Good Hands

Prologue

AMELIA

The dealer shot a wink my way. “Let’s see if you can keep getting lucky.”

I had a vastly different idea of what “getting lucky” would mean this summer, but if cleaning house in Vegas and walking out with six figures in cash was the new version of “getting lucky,” then I was game.

The blackjack round went by in a blur, but I came out on top.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Before I blinked, I was up twenty grand. That was my cash-out point. I needed to quit while I was ahead. The count was starting to get blurry as cards were quickly dealt around the table.

Shit. What’s the count? It was minus four, but the stack didn’t match.

Dammit—the dealer’s working off four decks. I thought he was working out of three. He must have added a deck when I was placing my bet.

“Hit,” I said, risking going over twenty-one so I could get a better idea of what I was working with.

Two of spades, adding to my jack of hearts and eight of clubs.

“Looks like your luck hasn’t run out,” the dealer said with a smirk. “Twenty for the lady.”

There was luck and then there was cutting it too fucking close.

Frankly, I had been cutting it pretty fucking close all summer. At some point, my luck would run out.

Did I expect to spend my summer break casino hopping, sipping whiskey, and using my expertise in statistics to count cards rather than use that very expensive higher education to prepare next semester’s curriculum? Not exactly.

Cheers rose up as I raked in more chips. I bagged half and kept half on the table.

The dealer called for everyone to make their bets, but his eyes lingered on me. “What’s it gonna be, gorgeous?” A teasing twinkle glimmered in his eye. “All in?”

Nerves bubbled inside of me, like an insidious pool of lava on the precipice of eruption, right before a slow smirk curled at the corner of my mouth. “Nice try.” I slid two thousand dollars’ worth of chips forward.

I could turn it into another twenty grand in the blink of an eye.

A firm hand landed on my shoulder, and I committed the cardinal sin of counting cards—I looked away from the table.

Blue suit. Black leather ID holder.

FBI.

Chips tumbled to the ground as my hands were yanked behind my back. “Amelia Hawthorne, you’re under arrest.”