was supposed to be in every day and keeping two women happy—or at least quiet—took more strength than a circus elephant and better timing than an air traffic controller. So far Marilyn had spotted Baby just that one time, and although she’d gotten real cheesed about it, her screechfest had had an upside for him. But how long before Baby figured everything out? And then what? Baby had options.
So that was the first thing.
He heard the doorbell ring as he lathered his face with the casino’s triple-milled, vanilla-scented English soap. Drake’s raised voice. Then he heard a series of bumps and bangs as something crashed against the door. That was room service with the breakfast he’d ordered, on time for once. The food could wait for three minutes while he shaved.
He was still shaving when the bathroom door burst open and two big thugs rushed in.
That was the second thing.
The doorbell had not brought room service, but the Russians. They’d learned on arrival that Mrs. Marilyn Saladino and spouse were staying in suite fifteen-oh-one of the Desert Dunes Casino and Resort—just two floors down from themselves—and they had formulated a plan.
The plan started out great. Armed and dangerous—all except for Alexei, whose future, as their prospective attorney, could not be risked by a felony conviction—they stole an empty laundry cart from the hallway and the maid that came with it, pushing the tiny terrified woman and the giant cart before them down to fifteen-oh-one.
The door to the suite, concealed in a tiny alcove, was entirely filled by the cart and the maid. The Russians hid along the hallway, out of sight from the suite’s security view of the door.
“Ring the bell,” Johnny Red hissed to the maid.
The maid turned, stark terror in her eyes. Johnny Red turned to the triplet closest to the door.
“Markov, ring the bell,” he said.
“Why can’t I ring the bell?” asked Yakov.
“Just somebody ring the bell, dammit!” Johnny Red snarled.
Yakov squeezed past the frozen maid and rang the bell. Then he jumped back out of sight.
When Drake looked through the keyhole, he saw only a small, dark, nervous woman. Made lax by insufficient danger, he fell for the oldest trick in the world and opened the door.
“Yeah?” he asked. “What—” But before he could formulate the question, the five Russians jumped into the alcove, pushing the maid and the cart before them, rushed into the suite’s foyer, and tackled him.
“Hey!” Drake shouted, struggling against the maid, the cart, and the Russians. “Who—?” He shoved the cart against Alexei and two of the triplets, dodging the maid and taking a calculated swing at Johnny Red, which fell short.
“I’m gonna kill you!” snarled Yakov, who had been struck by the cart in a tender area.
“Alto!” squeaked the maid in horror. “Alto! En nombre de Dios!”
The struggle was violent but brief. Even facing five-to-one odds, Drake might have come out the victor, since two of the five Russians had little training and less practice in overcoming a strapping personal bodyguard with many years of experience in the Special Forces.
But Johnny Red had come prepared. While Yakov, Markov, and Igor grappled with Drake’s arms and legs and tried to take away his gun and Alexei watched to make sure the maid didn’t make a break for the phone, Johnny Red calmly uncapped a small vial. Holding it far away from his body, he dumped the contents into a paper towel he’d brought just for this purpose and held it over the struggling Drake’s face.
In a matter of seconds, Drake slumped to the floor.
“Presto, sleepo,” Markov said with satisfaction.
“Let’s move,” Johnny Red said.
Yakov and Markov each picked up one of Drake’s arms and legs and started to drag him into a closet.
“Dios!” groaned the maid, making the sign of the cross. “Mi loca vida!”
“So, how do you like Las Vegas?” Alexei asked her in a futile attempt to distract her.
Yakov and Markov shoved Drake’s feet after the rest of him and slammed the closet door, blocking it with a chair they propped under the doorknob.
“We’re good,” Markov said, dusting his hands.
“Hombres horribles,” the maid wept.
“The Desert Dunes is a fantastic facility,” Alexei told her. “You do a great job here.”
Meanwhile, Johnny Red and Igor went looking for Big Julie. They crept through the huge apartment until they got to the master bedroom. Gluing their ears to the bathroom door, they heard the little sounds of shaving—the water gurgling in the sink, the knock of a razor against the porcelain, the soft