Werewolf in Las Vegas

Chapter 2

After the embarrassingly public fight with Cynthia, Luke retreated to the office of his recently acquired bar and shut the door. She’d obviously thought that after he won the bar he’d be in a celebratory mood and would magnanimously agree to hire her as a Moonbeam. She’d figured wrong, but arguing with her had taken the shine off his poker victory. She was basically the only family he had left, and he yearned to make peace with her. But she seemed determined to ruin her life, and he felt an obligation to try to prevent that.

She’d never totally cut out on him before, and he hated the feeling of being disconnected without any idea of where she was. But he dared not follow his first instinct and scour the town looking for her.

She hadn’t said where she was going, obviously on purpose, but he didn’t think she’d leave the city. She’d always preferred her hometown to travel. She hadn’t liked being so far away during her college years, and she’d flown home every chance she got.

If he went looking for her, though, and she realized he was after her, she might take off for parts unknown, especially if Landry was encouraging her. Worry sat like a cold, hard lump in his stomach. She was twenty-two, an adult, but when he thought of the bad decisions he’d made at that age, the knot of worry got bigger.

He’d lost his father and felt as if he’d lost his mother, too, now that she was living in France. He couldn’t lose Cynthia. He’d ask Owen Banks, his chief of security, to keep track of her.

Owen looked like a nerd with his thick glasses and supershort haircut, but he had the mind of a CIA operative. Unclipping his cell phone from his belt, Luke speed-dialed Owen.

“What’s up, boss?” Owen insisted on calling Luke that, despite many conversations in which Luke had suggested Owen use his first name instead.

Luke filled him in. “I want to know if she leaves town, either driving or flying, but I don’t want her stopped. Only followed.”

“Do you know if she’s in her Corvette?”

“Damn it. No, I don’t.” Luke squeezed the bridge of his nose. “And if she’s in Landry’s vehicle, he probably has a rental.”

“No worries, boss. Regardless of what they’re driving, I’ll find them and keep you posted.”

“Thanks.” Luke thought of something else and wished he hadn’t. But he should consider all possibilities. “Better alert all the wedding chapels, too. If she comes in with Landry, they need to stall as long as possible. I will interfere if she decides to go that far.” Technically he couldn’t stop her, but he could make a hell of a protest.

Cynthia had met the guy a couple of months ago at a local gelato shop, of all places. They’d hit it off, and Luke had made it his business to find out what he could about Bryce Landry. The details were sparse. Landry came from a wealthy family in San Francisco and spent most of his time in Vegas playing high-stakes poker. Luke had no quarrel with that lifestyle—Vegas depended on men like that to keep the lights on—but that didn’t mean Luke thought a high roller was the right choice for his sister.

“Got it. Talk to you soon.” Owen disconnected.

Luke laid the phone on the battered wooden desk and sat back in the worn leather desk chair with a sigh. He should have seen this coming, but he hadn’t. Cynthia might have hoped he’d be toasted after his success, which could make him easier to convince about the showgirl thing. Curiously, he hadn’t been as elated about winning the bar as he’d expected to be, and he hadn’t touched a drop of liquor all day. So he’d been stone-cold sober when she approached him. Good thing. He’d needed his wits about him.

Of course she’d asked him for the hundredth time to let her perform with the Moonbeams. Even though she could have signed on with any of the casinos just to spite him, her only goal was performing with the signature act created by their mother, Felicia. Felicia had been a dancer before her marriage to Angus, and afterward, she’d supervised the hiring and helped with choreography. Luke could understand that Cynthia had been starry-eyed at fifteen, but he’d expected that by now she would have grown out of it. Instead, they’d had a blowout fight when she arrived after the poker game and he’d refused her request again.

Although he was only eight years older than his sister, sometimes he felt a hundred years older, and this was one of those days. He had to be both father, mother, and brother to her, and he was doing a piss-poor job of it. Although he couldn’t blame his dad for dying, he wished his mom had stuck around to help deal with Cynthia.

No, no, he didn’t. Not really. Felicia Dalton had never been particularly maternal. She’d loved her husband passionately, and Angus had spoiled her rotten. Her grief when he died had threatened to suck both her children under. Luke had been secretly relieved when she’d decided to move to a little cottage nestled among fields of lavender in Provence. A couple of her friends had already flown over for visits. He’d been way too busy to go, but Cynthia kept saying she would.

