Take

By Silvia Ami

When FBI special agent Joss Dubois discovers that her best friend’s life is being threatened, she volunteers to be the Vegas dancer's official protection. Determined to solve the case before she loses one of the only people she loves, Joss becomes caught up in terrorism, attempted murder, and life behind-the-scenes of the seedy nightlife of Sin City.

Joss is forced to partner with the security manager at the Desert Casino, former Intel Marine, Ethan Gallagher. Despite her resistance to his charm, and her stubborn insistence on controlling the investigation, Ethan finds himself drawn to the smart, beautiful, tempting FBI agent. But Joss isn’t so eager to risk heartbreak after the tragedies of her past and her job has become the only thing she can count on.

When the threats against the people they’re protecting turn deadly, Ethan and Joss have to find a way to trust each other to track the hunter who lies in wait for the Desert’s dancers. But trust is a rare and fragile thing to Joss, and Ethan may not be up to the task despite the mutual attraction they can't deny or fight.

Will their new partnership blow up, or can it survive to take down the predator before it’s too late?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Silvia Ami
• Release date: Apr 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9788894044126

Silvia Ami

Silvia Ami has been a project engineer, an executive in a small business, and lately a rocket scientist (just kidding). She backpacked across Europe by train before the cheap-flight era, lived in Germany for five years, and learned Spanish from her husband.She, her husband, and their two boys live in a condo not far from a magic forest. They share a huge LEGO collection, a kitchen full of cooking gadgets, and a home-office that resembles Doc's lab in Back to the Future.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Early Spring, Long Island

The streetlights flickered and went out, capturing Special Agent Joss Dubois’s attention as she surveyed the deserted alleyway. She checked her watch and stopped herself from asking her best friend Iris to confirm the unusual rendezvous details: the outside of a closed bistro in Southampton at the crack of dawn.

Joss was actually on a forced vacation, a rest she did not appreciate. She wasn't the type to sit around and wait. She needed action. In fact, when she'd discovered that someone had been threatening her best friend with anonymous letters for a while, she jumped on the first train to the Hamptons to attend a wedding as Iris's date.

Once she'd learned the seriousness of the situation, the weekend break had evolved into a trip to Las Vegas, where Iris lived and worked as a dancer. And the simple precautionary measure of chaperoning her friend during the reception became a full-time bodyguard detail.

That was why she was now sitting on a bench, waiting to be picked up to go to the airport instead of sleeping in a warm and cozy bed.

A black cat weaved around her suede ankle boots and lifted his pink nose before taking off running. Yeah. Find a warmer and cozier place, buddy, Joss said, brushing her hands over her jeans. She felt frozen, tired, and really not in the mood to make a new friend. I need coffee.

Iris, decked out in a cherry red trench coat and matching pumps, snorted and dropped down beside her. Actually, I think an Irish coffee would work better. With double whiskey.

Joss exhaled loudly at how downhearted her friend sounded. She twisted her wavy brown hair into a loose braid to keep her hands occupied. It's five in the morning. How can you even think about alcohol?

Aren't warm drinks what people have all the time when they go skiing? She rubbed her hands together. It's damn cold. In ten minutes, I'll be completely frozen. Irish coffee with lots of booze sounds like heaven to me.

At the sight of an approaching vehicle, Iris jumped to her feet and moved to the end of the sidewalk. Joss was immediately at her side before the driver slowed down and stopped right in front of them.

The passenger window opened, and a playful male voice welcomed them. Morning, ladies. Need a ride?

Joss squinted into the black SUV, but the driver's features were indiscernible in the green dashboard lights.

About time, Iris snapped. You left us waiting outside for so long that our frozen limbs are going to come off. You idiot.

The man shrugged. Then stop squealing and hop in. The car is pretty warm.

Joss tried to check out his face in the dim light, but he remained mostly in shadow. He hadn't seemed to flinch, nor did his smile waver during Iris's mini-tirade, but she still hadn't seen his eyes.

Call it training or common sense, but Joss wasn't about to get into a vehicle with someone she didn't know; at least, not until she had an opportunity to size him up. Starting with his elusive eyes.

Well, then, want to help us with our bags? She couldn't find a better excuse to get him out of the car.

She felt his attention flicker to her, pause, and linger. Uncomfortable getting a taste of her own medicine, she cleared her throat and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Finally, he drawled while still smiling, Sure, ma'am.

