Free Sleepless in Las Vegas by Colleen Collins Page A

Honda felt as if somebody had opened an oven door in her face. When the monsoons finally rolled in, the moist winds and thunderstorms would bring lower temperatures. Meanwhile, Las Vegas baked.
    After flipping on the office lights and setting a bag containing a warm cinnamon roll from Marie’s Gourmet Bakery on her desk, she checked herself out in the bathroom mirror.
    This morning, she’d woken Jasmyn and told her about her plan to confess the honey trap to Jayne. “Cuz,” Jasmyn said sleepily, “you need to wear somethin’ to say grace over.”
    Jaz helped her pick out what to wear, a vintage black crepe dress with a delicate white lace bow, swearing it gave Val a “demure innocence.” She wouldn’t go that far, but nevertheless played on the theme by pulling up her dark hair in a sleek, tasteful topknot and paring down her makeup to mascara and peach lip gloss.
    After tucking a stray hair into the topknot, she went about her morning office tasks. First thing each morning, she fed the fish. Sprinkling vitamin-enriched brine shrimp into the tank, she watched a bright blue-and-yellow angelfish disappear into a dark crevice of a miniature castle. The first week Val was here, Jayne had explained how angelfish needed to hide or they stressed too much. A few fish nibbled at the fare, but as always Mr. Blue-and-Yellow lurked in the shadows of his castle.
    “You always do it your way, on your terms,” Val murmured.
    She headed to the kitchenette nestled in an alcove next to the grandfather clock. In addition to a sink, the closet-size space housed an antique chest of drawers on which sat a coffeepot, cups and a wicker basket filled with packets of sugar, powdered creamer and spoons.
    After starting the coffeemaker, she sat at her desk and checked emails. She deleted a spam message and responded to an inquiry—stating that Diamond Investigations was not accepting any new cases.
    She paused, staring out the window. Any minute Jayne’s Miata would pull in beside Val’s rental car.
    Scents of warm dough and cinnamon wafted from the pastry bag, but her stomach was like a big knot—no way could she eat. Listening to the coffeemaker burble and hiss, she busied herself by rearranging items on her desk. After stacking the notepads, making a pile of paper clips and tossing a couple of dried-out ballpoint pens, she stared at the grandfather clock.
    Eight forty-six.
    The front door clicked open.
    Val jumped a little, knocking over the cup of pens. They clattered across her desk. She fumbled to pick them up with trembling fingers, listening to the soft click of her boss’s sensible heels crossing the floor.
    They stopped in front of her desk.
    Val looked up, the knot in her stomach tightening. She hadn’t seen the Miata pull up, but there it was, parked beside her Honda. And here Jayne was.
    She wore a taupe linen blazer over an off-white shell top and…jeans? Her boss never wore jeans. Maybe that was a good thing. Meant she was relaxed, comfortable…ready to hear bad news.
    “Good morning, Val.”
    “Mornin’, ma’am—Jayne.”
    On second look, she realized her boss’s eyes were slightly swollen. Had she been crying? Maybe this wasn’t the time to spring bad news.
    “No calls have come in yet this morning,” Val said, doing her best to sound nonchalant, professional.
    “Good. I had hoped my calendar was clear this morning because…” Jayne offered a tight smile. “I have something important to discuss with you.”
    Val’s heart pounded like a tribal tom-tom. Did her boss already know about the honey trap? How could she? Didn’t matter. Val needed to seize the moment and explain, now.
    As she opened her mouth, a thump-heavy tune blasted from a car on Garces Avenue. The women stared at each other as a loud, gravelly male voice rapped about pimps, gangstas and blunts for breakfast.
    The tune faded as the vehicle continued down the street. The hum of the fish tank and the air conditioner again filled the