The Gambler

by Molly O'Keefe

  “Not really.”

  “Please, Ty. No more secrets.”

  He glanced heavenward and then brushed off his hands and sat up against the headboard, the sheet pooling low on his hips.

  I kept my eyes on his face, refusing to be distracted by the muscles ribbing his stomach. The bite mark on his neck.

  “Why’d you kick him out, Ty?”

  “Don’t get mad,” he said.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Friday night, I came home from your house and found Miguel here. Richard was teaching him how to play cards.”

  “What?”

  “From what I gathered, Miguel left his backpack here one night when I was gone, and when he came here to pick it up he found Dad, bored and willing to teach him how to play cards.”

  Tyler told me about how Miguel had first approached Tyler to teach him, but how instead, he’d put Miguel to work cleaning up the house.

  “That little sneak,” I said.

  “Right, well. It was time for Dad to go, and that just gave me an excuse to make it happen.”

  “Was your father here looking for the gems?” I asked, and Tyler’s eyes sharpened.

  “Why would you think that?”

  I blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? Your mother broke into the house twice because she was convinced they were here.”

  “Dad didn’t find any gems,” he finally said, pulling the sheet up higher on his lap.

  “I don’t hold your parents’ sins against you,” I said, wondering why he looked so uncomfortable.

  “That’s a relief,” he said, his voice snide. “I’ve got enough of my own.”

  This was not going the way I had hoped. I was just trying to get some answers and he was acting as if he was hiding something.

  “Did you know your parents were involved in the gem theft seven years ago?”

  “Are you interrogating me?” he asked, and I sat back, wounded by his tone.

  “No,” I said, but inwardly I winced. Maybe I was. A little. “Why would you—”

  “Because you’re the police chief,” he said. “And my parents are crooks.”

  “I’m just trying to figure out why everyone thinks the gems are here.”

  “I didn’t know. I was living in Vegas at the time but…I was occupied.”

  “With what?”

  “A performer with Cirque du Soleil.”

  Oh. I tried not to be jealous, but I couldn’t help it, and his attitude wasn’t helping.

  I’d come here, damn it, to show him I was serious. That I was ready to put aside the past and our differences and try to make it work. And he was treating me as though I was the bad guy.

  Angry, I stood, dropping the quilt and pulling on my skirt and tank top. “You know, I’m your sister’s best friend,” I snapped. “And I was looking after this house before you came along as a favor to Margot, who is like family to me.”

  “I know,” he muttered, reaching out for my hand, but I slapped it away.

  “I just want to help, Tyler, that’s all. I’m not the enemy. And I won’t be treated like I am.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I am.”

  I shook back my hair, watching him carefully, the difference between us suddenly seeming bigger than ever.

  * * *

  TYLER

  * * *

  God. Damn it. God. Fucking. Damn it.

  My heart was pounding right out of my chest. “Please,” I said. “Talking about my parents isn’t…isn’t something I enjoy. And I hate that Margot and Savannah and Katie—” and now me, I thought “—are all caught up in this gem nightmare. I’m sorry. I am.”

  She appeared to be wavering, so I did what any desperate, hot-blooded man hiding a fortune in gems from his police chief lover would do—I pulled ever so slowly on her arm, trying to get her back in bed.

  “I’m not a fish,” she snapped. “You can’t reel me in.” But she didn’t pull her hand away and she took one step and then another closer to the bed.

  “I’ve been alone a long time, Jules,” I said. “The only people who held me accountable to anything had lower standards than I did. It’s going to take me a while to get used to being a good guy.”

  “Don’t make a fool of me, Tyler,” she said, and then without any more resistance, she put one knee on the bed and leaned over to kiss me.

  She spent the rest of the day at The Manor, much to my delight. I made her eggs and after the sun set I tried to convince her to stay for pizza, but she resisted.

  “I have to go,” she said at the door, a totally different woman than the one who’d arrived that morning. Chief Tremblant, without all the starch. “I need to get ready for work tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call you,” I said as she stepped across the new porch and into the twilight. She turned, the breeze toying with her hair, and blew me a kiss.

  Once she was gone, I shut the door and nearly ran through the house back to my room. I was going to take that damn diamond out to Remy’s and toss it into the swamp.

  I wasn’t going to have my life fall down around me for some mistake one of my parents made. No way. Not when I had so much to lose.

  I yanked the zipper down on the side pocket of my leather duffel and tossed out the top two socks, looking for the black pair I’d hidden behind them.

  The socks weren’t there.

  Trying to keep my cool, I opened the main pocket and dug through shirts and underwear, a couple of pairs of jeans, until I found one black sock at the bottom.

  I tore apart the bag. My room. I ran into the room Richard had been staying in, but it was empty.

  No socks. No diamond.

  The gem was gone.

  And in my mind it was no coincidence that my father happened to be gone, too.

  Swearing, I found my cell phone and dialed my brother’s number.

  “Carter O’Neill,” my brother said after the first ring. Carter was always Johnny-on-the-spot when it came to his cell phone.