She hadn’t, though, because she really did avoid travel as much as possible. A few weeks ago, he’d called his mother and asked her to talk Cynthia out of her obsession with the Moonbeams, but his mother couldn’t see the problem with letting her do it. Sometimes he wondered if he should just say to hell with it and put his sister in the Moonbeams’ lineup. He tried to imagine himself giving up the struggle, and it hurt his soul. He’d think of his dad, who’d been so proud of announcing that his daughter was attending Yale. He hadn’t cared that she hadn’t chosen a profession yet. She was one smart cookie, he’d say, and he’d had every confidence she would pick an exciting career in her own time.

Well, she had, and performing with the Moonbeams was it. She’d admitted today she’d only attended Yale to please their father. She’d always planned to follow in their mother’s dancing footsteps.

But he had to believe she wouldn’t have pulled this disappearing act if she hadn’t fallen in with Landry. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the guy was encouraging her to push the envelope. Otherwise, why disappear with him? Why not go alone? Landry appeared to be an accomplice of some kind, and if he was, then he’d just made an enemy of Luke Dalton.

A knock sounded on the door. “Luke?”

He recognized the voice of Chuck Stevens, a friend since grade school and his CFO for Dalton Industries. Chuck had tended bar all through college, and he’d offered to oversee the operation this first day. “Come on in, Chuck.”

Chuck opened the door and stuck his head in. “Sorry to bother you. I figured you came in here to be alone.”

Luke waved a hand. “I could probably use some company. What’s up? Are we running out of booze already?”

“Nah. Still plenty. But . . . uh . . . somebody’s here to see you. I’m not sure if you want to see her, though.”

“Cynthia?” Luke leaned forward so fast the chair creaked.

“No, sorry. This lady’s name is Giselle.” He paused. “Giselle Landry.”

“Landry.” Luke gazed at his friend. “Is this some weird coincidence?”

“No. She’s Bryce Landry’s sister.”

Luke stood. “Good. This is good. Maybe she’ll have some insights into the situation.”

“Well, shoot.” A tall redhead with green eyes walked into the office. “I was hoping you’d have some insights.”

Luke stared at her. He was very afraid his eyes had widened, but he managed to clamp his jaw so it wouldn’t drop. As he took in the sight before him, all rational thought ceased. This Giselle Landry had to be the most beautiful, sexy woman he had ever seen. She was exactly his type—long legs, adorable freckles, and fiery hair. Looking at her, he felt a wave of desire that almost knocked him over.

But one Dalton mixed up with a Landry was more than enough. He wasn’t about to make it two for two.

Giselle hadn’t thought to ask Vaughn to describe Luke Dalton. Vaughn wouldn’t have given her any significant information, anyway. He’d probably have said Dalton had dark blond hair and blue eyes. He might have mentioned that the guy was about six-two.

Those facts wouldn’t have prepared her for this man with broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and the mesmerizing gaze of a movie star. His slightly unkempt, almost shaggy haircut only added to his sex appeal. A cotton dress shirt, open at the throat, and a snug pair of jeans signaled his disinterest in traditional business attire. This was the kind of guy who could, if he chose to, use his looks to get anything he wanted from a woman. And possibly from a Were who wasn’t against Were-human sexual connections.

Which she was. She didn’t allow herself to be attracted to human males because she was opposed to cross-species mating, so why even go there? Her libido might not like that restriction, but too bad.

The guy who’d brought her into the office glanced at Luke. “Holler if you need anything.”

“I will, Chuck. Thanks. Close the door on your way out.”

“Right.” Chuck pulled the door shut behind him.

After it clicked into place, Luke leaned his palms on the surface of the desk, which made his shoulders look even more muscular. “So you don’t know where your brother is right now?”

“I assume he’s with your sister.” She noticed he hadn’t asked her to sit down. “Where is she?”

A trace of vulnerability touched his blue eyes. “I don’t know.” Then he covered that immediately with bravado. “But my people are on it.”

“I see.” She wasn’t fooled. Worry for his sister was tearing him up inside, but he didn’t want her to know that. “Do your people have a plan of action, then?”

“Of course.” His gaze didn’t waver.

She doubted that he had everything under perfect control or he wouldn’t have made his earlier comment about hoping she’d have some insights. But he was a poker player, and a damned good one, apparently. Aside from that first unguarded comment, he wasn’t going to let her see him sweat.

The truth was that she needed this guy and his people, whoever they might be. Although Vaughn was sympathetic to her situation, Bryce had hooked up with a Dalton. At this point, no Cartwright, including Vaughn, was particularly enthusiastic about saving Bryce from himself, and they were thrilled that Luke’s little sister was causing problems.

