Chapter 4
FOUR
Ante up
REED
Reaching into my pocket, I pulse my fingers around my three-year Gambler’s Anonymous coin. The cold metal warms in my clammy palm. A prickle of sweat beads on my forehead.
I can’t fucking believe I’m considering sitting down at a damn blackjack table after all this time.
But Lila won’t talk to me. Not by phone and not when I plant myself in her path.
Sorry, Agent Hayes, but unless you’re arresting me or have a warrant, I’ve got nothing more to say to you.
She’s repeated that same sentence to me five times over the course of the last week since she lied through our questioning in her manager’s office. As much as I’d love to see her in my handcuffs—one way or another—I can’t arrest her. Yet.
My attempts to find out what she’s hiding have yielded jack shit. If I’m going to break her, I need to up the ante—no pun intended. The infuriating woman has left me no other choice.
I release my death grip on the coin, shudder out a heavy breath, and cross the black tiles. With my heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I stride over to her table. Using the back of my hand, I wipe my brow.
Lila’s upper lip twitches when I claim the open chair at her table. “That seat’s for players only. I don’t see any chips or cash.” She tips her head at the sign displaying the table minimums.
The older man, who always seems to be at her table, playfully chides her. “Give him a chance, doll.” He cushions his words with a flirty wink.
Doll?
Well, shit. I don’t like him calling her that.
Lila grins back at him, fluttering her lashes.
I damn sure don’t like that either.
I’ve been hanging out in her eyeline each night for a week, hoping to make her crack. Right out in the open where she can see me. In all that time, she hasn’t once flashed me a grin like that.
Like she did all those years ago. When she looked at me like she wanted me as much as I wanted her. Feels like forever ago.
The longer I sit here, the calmer I feel. No more sweating. No heart palpitations either.
Perhaps it’s because all my focus is on breaking Lila Kent.
“Well?” she presses, widening her sparkling eyes at me. “This table has a ten-dollar minimum. Are you playing or leaving?”
At least she’s not at one of the high-dollar tables. Not that I can’t afford it, but the higher the stakes, the harder it is to walk away.
And I need to walk away once I’ve gotten what I want from her.
As that thought sails through my mind, I’m hit with a vision of me getting what I want from her in a totally different way. My junk twitches as an X-rated parade of my most deprived fantasies dances through my mind. In full color. With a coordinating soundtrack.
Dammit. Not again.
What is it about this woman that makes me into a lust-driven caveman? As soon as I’m within five feet of her, all I can think about is fucking her. It’s as if I’ve totally forgotten how duplicitous she is.
Not only is she my kid sister’s best friend, but she’s also a suspect. Well, a person of interest in a crime. Probably.
And she represents everything I hate—an overly friendly female who uses her wiles to lure you into her web. Then she goes for the kill like a black widow.
No thanks.
Been there. Done that.
Not that it helped cure my hunger for her. If anything, the tastes I’ve had in the past have made it worse. Because I know what I’m missing.
Shaking off the intrusive lust, I don’t answer her question or pull out my wallet. Instead, I merely hold her eye contact. It’s like I’m in a trance.
She does more of that obnoxiously cute lip twitching.
Sweet little Lila is fighting a snarl while I decide if I can handle a game or two.
And the only reason I’m considering it is so I can pump her for information in a place where she can’t continue hiding from me.
She can’t blow me off if I pony up to her table, can she?
And I know I can break her if she lets me get close enough.
Her nostrils flare. “Do I need to call security . . . sir?”
Oh, look at her trying to be intimidating. That’s as ludicrous as a Care Bear wielding a knife.
Time to fish or cut bait. Am I in or out?
Fuck it. I’ve done enough exposure therapy to handle this. Besides, it’s for the job. It isn’t real gambling.
Essentially.
Retrieving my wallet, I quickly throw down five twenty-dollar bills. A few seconds later, she passes me a small stack of chips.
And just like that, my three years of gambling sobriety is over. When I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be back at day one.
A lead brick settles in my gut, threatening to drag me down into the abyss.
Nah. That won’t happen this time. I’m stronger now. At least I’m breaking my clean streak for a good cause.
