Wanna Get Lucky? by Deborah Coonts Read Free Book Online Page B

fries.
    “Impressive.” Dane, a half-eaten burger in his hands, watched me with a look of wry amusement and awe.
    “Lunch was a long time ago.” I could feel the heat rise in my face. Eating in front of people was hard for me. I’d never been petite, or small, or even medium-sized. In Las Vegas, a city where all the Barbie-sized clothes sell out first, I was a giant living in the land of the munchkins. Of course, when I deigned to shop, I had no trouble finding clothes in my size, which was a plus—literally. A saleslady once told me they stocked my size for the transvestites.
    I took another bite of hamburger. “Besides, In-N-Out burgers and fries are two of the four major food groups.”
    “And the other two food groups would be . . .?”
    “Krispy Kreme doughnuts and any kind of M&M’s.”
    Dane threw back his head and laughed. “I like a woman who relishes her food. Those dainty little eaters who order a whole meal then push it around their plate aren’t for me. If you can add barbeque and beer to your list, we could be good friends.”
    Damn, now along with lusting after him, I was starting to
like
the guy—for sure he’d turn out to be a bum, it never failed. “A list to horrify a cardiologist—I guess we’ll die young.”
    “But happy.” He tucked into his fries with gusto.
    McCARRAN Airport fronted the southern end of the Strip on the east side. The airport worked in opposite rhythm to the city—when night fell, the Strip fired up and the airport wound down. Few flights operated at this time of the morning, although there were the obligatory red-eyes to the East Coast and Hawaii.
    Paolo found the control tower in the web of access roads and runways, and pulled into the parking lot. I rolled down my window, stuck my head out and looked at the dark tower looming above us. “So, what do we do? Knock three times and ask to see the wizard?”
    “Do you ever turn it off?” Dane asked.
    I donned my most innocent expression. “What?”
    “Never mind.” Dane wadded up the refuse from his meal and stuffed it back in the sack. “Coming?” he asked, as Paolo opened the door. Dane unfolded himself from the back of the limo and extended his hand to help me out.
    I let him help me out of the car on the off chance he might turn out to be one of us good guys.
    “We aren’t exactly going up to the tower,” he said. “We are going down to Las Vegas TRACON.”
    “I love it when you talk dirty.” Jesus, was I flirting with him?
    He shot me a grin.
    “And what is TRACON going to tell us?” I asked, forcing my mind back to the business at hand.
    He shrugged. “Don’t know. The radar tracking files may show us where our helicopter went after depositing Lyda Sue in the pirates’ lagoon.” He identified himself into a speaker beside the door, then it opened.
    I followed him down the stairs to the basement. TRACON was housed in a large, windowless room that reminded me of a huge, darkened theatre. Two banks of computers were arranged in concentricsemicircles. In the dark, I could just make out several hunched-over figures, their faces illuminated by the displays in front of them. The figures spoke into headsets, their voices modulated so they blended into an indistinguishable background murmur. Additional displays hung at intervals on the wall, each showing various symbols that looked to me like Sanskrit . . . or Klingon.
    “Beam me up, Scotty,” I muttered, unable to help myself.
    “Behave,” Dane whispered through clenched teeth. “These folks take their job seriously.”
    “Oh, sorry.” Pricked by his chiding, I feigned sincerity. “I must have missed the No Humor sign.”
    “You clearly missed the No Sarcasm sign as well.” Dane shot me a dirty look. “Stay here, I’ll be right back,” he ordered as he took off like a scalded dog, making straight for a guy sitting behind a desk in the far corner. Clearly Dane thought there was no need to inflict me on an unsuspecting civil servant. Once in