Once they were downstairs, Barron said, “I've never seen a woman like that."
"Did you fail to hear the name I just said?” Edward asked.
"Heidi Labeidi. What about her?” Barron asked.
"The woman upstairs is Heidi."
"Labeidi?"
"Yes,” Edward confirmed, pointing toward the kitchen.
Barron looked at him blankly. “Surely you aren't suggesting that the Heidi upstairs is the same Heidi Labeidi this town made into a martyr some thirty years ago."
"One and the same,” Edward informed him.
"That's impossible, Edward. First of all, the woman would be in her fifties or sixties by now. Heck, maybe even in her seventies. If you listen to the old-timers around here, a lot of the gamblers believe she's ten feet under in a cemetery missing a tombstone or lying in one of those shallow desert graves."
"I can assure you she's not in a shallow grave. Believe me. I have a walk-in closet full of designer clothes and two-hundred dollar shoes to prove differently."
Barron narrowed his gaze. “You're telling me the gal upstairs is the Heidi Labeidi that went missing over thirty years ago?"
"Yes."
Barron shook his head. “She's running some kind of scam on you. If she were Heidi Labeidi, she wouldn't have an ass like that, unless I missed a dimple or two."
Finally, Edward's patience wore thin. He took Barron by the shoulders and stared him in the eye. “The woman upstairs in my room right now is Heidi Labeidi. She is the former owner of The Love Parlor and she's come back from the dead to haunt the hell out of me. Worse—and you'll love this—no one can see her except me and now you."
The color drained from Barron's face. He walked over to the large picture windows and stared out over the city. “That's impossible."
"Have I ever lied to you?"
Barron continued to study the city below them. “Why isn't she old?” He gasped all of a sudden and then wheeled around to face Edward. He extended his arms and studied his hands. He slapped himself in the face a few times. “Oh hell, fuck my life. Damn. When did this happen?"
Edward let him carry on.
"Edward? Do something!” He walked over to a mirror located above the credenza. He cupped his chin and tilted his head from side to side. “How? Tell me how? Did someone kill me or what?"
Edward sighed. As much as he'd like to play along, he didn't have time for Barron. “You aren't dead, Barron."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive,” Edward assured him.
Barron squared his shoulders. Using his forefinger and thumb to mimic a gun, he released his thumb-trigger and said, “You good-looking devil you, it'll take more than a dead broad to lead you to the grave.” He faced Edward. “There for a minute I thought this was going to play out like a Bruce Willis movie."
Edward arched a brow and yawned. Yes, he could see where Barron would feel as if his life were very similar to an actor's.
"She's a feisty broad, Edward. Maybe you should check out her story."
Edward revisited the night before. “I took her out to dinner last night."
"See there,” Barron pointed out. “How could you take a ghost out in public?"
"She set me up so I'd believe her,” Edward said. “Everyone in the damn place thought I was nuts. She came on to me and then backed off and watched me make a dead-level idiot out of myself. She ordered food and then her plate went untouched. And the waiter even asked me if anyone would be joining me."
"Maybe they were in on it?"
"No, you don't understand. That stuff with my limo driver? She instigated the whole thing."
Barron rubbed the side of his jaw. “If I'm not dead and you're not dead, then how can we see her?"
"I'm not sure. You don't know how relieved I am to know you can see her too. There for a while, I was beginning to think I'm crazy."
Barron stroked his three-day growth of beard. “That's still out for debate. I'm not sure she's dead."
"She is ... dead that is."
Barron's mouth twisted. He looked like he was resisting the urge to laugh in Edward's face. “And you're basing this on what, one evening out on the town where everyone pretended they didn't see her?"
"She didn't arrange that, Barron. It's true. She's a ghost. No one sees her but me and you."
Barron looked like he continued processing. Finally, he shook his head. “Edward, good God, what kind of drugs are you on?"
"I'm not on drugs. I'm not delusional. She is a ghost."
"Damn, that must be some mighty sweet pussy."
"I don't understand,” Edward said.
"She's probably some hooker who needed a place to stay. She showed up on your door and figures she hit pay dirt. Bet you anything she was at the convention. How much you want on it?"
"I don't want your money."
"Yeah, but you want her, don't you?"
"My feelings for her have nothing to do with what I'm telling you."
"You've been locked behind these damn walls for a solid year. Maybe you're so hungry for a woman, you'll believe anything she tells you. Maybe, she's been watching you, trying to figure out how she can come into your life and not only win you over but become your everything and maybe, just, maybe, she's found a permanent place in your life by making you feel like she needs you and you need her.... “Barron paused and paid closer attention to Edward when he sat down at the computer. “What are you doing?"