The driver's door opened, and he stepped out onto the cobblestone street. As he walked around the front of the vehicle, Joss finally got a good look at him.

He was tall, at least half a foot more than her height of five-eight, and broad shouldered. A strong presence but not imposing, even in his dark, well-fitted clothes. He moved with easy, economical grace, taking his own sweet time. On purpose.

She frowned when he moved around to the pile of luggage, brushing that leanly muscled body alongside her arm. Joss lifted her chin, ready to tell him that his invasion of her personal space wasn't unnoticed, but her voice faltered when his electric blue eyes finally met hers.

Zap! A strange, warm tingle raced down her spine.

He bent, never looking away from her. She took a step back, acknowledging him with a simple, Thanks. But she had to put on her don't-mess-with-me-face to hide how his direct, piercing gaze, the way his body had filled her vision, the ease with which his big frame moved the weight, essentially, his manly presence, went straight through her.

Usually she would have taken care of her belongings, but there were Iris's heavy suitcases, she was cold, and he seemed to be better suited for the task.

Go. Don't worry, he said, sounding amused. He passed too close to her body again, and this time, her gaze focused on the lazy smirk on his face, his chiseled jaw covered in a day's worth of golden stubble and his high cheekbones.

I'm not worried. I'm just checking that you got everything. Much to her annoyance, her voice came out a little winded.

His light laugh carried to her ears. She liked it. Her frown deepened because normally she didn't care how he -or any man for that matter- laughed.

Even tall, good looking guys with wavy, light brown hair and intense eyes.

Joss watched how he finished stowing their belongings, telling herself she was checking his work, not ogling. When he finished, he turned toward her and gave her a wicked smirk. A smirk that cost Joss a good amount of her tough-girl power to stay cool instead of smiling back at him like a freaking teenager. She waited a beat, then without a word, she climbed into the SUV next to Iris.

It wasn't until she’d buckled her seatbelt that she noticed the snoring occupant in the front passenger seat. She pinched her lips together and blamed herself for the slip. She'd been so distracted by the stranger's blue eyes that she hadn't noticed another person in the car.

Joss waited until the driver was settled into his seat then pointed an index finger at the guy slumped over. Who's the kid? she asked.

The driver didn't glance at her or the kid as he answered. Chef Bertrand's new recruit. The turnover in the Desert’s kitchen is kind of crazy. People in his crew are constantly coming and going. He looked back at the desert road. No big deal, as your friend here can tell you. Now, Blondie, do you mind making some introductions?

Why are you here, Boo-Boo?

Joss cocked her head and studied her friend when she noticed how Iris had intentionally ignored his question.

From her vantage point in the backseat, Joss could see his mouth quirk slightly. Oh, you know very well why I'm here, Iris. I'm Don’s best shot. And he always wants to give his girl the best. He sighed and lowered his voice. Don't ever think that I'm glad to babysit you. I told him that I've got better things to do and anybody else would be good at this job. But he reminded me that I'm on his payroll, so I've got to do what he says. Believe me. I'm quoting him. So, here we are, stuck together until we're back home. Therefore, I propose you holster all your drama until this is over. Think you can do that?

Joss heard Iris let out a breath and watched her turn her eyes to the window to avoid answering. Still gazing out the window, Iris said, Joss, this is Ethan Gallagher, Security Manager at the Desert Casino. Ethan, this is my best friend, Joss.

Pleased to meet you, Ethan.

He squinted while glancing at her through the rearview mirror. My pleasure, Joss. His deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. And he didn't miss her reaction. Cold? he asked.

She nodded, even if she wasn't cold anymore. No, sir. Just watching him gave her a hot flash.

Here. He passed her two tall styrofoam cups. There's a coffee shop in Islip that's open twenty-four/seven. Our sleeping buddy here gave me the address, and I made a stop to get something hot.

Thrusting the engine into gear and pulling onto the road, he kept glancing at her through the mirror. So, Joss, how did a Hamptons girl like you become our Blondie's BFF?

What? Joss was startled. I'm not-

Iris snorted and answered for her. Joss, a Hamptons girl? Yeah, sure.

He scowled and said, Obviously, I'm missing something here. Aren't we in the Hamptons?

Of course we are. Joss didn't know if he was just messing with her or he was serious, but she decided that she could play his innocent game. I assume you've never met the locals here, Mr. Gallagher.

He flashed her a genuine grin. Right. I'm from the Bu, and ladies are more easygoing over there.

