Chapter 10
AMELIA
The image of Jude dragging a beaten and bloody man into the back entrance of the casino was as fresh in my mind after the drive back to Connecticut as it was the moment I saw it happen.
There was no way I’d ever forget how cold his expression was. But there was something else that lingered in his eyes that warmed the chill.
Regret.
What did he regret? Doing it or me seeing him do it?
My heart was in my throat as I pulled off the highway and made turn after turn, navigating the sleepy New Haven streets. Headlights caught my rearview mirror. But as fast as they appeared, they were gone.
My skin buzzed as I pulled into the parking lot of my apartment complex. The hum of passing cars on the street that circled the grid of buildings should have added enough ambient noise for the hour, but it was still far too quiet.
I grabbed the bag of cash that felt more like a ball and chain than a get-out-of-jail-free card, clutching it to my chest as I hurried across the lot.
My pulse raced faster with each step. Every bush was someone lying in wait, ready to jump me when I passed.
Every shadow was someone running to grab the bag out of my arms. My breath quickened as I dipped into the lit portico and dashed up the stairs, just in case someone was hiding beneath them.
I had my hand balled into a fist with my keys jabbing out between each finger, as if that would protect me.
Jude.
Of course the first time I have a crush in my entire three decades of life on earth, he’s a criminal.
Just my luck.
I always imagined when I fell in love . .
. if I fell in love, that he’d be sweet.
We’d spend our nights curled up on the couch, watching baseball or reading or playing cards.
Maybe we’d get into a docuseries and argue good-naturedly about watching it together when one of us accidentally got an episode ahead.
He’d be the kind of man to open the door for me. He’d always stop and pick up my favorite snack on his way home from work, just because.
He’d bring me coffee during late nights when I was grading papers or surprise me with flowers during my office hours.
We’d live a quiet life, content simply being together.
But right now, a quiet life wasn’t my reality.
Beach vacation. Tiny bikini. Umbrella drink. The image of what I would indulge in when this nightmare was over was what kept my hands from shaking long enough for me to get the door open.
The moment my foot crossed the threshold, the building rumbled. I grabbed the doorframe, and my ears rang at the deafening crack and boom of an explosion. I turned just as the sky lit up in a macabre glow. The sight of a car exploding into a fireball shook me to the bone.
“Oh my god,” I whispered as everything went numb.
I was vaguely aware of Joel hobbling over on his crutches and peering out at the parking lot as black smoke billowed in rolling waves.
Flames licked up every inch of the car like it had been doused in gasoline.
The acrid tinge of burning metal and rubber wafted through the air like a demented sedative.
One by one, lights turned on across the complex as other residents woke to the horror playing out before my very eyes.
I had just been walking through the parking lot.
Nothing was on fire.
No one else had been around.
Joel’s eyes turned to dinner plates as his jaw hit the top of his foot. “That’s my car,” he rasped, as if he could barely admit what we both knew.
Sirens began to fill the air as the fire department two blocks down responded to what was probably dozens of 911 calls.
“What the hell?” he croaked as he tried to ease out of the door and onto the balcony to get a better view. “I haven’t driven for two days. It was running fine and—”
I nudged him back inside and slammed the door, certain that the cops would be here any minute.
I locked the doorknob and deadbolt and was debating pulling the couch in front of it to barricade us in when Joel took stock of the terror in my eyes.
“Mia . . . What happened?”
I swallowed. “I think . . . I think I saw something tonight that I wasn’t supposed to.” I held the bag a little tighter.
If the arson was Jude’s doing, I had no idea how he pulled it off.
I left Atlantic City right away, and he went inside the casino.
How would he have gotten here before me and set it up?
And how would he even have known where I lived?
I didn’t see anyone in the parking lot when I pulled in or when I was walking up to my unit.
The boogeyman creeping through the shadows was all in my head.
Or was it?
“Did you make enough tonight?” Joel asked.
I shook my head, trying to clear it. “I’m close, but still twenty thousand short. I need . . . I need another day or two.”
He swore under his breath. Something about his frustration pissed me off.
“I’m sorry?” Sarcasm drenched each syllable. “Is the eighty thousand dollars I’ve won for you over the last week not good enough?”
I knew it wasn’t good enough.
