Page 15 of Secrets in the Dark

I committed the note to memory, carefully reset the office to its original state, and slipped back into the corridor. The entire operation had taken less than three minutes—well within my safety window.

As I returned to the casino floor, the pieces realigned in my mind. Nova Sinclair was actually Celia Marshall, a legal assistant. Enzo had identified her real identity and shared that information with an outside party. Tommy Lace was surveilling her dressing room and would be attending Thursday's performance.

The connections were forming, but the picture remained incomplete. What linked a legal assistant to the Licata operation? Why would she be hiding under a stage name? And why would Tommy Lace take such personal interest in her movements?

I needed more information—and I knew exactly where to start looking.

The Jade Petal's rooftop garden remained one of the casino's best-kept secrets. Accessible only to high-rollers and select staff, the lush oasis offered respite from the sensory overload below. Tropical plants created natural privacy screens between seating areas. Subtle lighting illuminated pathways without diminishing the spectacular view of the Strip.

I'd discovered early in my assignment that the northeast corner provided both solitude and excellent sight lines to theadjacent buildings. It had become my unofficial thinking space during late-night shifts.

I leaned against the glass barrier, Vegas sprawled before me in electric glory. My cigarette—rarely lit, mostly a prop—provided the perfect excuse for solitary contemplation. The night air carried the desert's lingering heat, though October had softened summer's brutal edge.

"I didn't know dealers were allowed up here."

I turned to find Nova—no, Celia Marshall—standing a few feet away. She'd exchanged her stage costume for slim black pants and a simple blouse, though traces of theatrical makeup still accentuated her eyes. Without the sequins and feathers, she looked both more ordinary and more compelling.

"Special privilege for high-limit staff," I replied, offering a smile that revealed nothing of my newfound knowledge about her identity. "The whales get twitchy if their favorite dealer disappears between shifts."

She approached cautiously, maintaining distance. "And are you a favorite?"

"I have my regulars."

"I bet you do." She gestured toward the city panorama. "Quite the view."

"Best in the house." I shifted slightly, creating space beside me at the railing. An invitation, not a demand.

After a moment's hesitation, she joined me, her forearms resting inches from mine. "It's strange seeing the Strip from this angle. Like watching the machine from outside."

"The trick behind the illusion," I agreed.

"Is that why you're here? Seeking the mechanics behind the magic?"

An interesting question, particularly from someone maintaining her own elaborate illusion.

"Maybe I just needed air not recycled through slot machines and desperation."

That earned a genuine smile—the first I'd seen from her. It transformed her face, revealing glimpses of the woman beneath the performance.

"Cynical for someone who makes their living from the house advantage."

"Realistic," I corrected. "Everyone in Vegas is selling something, whether they admit it or not."

"And what are you selling, Roman King?"

The way she emphasized my name—slight stress on both words—suggested skepticism. She sensed the artifice, just as I had detected hers. Two actors recognizing staged performances.

"Competence. Discretion. The comfort of a familiar face for people wagering more in an hour than most earn in a year."

"That's the job description," she said. "Not the man."

I studied her with new interest. Most people accepted surface presentations without question, particularly in Vegas where personas were currency. Her perception cut uncomfortably close to reality.

"You're very observant for someone who's only been here a few days."

Something flickered in her expression—wariness, perhaps recognition that she'd revealed too much of herself.

"Performance training. You learn to read people, spot the tells."

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