Unable to completely resist his charm, Joss relaxed a bit and a restrained smile finally blossomed on her face. Sorry? What's this Boo that both of you keep talking about? she asked, caving in to her curiosity. It could be a hindrance being a federal agent. She couldn’t stop herself from wanting all of the facts.

The Bu. For Malibu, California.

Joss nodded, not a bit put out by his beach boy cockiness. I see. So, no connection with little bear Boo-Boo?

None. That's Iris’s special nickname for me, he answered grimly. Your turn. What is Joss short for? Jocelyn?

Iris giggled. No way you'll find out. She hates that name, and she'll die before telling you.

That bad, huh?

Joss caught his smirk when he looked at her again.

Now I'm curious, he said.

Joss offered him a smug look. Why don't you just call me Joss like all my friends do?

He chuckled. Sooner or later, I'll solve the mystery. Or I can just check your passport at the airport. It's up to you-

It's Josephine, she said flatly.

Ethan managed a nod. Well, that doesn't sound so awful.

Joss rolled her eyes. "Yes, it does. My mom decided that Josephine Dubois was the perfect name for her little darling. She thought my name would solidify my destiny as a famous classical dancer, or at least a perfect lady. But she was wrong. Joss crossed her arms and glared at the window. Definitely wrong." Argument closed.

She didn't count on Iris’s amusement in adding, Oh, yeah. She’s never been a little darling. Even with a tutu and tight bun, she managed to look appalling.

Uh huh. So, you two met for the first time at dance school? Ethan asked, glancing at Joss.

She wondered how he could drive if he spent the whole time looking at her. Joss held his gaze but was soon distracted by the bright lights of the approaching airport. She couldn't figure out why he was so curious about her past with Iris, but there were no dangerous secrets to hide so she gave him the recap. Exactly. But even though I didn't share Iris's passion for ballet, we bonded for life.

Ethan slowly raised a brow. We're here. Who volunteers to kiss Sleeping Beauty?

***

Waiting at the car rental desk of the Long Island MacArthur Airport, Ethan considered how much his mood had improved lately. He felt pretty relaxed, despite the lack of sleep and the dooming frustration that accompanied his last twenty hours. It was a huge improvement over his stormy spirit after stomping out of the office of the Desert Casino General Manager, Donovan O'Malley, his boss, but also his sole friend in Vegas.

What had infuriated Ethan the most wasn't the assignment of this stupid task. Flying to New York and picking up the two girls was one thing, but Don ordering him to accomplish it was another. He knew his friend could lose control where his girlfriend, Iris, was concerned, but he had never been senseless. Except this time.

Ethan had been in the middle of his well-deserved sleep when Don had called him the previous morning, claiming an urgent meeting in his office. The rushed speech and sharp tone in his friend’s voice had made it clear something was very wrong. His suspicions had been confirmed when he’d found his friend tense and strangely pale. Don had been holding a letter in his hands, and Ethan knew what it was. Another threat to the Gazelles.

Look at this, Donovan had said, passing the sheet to Ethan with a shaking hand, rubbing his forehead with the other.

Well, hello to you too, dude, he’d replied, holding out his hand. I suppose the postman arrived early today.

Donovan hadn’t said a word. He’d met Ethan's gaze and gestured for him to read the letter.

Ethan had looked at the document and didn't have any problem imagining Donovan’s terror when he’d noted the difference from the previous one. This time, the threatening letter had been addressed not to the Gazelles chorus, but to the current Queen of the Desert and Donovan’s girlfriend, Iris Mellon.

Since the Desert Casino's establishment in the early fifties, its major attraction hadn't been the gambling activity, but the cabaret show offered by the Gazelles chorus. The spectacular performance gave the audience a rare glimpse into the Parisienne night life, letting them indulge in every French transgression. The height of the cabaret’s popularity came when burlesque performances dazzled and titillated, imitating the famous Lido and Moulin Rouge shows.

Ethan had pinched the bridge of his nose and pushed the letter back at Donovan. How is she? His voice had been full of concern and any trace of his good mood vanished as he looked back at his friend.

A muscle in Don’s jaw had ticked. She's fine. But I haven’t told her yet.

Okay. So we’ve got enough time to come up with a plan to bring her back safely.

Ethan had been silent a long moment. For the past few weeks he'd been focused on securing the Gazelles’ surroundings. He’d taken measurements inside the Desert and arranged a pickup and drop off service for the girls. He hadn’t expected to boost his area of surveillance to the other side of the country. Hell, he’d even thought that Iris had made a smart move leaving Las Vegas for a little while.

