For the fiftieth time during the ten-minute cab ride, Hank stared at the closeup of the thugs from the Little Elvis Wedding Chapel. The smaller one had a narrow scar from where his chin must've been busted open. What he'd give to be able to give the asshole a few matching injuries.
He'd already e-mailed a copy of the photos to the Dry Creek Sheriff's Office. Chances were slim the men would pop up on a local search, but with luck, some of the national databases would reveal their identity.
The cab pulled into the taxi line at the Paris Hotel. Wallet at the ready, he pulled out a few bills and handed them over to the driver. “Keep the change.”
The dry Las Vegas heat hit him as soon as he stepped out of the cab. Damn, he couldn't wait to get back to Dry Creek and the crisp fall weather. He'd had it with sweating his balls off in October. As soon as he walked into the casino, he scanned the crowd for Beth's brown hair even though he knew she’d still be in her panel.
But she wasn’t.
He increased his speed as he made his way through the lines of slot machines surrounding the bar. She sat at the bar with her back to him, chatting with a guy in a dark suit. Damn it, he’d warned her to stay at her panel where there’d be lots of people she knew.
“Beth!”
She didn’t turn.
The man whispered in her ear, giving Hank a perfect view of his profile. He turned, revealing a scar on his chin. The fucker was right here.
At the same moment, the man swept aside Beth’s hair, revealing a stranger.
Where was Beth?
First relieved Beth hadn’t been taken, Hank paused his march. But not for long. Fury at the perp who’d chased them last night blazed to the forefront. He popped his knuckles and stormed forward.
His target stood, oblivious to the world of hurt about to befall him.
Hank rushed up the three steps to the raised bar and shoved the goon away from the brunette.
Startled, the woman squeaked. Barstools scraped back as people scattered.
Surprise flashed in the man’s pale blue eyes, quickly blotted out by recognition. The white scar on his chin stood out like a crooked bull’s-eye.
The thundering feet of running security guards approached from behind.
In the half a second it took for him to pull back his fist, the man grabbed the brunette and flung her into Hank.
Thrown backward, he crashed back into the brass railing surrounding the bar. They both tumbled to the ground, the woman screaming at the top of her lungs.
One of the rotund security guards stopped next to them. The other two hoofed it after the perp sprinting out of the casino.
“What the fuck is your damage?” The security guard loomed over Hank, still flat on his back.
Hank assessed his options. From what the security guard observed, he’d just gotten his ass handed to him by a guy that he’d shoved. He didn’t have any proof that Chin Scar was a danger.
The brunette stood and wavered on her feet. “Shooo shorry I fell into you.”
“Ma’am, you didn’t fall, he shoved you into me.”
“Really? Wow.” She plunked down onto her barstool and sucked on the skinny black straw sticking out of her old fashioned glass.
“Are you okay?”
She smiled up at him, her glassy eyes unable to focus. “Awesome.”
It took him twenty minutes to convince the security team that he wasn’t the bad guy. They’d made a copy of the photo of the two thugs he suspected of drugging Beth and escorted the brunette, who swore she’d only had two drinks, back to her room.
A quick phone call at the security office and he connected with Chris.
““Hey there big bro, how's it shaking?”