Giselle decided diplomacy might be the right way to go. “Look, you obviously have resources and connections that I lack. I’m very eager to find my brother and convince him to come back to San Francisco with me.”

“Then our purposes are aligned, because I want him on the next plane bound for ’Frisco. I think he’s responsible, directly or indirectly, for this latest move of Cynthia’s. He’s a bad influence on my little sister.”

Diplomacy might not be the answer, after all. “It takes two to tango, Mr. Dalton.”

His glance was assessing. “Do you tango, Ms. Landry?”

“Some.”

“Then you’re aware that the man leads and the woman follows.”

He’d hit upon one of her pet peeves about ballroom dancing, the tango included, but she managed a comeback anyway. “That presumes she already knows the steps.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Ah, but an experienced male dancer can encourage an inexperienced female dancer to try things she’d never attempt on her own. How old is your brother, Ms. Landry?”

“Thirty.”

“What a coincidence. So am I. So I can speak with some authority when I say that your brother’s experience with the dance between a man and a woman is far greater than that of my little sister, who is only twenty-two. He has an unfair advantage.”

Giselle fought to control her temper. “My brother would never try to convince your sister to do something she didn’t want to do. If she’s pulled a vanishing act, then it was entirely her—”

“Who told you that?”

She’d prefer not to reveal her connection to the Cartwrights, but neither did she want to get caught in a lie. And Luke Dalton had people, so eventually he’d learn where she was staying and figure it out. But she’d postpone that moment as long as she could. “It’s all over town,” she said.

“Is that so? When did you arrive?”

“Today.”

“Then you must have been swinging on that grapevine from the moment you hit the tarmac at McCarran. Come on, Ms. Landry. You have a connection here in town, somebody who gets the local dirt and filled you in. Who is it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“That’s up to you, but I’ll find out sooner or later. You’ve implied that we might want to join forces, and being evasive with information isn’t a good way to build trust.”

That made her laugh. “You aren’t about to trust me. You’re convinced my brother’s leading your sister astray, so don’t make it sound like we’re going to take some Fellowship of the Ring oath of solidarity.”

A flash of amusement transformed his hard features for a brief moment and gave her a glimpse of someone else, someone she might like much better. But then it was gone and the poker face reappeared.

“All right.” His tone was mild, but the look in his eyes was intent. “Maybe it doesn’t matter how you found out about my sister’s plans.”

Oh, yes, it does. But if he was willing to let it drop, great. Time to go on the offensive. “Why did she decide to disappear?”

That seemed to take some of the wind out of his sails. He started to sit down and stopped himself, as if only then realizing that she remained standing. “Please, sit down. I should have invited you to do so earlier.”

“Perhaps you weren’t sure whether you would end up having me thrown out.”

He sighed and gestured to one of two upholstered chairs in front of his desk. “I would like to think I haven’t descended to that level.”

She took the right-hand chair. “What level?”

“Throwing a woman out of my office.”

Her feminist instincts wouldn’t let that pass. “Have you ever thrown a man out of your office?”

“Once or twice. But—”

“Then if I offend you, feel free to throw me out. I’d consider it a matter of principle and would be upset if you didn’t.”

He stared at her as if she were speaking in tongues.

She groaned. “Lord help me, I’m dealing with a throwback. I should have realized it when you started describing the whole dancing routine. You truly believe that men were created to lead and women were created to follow, don’t you?”

His poker face disappeared. “No, damn it! I was just trying to explain how a guy of thirty could easily influence a young woman of—”

“Have you seen the research on maturation, Dalton? Females mature much faster than males. I’d say a twenty-two-year-old female is operating about even with a thirty-year-old male, if not slightly ahead of him.”

Abandoning his stoic expression completely, he leaned across the desk and pointed a finger at her. “Screw your research. I know my sister, and she’s not all that worldly. She may be a semester away from graduating magna cum laude, but she doesn’t know squat about—”

“Magna cum laude?” Giselle realized she might have to take this potential matchup more seriously. Bryce loved brainy females. “From where?” She hoped it was some no-name college with a total enrollment of five hundred.

“Yale. But that’s beside the point.”

“Actually, it’s not beside the point at all.” Giselle became more worried by the second. “She must be very goal-oriented.”

“Trust me, she is. Her goal used to be graduating with honors from Yale so she could make our father proud. Now that he’s gone, she doesn’t want to go back. She says that was his dream for her, and even attending classes there now would be too sad and painful.”