I lose the first hand. Win the next.
Despite the tiny spikes to my adrenal system, I remain calm and collected. Completely in control.
By the third hand, the old guy starts flirting with her again. Then her dainty giggles and batting eyelashes return. At him. Like before, it causes an irrational flare of rage.
Wait a minute.
My trained law enforcement brain takes the whip from my balls and cracks it to get my attention. Maybe this guy is part of whatever’s happening here. They’re obviously chummy, and he’s always at her table unless there’s no open seat.
“What did you say your name is, buddy?” I ask him after the next hand, trying to be casual.
Smirking, he tosses back a sip of an amber-colored liquid. “I didn’t say.”
Lila joins him in muted laughter, which makes my jaw clench.
I try a different approach, facing her. “What about you, doll?”
“Don’t call me that.” A sexy little sneer escapes her. “You know my name.”
And she damn sure knows mine too. I remember how she screamed it when I bit her rosy nipple and sent her spiraling into her third or fourth climax.
“Well, well, well. This is an interesting development. Seems like you two know each other. Or used to, perhaps,” the old flirt says, his gaze flickering between us before landing on me.
“I’m Keith. Care to tell me why the sweetest gal I’ve ever met is looking at you like you club baby seals for fun? ”
“No. I wouldn’t,” I reply without hesitating, then turn it back on him. “Do you care to tell me how you know Lila well enough to give her a demeaning nickname?”
A player a few seats down huffs and puffs. “Are we gonna play or what?”
“Sorry, ma’am. My apologies.” Frame stiffening, Lila rapidly slips cards out of the shoe one at a time. Under her breath, she adds, “Some people think the world should bow down to them just because they have a badge.”
Her eyes turn molten for the briefest of moments, practically burning through my skull. When she looks at me, she’s not the sweet, polite Pollyanna she pretends to be.
She’s a viper waiting to strike.
Same as every other person I’ve ever met. Given enough time, their true colors will show.
Old Flirty McGee starts humming beside me. He pauses to level a humorous glare at me. “This one’s dedicated to you from my favorite brunette.” With a wink, he resumes humming, louder this time. I don’t identify the melody at first, so I tune him out. Pun intended.
Then Lila meets eyes with him, her cheeks puffing slightly with a laugh that she’s restraining behind tightly sealed lips. She continues dealing cards, moving from player to player, all the while that snicker keeps wriggling free.
I recognize the Gotye song a second before the player on the other side of the table utters some of the lyrics under his breath. “But you didn’t have to cut me off.”
“Ha, ha,” I deadpan with an aggravated huff. “I’m just somebody she used to know. I get it. Hilarious.”
Smugly, he finishes his drink, then busts on his next deal. Justice is sweet.
While contemplating how to get Lila talking, I scratch my two fingers across the felt table toward me, telling her I want to hit on seventeen.
She arches her brow at me as if challenging my decision or warning me against it. I scrape the table again, arching my brow right back at her.
Bam. A four of hearts. That’s twenty-one. My chest vibrates with that familiar zing of excitement, but I shove it down until it’s merely an echo.
Along with me, two other players beat the house on that round. As she passes me the chips I’ve won, she does so with suspicion weighing down her every movement.
Instead of looking at the other winners that way, she smiles at them and offers congratulations. But from this vantage, it’s clear her cheer is only surface level. There’s something hidden in how she interacts with them as well. An underlying tension I can’t quite put my finger on.
As gameplay continues, the old guy is the only person who ever gets her genuine smiles. It seems that for every sneer she gives me, he gets more of her warmth. Like she’s balancing it out.
After placing my next bet, I ask, “So, Lila. Have you seen any creeps hanging around recently?” My phrasing is an intentional throwback to how she described the perp last week.
Her eyes twinkle with mirth. “Actually, I have.”
I realize the error of my words a second before she adds, “And tonight, he finally decided to come over to the table instead of lurking like he’s done for the last few months.”
My pulse spikes, but I don’t let it show.
I’m starting to think I never learned a damn thing about counter surveillance when I was at Quantico. I wonder if they have remedial training.
“I’m serious. Any sightings I need to know about? Here or elsewhere?”
