Vegas Vengeance by Randy Wayne White Read Free Book Online Page A

other. The car, of course, then went out of control and wrecked.”
    â€œYou killed them,” she whispered.
    Hawker looked away noncommittally.
    â€œBut did they tell you anything first? Did you find out who hired them—”
    â€œNo. They didn’t grant me an interview. They were too busy trying to convert me into a corpse so they could dump me and my car into the canyon.”
    â€œMy God,” she said. “Then I … I was right. Jason is … they really did kill him?”
    â€œI think so. I found evidence in his cabin that he did not leave voluntarily.”
    â€œOh, no,” she whispered. “That’s awful. It didn’t seem so hard to accept when I was the only one insisting he had been murdered. I guess it was because deep in my heart, I secretly believed I was wrong. But to hear you say it …”
    The woman whimpered, and her chest heaved as she fought for control. Hawker reached over and patted her hand. “Maybe we should eat later. Let’s go up to my suite. I have a few things I need to show you, and it’ll give you time to calm down.”
    â€œYes,” she said quickly. “That might be best.”
    Hawker found their waiter and gave him a twenty to delay their dinner orders, then took Barbara Blaine’s hand and led her through the casino to the elevator.
    This was a different woman from the one who had entered the dining room with such quiet flair. Now she was soft and vulnerable and very, very damn close to breaking.
    The change was so drastic and so touching that Hawker found himself feeling sorry for her.
    Like the hard-nosed whorehouse matrons of fiction, this one really did seem to have a tender heart made for breaking.

seven
    Back in his suite, Hawker poured gin into a beaker and added the obligatory scent of vermouth. He filled the beaker with ice, shook it and served the martini in a chilled glass with a triple portion of olives.
    Barbara Blaine took the drink gratefully.
    â€œBetter?”
    She nodded. “I don’t understand why it hit me so hard all of a sudden.” She looked out the broad veranda window and spoke out loud, as if listening to her own words. “Jason is dead. Jason Stratton is dead.” She shivered and took down half the drink in a gulp. “And it’s such a damnable waste.”
    Hawker took the manila envelope from the desk. He opened it and handed it to her. “I found this stuff hidden in his cabin. If he had left voluntarily, he would have taken it.”
    She looked at the wad of bills for a moment and smiled wryly at some private memory. She put the money on the bed with the insurance policy. Then she turned her attention to the journal: a small book bound in black leather.
    She leafed through the pages, then looked at Hawker. “I’ve seen him carry this. He used to joke about it. Of course, with Jason, it was hard to tell when he was joking and when he wasn’t. He used to say this would be his doctoral dissertation, but that no one would understand it. Now I see why.”
    Hawker didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. He had already looked at the journal. There were about three hundred pages covered in a minute, carefully written code. There were drawings of plants and insects, and a few entries in recognizable English, but most of it was in what seemed to be a random combination of numbers and letters.
    â€œI was hoping he had explained the code to you. You seem to think these people killed Jason as a way to pressure you. I’m not so sure.”
    â€œBut why in the hell else would they do it?” she snapped. “He was such a kind … good … person. Jason wouldn’t hurt anybody. It wasn’t in him.”
    Hawker shrugged. “Maybe he saw something he shouldn’t have. Maybe he knew something they didn’t want him to know. I was hoping you or this journal could tell me a little more about him.”
    â€œAll I