Chapter 1

Tuesday Afternoon

Celia Remington sat in the chair in her room at Bobby Doyle’s compound outside Las Vegas, listening to the day’s recording from the hidden mic in Doyle’s office.  The usual — complaints about the amount of money he was making from his slots at the Vegas casinos.  Complaints about Howie Pearl and the way he was edging Doyle out of two of the better Vegas casinos.

Then Doyle slammed his palm on his desk.  “What the hell is going on?” he said, his voice deceptively calm.  That voice terrified her and everyone else who worked for Doyle.  Nothing good happened when Doyle spoke in that tone.

He continued, his whispery voice even more chilling.  “Our revenues are down this week at The Border.  Way down.  What’s the explanation?”

A long silence.  Then someone cleared his throat.  “We’re not sure, Boss,” a man said.  Jackie Fingers, she was pretty sure.  Missing two fingers on his left hand.  Jackie’s previous employer had cut them off when he suspected Jackie was stealing from him.  “We’re looking into it.”

“Look fast.  I don’t like it when our revenue falls suddenly.  Makes me think someone’s dipping into the till.”  Doyle’s voice was barely audible.  After working as his chef for almost three months, she’d learned to avoid him when he spoke with that voice.

“Not one of your employees, Boss,” Fingers said, speaking so fast he was stuttering.  “That’s the figure that asshole at The Border gave us.  So it had to be at their end.”

Complete silence.  Finally Doyle said softly, “What are we gonna do about it?”

“I’ve got some people at The Border,” Finger said, swallowing hard.  “They’re watching our machines.  Around the clock.  If the manager’s adjusting something, we’ll find out.”

“Who you got on that?” Doyle asked, his voice hard.  Implacable.  Celia never wanted to hear that voice directed at her.  Fingers rattled off ten names.

“Good,” Doyle finally said.  “Those are good people.  They’ll figure it out.”

“That’s why I put them on the job,” Fingers said.

“Okay.  Keep your ear to the ground.  Any hint of who’s behind this scheme, you tell me.  And I’ll take care of it.”  Doyle chuckled, and that terrifying sound made Celia’s hairs stand up.  “I should say, I’ll have you take care of it.”

“You know I will, Boss,” Fingers said.  “You need anything else?”

“No.  Get out of here.”

“I’m gone,” Fingers said.  Moments later, the door clicked shut.

Celia heard the in and out of the keyboard tray.  Doyle played with the keyboard when he was agitated.  When he was thinking.  A thinking Doyle made her nervous.  Time to move the bug she’d attached to his desk above the tray.  Find another spot for it.

“What the hell?”

Celia heard the chair slam against the wall behind it.  Doyle stormed to the door.  Opened it.  “Nick,” he shouted.  “Get in here.”

Moments later, another man walked into the room.  “What’s goin’ on, Dad?  What’s wrong?”

“Pull out that keyboard tray on my desk,” he said.

Celia heard the glide of the tray moving in its tracks.  “Seems to be working okay,” Bobby’s son said.

“Now put your hand underneath the desk,” Bobby ordered.

A few moments later, Nick said, “Is that a bug?”

“That’s exactly what it is, dumbass.  Someone bugged my office.”

“What the hell?  Who would do that?  No one’s been in the house except the people who work or live here.”

“Exactly.  So someone in this house is a rat.  We need to find them.”

“What’da you want me to do?”

“Search everyone’s room.  Look for recording equipment.”

Celia had heard enough.  Hands shaking, she opened the battery compartment of the vibrator she used to disguise her recording equipment and removed the tiny recording chip.  Slid it into the money belt she wore around her waist and replaced the vibrator in the drawer of the nightstand beside her bed.  Then she gathered all her cash, her driver’s license, her bank card and her single credit card and shoved them in the belt, too.  When she spotted the thick silicone straw in her water glass, she shoved that into the money belt, as well.  Then she slid her phone into her pants’ pocket.

Finally, she opened her suitcase and yanked out the thin armored vest she’d stored in there.  Shrugged off her sweatshirt and shirt, put on the vest, then replaced her shirt and sweatshirt.  Since she always wore baggy clothes — a necessity in this house full of men — no one should notice the vest and the money belt.

And no one would find any evidence of recording equipment in her room.  The chip was hidden in her money belt beneath her clothes.  But as the newest staff member, she’d be suspected.  And she knew that there was a better than even chance that, even if they didn’t find any evidence, they’d kill her anyway.  That was how Bobby Doyle solved his problems.

