Page 109 of Blue Moon

“1207 was unoccupied, no signs of a disturbance; a married couple was staying in 1208—they cooperated fully; 1209 contained two businessmen and five hookers in varying stages of consciousness.”

“Well, somebody’s lying. Who spoke with the guard from the elevator vestibule?”

“Derek Monroe.”

“Given that the security team is now under suspicion, can you have another try?”

“One step ahead of you there. He’s waiting for me upstairs. How long until you get here?”

“Ten fucking hours.”

And with every hour that passed, the chances of finding Luna got smaller. No way had she just wandered off. The crime scene had been compromised, people’s memories faded, and the population of Vegas changed by the hour.

Ryder had promised to protect his girl, and he’d failed spectacularly.

30

LUNA

“Hey, boy. You’re not supposed to be on the bed.”

Rocky ignored me—probably because he didn’t speak English, only dog—and carried on licking my face. I tried to push him away, giggling, but a voice made me freeze.

“Thank the stars you’re awake.”

The voice was female, but why was the woman in my hotel room? Was she a housekeeper? They had a habit of just knocking and then walking in. I forced open heavy eyelids and then gasped in horror.

“Welcome to hell.”

The woman standing over me was a pretty brunette with a pale white complexion that had gone a little blotchy and bloodshot blue eyes. The skin around them was puffy, as if she’d been crying. Rocky whisper-yipped at her.

“Is your dog friendly?”

“Uh, yes?”

Another face swam into view, this one with smooth warm-brown skin and pursed lips. The newcomer’s hair had most likely been neatly braided a few weeks ago, but now it was going fuzzy around the edges. Both women wore plain white dresses and beaded necklaces, and for some reason, they looked vaguely familiar, although I couldn’t recall ever speaking with them. But my mind was hazy. Every memory was a stretch. What had happened to me? How did I get here? Where were we?

I looked past the strangers, past the high stone columns to the wall beyond and saw it was painted with hieroglyphs. A wave of relief washed through me. I was still at the Nile Palace, but this wasn’t my suite.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Michelle, and she’s Kacie,” the woman with the braids said. “Are you that singer? The one who went skinny-dipping with fifty men in the Caribbean?”

“I didn’t go skinny-dipping. I fell off a yacht, and they jumped in to save me.”

“Sure you did.”

“Can we discuss the bigger problem?” Kacie hissed. “Like how we’re going to get out of this place?”

“Where are we, anyway? Do you work for Frank?”

“Who’s Frank?”

“Frank Serafini. He owns this place.”

“You know where we are?”

“At the Nile Palace.”

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