Black Ice

by Black, Regan

  “Not their first communication,” Pickering continued, as if she could read minds now. “And here she is, a casino employee. Sounds like she’s into him.”

  Bull. That was just mean, even if Pickering was simply relaying facts.

  Tate Cordell was a slick operator, that’s all. He was using Evie somehow. Anyone could change in eleven years—Wyatt was proof—but Evie would never willingly help a criminal. Cordell must be lining her up for backup or a distraction.

  “Did they talk about the casino?”

  “Not directly.”

  Wyatt nearly growled. “What did they discuss?”

  “Money,” Pickering said. “Watch yourself. We’re counting on you.”

  He ended the call and tucked his phone away. Now he had to get Evie to open up before she found herself in the middle of an FBI investigation.

  Like him.

  This should’ve been a straightforward job. Infiltrate the Cordell crew, wait for them to rob the casino, and then lead them into FBI custody. In exchange for helping the FBI, Wyatt would get a percentage of the value of the diamonds recovered, money he needed to establish his fledgling private investigations firm.

  He paced away from the door, in case Evie had access to the security camera. This new development between her and Cordell was seriously bad luck on a day when he needed things to roll his way. He gave himself a mental shake. Luck was the casino’s stock in trade and rigged to favor the house. Wyatt couldn’t rely on luck, good or bad. Stuff happened and a smart man dealt with it. Wyatt believed in thorough planning and intelligent execution of those plans.

  He could credit bumping into Evelyn Cotton in this particular casino during his only return to Deadwood as the universe’s idea of a grand joke. The universe wasn’t all that funny.

  He walked away from the slots, away from the gaming rooms and found a plush seating area near the retail area. Sinking into a deep couch, he pulled out his phone and did another search on Cottonwood Adventures, the company Evie’s family had owned and operated for generations. What had he missed the first time through?

  That’s where she should’ve been, outside running free and wild through the Black Hills. Whenever he thought of her, it was out on the creek or guiding a group on a walk through the trees, the colorful autumn leaves ablaze overhead. Winters had been for cleaning and repairing gear, for sledding and snowball fights.

  What happened to drive her indoors to deal poker?

  Today, the website showed an update that Cottonwood was closed for the season. Wyatt swore. Just two weeks ago, prepping for this trip, the site had advertised winter nature hikes. Evie didn’t deal poker like a newbie and she hadn’t been the least bit interested in cards or anything else when they were kids.

  A text message reminder slid across his phone screen. Cordell was expecting the report of the casino and retail layout with initial observations on the staff. Within Cordell’s crew, Wyatt was supposedly the first man in at the Silver Aces. He didn’t actually believe the others weren’t here, not with such a big storm closing in, but he played along.

  “Fine,” he muttered.

  Maybe this thing with Evie didn’t have to be a big deal. He knew that whatever Cordell was up to, she wasn’t involved. So Wyatt had come face to face with the only person in this town whose opinion still mattered to him. He didn’t have time to let a chance meeting turn into something significant.

  His feet felt heavy as he made his next circuit around the casino floor, again taking a visual inventory of the rows of slots and layout of gaming tables. The Silver Aces had a pretty good vibe for a place built to suck in every dollar in the vicinity. He wasn’t a big fan of casinos, knew firsthand how gambling wrecked homes, shredded hope and laid waste to happiness—present and future.

  He dutifully sat down at a slot machine, his jaw clenched tight as he put in the token and hit the button. Lights flashed and the machine made noises as if the wheels spinning were mechanical rather than electrical.

  No jackpot. He repeated the process, hitting that big flashy button time and again. He added money and did his rudimentary part in a system designed to separate him from his cash. While he ignored the machine, his mind drifted back to Evie, the girl who’d been his best friend all through school.

  Then more than friends.

  Back then, Evie had shared his distaste and distrust for the casino industry. Sure it brought jobs and money into Deadwood, but no one would ever convince him that the potential for serious collateral damage to local families was worth it.

  His cell phone hummed in his pocket as the timer he’d set went off. He yanked his head out of the past. Being surprised could be deadly on this assignment and for the investigations business as a whole. The job ahead of him and the potential reward was too important to botch because he wasn’t focused.

  Adding more tokens to the slot machine, he made mental notes of the patterns between waitresses, security, and staff moving money.

  In the row behind him a slot machine went off with a big payout. Shouts of delighted shock and joy went up around the winner. Wyatt pretended to be as enthused and interested as the other patrons, though he stayed in his seat.

  Like mother like son, he supposed. In fourth grade he’d broken his wrist on the playground during recess and Evie’s mom had shown up at the hospital, kept him calm, and taken him home after the x-rays were complete and the cast was set. Evie’s dad, along with one of his friends on the Deadwood police force, had finally pried Rosemary Jameson away from her favorite slot machine.

  Working the plan Cordell outlined, Wyatt played until he was up a few hundred dollars and then left the slots. Passing the gaming rooms, he saw Evie was back at work. This time he stayed far away. From her, from the tables.