Instead the crazy rat had followed her, making Ethan feel like a total rookie because he never would have thought the bastard would show up there.

He’d had no time to think about his wounded pride because he’d needed to analyze the situation and develop a new plan, stat. And closing his knowledge gap had been first on the agenda. Would you tell me how the title of Queen originated? I'm still torn between the douchebag wanting to attack the Desert, affecting our image and sales, or something personal against Iris. But I need to fill in some holes before I make a decision.

Don had slid Ethan a searching look. I thought you knew it all. He’d shaken his head. As a matter of fact, our owner built the casino as a Royal Residence for his wife, a former member of the French Lido Bluebells. You know, the chorus of the cabaret and burlesque establishment in Paris. And to show how much he loved her, Robert gave his beloved wife a wide stage instead of a Throne Hall and paying admirers as a court. By doing so, the Texan oil tycoon settled one of the longest standing activities in Las Vegas and raised the poor Hanna Deveroux to the dignity of the Desert's Queen.

Ethan nodded. He’d already known that the Desert Casino, unlike the gaudy casinos that lined the Vegas strip, had gained fame for its classy yet sexy showgirls. What he had ignored was the romantic story behind it. And why is Iris called Rob’s wife’s nickname?

"Hanna was the Gazelles’ prima ballerina. For several years, and after her retirement, she decided to give the title of 'Queen' to the next first dancer, reserving for herself the simpler 'Madame.' Though she left the stage, she remained behind the scenes with her girls until her last day."

But if the Desert is so important to Rob, why did he go back to Texas?

Since Hanna’s death four years ago, Robert couldn't stand being at the Desert and decided to retire in Texas, leaving the management in my hands.

I can’t believe I never knew that, Ethan had said.

You never asked.

Ethan had been working as security consultant for one of the many Robert Gladstone companies at that time and hadn’t cared about Gladstone’s casino. They’d met when he was asked to become part of the Desert staff as Security and Surveillance Manager.

Gladstone had offered him the job in person, outlining how deep was his personal interest in the business and the inconceivable possibility of failure. Ethan hadn’t underestimated the veiled threat behind the terrific offer, and it took him a couple of weeks to critically evaluate it. Finally, he’d accepted.

As a former Intelligence specialist with the Marines, he had both the guts and training to do the job. The problem was that he had left the Corps to get a life and harvest the benefits of his previous career. State-of-the-art knowledge in control devices, a wide practice in building security networks, and some strategic connections had guaranteed him a key role in the civilian world, too. By accepting Gladstone's offer, he’d had to delay his expectations and also consider that he was about to enter into yet another hazardous situation.

He’d arrived in Las Vegas almost two years before. Since then, he’d never let his guard down, and, because of his wariness, he’d never befriended other people. Except Donovan. Both lived at the Desert Casino and spent most of their time there, and because they were always working and running into each other, they’d developed a sincere friendship, something rare for two guys in their late thirties.

Shit, Ethan had said, running his hands through his hair. Is she still on the East Coast?

Donovan had nodded, pressing his lips together.

Ethan had sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk, sighing heavily. Why threaten Iris right now? Do you think the bastard who wrote the letter knows where she is?

For sure he knows she's not here. Don’s voice had been ragged like he’d had to force the words out from his closed up throat.

C'mon. Nobody is pointing a gun at her temple, dude. This is the seventh letter we’ve received. And this is the first time we have a direct reference to one of the girls. You know that no action followed the previous threats. He hasn't even demanded money. Ethan had tried to reassure his friend.

Donovan jumped to his feet. Christ, Ethan! Read the letter. This bastard is threatening Iris, not one of the girls. He wants her to stay away from the Desert. I'm worried he's going to kidnap her.

I don't think so, Ethan had responded carefully. He’d felt helpless standing in front of his angry friend with nothing in his hands but his instinct. He’d struggled to think of the wisest thing to say to keep Don's wits about him, but his friend had been on a roll.

Ethan had also felt sorry for Donovan because he knew the deep affection that bound him to Iris. Worry took over, and not because of his job.

Ethan appreciated Iris, even if he would never admit it in front of her because it was more fun to endlessly argue with her.

