Black Ice

by Black, Regan

  It was nearly noon when members of the stranded group started meandering into their private casino floor. In general, they seemed distracted by the gloomy weather reports and the blanket of white outside every hotel room window. Evie mingled. There was no reason to take her station as dealer yet. She made suggestions and asked questions, polling the guests on everything from how the Silver Aces could make the impromptu stay better to their favorite winter activities.

  They wouldn’t have thought of it yet, but once Holly was done and gone, it would take time for roads to clear and airports to reopen. How much time was solely dependent on the amount of snow Holly unleashed. On another quick errand behind the scenes, Evie caught a glimpse of the near white-out conditions through a window. It was easier to understand Jack’s earlier concern. She made a mental note to brainstorm ideas that would keep people busy and engaged once the sun came out again.

  “Evie? What are you doing here?”

  She cringed at the sound of Wyatt’s voice, but she did stop to speak to him politely. “I could ask you the same thing.” Her pulse kicked at the sight of him. Why couldn’t she enjoy this same flutter when she looked at Jack? Or any other man?

  “Don’t do that,” he said. “You promised me you’d be at home today.”

  She guided him to the nearest alcove and tried to give him a genuine smile. It faltered. “I work here, Wyatt. This is where I’m needed, especially with a storm that’s closing roads. Why didn’t you get out last night?”

  “I told you I’m here on business.” He frowned, his gaze roaming the space again.

  “Same for me.” She gave a small shrug, thinking about her investor. “Besides I’m local,” she quipped, her happiness still fizzing through her. She was a local and thanks to Tate she’d remain a local business owner. “And I’m on the schedule.”

  “I suggested leaving yesterday morning and was shot down.” His frown didn’t ease much. “This morning I told my boss it was too late to get out,” he said. “I’ll catch a flight after the storm.”

  “You had time to change hotels.” He couldn’t possibly want to spend more time in a casino than necessary.

  “Maybe I was hoping to run into you again. I’d like more time with you.”

  His voice tempted her to believe, to entertain the possibility of something more between them than awkward, lingering feelings. Suddenly, she was swept back to their last summer as Cottonwood guides and the sweet summer-infused kisses they shared down by the creek. Nothing awkward about those kisses. He’d smelled of sunshine, his hair lightened and his skin bronzed from hours in the sun. Her gaze dropped to his lips and she caught herself before she foolishly leaned in for a fresh taste of him.

  “Are you implying you knew I’d come back to the casino?” she asked, folding her arms to hold herself back.

  His expression eased, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. Her stomach twirled in response, as if she was going over that first, thrilling plunge on a roller coaster. Why couldn’t she resist him?

  “Goes to show I still know my best friend. Can I take you to lunch?” he offered.

  “No, thank you.” She had to hang on to her resolve. He was talking about friendship and her heart and hormones were screaming for something else entirely. Wyatt was her past. Her future was the casino and Cottonwood thanks to Tate. “We’re on a skeleton staff and I need to get back.”

  She continued back to the ballroom and he followed her inside. “This is…wait. What is this?” he asked.

  “A special event. Private for this particular group,” she replied. “They’re stranded until the storm passes.” She saw the queue for waiting poker players and, smiling, walked to the open table where she would be running an introductory game of Texas Hold ’em. “You really can’t be here.”

  Again, he trailed after her. “You thought of this,” he said as the players took their seats.

  She shot him a warning look as a few guests took chairs around the table. “The Silver Aces was happy to find a way to make the weather less of an inconvenience for our guests.”

  “We’re glad you did,” one woman said. Her hair was gray and she had laugh lines at her eyes and a speculative smile as her gaze moved between Evie and Wyatt. “Will you join us, handsome?”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Jameson is on his way out.”

  “Evie, I just want five more minutes.” His phone rang and he glared at the screen before declining the call.

  “That’s Miss Cotton,” she corrected him with no heat at all. What a difference a little bit of hope could make. She wasn’t as scared of what she might do or say. Of the fallout if she did something impulsive. The email from Tate had infused her with confidence and a subtle affirmation that things were moving in the right direction. Finally. “He’s an old friend,” she explained to the players gathered around the table.

  “When is your break?” Wyatt pressed.