  He moseyed along, toward the retail area where everything a person could imagine was emblazoned with the Silver Aces logo. He wasn’t the souvenir type, hadn’t been many places that he wanted to remember fondly. Not Deadwood. Not Afghanistan. Definitely not the military installations where he’d been stationed through his ten-year career.

  He passed the jewelry store, Cordell’s planned target, noting the number and positions of the armed guards. Only one man was in uniform. Two others wore dark suits and stern expressions. If their goal was blending in, they’d failed. Knowing the men in suits were the bigger threat and more likely trained to notice curious people, Wyatt didn’t linger. He passed the display window and strolled on through the retail area that linked the casino with the hotel.

  The silence and solitude in the elevator were welcome. He really had to find a way to be comfortable around people and crowds again. An easier task if he had any trust left to give. Odds were good he had a more cynical outlook on people than the suits downstairs guarding the jewelry store display.

  In his room, he jotted a few notes while waiting to make his scheduled check-in call. He kicked off his shoes and rocked forward and back on his feet, stretching out the aching muscles and tendons. Although it was all compensatory pain and far less than he usually dealt with, it was still pain. If he let it get ahead of him, it impaired his quick-thinking and reaction time.

  On this job, he couldn’t risk either weakness.

  The room phone on the nightstand rang once. He stared at it. Had to be a wrong number since all communication with both the FBI and Cordell was limited to the two cell phones he carried.

  Maybe it was Evie a small voice in his head suggested. And maybe he was a complete fool.

  Still, her face filled his mind along with memories of her soft, summer kisses under dappled sunlight near the creek that ran behind her house. Did she think of him when she walked that way? Or had she replaced those memories with new ones?

  He was suddenly and inexplicably jealous of some faceless man kissing Evie’s petal-soft lips.

  At the sound of a cell phone, he pulled himself back to the task at hand and picked up the burner phone. “You’ve got Jameson,” he answered.

  “You know what to do,” t
he voice on the other end of the line said. One of Cordell’s assistants always answered these calls. If Cordell thought that would somehow distance him from any criminal charges, he was woefully misinformed.

  “Target is in place,” Wyatt reported. A portion of the diamonds the crew meant to steal were prominently on display in the window. Admirers were urged to come into the store and see the famed Mae West Solitaire, an incredible stone, valued in the neighborhood of one million dollars thanks to her reputation along with the diamond’s weight and setting. “You’ll have the full twenty-four hour cycle report for the floor by morning. So far one uniform and two plain clothes at all times.”

  “Candy from a baby,” Cordell’s voice drifted from the background.

  Wyatt bit back a scathing retort. Not his job to make them successful thieves. Well, not really. His primary job was to guide them out of the area. “Looks that way,” he managed, hoping it sounded convincing.

  After this job, he could pick and choose where to live. How to live. Thanks to the internet, he’d been able to start his investigations business with nothing more than his laptop and a cell phone.

  “What about the weather?” Cordell asked, his voice booming through the phone.

  Wyatt pulled the phone from his ear and scowled. Cordell had picked up the device on his end and he sounded concerned. “What about it?” The reports were being broadcast nationwide, updates broadcast hourly everywhere except the casino floor. If they were already in town as Wyatt assumed, they should have heard the latest local warnings.

  “You grew up around there,” Cordell snapped. “Do we have a problem?”

  Was the man actually unable to comprehend the dire snowfall warnings? “The better question is what can we change to cope with it,” Wyatt hedged. “Do you want to put this off for a few days?” The diamonds were scheduled to be here for another week.

  “No. A delay is not an option.”

  Wyatt had assumed from the start Cordell had a buyer lined up. A buyer who wouldn’t tolerate any excuse, not even a massive winter storm. The information might give Pickering a fresh angle to work.

  “Well, there is a risk that the main roadway will be closed,” he allowed, unsure what Cordell wanted to hear.

  Anyone who bothered to take a drive through the Black Hills would notice paved roadways weren’t prevalent. If the main highway was blocked Wyatt would have to find another way to the rendezvous point Cordell had specified a few miles north of Deadwood. With the storm bearing down on the area, that could get tricky.

  “If you want your cut, you’ll get us out.”

  “I’m aware,” Wyatt said. “There are alternate routes. I was just taking a look,” he lied. The next thing on his agenda tonight was locating the best way to send Cordell and his crew straight to jail. “If everyone is in place on time, I’ll get us all out as promised.”

  “We know what we’re doing.” Cordell made a noise that rang a little too close to a villainous chuckle and sent a ripple of dread across the back of Wyatt’s neck.

  The call ended. Finally.

  Wyatt scrubbed away the dread and dropped the phone on the hotel dresser. This was not his idea of a good time. If he’d ever thought working with the FBI might be entertaining, the pressing storm and Cordell’s laugh cured that misconception.

  He thought of Evie downstairs dealing poker and swore. He wondered what it would take to read the reports on the calls between her and Cordell. Dumb question. Pickering and her team might agree, but at what cost? He didn’t want to be drawn into another case. No, he’d cash his check and move on with his life.

  One of these days he would decide where to live that life. Not here. If he’d harbored any hope of coming home, Evie’s reaction had crushed that. Clearly, she wasn’t pleased to see him again. He doubted she’d hesitate to turn him in if she realized he was working with thieves.

