Free Wanna Get Lucky? by Deborah Coonts Page A

last night.”
    This time his eyes met mine. His eyes were bloodshot and blue, yet kind. “You’re not going to throw me out of the hotel, are you?”
    “Of course not. It’s my job to take care of our guests. You seemed to have gotten in over your head. Did you just tie one on and go out the wrong door looking for the bathroom? You wouldn’t believe how many times that’s happened.”
    He turned his wedding band around and around. “I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a bind. Thought I could work it out. Guess I was wrong.”
    “What sort of a bind?”
    “It’s pretty simple really. My wife and I are swingers—Trendmakers. You know the group?”
    I nodded, my expression unchanged. I’d learned long ago books couldn’t be judged by their covers—especially in Vegas.
    “We’ve been members for years, but we’ve been discreet.” He paused. “Come to think of it, I never register as Reverend Peabody. How did you know my name?”
    “It was given to me. I believe our front-desk manager got it from your wife, who called frantically looking for you.” I held up my hand stopping him before he asked. “We didn’t give her any information other than that you were sleeping.”
    He nodded; I saw relief in his eyes.
    “Why don’t you continue with your story?”
    “Well, someone got wind of our involvement in the group and started blackmailing me. I can tell you the church would take a dim view of a swinging lifestyle, and my parishioners . . . well it’s pretty hypocritical on my part to preach monogamy, then not live it.”
    “I see what you mean.”
    “I know I’m taking quite a risk, but I’d never quit the group; they’ve done wonders for my self-esteem. I never knew how many women would jump at the chance for a roll in the hay with a big guy.”
    I really wished he hadn’t said that—that whole visual thing again.
    “They really were a godsend.”
    “God works in mysterious ways,” I countered, pretty much at sea. “Now, can you tell me anything about your blackmailer? For instance, male or female?”
    “Female. I’d never met her before.”
    “So what happened last night?”
    “I’d been attending a bishops’ conference in San Fran. My wife wasn’t with me; she’s meeting me here this afternoon. I thought I would come a day early and arrange a meeting with the blackmailer, try to pay her off or talk her out of it. I don’t know what I was thinking. We met in my room, 10123.”
    “What time?”
    “Ten last night.”
    “The blackmailer actually showed?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “Blackmailers usually try to keep their identity a secret. Was she on time?”
    “Ten o’clock sharp.”
    I depressed the intercom. “Miss Patterson, could you please callSecurity. Tell them I want to see the tapes of the main elevator bank and the service elevators in the main tower. Also any tape of the tenth floor in the southwest wing. The time frame I’m interested in is around ten P.M. last night.”
    “Right away.”
    I released the intercom switch and turned my attention back to Reverend Peabody. “Everything in this hotel is videotaped.”
    “Everything?” He blanched.
    “Pretty much.” I watched him wilt. “Now, go on.”
    “There’s not much more. I had ordered a bottle of wine. She insisted on pouring. We talked.” He paused and shut his eyes. “She laughed at me—I do remember that, but I don’t remember much else until I awoke in a strange room with no clothes on. And then they brought me here.”
    I didn’t have the heart to tell him his blackmail problem was probably much worse now. I’d bet my reputation that whoever met him last night had taken some interesting pictures after she slipped him the mickey. “Was the blackmailer working alone?”
    “Couldn’t say for sure, but I got the distinct impression she had an accomplice. She was nervous, and almost apologetic. Not at all what I thought she’d be.”
    “What did she look like?”
    “Medium height, say five foot six or so.