  “You need to stop.” She removed the deck from the automatic shuffler. “I have plans over my break.”

  The older woman with the laugh lines eyed Wyatt again and bobbed her eyebrows. “In your shoes, honey, I’d adjust the schedule.”

  Evie chuckled. “He’s always been persistent.” She was too relieved to be overly irritated by Wyatt. “Now, let’s talk about the game.”

  Wyatt pulled up a chair and she chose to ignore him. If he kept quiet, no one would notice him and she could escort him out during her break. She gave a preliminary overview to the group and they followed along, asking intelligent questions as they worked through the opening bets and rounds of the game.

  She’d almost forgotten he was there until the lesson was over and the other players wandered off to other activities. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He frowned at his phone again before shoving it into his pocket. “Will you be here all night?” he asked. “In here, I mean.”

  “Yes.” She told herself his obsession with her schedule didn’t matter. It wasn’t romantic or flattering, just an old friend keeping tabs. Probably out of boredom as much as nostalgia. “And you need to not be in here.”

  “Fine.” His brow furrowed and he reached out, his fingers a whisper along her jaw. “I just wish you were home in front of a big fire with a mug of hot chocolate.”

  “Me too.” It’s how they’d waited out more than one storm as kids. Something was troubling him, but it was too soon to resume her role as the person who gave him a place to vent and talk out his worries. “If you’re still in town after the storm passes, you should come to the house for dinner. Dad would love to see you.”

  He perked up. “I’ll hold you to that, Evie.”

  She expected no less. As he walked off, she realized she wasn’t nearly as afraid of that dinner anymore. All of the hostility and insecurity she’d felt yesterday had faded and she wanted to stay on this happier ground.

  Oh, what a difference an investor made.

  Chapter Five

  Wyatt barely got around the corner before his temper kicked into high gear. He’d received text messages from Agent Pickering and Cordell, along with alerts from the National Weather Service.

  At least the NWS didn’t expect anything from him.

  He reviewed the last three messages from Pickering, all of them relating to Evie’s ties to Cordell. The agent needed to back off, but it clearly wasn’t going to happen. Keeping in mind the reward the FBI promised him, he returned to his room.

  Pickering was waiting. “I don’t even want to address how you got in here,” he grumbled.

  “Good. Address this instead.” She opened a laptop and turned the screen to face him. “Cordell just promised your old pal ten thousand dollars. Hours after a casino guard is found dead.”

  “Coincidence.”

  Pickering swore. “The sheriff and detectives dismissed her as a suspect,” she said. “They’ll change their minds when we give them this. It’s an obvious payoff.”

  “I hate Deadwood,” Wyatt muttered, stalking to the window. He never should’ve come any
where close to home. It was a black hole that sucked at his soul. The only bright spot had been Evie and now, thanks to him, somehow Cordell and the FBI had fixed on her. “If anyone had saved her business, she wouldn’t have come in today.”

  “She had to be here to kill the guard and earn that business-saving payout.” Pickering sneered. “If you can’t see that, you might want to rethink your plans as an investigator.”

  “Same to you,” he snapped. “Evie is not the killer. Whatever Cordell is up to, it’s about the robbery. The only business he’s interested in is his own.”

  Wyatt was running out of time to figure out what Cordell would gain by dragging Evie into this online, or in person. He showed Pickering the texts from Cordell on the burner phone stating the robbery would go down at seven p.m. tonight.

  “You have to keep him in the building,” she said.

  “The plan is to drive away, to the rendezvous. That’s why you gave me the GPS tracker.”

  “Have you looked outside? The conditions will be impassable by then. It’s perfect. You can keep him in the building.”

  “How?”

  “Use your friend,” Pickering suggested. “She knows where to hide, how to navigate around cameras.”

  “That’s a tragedy waiting to happen.” There was no telling what Cordell might do, who he might hurt if he felt cornered.

  “The guard’s death makes sense now,” Pickering said. She was practically glowing with excitement. “One less person on staff. He’ll use that gap.”

  “A gap interrupted by a casino crawling with a sheriff and detectives. If Cordell did set up that guard, he’s a fool.”

