Free Fast and Loose by Fern Michaels Page A

“Get your facts straight, Mr. Kelly. That happened before my time and not on my watch. You know what they say. You win some. You lose some.”
    Ted hissed in Maggie’s ear, “This looks like it might turn ugly. Do something.”
    Maggie stepped forward, her hands up, palms toward Kelly. “This might be a good time for you and me to agree to how we’re going to do our interview. Bert said you would be at our disposal, on orders from Countess de Silva. How about first thing tomorrow morning we start trailing you around? Will that work for you, Mr. Kelly?” Her tone of voice clearly stated that it better be all right.
    Kelly suddenly felt like an ass. That round went to the Fibbies. “That will work for me, Miss Spritzer. I usually hit the main floor around ten o’clock. Meet me by the cashier’s cage.” He turned to the group as a whole and said, “Follow me, people, and I’ll show you to your rooms. Bert requested the entire concierge floor, and that’s what you’re getting. Food and beverages twenty-four/seven. Your own personal chef and bartender. Suites, not rooms, so I think you’ll enjoy your stay here at Babylon. I count only nine. Bert said there would be fifteen of you. Or am I wrong?”
    The guy with the British accent informed him the others would be arriving shortly, with the last guest due in later that night.
    Something didn’t feel right to Kelly. He’d learned a long time ago that when something didn’t feel right, it probably wasn’t. Fifteen years out in the field, with no one to depend on but himself for his survival, was sending a message to his tired brain. He decided to play a hunch, hoping he wouldn’t regret it. “Would you like me to notify Mr. Needlemeyer that you’ve arrived?” He didn’t see the reaction he had hoped for. Okay, false alarm on his part. Maybe. Then again, maybe not.
    â€œI don’t recognize the name, Mr. Kelly. Who is Mr. Needlemeyer?” Charles Martin said in his best British accent.
    â€œOne of the penthouse owners. No problem, Mr. Martin. I think I have my guests mixed up. Enjoy your stay. I left my card in each suite. If you need anything, call. We’re here to serve you. Enjoy your stay, folks.”
    Kelly couldn’t get out of there fast enough. In the elevator, he kept taking deep breaths and letting them out with a loud swoosh . Damn it, something was off. Something, he knew, was wrong. He’d bet every one of those burner phones on his dresser top that he was not imagining things. Who the hell were these people he’d just left on the concierge floor? Friends of Bert? My ass , he thought to himself. Well, he might not have the answer right now, but he would find it; he always did.
    On their own, with the connecting doors to Charles’s and Fergus’s suites closed, the group sat down in the luxurious sitting room.
    â€œSomeone call Avery and tell him to come straight on up here. I’m sure he and his people are on the floor, taking stock of the casino,” Charles ordered.
    Jack quickly tapped out a text to Snowden.
    â€œWhy are you pacing like that, Sparrow?” Harry asked.
    â€œBecause I’m getting a real bad feeling about that guy Kelly, that’s why,” Sparrow snapped.
    â€œDoes that real bad feeling have anything to do with Kelly’s gibe about the FBI and the Vigilantes?” Ted asked.
    â€œYes and no,” Sparrow responded honestly. “That did not happen on my watch. If it had, I wouldn’t have tried to cover it up. You all need to understand something. Once an agent, always an agent. Your instincts that you honed to survive never leave you. You develop a seventh sense, for want of a better explanation. You, Charles, and you, too, Fergus, should recognize that. Bert and I both came up through the ranks. Bert at one time was the director of the FBI, the position I now hold. Neither of us would be