  “Carter.” I rested my head against the doorjamb, feeling worse than I had in a long time. I hated calling my big brother for help, like some kind of child, but there was no one else I could talk to. Not even Juliette, despite what she might say. She was police, and this was a very nonpolice matter. “We have a problem,” I said, and launched into the whole story.

  “You’re sure Dad has it?” Carter asked when I was done.

  “It’s a pretty big coincidence, isn’t it? A diamond is missing and so is a confessed jewel thief.”

  “I’m just saying, you put it in a sock, Tyler. Is there any way you’ve lost—”

  “No!” I yelled, in no mood to be baby-brothered by Carter. Despite the fact that putting a diamond in a sock was a dumb move, especially since Dad and I swapped clothes like girls. “There’s no way.”

  Carter sighed and I burned, recognizing that sigh from a dozen other phone conversations when I had reached out for help.

  “Forget it,” I said. “The damn thing is gone, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  A big gong was struck in my head.

  It truly didn’t matter anymore.

  With the diamond off O’Neill property, it was no longer my problem. And considering that Richard had been a person of interest when the gems initially disappeared, if he was stupid enough to get caught with the diamond now, it was pretty cut-and-dried.

  Savannah and Margot wouldn’t be implicated.

  Juliette wouldn’t be forced to get involved.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  “Doesn’t matter?” Carter asked. “If Dad gets caught, it will be all over the papers.”

  “So?” I’d been all over the papers before; it only hurt for a minute.

  “So, some of us have careers, Tyler. Careers that hinge on keeping this kind of garbage out of the papers.”

  Carter was mayor pro-temp of Baton Rouge, and I had to admit that if Dad got caught with this gem, it would be ugly for Carter.

  Sympathy flooded me. Just as my problems
got better, Carter’s got worse. O’Neills could not catch a break.

  “I’ll see if I can get ahold of Dad,” I said.

  “Do that,” Carter snapped. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Carter hung up and I dialed my father’s cell phone number, but the line never rang, which meant Dad had lost his phone—again—and it was sitting someplace with a dead battery.

  Or Dad had ditched the phone, not wanting to be found.

  And I, a selfish, disloyal brother—was glad.

  18

  TYLER

  * * *

  As far as weeks went this was one for the books. Perhaps, I thought, leaving my meeting with Derek and some volunteer builders, the best week ever.

  Dad hadn’t surfaced, but then neither had the diamond. And while that was sending Carter into a tizzy, I felt better than I had in years, as though I was stepping out into the sun for the first time.

  I started Suzy and pulled out my cell phone, pressing redial to get Juliette.

  “Chief Tremblant,” she said, and I smiled, pulling out of Remy’s parking lot where I’d held my meeting.

  “That is seriously the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said.

  “You didn’t think that when it was my father!”

  “No. No I did not.”

  She laughed, the sound like fine wine. “How was the meeting?”

  “Awesome. We should be ready to go on Monday. How about you?”

  “Well—” she sighed “—I’ve got my home visit meeting scheduled for next week. I need to clean out my home office, get stuff organized for kids.” She paused. “Do you know what kids need?”

  “Let’s talk about it over dinner,” I said, looking at the sinking sun on the horizon as I drove through town. “Ben Cruise owns that new fancy place on Main Street, and he’s one of the volunteers. He invited me to come out anytime.”

  “That sounds great. Why don’t you give me another hour?” she said. “There are a few things I need to do first. Do kids like bunk beds?”

  “Five-year-olds, yeah. Not Miguel.” I shook my head, smiling. She was excited and Juliette would be a fantastic foster parent, but every once in a while, I was very glad to be around to help.

  We hung up and after I parked Suzy, I climbed the steps of my porch by two, humming “Feel Like Making Love” under my breath.

  But the song died in my throat when I saw the front door hanging open.

  I’d gotten lax over the past few weeks with the alarm and locking the door, but I was pretty sure I’d closed it that morning.

  Dad, I thought, heavy anger settling in my stomach like rocks.

  The door eased open under the pressure of my fist, but as I turned the corner into the living room, it wasn’t my dad sitting on the couch.

  “Miguel?” I asked.

  “The front door wasn’t locked,” Miguel said, looking manic. His hands shook, and his eyes were way past dilated. If I didn’t know better, I would think the kid was on something. And Louisa… Louisa sat in the shadows of the couch looking like a stray cat.

  The air smelled like fear. And blood.

  “You okay?” I asked, foreboding blossoming in my brain.

  “We need money,” Miguel said, leaping off the couch. Louisa flinched. “Right now.”

  I approached Miguel like the boy was a wild dog. “Please, Miguel. You need to calm down—”

  “Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Miguel yelled. “You have no clue!”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Then why don’t you tell me. Why don’t you sit down—” I reached out to touch Miguel, to guide him back toward the couch, and Louisa leaped up.

  “Don’t touch him!” she screamed, flying around Miguel to smack at my legs. She got me good in the crotch and I swore, trying to protect myself and calm Louisa down. Her braids flew wild around her face and Miguel grabbed his sister with shaking hands and pushed her back behind him.

  But not fast enough.

  I got a good look at Louisa’s face.

  Her poor, battered face.