And everyone knew it — his staff members.  His rivals.  Hell, even the FBI and local police knew it.  But they’d never been able to prove anything.

A lot of people disappeared while they were working for Bobby Doyle.  And Celia was pretty sure she would be next.

By the time she needed to start working on dinner, no one had come to her room.  She had no illusions.  They would search it.  Tear it apart, looking for a recording device.  Probably while she was working in the kitchen.

So she drew in a deep breath.  Blew it out slowly.  Finally, when she’d calmed herself from frantic to merely unsettled, she headed down to the kitchen.  She was making steaks tonight, with asparagus and baked potatoes.  A meal she could prepare in her sleep.  Thank God.  Because she didn’t have the bandwidth to concentrate on a new recipe tonight.

* * *

Celia was in the kitchen, scouring the pots and pans she’d used to make dinner, when Nick stuck his head into the kitchen.  “Hey, Celia,” he called.

She turned to face him.  “What can I do for you, Nick?”

“My dad wants to see you in his office.”

“Right now?  Or should I finish the clean up?”

“Right now,” Nick said.

“Okay.”  Shivers rippled over her skin.  This was it.  She untied her apron, tossed it onto a chair at the island and swiped her hands down her thighs.  “Let’s go.”

Nick led her to his father’s office and opened the door.  As always, Nick was a perfect gentleman.  She walked in and saw Bobby sitting at his desk, scowling.  Nick followed her in, standing beside Fingers.

Oh, oh.  “Mr. Doyle,” Celias said.  “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Celia.  Dinner tonight was wonderful.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, allowing herself to relax a little.  “Glad you enjoyed it.”

“I especially liked that sauce on the meat,” he said.  “What was that?”

“Um, it’s a sauce I learned in my last restaurant.  It’s got horseradish, Worcestershire sauce, a little sour cream, Dijon mustard, a little salt and pepper.”

“Thank you.”  Bobby leaned back, and his chair creaked.  “I have a little job for you.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, shoving her hands into her pockets and clutching her phone tightly.  “What can I do for you?”

Before Bobby could answer, Alice cracked open the door to his office.  “Mr. Doyle, could I borrow Nick for an hour or two?”

Celia looked from Alice to Nick to Bobby.  What the hell was going on?

Bobby frowned at Alice.  “I was just going to send him on a job with Fingers.”

“Could you find someone else to help Fingers?  I need to get these boxes down to the vault, and tonight’s the only time I can do it.”

Bobby shook his head.  “No, Nick’s gotta do this.”

“I really need to get these boxes moved tonight,” she said.  “Please let me take Nick to help me.”

Bobby stared at her, frowning.  Alice stared back, her face impassive.  Flat.  But she didn’t look away.

Finally, after a long moment, he scowled.  “Fine.  Take Nick to help you.”  He turned to Fingers.  “Go get Murray.  He can help you.  He needs to get his hands wet anyway.”

“You got it, Mr. Doyle.”  Fingers hurried out of the room.

Still in the office, Alice said, “Grab that top box, Nick.  It needs to go into the vault.”

“Right…”  Nick lifted the box like it weighed nothing, then followed Alice out of the room and into the basement.

Upstairs, Bobby turned back to Celia.  “Fingers and Murray have a job they need some help with,” he said.  “I thought you might be willing to assist them.”

“Sure,” she said, but alarms were shrieking.  She glanced at the two men who’d just walked into the room.  Fingers stared at her.  Murray glanced at her, leering.  As if he knew something she didn’t.

Unease rippling over her skin, Celia cleared her throat.  “What do you want me to do, Mr. Doyle?”

“It’s an off-site job,” he said.  “They’ll show you what you need to do when you get there.”

“Okay.”  She swallowed.  “I’ll have to run upstairs and get my jacket.”

“Don’t bother.  I’ll have someone bring it down for you.”  Bobby leaned forward and pressed a button on his house intercom.  “Betty, could you go to Celia’s room and grab her jacket?”

He listened for a moment, then looked at Celia.  “What does it look like?”

Celia cleared her throat.  Panic was rising, and she needed to control it.  She’d need all her composure to survive tonight.  “Brown plaid.  Hanging in my closet.”

“You hear that, Betty?”  He listened for a moment.  “Thanks.”