“Poor kid.”

“That’s what I thought, too! I was ready to cut her some slack. I figured if she gave it a few months, she could manage to go back for the fall semester. She was so close! But she said no, she wasn’t going back at all.”

“She could change her mind.”

He shook his head. “I doubt it.”

Giselle made a calculated guess. “You’re thwarting her new goal, aren’t you? And that’s why she’s disappeared.”

He looked as if he’d been Tasered. “My God.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he stared at a point beyond her left shoulder. “That’s it.” Slowly his gaze returned to lock with hers. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Good guess.”

“Brilliant guess. You don’t even know her, and you’ve hit upon the most important part of her personality. What are you, a shrink?”

“Accountant.”

His eyebrows lifted. “No kidding? You don’t look like—”

“Spare me. Accountants aren’t all skinny nerds. And they’re definitely not all male.” Hacking her way through this guy’s jungle of stereotypes would take some effort, but he had resources and it was clear his sister could pose a real threat to the future serenity of the Landry pack.

She was also in desperate need of more information about said sister. “Out of curiosity, what are you denying Cynthia that she wants so desperately?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, some background. Here’s this kid—smart as a whip, straight-A student, and my dad doted on her.” He picked up a pen and laced it through his fingers. “She got into Yale, and he busted his buttons over that. Told all his cronies she’d be president someday.” He worked the pen through his fingers as he talked.

Giselle wondered if he even knew he was toying with the pen, but he had amazing dexterity as he wove it endlessly through his fingers. She found that sexy as all get-out. She brought her attention back to the subject, his brainiac sister.

“Turns out she doesn’t want to be president. Or a molecular biologist, or a corporate lawyer, or an astrophysicist.” He tossed the pen on the desk. “She wants to be a showgirl. She wants me to give her a job dancing at the Silver Crescent.”

“And she’s no good.” Giselle pictured a bookworm who secretly longed to be onstage wearing glamorous outfits but had no natural rhythm or coordination. If that were the case, then Cynthia wouldn’t be Bryce’s type after all. He liked a female with brains, but he wanted her to be poised and confident, too. Maybe Cynthia wasn’t the threat Giselle had feared. Perhaps Bryce only felt sorry for her.

“Oh, no, she’s a great dancer. But I thought it was a hobby, something she did for exercise.”

“So what’s the problem? Is she too fat? Too unattractive? Too short?”

“She’s beautiful.” Luke grabbed his phone off the desk and clicked it a couple of times with his thumb before turning it to face Giselle. “That’s her.”

Giselle looked at the smiling blonde on the screen and saw her worst nightmare. All that and outstanding grades from an Ivy League school? Bryce probably thought he’d hit the jackpot.

“You haven’t mentioned your mother. Is she alive?”

“She lives in France.” He said it as if France might as well be Mars.

So Luke had no support or guidance from that quarter. He was fighting this battle alone, and that touched her. She’d just seen how Vaughn had been emotionally rocked by the unexpected loss of his dad, but at least he had backing from his mother and his mate.

Luke didn’t have that, and yet his sense of responsibility toward his immediate family seemed as strong as any Were’s would be. When Cynthia had chosen to disappear, Luke’s protective instincts had been thwarted. Giselle understood his visceral response to the situation. It was werewolf-like in its intensity.

Giselle contemplated the situation. Cynthia wanted to be a showgirl, and from the looks of her, she could handle that job just fine. Her older brother, however, couldn’t. By objecting to her plan, he’d sent her into rebellion mode. Cynthia and Bryce could easily have bonded over the subject of dealing with unbending family expectations.

Giselle couldn’t decide where to start to untangle this mess. “It’s obvious that you don’t want your Ivy League–educated sister to become a Vegas showgirl.” He had no right to meddle in her life to that extent, but Giselle decided not to mention that. She didn’t think Luke would take it well when he was so upset.

“Damn straight. One of the last things my dad said to me was, Watch out for my little girl. If I put her in the chorus line at the Silver Crescent, he’d be spinning in his grave.”

Dear God. A deathbed promise, no less, one that Luke was taking to heart. It made him even more appealing to her. She was certainly vulnerable to pressure from her folks.

Luke was convinced he was doing the right thing. She had a fair amount of sympathy for his position, despite his somewhat patriarchal mindset. The poor man had no idea that letting his sister try the showgirl option would have been the safer bet than forcing her into this rebellion. Because he’d denied his little sister, she’d hooked up with a werewolf.