Rebecca picked up two intact bottles and righted them on the tray before squatting down beside the blond waitress. “Here. Let me.”
Melissa paused in her frantic retrieval of the broken brown glass. “This isn’t your job.” Her blue eyes were moist and wide with unshed tears as she met Rebecca’s gaze. She dropped a shard onto the tray and cradled her left arm against her chest. “I can do it. I have to.”
Son of a bitch.
Lifted up to the subdued light of the bar’s chandeliers, the pattern of bruises on Melissa’s swollen wrist became evident. Five of them. With the span of long, strong fingers. The imprint of a man’s hand.
Rebecca swallowed the bile in her throat and reached for the next shard of glass. “I’m helping,” she insisted, resisting the urge to ask who’d hurt her. Was it Tom? Was that why he was so protective and anxious to get her off the floor? Was it a customer? Boyfriend? Husband?
She’d written pieces on domestic violence before. She knew the numbers to call, the words to say. But her dad…She owed him so much. Could she help Melissa without betraying a plan that had been months in the making?
“I’m helping,” she repeated, positioning herself between Melissa and Tom when the bartender hurried over with a towel to mop up the splatters of beer.
Maybe making a friend tonight, making this friend, was just as important as finding her father’s killer. Maybe there was more than one story here on the Riverboat, more than one reason why Rebecca needed to become a part of this world and discover all the secrets hidden here. Maybe she could help the living as well as the dead.
The perfect opportunity lay scattered at her feet.
“Hey—Melissa, is it?” The waitress nodded, blinking away the tears she refused to shed. “I’m assuming you guys have a first aid kit here. Why don’t you go wrap your wrist for some extra support, and I’ll cover for you for a few minutes. Just tell me which tables are waiting on drinks and I’ll deliver them. I can clear away the empties, too.”
When Tom seconded the idea, Rebecca wondered if he was sincere in his concern—or eager to cover the evidence of his assault.
Melissa shrugged, clearly reluctant to showcase her injury, despite the practicality of the suggestion. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
Rebecca grinned, including them both in her offer. “I want to.” She beat big Tom to helping Melissa to her feet and carried the tray to the bar. “I’ve been looking for a second job to help make ends meet.”
Austin was waiting for them at the waitress’s station. “Melissa, are you all right?” He shifted on his feet, burying his hands in his jacket pockets. “What happened?”
“Just an accident.”
He nodded, than darted a glance at Rebecca. “Thank you.”
Rebecca picked up on his uneasiness. Good Lord, was Gramps the man responsible for her injury? He was certainly fit enough to do some damage. “No problem. I worked my way through college waiting—” that’s when she noticed a handful of her chips and tokens had disappeared from her cup “—tables.” Perplexed by the discovery, she couldn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief. Austin was guilty of something, if not abuse. “If you could use another waitress, I’d love to have the job.”
Melissa was the first to respond to the proposition. “I don’t know. Really, I’ll be okay. We’ve been shorthanded before. Right, Tom?”
The big bartender glared a response. But Melissa glanced away from the message he tried to convey. Whether concern had been rebuffed or a threat satisfied, Rebecca couldn’t tell. Tom dumped the mess into the trash and grumbled, “It’s not my call.”
“I say give her a chance.” By comparison, Austin was downright enthusiastic about getting Rebecca on the payroll. “I’d be happy to run it by Mr. Wolfe. If Tom thinks you can handle it, you’d have my full recommendation. You could take care of the paperwork later.”
Rebecca went along with his friendly support, pretending she didn’t hear the click of metal tokens and plastic disks knocking together in his jacket pocket. She assumed he’d have some ready excuse if she did call him on the theft. Add one more suspect to her list. Austin the Nameless One had secrets to hide. Maybe it stopped with kleptomania. Maybe it meant there were other, darker, mysteries he could reveal to her.
“Melissa, you come with me.” Now the older man was eager to leave. “I’ll bandage that arm for you. You?” He winked at Rebecca. “Grab an apron and start clearing those tables.”
“You got it.”
Everyone she’d met thus far had been polite and accepting, if not outright friendly.
Everyone she’d met thus far was hiding something as well. Her reporter’s nose was telling her as much.
She was in the right place. She was in. She was going to succeed where KCPD had failed.
Her father would be proud.
Rebecca adjusted the black apron around her waist and moved to the next table to gather glasses and take their order. She’d already discovered the bar’s outside entrance, and used the opportunity of clearing the deck tables to scout out where public access ended and private balconies and service corridors began. She’d met other staff, and had identified some of the Riverboat’s repeat and long-term customers.
Other than wishing she’d worn more comfortable shoes, she didn’t have to worry about anything else tonight. She’d be back tomorrow. She could ask her questions and begin her search then. Chat with Teddy Wolfe. Meet Daniel Kelleher. Take Austin Cartwright up on a tour. Befriend Melissa and find a way to help her.
No one would suspect a thing.
Nothing could go wrong.
But her smug smile was short-lived.
She sensed the hostile gaze boring holes into her back. More intense, more direct than anything she’d felt before. A beat of time passed before a blunt voice from her past grated against her ears.
“What the hell are you doing in my casino?”
“YOUR CASINO?” Tawny gold eyes shot sparks at him as Seth Cartwright strode through the maze of tables.
Rebecca Page. Intrepid reporter. Dogged investigator. Wouldn’t say uncle even if it meant saving her own skin.
Caught. Snooping where the woman damn well knew she shouldn’t be.
He walked right up to her until he was close enough to absorb her scent and to communicate in a whisper.
“It’s a free country, so you’re welcome to throw away your money in whatever way you please.” Sarcasm came far too easily to Seth these days. He’d been at this job long enough that he’d learned to ignore any flicker of guilt or regret when the verbal arrows unleashed themselves. “But when you stop playing and you start chatting up the employees and customers, it’s time for you to go.”
Her chin tilted up. Seth expected no less from a woman who relied on guts as much as a wickedly precise intuition when it came to tracking down a news story. Her tongue was in fine form tonight, as well. “It’s a pleasure to see you, too, Detective.”
“Don’t call me that. Not anymore.”
He said the words he loathed to hear and watched the transformation cross her face. Shock. Confusion. “You’re not a cop anymore?”
When the serves-you-right smirk reached those painted lips, he reached for her. “I got a better job.”
“Hey.” The would-be waitress dodged his grasp and turned on the attitude. She pulled her tray in front of her like a shield and tipped her nose up with that Amazon arrogance he was all too familiar with. “Then you can’t arrest