Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

She really didn’t want to talk about it.
    Any of it.
    “Risa?” Shane pressed.
    “Sure. Later. Whatever,” she muttered as she gripped the phone. “No, not you, Dana. My boss. Sorry.”
    Shane listened while Risa set up an immediate courier delivery of the four gold objects for a complete Rarities search. But it wasn’t gold he was thinking of. It was Risa’s unwillingness to talk about the woman whose tab was at $9,678.23 and counting.
    It was one thing to give an opportunist like Cherelle Faulkner a place to stay and permission to play with the charge account. It was quite another to give her the key to the Golden Fleece’s secure floors.

Chapter 31
    Las Vegas
    November 3
    Afternoon
    C herelle smiled at the earnest young man behind the guest-services section of the front desk. It was the kind of smile that was guaranteed to raise male blood pressure and hope, among other things. Though balancing packages in both arms, she still managed to caress the hairy fingers that were holding out her new key.
    “Thanks, sugah,” she said as she took the key.
    “Let me help you up with your packages.”
    “Oh, I can’t take you away from your work.” She brightened her smile and backed away before he could point out that helping guests was his job. “But I’ll be sure and look you up the next time I come in from shopping.”
    “You sure?”
    “It’s a big ol’ promise,” she said over her shoulder.
    The instant she turned away from the man at the desk, her smile vanished. She knew that Socks would be after her. She just didn’t know how soon he’d be in any shape to stake out the Golden Fleece and watch for her.
    Before I rang his chimes, I should have asked him what he did to Tim, she thought bitterly. Then I could have called the cops and sicced them on Socks.
    Too late now. Oh, she still could call the cops and report a missing person and mention Socks as the last one who’d seen Tim alive, but the cops wouldn’t do dick until two days or two weeks had passed. That was way too late to do her any good.
    Unless a body turned up.
    Cherelle’s rapid steps jerked, then steadied. She wanted to believe that Socks wouldn’t kill his old jailhouse buddy, but she hadn’t believed in fairy tales since . . .
    Never.
    She had always seen pretty stories for the con they were. Here’s some candy, little girl. Get in my car and we’ll take a nice little ride. Oh, yeah, baby, I love you.
    If Tim was still alive, he would just have to take care of himself. The candy he handed out was great, the ride had been the best she ever had, and whining about losing either one was a waste of time she didn’t have. Besides, maybe he was fine and just hiding until she cooled off.
    And maybe dogs shit diamonds.
    She pushed thoughts about Tim away to the dark corners of her mind. With the gestures that had quickly become routine, she balanced packages, keyed elevators and doors, and hurried down hallways until she reached Risa’s apartment.
    Even as worried as she was, she still felt a spurt of surprise laced with pleasure that she was actually walking into a place with city views, plush carpets, vivid colors, a bathroom you could host a football team in, and not a lick of work to be done by her except to enjoy it all. No cleaning, no cooking, no laundry, no picking up Tim’s crap, no cracked bathroom floors laced with black slime, and no cockroaches crawling out of rusty drains.
    No cocaine either. She hadn’t had time to make a connection. Yet even without blow, living here for a day sure had been fun. Too bad it was over. But it was.
    She dumped her packages on the bed and began going through them with quick, raking fingers. Short brown wig. Sports bra guaranteed to turn mountains into molehills. Golden Fleece T-shirt, triple-X large. Really baggy jeans. A variety of nylon security pouches. Tennis shoes. Oversized man’s heavy nylon windbreaker. Enough safety pins to hold up a building. Baseball cap and generic sunglasses. Big maternity cushion.
    The last item made her snicker. She would bet every bit of gold she owned that she was the first woman to boost a “full-term” pad from a maternity-store dressing room.
    With one eye on the clock, Cherelle emptied out her two suitcases. She jammed all she owned except the gold into one of Risa’s nifty little suitcase trolleys. Everything fit but the big lime green purse. With a stab of regret, she tossed it aside. She couldn’t carry it openly. Even someone as dumb