"You can't wait a few minutes? Leave the meter running," I said. "Seriously, I'll be right back. I don't want to call another cab and wait."
The driver shrugged and took my cash. As soon as I got out the car, he drove off. A nervous chill slipped down my back. I missed ol' Mike and could see him shaking his head at me. I told myself this was a simple gesture, something nice to do for Fenton, but I was getting the feeling I was only going to make more trouble. I shivered on the street, feeling exposed, and looked around for the address on the card.
The Wynn Casino and Hotel was lit up nearby, and as I looked around, I started to feel better. It was busy section of the strip. Lots of shops were still open, catering to the late-night shoppers of Las Vegas. There were blindingly bright neon signs leading partygoers to food and drink. And, there were knots of people heading this way and that, enjoying their Vegas vacations.
You're fine, I told myself. Still, I had the uneasy feeling I was being watched.
It’s a silly thought, I tried to convince myself. No one would be after me. I was a low-level agent, clearly not a high roller. Even if they knew me from the luxury suite at the Tropicana, they could see I had nothing on me.
I turned quickly and rang the bell next to the street number that matched the card. The door was otherwise unmarked and I was relieved when a uniformed concierge opened the door. The logo on his crisp white shirt matched the card and I stepped forward, happy to get off the street.
"I'm sorry, this is a private club," the concierge said.
"I realize that," I said. "I'm just here to pick up something for a member. You can bring it out to me, but I'd really rather come inside." I stepped forward again, feeling a rising need to get off the street, even though I could not see anyone suspicious behind me.
"We operate very exclusively. I cannot let you inside," the concierge said. "For the safety and privacy of our members."
I glanced back at the street. A tour bus parked by the curb and let a steady stream of people out to swarm into the nearby souvenir shops. I was being silly – there was no one out there but tourists. I figured the paranoia was because I was tired. I just wanted to get Fenton's phone and get back to the suite as soon as possible.
"I know, I mean, I'm sorry," I handed him the card. "I'm just here to pick up Fenton Morris' things. He is staying elsewhere tonight."
The concierge's lips quirked up, but he nodded at the card and let me inside. I trotted into the all-white lobby, ridiculously glad to be inside.
"What exactly are you picking up?"
"Mr. Morris would like a clean change of clothes and most importantly, his phone," I said.
The concierge disappeared through a white unmarked door. I jumped a foot into the air when a voice behind me said, "Mr. Morris?"
I turned and came face-to-face with Mario Peretti, Fenton's MMA rival. Up close, he was just as fierce and intimidating as all his posters portrayed him – until he smiled.
"I'm Mario, nice to meet you...?"
"Allen. Kya Allen," I said.
"Ah, the endorsement agent," Mario said. "Don't worry, I only listen to the good things. Guys like Fenton and I know all about how different reputations can be from the truth."
I relaxed and reached out a hand to shake his. "It's nice to meet you, Mario. So, you don't think Fenton lives up to his reputation? You might be the only one in Vegas that feels that way right about now," I said.
"I don't think I'm alone in that," Mario said and smiled at me again.
I felt my cheeks warm and changed the subje
ct. "I didn't think rival fighters would share a gym?"
"I was the one that suggested this place," Mario said. "Fenton and I talk outside of fights, trash talk, and photo ops."
"You do?"
"Yeah. It makes sense. We have a lot in common," Mario said. "He's like me, setting everything else aside until he gets to the top. Though, I'm starting to see why he having trouble keeping everything separated."
I drummed my hands on the white desk and wished the concierge would come back. "Why do you say that?"
"I recognize you." Mario leaned against the tall desk. "From the fight. As I rule, I block out the crowd, most fighters do. I was just so surprised to see Fenton's look out there that I had to glance, too. He was looking at you."
"That's impossible, there were tons of people in the crowd that night," I said. My cheeks flared warmer.
"But I recognize you. Thanks for helping me land that punch," he said.