No one in the room said anything as they waited, and Celia could feel the tension quivering in the air.  Did all these people know she was being sent to her execution?  Did they care?

If they did, none of them would let it show.  No one crossed Bobby Doyle and lived.

The staff whispered about Bobby’s older son, Robert.  He’d been killed several years ago.  He’d screwed up a job, big time, and boom.  The next thing they knew, his father was holding a fancy funeral for his son.

The minutes stretched taut as a guitar string, until finally Betty knocked and came in, holding Celia’s jacket.  Celia shrugged it on, thankful that she’d gotten it a size too large.  Once she’d buttoned it, Doyle looked at Fingers and Murray.  “You two ready?”

“Car’s outside the front door,” Fingers said.

“You can report back to me tomorrow,” Doyle said.  “I have a business meeting tonight.”

Good cover if he’s ever questioned about my disappearance, Celia thought.

But even if he was, he wouldn’t know a thing.  Because he’d be at someone’s house, with a lot of witnesses.

She had no intention of dying in the desert, tonight or any other night.  But everything had to go perfectly if she was going to survive.

Fingers and Murray slid into the front seats.  Celia climbed into the back seat of the Suburban that sat idling next to the door.  She glanced over her shoulder at the cargo area and saw something shaped vaguely like a person wrapped in a tarp.  Three shovels lay beside the tarp.  So apparently she and Fingers and Murray were supposed to dig the grave for tarp guy.

Celia had no doubt that tarp guy was a rolled-up rug meant to distract her.  The only grave the two men in the front seat would be digging tonight was hers.

As the big SUV rumbled along the rural road, she thought of everything she’d put in her money belt.  The thick silicone straw had been an afterthought.  Now she was glad she’d included it.

* * *

Alice led Nick out of his father’s office and into the basement, closing the door behind them.  She nodded at the stack of boxes in one corner.  “All these boxes belong in the vault room.  Stacked in order.  They’re too heavy for me to lift.”

Nick smiled at her.  “I’m happy to do that for you.”  And he was happy that Alice had rescued him from the job with Fingers and Celia.  Ice had slithered up his back when his father told him he’d be doing a job with Fingers.  He knew what Fingers was, and wanted no part of any job the hitman was doing.  Especially if it involved Celia.

Alice looked at the basement door.  To make sure it was closed?  Then she turned to him and said in a low voice, “I didn’t want you to go with Fingers.  Don’t want you involved in what he’s going to do.”

Nick frowned.  “What’s that?”

“He and Troy are taking Celia away.”

“What do you mean?  Is she leaving?  Are they driving her to the train station?”

“She’s leaving, but not voluntarily.”

Nick stared at her, and it dawned on him what she was saying.  He turned and ran for the stairs.  “I have to stop them.”

Alice grabbed his shirt.  “If you go up there and try to stop them, you’ll end up like Celia.  And your brother Robert.  I didn’t want you to participate in what Fingers and Troy are doing, and I don’t want you to get hurt.  Do you understand me?”

Nick turned slowly and stared at Alice.  He was afraid he knew exactly what Alice meant.  He swallowed a hard lump in his throat.  “I can’t let Celia be killed.”

Alice fisted his shirt in both hands and shook him.  “You don’t have a choice, Nick.”

“Yes, I do.  I can follow them.  Stop them.”

“The only thing that would accomplish is you’d be dead, too.”

Nick stared at Alice for a long moment, swallowing hard.

“Nicky, you wouldn’t be able to find them, anyway,” she said softly.  “They’re already gone.”

Finally he sighed.  “Okay.  But my father’s not getting away with this.”

“This is who he is, Nick.  Nothing you can do about that.”  She pressed a kiss to his cheek.  “You’re not like your father, Nick.  You’re a good man.”

“Not that good.  I let Celia walk away with two killers.”

“You didn’t have a choice.  You need to understand that.  Now help me with these boxes.”

After they’d stacked all the boxes in the vault, Alice went to a box in the corner.  Took out a file and handed it to Nick.  “You need to read this.  I’ll stay down here with you in case your father comes looking for you.  That’s why I left three boxes in the corner.”

Nick looked at her.  Nodded.  “Okay.”  He opened the file and began reading.  He sucked in a breath, and his eyes teared up.  But he read the whole file.  Then he looked at Alice.  “This can’t be right.”

“Everything in that file is correct, Nick.”  She put her hand on his arm.  “Your father is a monster.  I’m going to resign.  Look for another job.  I can’t work for him any longer.”