Quietly, she says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, place your bet.”
Her eyes flash wildly at me again. However, this time, she telegraphs more than disdain.
Her head sways almost imperceptibly, and her gaze softens with an underlying fear.
The fire she’s been scorching me with has been snuffed out.
She’s almost . . . pleading with her expression. Begging me to stop.
While I like the idea of Lila begging, not like this.
I slide my chips to the betting line, sticking with the table minimum. For a moment, I’m proud of myself for not getting carried away. Honestly, it’s hardly like I’m gambling. The game fades into the background due to my intense focus on her and the mannerisms of the players at the table.
I fucking knew I could handle this shit.
She deals everyone’s first card of the hand. Although her movements are polished and practiced, a slight tremor makes her fingers dance periodically. Her eyes flicker to mine three times before she’s done dealing the second set of cards, and her throat bobs with a forced smile.
I sit out the next hand, too focused on figuring out what she was trying to communicate. Well, aside from her obvious message of: stop questioning me.
For some reason, my gut says it isn’t merely because she doesn’t want to answer me like she’s been doing all week. It’s almost as if she doesn’t want to speak here.
Prior to joining the bureau, I was a police detective for nearly a decade.
In that time, I’ve learned it’s helpful to put people in uncomfortable positions to see how they handle it.
That’s part of why I joined the game tonight.
And Lila isn’t handling it well. That damn look she gave me told me she was beyond scared.
And not of me.
The thought of her being frightened makes my skin crawl and teeth grind. Turns out, I like the idea of that less than I like the flirty fucker beside me.
At one point, she catches my stare, then darts her line of sight to a man three seats down before coming back to mine.
Who is that man, and why is she pointing him out to me? Is she scared of him? Or was that just her looking around, trying to avoid my gaze?
If I could slip her a note, I would. But that’s not allowed for obvious reasons.
Retrieving my phone from my pocket, I set it to silent and feign scrolling social media. Covertly, I snap a few pictures of the players at the table.
“You can’t have your phone out at the table, sir,” Lila cautions me in a practiced, professional tone. However, fear permeates her in a dense fog.
Shrugging, I put the phone in my pocket. “Sorry. My bad.”
I play the next hand, then cash out my chips and leave the table. I’ve seen all I need to see. I’m more convinced now than ever that she’s hiding something dangerous. I need to go find out what I can about the other players before I press her further.
I’m two steps away when she calls out, “Say hi to your sister for me.”
Record scratch.
Why the fuck would she say that now? And to me, of all people?
Feigning normalcy, I give her an affable nod, then bolt out of the casino.
In the car, I fire a text to my sister, asking her to call me immediately.
Odds of her complying are nil, but before I involve our mother, I might as well make the attempt.
Dealing with Kenzie is significantly preferable to my mother.
Well, my adoptive mother, I should say. For that matter, Kenzie’s my adoptive sister.
Next, I send the pictures I took of the players at Lila’s table to Carson, a fellow agent who serves as tech specialist on our team. She’ll dig into their backgrounds.
While waiting for replies, I tap the envelope icon on my phone and peruse my email inbox.
When I’ve cleared out all the new messages, there’s still one unread glaring at me like it has been for a few days now. The subject line is only four simple words, but they hold far more weight than a fucking Mack truck.
Let’s talk about Perry.
Apparently, this Alan Lancaster guy doesn’t want to let this go.
He left me a voicemail a few weeks ago, the day after we met.
Naturally, I promptly blocked him and cleared the message.
Then the email came, and it’s been sitting unopened ever since.
I haven’t been able to delete it. Yesterday, he sent a message through Special Agent Warren Andrews, my quasi-partner.
He wanted to know if I got the email. I confirmed I did, then Andrews told me that I should answer him.
As if he has some sway over what I do with my personal life. Give me a break. Does he think he’s my dad or something?
I don’t have one of those anymore.
Not that I ever did.
I don’t need any more family drama. I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime.
Speaking of . . . I’ll find out what Lila meant by that sister comment without calling my mother. I’ve got a better idea.
Fuck family.
With a tap of my index finger, I delete Alan Lancaster’s email without opening it. Gone.