Nothing was good enough unless it was the full amount he needed.
Even then, I had a feeling I’d need to win a little extra, just in case there was interest added to the total that Joel conveniently hadn’t told me about.
I was certain these backroom loans didn’t happen without egregious terms and conditions.
. . . Terms and conditions like having your kneecaps bashed in and your car blown up as a warning shot.
Stay out of trouble, little fox. Even the most clever can fall into traps.
The warning Jude had whispered to me on the beach had me reeling.
And what was that moment between us? Had it even been a moment? It felt like it had been a moment . . .
The brush of his finger against mine . . . The soft way he spoke.
And he helped me. He gave me tips on where to play and how to be invisible—not that I usually needed tips on how to be invisible.
If he really was some calculated supervillain who went around blowing up cars, why had he helped me?
But there was no other explanation as to who had done it.
There was certainly no getting rid of the image of him assaulting that man. I didn’t know the guy. Maybe he was even worse than Jude. Maybe he was truly evil.
Maybe Jude was too.
Blue lights appeared, dancing with the red-and-white flares from the fire engines.
“Shit,” Joel muttered as he peeked out the blinds.
Blue lights meant police would start crawling around, looking for answers. Probably an arson investigator too, once they got the fire contained. It was only a matter of time until they ran the license plate on the charcoal shell of a car and came crawling into my apartment.
“I need to hide this,” I said, hurrying into my bedroom to add the cash to the growing stash that I kept in a fireproof box beneath my bed.
The vital documents—my birth certificate, passport, and some financial records—were stacked on the nightstand.
Right now, keeping the cash safe was more important.
A heavy knock rattled the front door. I held my breath, peering around my bedroom doorframe as Joel opened the door.
This was his mess. He could deal with it.
Two cops with notepads in hand were on the other side. They immediately peppered Joel with questions after the neighbors had told them whose car it was that “spontaneously combusted.”
I waited for him to tell the cops that I had been walking through the parking lot right before it happened, but he never did.
Maybe they took pity on him because of the brace his knee was in, the crutches, or the godforsaken hour that it was, but they left with a promise to come back tomorrow and would be happy to drive him to the station if they needed him to be present for questions or a statement.
I waited with bated breath as Joel closed and locked the door, then waited some more as the officers’ heavy footsteps faded down the stairs.
I was exhausted, but there was no way I was getting any sleep.
Joel’s expression was grim as he loped toward my bedroom and eyed the cash box. “I can’t do this without you, Mia,” he rasped. “And I’m sorry that I got us into this. I’m really fucking sorry.”
For the first time, he didn’t look haughty. He wasn’t self-assured and dismissive of the gravity of the situation. He looked utterly terrified.
I swallowed. “I know.”
He looked at me with pleading eyes. “Can you do one more night?”
I didn’t have a choice.
Nothing mattered except winning.
It didn’t matter that the bouncer I had a crush on may have blown up my brother’s car. It didn’t matter that he might have been the one who attacked Joel the first time.
Just my luck. I finally feel something somewhat romantic toward a person, and he’s an absolute psychopath.
“Joel . . . who attacked you?” I didn’t want to know the answer. That would make everything far more complicated. But I needed the answer.
If I was stealing from Peter to pay Paul by trying to win money at the very place Joel owed his debt to, I was in deep shit.
His expression tightened. “I told you. He caught me off guard.”
It was a lie. I had been watching people bluff all week. Joel was exceptionally bad at it.
“How are you supposed to give them the money?”
“They’ll find me. Always do,” he said.
If my hunch was right, and Jude was connected to the car explosion—and somehow connected to the people Joel owed money to—I couldn’t gamble at the Four Horsemen again.
But it was also my surest bet. The clock was running out.
“I need to sleep.” I looked at the front door as anxiety coiled around me like a death adder.
“I’ll stay up,” Joel blurted out. “I’ll . . . shotgun an energy drink or something. We can trade off in the morning. I’ll wake you up if something feels off.”
Exhaustion and terror were a nauseating concoction. The world spun as delirium set in, and I nodded weakly.
I had learned the rotation of bouncers and casino security. I knew to stay away from the old bartender. I could fly under the radar one more night.
I just had to stay away from the man who saw me better than anyone ever had.