I pressed my lips tight, resisting the urge to tell Joey what his nephew had done. That what Cam feared was so much bigger than the fire he’d set at the police academy. I couldn’t keep Cam safe, because neither of us were. Joey owed me a favor after I’d saved his life, and he was far more qualified than I was to protect Cameron from the retaliation of the mob and the dirty cops who worked for them. But Cam had come to me because he had trusted me. More than his uncle. More than the cops. And that, more than anything, gave me the greatest pause. “I’ll be sure to tell him if I hear from him,” I promised.
Joey sighed. “You’re both in over your heads, you know.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Don’t let him do anything stupid.”
“He’s a bright kid. I’m sure he’ll make responsible—”
Joey disconnected.
“… choices,” I finished, hoping Cam wasn’t the only one.
Vero started up the last flight of stairs ahead of me. “You made the right decision,” she reassured me over the clack of her heels against the metal treads. “If you’d told Joey where to find Cam, you’d have to tell him why Cam was here. You’d have to tell him about the car and thethumb drive, and then you’d have to tell him what was on it. And sinceournames are probably on the spreadsheet on that drive, that would have been a highly inadvisable choice. You’re right,” she said, breathing hard as we reached the landing to the seventeenth floor. “Cam’s smart. He won’t do anything to draw unnecessary attention to himself.”
She pushed open the fire door.
Music blared through the hallway, growing louder the closer we got to Marco’s room, until the walls shook with it. Vero and I paused in front of the suite, ears tipped toward the laughter and loud voices bleeding through the door.
“That little shit,” she muttered, swiping her key over the sensor.
Club music assaulted us as we pushed our way inside. Sweating, dancing bodies packed the foyer. Beer bottles and red plastic cups covered every inch of furniture that wasn’t already occupied by empty chip bags or room service trays. We wriggled through the mass of people, searching for Cam. I caught sight of him through the crowd, reclining on the sofa like a prince with Kevin Bacon in his lap. His arms were slung over the shoulders of two women who looked decidedly like hookers.
His eyes went wide when he spotted us shouldering our way toward him. Vero snatched the remote control off the coffee table and turned off the music. My ears rang as the room went abruptly quiet and the crowd groaned in protest. I shoved my way down the hall toward the master suite. A lacy red bra hung from the doorknob, and I prayed as I turned it, relieved to find it locked.
“Party’s over. Everybody out!” Vero shouted, grabbing glasses that belonged to the suite’s kitchen out of people’s hands and shooing the crowd out the door as I stormed back to the living room.
I pointed at Cam across the sea of red cups littering the coffee table. “You have so much explaining to do!”
“Me? You’re the ones dressed like 1970s porn stars.”
One of the call girls scratched Kevin Bacon’s head as she sized us up. The other ran a set of obscenely long nails around Cam’s ear. “Youpaid for two hours. You’ve still got fifteen minutes left. Your friends are welcome to join us.”
Vero jerked her thumb hard toward the exit. The women unwound themselves from Cam and got to their feet, adjusting their skirts and garters on their way out. When the last of the partygoers was gone, Vero bolted the suite door shut, waving weed smoke from the air on her way back to the couch.
“What were you thinking?” I snapped at Cam.
“There are two corpses in the next room and you threw a party?!” Vero hurled a pillow at his head.
“Relax!” he said as he brought his arm up to dodge it. “No one saw them. I locked the bedroom door and told them Marco was shacking up in there with a lady friend.”
“A lady friend?!” I cried. “Those were prostitutes, Cam! You said you were broke! How on earth did you pay for them?”
“I didn’t. Marco did. And Sapphire and Rochelle are notprostitutes,” he corrected me, “they’reescorts.You know, like professionals and shit.”
“And where did you find theseprofessionals?” I asked. “On Tinder or LinkedIn?”
“Neither. I called room service and told them I was Marco’s nephew. I said my uncle was throwing a party and our butler hooked me up. But don’t worry, he comes with the room. And get this,” he said, looking far too proud of himself, “they sent up a whole cart full of booze. They even brought one of those huge trays with cheese and grapes on it and shit. There were these monster shrimp,” he said, demonstrating their size with his outstretched hands. “Delicious, by the way… highly recommend,” he added with a chef’s kiss. “They went pretty fast, but there might be some of those little weenies on toothpicks left in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“I’ll show you a weenie on a toothpick.” I held Vero back as she lunged for him.
It took everything in me not to murder him myself. “Someone couldhave complained about the noise and called the police. Did you even think about that?”
“Of course I did. You think I’m an idiot?” I refrained from answering that. “Why do you think I invited all those fucking people?” At our stupefied looks he said, “I asked the butler to find a couple of girls and send them up. I showed Sapphire and Rochelle the room service spread and told them to invite a few friends. When people started coming, I made sure everyone knew Marco was here, scoring with some high-roller chick in the bedroom, and he didn’t want to be disturbed. You’re welcome for taking care of your little police problem.”
“What little police problem?”
He sighed over the burden of having to explain it to me. “What’s the first thing the cops do when they find a crime scene? They tape it off, to keep boneheads like us from crapping all over the evidence. Well, guess what? Dozens of hookers, junkies, and scam artists just tromped all over this place, had sex in the coat closet, pissed in the potted plants, and puked in the sink. And they’re all convinced Marco invited them here to do it. Tomorrow, every one of them will be telling all their friends how they partied with the infamous Marco Toscano. All we have to do is get rid of the bodies andpoof,” he said, wiggling his fingers, “as far as Atlantic City is concerned, Marco was alive and kicking it last night, which means you and your BFF over here no longer need an alibi when the cops figure out he’s missing.”