  In forty-eight hours, when it came out that he was tied to the diamond theft, she’d hate him more than ever. Why did that twist him up? He’d wrecked everything all by himself when he’d run away.

  It shouldn’t matter. He couldn’t let her low opinion of him interfere with the work. Too much was riding on this entire operation. Turning on the television, he found the weather channel. He’d just flopped back on the bed to await the next update on Winter Storm Holly, when someone knocked at the door.

  Of course. This would be Pickering or one of the other agents, eager to go over every word and inflection of his chat with Cordell. The man must have really embarrassed them on some previous occasion to have them so intent on capture.

  He should probably do something fun during his stay in an upscale hotel on the government’s dime. According to the schedule, he’d have tomorrow to himself, then the robbery the day after. Too bad Cottonwood didn’t have tours available.

  Resigned, he flung the door open without checking who was on the other side. He barely caught back the terse greeting when he saw it was Evie standing there instead of agent Pickering.

  She jerked, her face going pale. “Sorry. This is a bad time,” she said. “Bad idea,” she mumbled, backing away into the hallway.

  “Evie,” he breathed. His heart seemed stuck in his chest. “I thought…” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I’m afraid to ask who you were expecting.”

  “Come, in. It’s fine.” It was a terrible time and a stupid idea after Pickering all but said Evie was involved with Cordell. “Do you want to come in?”

  “Um. No, thanks.” She didn’t move away from the door. “I just, um… I made a mistake.”

  “Come inside, Evelyn. Please.”

  “I really can’t. Not while I’m in uniform.” She wrapped the open panels of her coat tightly around her, as if hiding as much of that uniform as possible. Her chin came up, but compassion glowed in those soft gray eyes. “I just wanted to say… to tell you that this—me working here—wasn’t something I planned on. It became a necessity.”

  His heart settled back into place and the normal rhythm he generally ignored. “Evie, I’d never judge you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We both know that’s exactly what you did the moment you saw me downstairs.”

  He leaned against the door jamb. “Then it was mutual. You were appalled to see me playing poker.”

  “I might have been annoyed you won the first hand,” she confessed.

  His amusement, that sweet familiarity of talking with his best friend evaporated when Agent Pickering strolled down the hallway. She tossed him a warning look from behind Evie. Damn it. He was in for a ton of questions about his motives and intentions if he couldn’t provide the answers she was after about Cordell and Evie.

  “Why?”

  She tugged the zipper on her coat up and down a few inches. “Probably because I’m petty,” she confessed.

  “No.” He fought a smile. “Why did working here become necessity?”

  “Oh.” Her straight white teeth pinched her lower lip. “Long story short, we need the money. For the business and taxes and stuff.”

  “What about all your expansion plans? Just a couple weeks ago you had sledding tours listed.”

  “You looked me up?”

  He smiled now. “I couldn’t come back to Deadwood and not look you up. I wanted to see you.” Although seeing her had been the exact opposite of his actual intent on this trip, he would always want to see Evie.

  “It was BYOS.”

  “Bring Your Own Sled?” She nodded. “So?”

  She sighed and did the thing with the zipper again. “That’s my problem, Wyatt. I just wanted to tell you about this.” She leaned close and lowered her voice. “It’s only winters. If I had another option, I wouldn’t be here. But I don’t want to lose the business.”

  “That bad?”

  Her gaze dropped to the patterned carpet between them and she shrugged. “It’s only winters,” she repeated.

  Before he could overthink it, he caught her hand and p
laced it on the open door. “Hold this.” Swiveling around and darting into the room, he grabbed his coat. “Your shift is over?”

  She nodded.

  “The snow’s been getting heavier,” he reminded her. “Are the roads clear enough to get home?”

  Another bob of her chin.

  “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  “For old time’s sake?” She cocked her head, skeptical.

  The doubt in her gaze hollowed him out and regrets flooded into the void. When they’d been together, she’d trusted him completely. And he’d thrown away that precious gift with a shameful carelessness. And now she was here trying to explain her actions, decisions he guessed she’d been forced to make. He didn’t deserve her. And she didn’t deserve to be used by him, Cordell, the FBI or anyone else.

  “Something like that.” He didn’t touch her as they walked to the elevator. It felt wrong, as if a joint was out of place. Present, but not functioning properly. In the past they held hands at every opportunity. “Are you even sure you can make it home tonight?”

  “And back again in the morning,” she quipped. “Tomorrow night could be a different story.”

  They stepped into the car when it arrived, suspending conversation with other guests around.

  “I appreciate your concern,” she said as they walked toward the retail section of the resort.

  “But I lost the right to have an opinion about your life and choices,” he finished for her. “A situation I regret,” he added. “Since we seem to be sharing.” The lighting had been dialed down, but all of the stores they passed were open. “Does anything in this place ever close?”

  “Of course.” She pointed to a subtle sign near the door of the next store. “The hours are posted, though it strikes me as hypocritical since there isn’t a single clock anywhere in the guest areas.”

  “I guess everyone has a phone or smart watch.” And he just realized he’d left both of his devices upstairs in the room.