"Read it. It's all written there. 'Abdication. The Queen has to step aside and remain in her golden exile. Otherwise I'll take care of her removal.' This time there aren't rude insults or the mention of impending doom. This time this psycho is telling us that he's going to hurt the Queen if she doesn’t stay away from the Desert. He knows where she is." Donovan had given Ethan a pained stare.

The situation had escalated in a frightening way, and they couldn't risk making the wrong decision. Calm down. I think the time has come to call the police. If this guy is going into action, we need an official investigation. In the meantime-

Don hadn't let him finish his sentence, pounding a fist against the desk. I'll call the cops, but it will take a long time to start an investigation and we're running short on time. There’s no evidence in the letters!

No, you're right. We know that the six previous threats were produced with a common laser printer, ordinary paper folded into a loose envelope. And without saliva under the stamp and no fingerprints, we’re totally blind.

Do you think that with no evidence, the police will take immediate action? Because I think that they’ll take their sweet ass time checking this out.

"Hey, I'm not saying that we have to stay put and wait for the cops. But, I do think they need to know the situation. In the meantime, I'm going to organize a different protection for Iris and the girls. Taking care of them is my job. And I take it damn seriously."

No. You've got to go and bring her back home. Don’s stern tone had brooked no argument.

Ethan had tried anyway. You're overreacting. I need to stay here and direct the guys. We can send-

No. It's settled. I’ve told you what you've got to do. And you'll do it, damn it. I'm in charge of the Desert and that's my decision.

Ethan had stood slowly and leaned over the desk toward Donovan. Are you kidding me?

I'm dead serious. Go. Bring Iris back.

Ethan had pointed his right index finger at Don, emphasizing his resentment. He had been about to tell him to go and bring Iris back by himself, but the last trace of his common sense had restrained him from crossing the line. His mouth had opened, closed, and tightened with distaste. He left the office, slamming the door violently behind him.

He’d even thought of storming back in with the intention of sending everything to hell. But after reading a text message on his cell phone with only two words, sorry pal, he’d calmed down enough to think about the job he had to do. He’d sighed, calling Don back, and the two had arranged the trip to New York.

***

By the time Ethan had returned the car to the airport rental company, he had to hurry to meet his group at the departure terminal. He’d finally felt at ease walking along the corridor, since the chat with the girls had helped dissipate much of his resentment toward Don. And at that moment, his only thought was to find some spare time to spend alone with Ms. Dubois. Just the few glances of her sexy mouth that he’d stolen through the rearview mirror, and the sassy words that came out of it, were enough to intrigue him.

The moment he entered the departure area, he noticed Joss standing beside the luggage cart they had loaded with the girls' stuff, and Iris and the young cook sitting on a bench a few feet away. The contrast between the two women couldn't be more striking. Iris's beauty was artificial, with her highlighted blond hair and impeccable dress screaming posh and high-maintenance; Joss, though, had a natural beauty that not even the serious expression on her face could eclipse. She gestured for him to come closer. Once Ethan was in front of her, she asked him calmly, Do you have any baggage?

Why? Ethan replied, bewildered. I left Las Vegas yesterday afternoon so I didn't bring a change of clothes for such a short trip.

Don't you have any luggage at all? A duffel bag, at least?

He shook his head, amused at her questions. No. Why?

She indicated a black bag left among the pile of their luggage. Because, in that case, we have a problem.

Shit! He went for the bag, but Joss stopped him and pushed his hand away.

No, don't touch it. I'll get the security guard. You take care of Iris and the kid. Take them away and don't say a word.

CHAPTER TWO

Ethan began to argue, but she was already gone. Swearing in a low voice, he carefully moved the cart out of the way then approached Iris. Hey, I need to check a couple of things before we reach the tarmac. See the VIP lounge? Do me a favor, you and the kid sit there, will you?

Iris narrowed her gray eyes. Problems? And where's Joss?

For the first time since they’d known each other, he hoped she would do what he’d asked without questioning. But, no. She was Iris, after all. Ethan hesitated for a few seconds, just enough to try to build a reasonable lie, but she was already frowning.

He decided it was better to go straight to the truth to keep her quiet. Iris, please. Cool off. Joss is going to call security. She found a strange bag with ours and we need to be sure that it's nothing to worry about. Now, listen. He pushed her with a hand to the small of her back. Sit down where I can keep an eye on you and wait. We’ll be on the jet soon.

Iris eyed him. Where's Joss? What are you hiding?

I don’t know shit. She said she's taking care of it. So, if you trust her, do what she asked and sit there. Okay?