"Come here and look at this,” he said, conducting a search. In a matter of seconds, he found what he expected. “Tell me what you see."
"Good God, she does resemble her."
Heidi entered the room. “I am the former madam of The Love Parlor. And I can prove it."
Edward shrugged. “I don't need any proof. It's all right here.” The Heidi in his living room and the woman staring back at him from the computer were without question, one in the same.
"I'm not that easy,” Barron said, adjusting things in his pants in a crude manly fashion. “I'd like to see some evidence."
"You're definitely easy, Barron,” she assured him, patting his cheek. “In fact, you're playing right into my hand because I need you and Edward to take me to The Love Parlor. If I can get in there, I can show you plenty of proof."
"First, you're going to clear Edward's name."
"How?"
Barron frowned. “I haven't figured that out yet."
"I have a plan,” Heidi said. “But it's risky."
"I'm listening."
"I don't need you to listen, Barron,” she promised. “I need you to fuck me. Are you up for that?"
Edward's balls tightened. If Heidi thought he'd let her bring Barron into their home and fuck him silly while he watched, she could think again.
Their home? He gasped. What the hell was that? Their home?
Heidi smoothed her palms over her skirt. “First, I think it's only fair I tell you. The two of you are going to die unless you make me happy."
"What?” Edward asked.
"It's true,” she said. “There's a hit on both of you. It's why you can see me and no one else can. I'm the only thing standing in the way of your life and your unfortunate demise."
Edward gasped. “Don't you think you should've told me that when you first materialized here?"
"No, Edward. It never occurred to me."
"It never occurred to you?” Edward raged.
"I'm dying?” Barron asked. “When? How? Where?"
"There's a hit on you,” Heidi told them again. “That's all I know right now."
"And how do you know this?” Barron asked, panicked.
"It's a gut feeling,” she assured them.
"Perfect,” Edward grumbled. “I'm relying on a ghost's gut instinct. Fabulous."
"I don't have enemies,” Barron said, still frantic. “Why would anyone want to kill me?"
Edward narrowed his gaze. “Considering the women you prefer—those with husbands—do you want me to start a list?"
"I believe it's one of your partners,” Heidi told them.
Immediately the two men glared at one another.
Heidi shook her head. “No, no, that's not what I meant. You aren't going to harm one another, but there is something going on and we're running out of time."
"When did you figure this out?"
Heidi tousled Edward's hair and studied Barron. “I've known. I wasn't sure about Barron until I saw him. But I'm sure now. He isn't the type to pull a gun. He wouldn't want to get his hands dirty. But you and Barron will be murdered unless we can stop it."
"And how do you think we're going to do that?"
"Take me to The Love Parlor. Let me confront Stan Graves. Then, I'll help you."
"Stan Graves is an old man now, Heidi,” Edward pointed out.
"No,” she said. “He was in his twenties when we met. He's not old enough for what I have in store."
"Isn't he still the owner of The Love Parlor?” Barron asked.
Edward could see the fury in Heidi's expression. He hesitated to confirm or deny anything about Graves. He didn't want to hurt Heidi.
She pursed her lips. “Is he, Edward?"
"I don't frequent establishments like that."
"Maybe you should,” she said, approaching him. “Maybe if you visited a whore house, you'd know how to make the right lady your whore."
His cock twitched when she touched his arm. There was something about Heidi that made him want, made him need and ache.
"Gentleman, I need a recharge. When I'm finished using Edward's train, see if you can't help a lady out."
Barron studied her. Edward saw the interest shining in his eyes. He was intrigued enough to take Heidi to bed, with or without him.
When she disappeared around the corner to prepare for Edward's train, he shot Barron a stern glare. “Don't try anything funny."
"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you."
"Why's that?"
Barron reached in his back pocket and brought out a folded newspaper. “Here, read this."
Edward's entire episode with his limo driver unfolded in a detailed article. Quotes regarding Edward's peculiar evening out followed with respectable Las Vegas citizens speaking out about his behavior. Edward ran his hand through his hair. “Shit, this is bad."
"Yeah,” Barron said. “And you want to know what's worse?"
Edward shook his head. He knew what Barron was going to say.
"I think our partners are perturbed. They want us out. And we're relying on a dead madam to clear our good names and save our lives at the same time. If this backfires, the press will have a field day."
"If it backfires, we're doomed,” Edward said.
"I'm not worried about being doomed. I'm worried about being damned. If we put our faith in the wrong person, we're as good as dead."
Edward held his breath. He didn't like depending on anyone. He had always been a man who'd survived on tangible facts. He liked proof and relied on logic. Now, he had to take a leap of faith, and he was damn nervous. But at least he wasn't alone.