Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [13]
She frantically punched the next floor number, leaping off the elevator as if shot out of a cannon before ramming into someone.
“Sorry,” she muttered and kept moving. She vaguely registered that she’d run into Logan, but she didn’t care. Out. She needed to get out!
“Hold on a second,” Logan said, gently holding on to her arm. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head.
“What’s wrong?”
“I need to get out of here. My mother isn’t dead.”
“What?”
“I need to get out. I can’t breathe in here!” Her voice rose.
“Okay, stay calm. Don’t panic. You’ll be okay. I know a shortcut to the lobby.” He took her hand in his.
As promised, he got her outside in record time. Megan inhaled gulps of the cool night air.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded.
“So your mother isn’t dead. That’s a good thing, right?”
“I have to find her.”
“Okay.” His voice was quietly confident. “Did she come to the wedding?”
“No. Since they told me she was dead, they didn’t invite her to the wedding.” Still freaked out by this revelation, Megan started walking away from the entrance.
“Hold on a second.” He followed her. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Away from here.”
“Talk to me.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle as tremors started inside and spread throughout her body. If she didn’t hold herself together, she’d crumble right there on the sidewalk in front of the entrance to the Venetian. “I have to find her.”
“Okay. Well, luckily your family owns the largest PI firm in Chicago, so they can help you with that.”
She shook her head vehemently. “They’re the ones who hid her from me, who lied about her being dead. I can’t trust anything they’d tell me about this.”
Logan ran his hands up and down her upper arms as if to keep the chill and tremors from consuming her. She could tell by the look on his face that he was worried about her. She saw it in his blue eyes.
She realized that in his line of work he was accustomed to dealing with hysterical people and stopping them from going over the edge, whatever that edge might be. He projected a sense of commanding assurance, which helped keep her howling panic at bay.
“Come on,” he said. “I know a place that serves the best pancakes you’ve ever tasted.”
She blinked at the non-sequitur. “Pancakes?”
“Yes. Pancakes make everything seem better. You’ll see. We’ll go discuss the situation there. Calmly. Logically. I’ve got wireless Internet on my iPhone, so we’ll do some research and see what happens.”
“But it’s after midnight.”
“This is Vegas. Open 24/7.”
She looked down at her black dress.
“They don’t care what you wear. There is no dress code at Aunt Sally’s Pancake House. Come on.” He aimed her toward the curb.
She paused. “What’s this?”
“A car. The car of all cars. A 1957 Chevy Bel Air.” His voice was reverent. “The ultimate classic Chevy.”
“Whose is it?”
“A good buddy of mine owns this baby.” Logan patted the hood gently. “Harry lets me borrow it whenever I come to Vegas. He’s a retired Chicago cop who’s moved out here. He has several vintage cars in his collection. I helped him rehab this piece of automotive beauty when he found it back in Chicago. She was in really bad shape.”
Megan could relate to that. She was in really bad shape herself at the moment.
“He calls her Lucille.”
“Lucille?”
“I know. I’m not into naming cars, but my buddy won the coin toss and he wanted to name her. So hop in.” Logan opened the door for Megan. She got in the car and fastened her seat belt.
Normally she would have appreciated the vintage car much more than she did, oohing and ahhing over every little thing. She was a big fan of the styles of the ’50s—as her maid of honor’s dress and antique clutch verified. And this car was definitely a representative of that time.
“It’s aqua,” she said, running her hand along the vinyl upholstery.
“It’s blue,” he corrected her as if she’d just insulted his mother or something.
“Sorry.”
A pair of fuzzy dice hung from the rearview mirror, reminding