She paused as if holding her breath then exhaled. Okay. I'm not going to wrestle with you.

He lightly stroked her shoulder, earning a grunt back. Thank you, he replied distractedly. So many questions were spinning in his head. He'd been taken off guard by Joss’s announcement and didn't react fast enough. And now he wanted to kick his own ass.

Ethan leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest while he waited for Joss. He checked his wristwatch at least fifty times before she came back with a guard carrying some special detecting devices. One was similar to a hand vacuum, capable of sniffing and recognizing explosive residue better than a dog. The others were a couple of small boxes as big as a walkie-talkie, a more sophisticated and sensitive version of the electronic nose used to analyze the light signatures of chemicals the way astronomers learned the composition of stars.

The officer and Joss were speaking so quietly that Ethan could only catch a glimpse of their conversation by reading their mouths. But when they were near the cart, Joss introduced the two men and stepped beside Ethan. She whispered in his ear, Officer Basset has just given instructions to his colleagues to check their security tapes immediately. They're looking for the person who could have left the bag on our cart.

He tilted his head back and glanced at Joss with an arched brow. His mind was working on all of the possible scenarios involving the duffel bag, while his heart craved to know who the hell the woman in front of him was. She'd remained calm and detached under a possible threat, so she couldn't simply be an average Jane.

Ethan reached for a strand of long brown hair that had fallen beside her face and pushed it behind her left shoulder. With his hand still lingering over her smooth pea coat, he leaned forward and spoke quietly next to her ear. Your move was pure genius. Do you have the slightest idea what you've started? Damn, we'll be stuck here until-

Agent Dubois? Please come here, called the security guard. And she left.

Ethan stood frozen with an arm suspended in the air, the tips of his fingers still feeling her touch, and the last sentence dead in his mouth. The shock hit his temples, a piercing ache that made him close his eyes for a few heartbeats. What's happening?

The guard stared hard at him. Unfortunately, Agent Dubois’s suspicions were founded. The electronic nose detected the presence of an explosive in the bag. We need to isolate this area, evacuate the airport, and call the bomb squad.

Joss pierced both men with steely, determined eyes and held her palms up. Wait a minute. Maybe we can avoid some problems here. We don't need an agitated crowd or any media exposure.

The guard’s eyes widened. Impossible. We need to follow the procedure. Strictly. We need to evacuate the compound and-

Let me make some calls. I know this isn't my jurisdiction, but I can be of help. I'm pretty sure we can move the cart to a safer area where we can handle it quietly.

Officer Basset grimaced. Agent Dubois, I can't. I'm not the one allowed to make those decisions.

She lifted her chin. Bring me to the people in charge.

Ethan approved her fast, brazen reaction. Agent Josephine Dubois might be a pain in his ass in the near future, but at the moment, she was his wild card. The best way to jump on the airplane before the end of the day and not be stuck in New York for the investigation.

With his gaze glued on the duffel bag and his brain working fast, he took a few steps backward. For several long seconds, he zoned out. He isolated himself from Joss and the security guard still clashing over protocols and procedures. He concentrated only on scrutinizing all of the possible ways to escape the looming danger.

He refocused on the world around him when Joss grabbed his forearm saying, Ethan, did you hear me? We've got to move fast.

He blinked. What?

Stay here with Officer Basset, please. I'll go to his office to make my calls.

Why? You can call from your mobile phone.

Of course I can. But I don't want someone to accidentally overhear me talking about a bomb.

He nodded. Okay. Go.

Joss jogged to the office. The two men stared at each other when she disappeared behind a glass door screened by a white venetian blind.

The guard broke finally the awkward silence. Are you Agent Dubois’s colleague?

Ethan shook his head. I'm in the private sector.

She's good.

Yeah, Ethan replied tersely, hoping the security guard would drop the discussion before he had to reveal that he had no clue about what she was apparently so good at.

One of things that bothered him the most was depending on someone.

Ethan was usually strong-minded and alert, in total control of everything around him. Being in charge of the security of a casino in Vegas meant he managed a team capable of telling him anytime someone entered his building, and more importantly, the guest's intentions. A con artist or a pickpocket could be equally dangerous for the casino. Stealing big money would be bad for the Desert's finances, but stealing a thousand dollars from a customer’s pocket could be critical for the Desert's image. Any dissatisfied customer wouldn't be good for business.

But now he was unable to plan, to act and, worst of all, to decide. He wasn't in