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that part of it. She would shit a brick if she knew Socks was burgling some of their clients. Not all of them. Hell, even he could figure out that would be stupid. Just a few of them when they left for the winter, the ones that had so many TVs they wouldn’t miss one or two.
    Anyway, it was Cherelle’s fault. If she wasn’t so tight with cash, he wouldn’t have to moonlight with Socks. But she had a bug up her ass about saving enough money to get a place somewhere that nobody knew them and they wouldn’t have to be looking over their shoulder all the time. That took money, and that meant he was lucky to see a fifty from her once a week so that he could have a few beers with Socks and—
    “Timothy Seton, get your ass out of that bed!”
    “Bitch, bitch, bitch,” he said, but he made sure she didn’t hear. “I’m up, I’m up!” Then he looked down at his early-morning woody and laughed. “Sure enough, I am. How about it?”
    She gave him a look that took the lead right out of his pencil.
    Rather wistfully he glanced down at his deflating glory. Oh, well. There was more where that came from. And if she didn’t want it when it came around again, there were others that did.
    Whistling, he headed for the shower that Cherelle had finally cleaned last week. About time, too. There had been enough crud on the floor to tickle his feet.

Chapter 5
    Las Vegas
    Halloween night
    T he lobby of the Wildest Dream hotel/shopping/theater/gambling complex was decked out like a Halloween tart in black velvet and neon orange. The most photogenic of the Strip’s gambling glitterati milled around the champagne fountain and dipped black crystal glasses into the fizzy orange wine. Gail Silverado, sole owner of Wildest Dream Inc., was famous for her yearly Halloween bash. It started loud and just got better. By 3:00 a.m. the party had developed a really shrill edge that would just get worse every half hour until dawn, when the bubbly fountain would finally run dry.
    But that was several hours away. With a smile brighter than the shimmering faux pearl beads that outlined her figure in loving detail, Gail held her tenth glass of champagne—one sip from each, no more, no less—and looked at her watch without appearing to. She still had a few more minutes before she would be called away on business.
    Even if a meeting hadn’t been arranged, she would have wanted to get away. The high, sexy heels she was wearing had been designed for a younger woman, one who hadn’t spent too many of her fifty-odd years strutting her well-kept butt in front of whichever man could afford it. Her feet were screaming.
    Her smile never wavered beneath the exotic, pearlescent feathers that framed her face like loving fingers. There was too much young ass in Las Vegas for a woman over thirty ever to let down her guard. But even if she had been playing against a field of dogs, Gail would have gone through the same arduous workout and surgical schedule that she did now. She needed to look fifteen years younger than she was. Twenty would be better.
    “Shane!” she called. Her smile tipped into the megawatt category. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
    With a wave, Shane slipped through a costumed throng of devils, some Hell’s Angels—who may or may not have been in costume—more “showgirls” than had ever pranced down the Lido’s runway, and some truly reptilian aliens with heads that would have made Medusa turn and run.
    “I should have Carl throw you out,” Gail said to Shane when he came to stand beside her, but her approving look said otherwise.
    “Why sic your head of security on me?” Shane wasn’t quite shouting, but it was a near thing. The volume of the party had reached frenetic. A lot of people relished it. He wasn’t one of them. He was here for business, not pleasure, and all that noise got in the way. Almost shouting just to have a conversation wasn’t his idea of fun.
    “Because, honeylove,” Gail said, hands on her narrow