn what’s going on, don’t go anywhere alone.”
Lexie stared at her. “This is serious, isn’t it? You’re scared, Val. I can tell.”
“Not scared. Just puzzled.” One more half-lie. “But let’s not tell Tess or Shane. They’ll only worry, and there’s nothing they can do. Okay?”
“Okay for now. But if there’s something going on—”
“Yes, I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, keep your door locked until Shane gets back. If you need anything, call me. I’ll be right down the hall.”
The elevator door opened. Val stayed in the hall until Lexie had gone into her room. Then, ready for anything, she used her key card to open the room she shared with Tess.
No one was inside. Only the made-up beds and general tidying told her that room service had been there.
She double-locked the door. Then, trembling, she sank onto the bed and buried her face in her hands. When she’d come out of rehab and gone home to her family, she’d told herself the past was buried. But here, in the city she’d never wanted to see again, it appeared that her past had come back to haunt her.
She’d dismissed the limo and the phone call as coincidence. But what had happened in the restaurant had been no accident. Someone was sending her a message that no one could misunderstand. Whoever it was, they wanted her scared. They wanted her to know that they had eyes and ears everywhere, and when they tired of their game, they would reel her in like a hooked fish.
She could only try to guess the reason. When she was Lenny Fortunato’s girl, she’d seen things. Bad things. Maybe somebody out there thought she’d seen too much.
Right now, all she wanted to do was get on that plane, go home to the ranch, and never come back here. But something had changed. Whoever was stalking her, they knew about Lexie. To get what they wanted from Val, they could use her sister, even hurt her.
How could she go home and leave her precious, pregnant sister exposed? And what about Shane and Tess? Her shadowed past had put them all in danger.
There was only one right thing to do—cancel her flight, cancel the sale of her arena tickets, and stay in Las Vegas until she knew that her family was safe—even if it meant confronting the demons of her past.
CHAPTER FOUR
VAL SAT ALONE, ONE FACE IN THE CROWD OF ALMOST 20,000 WHO’D come to watch the second night of the PBR World Finals. Lexie had promised to sit with her, but at the last minute she’d been called to be with Shane at the press table. Not that Val minded. There were worse things than being alone, and she was undoubtedly safer here than in her hotel room.
She’d never been in the T-Mobile Arena before, but growing up, she’d seen smaller places like it—the seemingly endless rings of seats, rising to the vast dome of the ceiling, where rows of lights and two giant display screens hung suspended from steel beams; and the central floor, normally a basketball court, that had been replaced by a thick layer of dirt hauled in for the five-day PBR event. Toward one end of the floor was a box-like structure known as the shark cage, which sheltered TV and video cameras, members of the press, and a few privileged guests. The platform on top served both as a stage and an emergency escape from charging bulls.
Every available surface was plastered with ads promoting the event’s sponsors. There were ads for outdoor gear and cowboy clothes, for beer and whiskey, for farm and construction equipment, for tires, motor oil, and all kinds of vehicles. Even the riders and bullfighters wore logos on their clothing. Every ad meant money that went to the PBR for event costs, prizes, salaries, and other expenses.
Adjusting the bill of the baseball cap that covered her hair, she settled back to watch the ceremony that opened every major PBR event—the presentation of the flag, the singing of the national anthem, and a prayer, followed by the lighting of the giant PBR letters on the ground and the introduction of each rider as they walked forward between the flames to stand in a line.