Gigi Sinclair

The only sins that count in Vegas are the ones that involve money, and even then it's only if that money is taken from someone who has more of it than you do. Danny McCoy knew that. He wasn't paid to watch out for parents betting their children's college fund on one spin of the money wheel. They didn't employ all the latest surveillance technology and a security force the size of a small army to keep spouses from cheating on each other.

Thank God.

Sometimes, he wondered what the hell he was doing. Not keeping his job at any cost, that was for sure. He'd made a name for himself. He could easily have gotten a job anywhere on the Strip. Guarding white tigers at the Mirage, maybe, or guarding aquatic French acrobats at the Bellagio. When Celine Dion came to town, he'd even been offered a hefty sum to defect to Caesar's Palace, but he'd turned it down. They'd put it down to loyalty, rare but not unheard of in Vegas, and Danny hadn't argued. He hadn't offered further details, either.

It wasn't love, he knew that. It hadn't been love with Delinda, either, that had been proving a point. Which point, exactly, and to whom, Danny wasn't sure. It had blown Ed's old-fashioned, patriarchal mind though. He didn't know whether to play the angry father, the irritated boss, or the grieved lover (friend? Sugar daddy? Fuck buddy?) Since they were all roles at which Ed excelled, it had been a great couple of weeks around the Montecito. Things had gotten so bad, Jillian had even called and asked Danny-who had unfortunately answered the phone-if he knew what was bothering Ed. He told her, omitting one or two minor details. Like the fact he was having sex with her husband. Danny tried not to feel guilty about that aspect of it; sometimes, he even wondered if maybe she already knew. Jillian wasn't an airhead, even if she had named her kid Delinda Deline.

"Danny." Danny looked up from the monitor, where one of the pit bosses was dealing with a guy in a Hawaiian shirt who'd just dropped fifteen grand in two hours. Danny didn't recognize the man, but he'd radioed one of his guys to go and see what was up. If it turned out Mr. Fifteen Grand had more to lose, Danny would send Sam over to shower him with comps, just to make sure he lost it here and not somewhere else. If he was broke, he'd be out on his ass.

Sometimes, Danny wondered why he hadn't become an ambulance-chasing lawyer. There were days when it seemed like the more honourable option.

"Hey." He glanced at Ed, then back at the screen.

"Thanks for your help today." He knew exactly what Ed was talking about. It had taken a lot of work, and the drafting of a few frightening, technologically-inclined MIT students, for them to track down the man who had attacked Delinda, and several other women. When they finally caught him, Ed had made Danny take them out to the middle of the desert. Danny would have liked to say he knew all along that Ed wasn't actually going to murder the guy, but that would be a lie. Danny had been just as relieved as that scumbag when the gun turned out to be empty.

On the plus side, though, Danny had told the MIT students about the Star Trek Experience at the Hilton. Next time they were in Vegas, he was pretty sure they wouldn't be coming back here.

"You were right, Ed. I wouldn't hurt Delinda." And she had asked him to keep Ed from killing her attacker. When she'd told him that, pleaded with Danny to control her father, Danny had liked Delinda more than he had at any time during their little fling. He'd never thought of her as that deep. He had also wondered if maybe she knew more than she was letting on about how much influence Danny had over Ed. And where it came from.

Yes, he was paranoid. It had always been his job, and now, it was also his hobby.

"You wouldn't let me hurt myself, either."

"Well, you know. It wouldn't reflect too well on me if my boss got indicted for first degree murder."

"Second degree, Danny. Extenuating circumstances. With my connections," Ed shrugged. "Self-defence. At the most."

"I guess you don't need me at all, then," Danny replied, not sure whether he was joking or not. Not sure whether he wanted Ed to agree, or not.

"I wouldn't say that, Danny." He felt Ed's hand on his shoulder, then on the side of his neck. This was the one place in the hotel where he could do that. They had a thousand cameras trained on every square inch of the building, except here. No one watched the watchers. If he was a philosophical kind of guy, Danny thought, he'd spend a lot of time thinking about that one. If he didn't already have a lot on his mind. "Jillian's visiting her sister for a few days," Ed continued, casually.

"Oh, yeah?" Danny replied, just as casual.

"Yeah." He didn't have to look to know that Ed was smirking. "I figured, when we get done here, you might wanna come over, watch the game, have a few beers…"

"What about Delinda?"

"She doesn't spend much time with her old man anymore. You should know that, Danny." Ed didn't sound hurt, or amused. He never did. Maybe, Danny thought, that was why he kept doing this. It seemed as good a way as any of finally understanding the man he'd admired since he'd come to work for him.

"I think I'm free."

"Good." The hand squeezed, then released. A moment later, Danny heard the door close behind him.

The radio buzzed a second later, letting him know that Mr. Fifteen Grand may look like a schmuck from Peoria, but he was a bona fide high roller, and they had to pull out all the stops. Danny headed down to find Sam, wondering if this was life, or just Las Vegas. And if he'd ever be able to tell the difference.