“Can I keep this file?” he asked.

“No.  It has to stay where it is, in case your father comes looking for it.”

Nick pulled out his phone.  “Then I’m going to take pictures of every page.  I’ll print them out.  Hide them in my safe deposit box.  Then delete them from my phone.”

“You’re taking a big chance, Nick.  If your father ever finds out…”

“He won’t.  He doesn’t give a damn about me.  Robert was always the one.”  He glanced at the papers in his hand.  “And my father killed him.”

Alice put her hand on his arm.  “You need to get out, Nick.  You’re not made for this life.  This isn’t who you are.  You’re a good man, and I want you to stay that way.  That’s why I stopped you from going with Fingers tonight.”

“You should have let me follow Fingers and Murray.  I could have stopped them from whatever they’re doing to Celia.”

Alice touched his face.  “It’s too late.  Maybe she’ll have a chance to run.  Maybe they’ll stop for gas and she’ll take off.  Hide until she can get away.”

Nick looked at her and slowly shook his head.  “Not from Fingers,” he said.  “He knows what he’s doing.  He’s already killed a lot of people for my father.”

* * *

Thirty minutes into the trip, Celia slid her cell phone out of her pocket.  Keeping her eyes on the two men in the front seat, she shoved the phone into the space between the seat and seat back.  Pushed it in as far as it would go.  There might be a dark edge visible, but probably no one would look twice.

If she managed to escape, no one would be able to use her phone to track her.  And if not?  Celia shivered.  Swallowed hard.  Someone might find her phone and wonder why it was left in the car.  Maybe connect some dots.

They drove for almost an hour, then Fingers pulled the car onto the shoulder.  She saw nothing but desert, although the lights from a small town glowed several miles away on their left.  They’d passed only a few cars, and Fingers pulled the Suburban far off the road.  In the inky darkness of the desert night, the black car would be almost invisible.

“Well,” Fingers said.  “Let’s get to it.”

All three of them climbed out of the car.  Celia shivered in the cold, dry desert air that smelled faintly of sagebrush and creosote.  Murray opened the back and pulled out the three shovels.  Fingers walked on one side of her, Murray on the other.  In case she made a run for it, she figured.

The gun in her ankle holster scraped against her skin.  She could pull out the gun and shoot both of them.  Then take off.  But Bobby would never stop searching for her.  She’d never be able to relax.  She would forever be looking over her shoulder.

So she had to keep her fingers crossed, focus on her plan and hope her scheme would work.  Because if it didn’t?  It meant her luck had run out.  She’d be dead.

When they were at least a quarter mile from the road, Fingers looked around.  Stopped.  “This should do it,” he said.  He dug his shovel into the dirt and dumped it on the ground.  Murray did the same thing, and Celia began digging as well.

“You don’t have to dig,” Fingers said with a smirk.  “Those hands of yours make good meals.  No sense in raising blisters on them.  We want you to be able to fix dinner tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.  “My hands aren’t used to digging.”

“Won’t take us long,” Fingers assured her.  “Boss likes ‘em planted shallow.  That way the animals find them.  Get rid of the evidence for us.”

“That’s… that’s smart,” Celia managed to say.  The thought of an animal scavenging her body made her want to puke.  She was so scared she was afraid she’d pee herself.

Finally, with a shallow grave about two feet deep, Fingers and Murray tossed their shovels aside.  They looked at each other, and Fingers nodded once.  “You go get the guy,” he told Murray.

Murray began walking backward, his hand on the gun in the holster beneath his arm.  Probably in case she took off running, Celia thought.

It was only Fingers now.  He’d do the job, so she focused on him, dread gripping her throat.  Her heart hammered against her chest and anxiety squeezed her lungs.

“Lay down in there,” he said to her.

“You want me to lay down in my own grave?” Celia said.  “Hell, no.”

Anger flared in Finger’s eyes, exactly as she’d intended.  He’d be less careful if he was pissed off.

In one fluid moment, Fingers pulled out a gun and aimed at her head.  She managed to flinch to one side, but the bullet grazed her scalp, leaving fire behind.  Blood poured down the side of her face and her shoulder, and she fell into the grave, twisting a little to land face up.

“One for the road,” Fingers said, and fired a bullet at her heart.  The impact slammed into her, and excruciating pain was the last thing Celia knew.