  “Oh, my God,” I breathed, bile rising in my throat. “What happened?”

  Miguel shook his head, his eyes diamond bright and just as hard. “I just need money, Tyler. So we can leave.”

  “I can give you money. I can help, Miguel. I swear I can. But you have to tell me what’s going on.”

  Miguel held out hands balled tightly into fists. He turned them over and opened his palms.

  It took me a second to register what Miguel was showing me.

  “Is that Louisa’s blood?” I asked, surprised my voice was so calm and heavy, when inside I felt as if all the walls were coming down. Fury, sympathy, fear and worry rolled through me, tearing me apart.

  Miguel shook his head, holding himself so still I worried the boy was going to break before he bent. Tears flooded his eyes and poured down his face. I reached for him, but Miguel collapsed back onto the couch and Louisa climbed into his lap, holding on to him while he sobbed, his entire body rocking.

  “Miguel?” I asked, bending my knees so I could look right into Miguel’s eyes. “Whose blood is that?”

  “I killed him,” Miguel breathed. “I killed my dad.”

  JULIETTE

  * * *

  I left my office, waving good-night to Owens, who was surly because he was on dispatch, and headed out the front door to my car and the night and Tyler.

  Honestly, I didn’t realize how unhappy I’d been before this week. And I hated to think of what would have become of me if Tyler hadn’t come crashing back into my life. What kind of dried up, humorless woman I would have turned into.

  I paused at the curb to the parking lot.

  Dad leaned against my car.

  It had been weeks since we’d spoken, and my father’s smile tore at my heart.

  I think he used to be a good man. Didn’t he? Did it make me a bad person to wish that he had been?

  “Hello, Juliette,” he said.

  “Dad?” I said, noticing how much weight he’d lost, how ashen his cheeks were. He wasn’t taking care of himself. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said, waving off my concern. “Have you seen the news?” he asked.

  “What news?” I asked, stepping off the curb. I unlocked my car, opened the rear door and put my briefcase inside.

  My phone rang and I checked the display. Tyler.

  Dad’s hand touched my shoulder. “Before you answer that, I need to talk to you,” he said, his eyes level and serious. “I’m asking you for just a few minutes of your time. As a police chief.”

  I sighed and then turned off the phone. Tyler probably just wanted to tell me about dinner plans.

  Or talk dirty.

  It was a toss-up.

  “Okay, Dad,” I said, slipping my phone in my pocket. “Shoot.”

  “It’s about Tyler’s father—”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked. “We haven’t spoken in weeks and this is—”

  “He was arrested in Los Angeles. He had the Pacific Diamond in his possession.”

  TYLER

  * * *

  I sat on the floor, watching the two demolished kids on my couch clutching at each other just to stay afloat. I tried to prioritize, slot the different terrible aspects of Miguel’s story into manageable holes. Things that needed to be dealt with.

  Louisa didn’t seem to have anything more than a black eye and a fat lip, as fucking horrible as that was - the hospital could wait.

  “You think Ramon is dead?” I asked after Miguel managed to get out the whole nightmarish story. Dead bodies seemed like they should be step one.

  “I hit him really hard. The bottle broke everywhere,” Miguel whispered, his eyes on Louisa, who was beginning to doze against her brother. It was getting late and the little girl had been through so much. “But it’s not like I stuck around to check.”

  “You were protecting your sister,” I said, putting my hand on Miguel’s shoulder. Miguel’s eyes
closed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You did what any good big brother would do. Do you hear me, Miguel?”

  Miguel nodded, stroking his sister’s hands with his bloody fingers.

  I didn’t know how my heart could hurt more, how I could look at this brave and scared boy and love him any more than I did.

  I wanted to sweep both of these kids up in my arms, keep them safe.

  “I’m going to take care of this,” I said, and stood.

  I dug my cell phone out of my pocket and called Juliette—she would know what to do. But her message clicked on.

  “Call me,” I said. “It’s urgent.”

  I tried the station next, asking the man who answered the phone if Juliette was still there.

  “She left about ten minutes ago,” he said, which meant that Juliette had to be at home. I didn’t have that number. How stupid was that?

  Did she even have a home phone? I texted her 911 just as thunderous knocking on my front door rattled the windows.

  “Open up!” a man yelled. “Police!”

  I heard Miguel scramble in the living room and I raced down the hall, hoping to catch him before he ran.

  “Calm down,” I said to the totally freaked out boy, though my own nerves were about to snap. “Take your sister and go upstairs.”

  “What are you going to do?” Miguel asked, helping his sister to her feet.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, because I wasn’t all that sure. “I’ll think of something.”

  The kids headed upstairs and there was more knocking, this time accompanied by muffled Spanish.

  I lifted the lace curtain in the living room a fraction of an inch and caught a glimpse of the men on the porch.

  Owens. Great.

  And Ramon, holding a bath towel to his head.

  At least he wasn’t dead, but I was inflated by a bright red and burning hot need to spill more of that man’s blood. To take every pain Ramon had inflicted on these children and return it—doubled—upon him.

  I dug my wallet from my back pocket and flipped it open, flinging cards on the floor until I found what I wanted.