  “But he thinks it’s only local law enforcement. He’s overconfident. Wyatt, I’ve studied him and I can tell you he studied the area and the resources. He brought you on because of your experience.”

  “You set that up. Made me look like the right man for his crew.” He regretted reaching out to ask that favor of his pal from the Army. They probably should’ve tapped someone like Evie, someone far more familiar with the area than he was after eleven years away. He wasn’t about to say so.

  “Use your friend,” Pickering repeated. “We can end this tonight.”

  Wyatt shook his head. “She’s busy working a private event. I can’t pester her.”

  Pickering scowled. “If you don’t use her, Cordell will. Get ready for that. Better if you can turn her before this goes down.”

  The warning just hit him all wrong. “Enough. I’m doing what you asked.” He stalked out of his hotel room and down the hall. He’d hold up his end with the FBI, but it was less about the reward and more about making sure Evie didn’t get caught in the snare intended for Cordell.

  Furious, with himself and the situation he’d lost control of, he stalked all the way to the casino’s front door. The depth of the snow stopped him even before the uniformed guard could remind him he’d want a coat before stepping outside.

  “Valet service is closed, sir.”

  “Looks like a good idea,” Wyatt said. “The doors are operational, right?”

  “Of course.” The guard puffed out his chest. “Fire code demands it.”

  “Has to be three feet deep already,” Wyatt murmured.

  “Yes, sir. And counting. Next update is noon, but I don’t expect to hear that Holly has turned away.”

  Wyatt had to agree. “Can I step out on the portico if I promise not to wander away?”

  “I can’t actually force you to stay inside, sir. Please use the side door rather than the slider.” He gestured to the single door at the far side of the automatic doors.

  “Sure” Wyatt agreed. “No need to turn both of us into popsicles.”

  “Much appreciated.”

  Outside Wyatt took a deep breath, regretting it instantly. The frigid air was like inhaling icicles. Despite that, the stillness, the utter quiet, was refreshing. No sounds of traffic or exuberant people coming and going. A man could feel alone out here.

  And a thief carrying millions of dollars worth of diamonds could get lost and freeze to death in a hurry. He waited for any sound of plows or salt trucks working the highway. Now the silence worried him. He knew they wouldn’t run constantly, but he expected them to run. Maybe the guard inside would know the schedule.

  Standing here, his feet and hands chilled through, Wyatt understood why the FBI refused to grant their agents permission to travel in these conditions. If he had any hope of getting Cordell, his men and the loot into Pickering’s custody, he had to be the driver. Baker didn’t have enough experience with these roads, he wouldn’t know how to navigate the unseen dangers in these conditions.

  Wyatt walked to the edge of the portico that some poor employee was trying to keep clear and swiped his hand through a drift to get a feel for the snow’s texture. Heavy and wet. Snow like this would weigh down tree limbs and power lines, add in ice when the peak winds set in and they were in for one helluva risky drive out of Deadwood.

  “The odds are not in our favor,” he whispered into the falling snow.

  He had to convince Cordell to wait. Moving today was suicide. Wyatt hadn’t survived his mother’s antics, his father’s denial, or an improvised explosive in Afghanistan just to throw his life away here. Not for the sake of justice or his fledgling business. And Evie had just opened the door for them to reconnect. If he died out here, the FBI wouldn’t bother to clear his name. No amount of reward money was worth the risk that Evie would believe he was on the wrong side of the law with Cordell’s crew.

  He walked back toward the door, halting when the Cordell phone buzzed. The two words on the screen left him shell-shocked. One hour.

  One hour? No way. The countdown had been adjusted once already. He scrambled to reply and thanks to his chilled hands, he bobbled the phone. Fortunately, the snow caught it before any real damage could be done.

  He shoved it inside a pocket, his heart racing. This was a huge mistake.

  “You okay, sir?”

  “It’s brisk,” he said, trying to pin his reaction on the weather. “Take care, man.” He hurried deeper into the casino, taking momentary refuge at a slot machine. What the hell was Cordell thinking? Juggling the plan like this was dangerous.

  Granted, Wyatt wasn’t an expert in the field of jewel theft. Pretty much the opposite. He’d been working his way through the ranks in as an Army MP when the injury ended his career. The FBI had given him plenty of background on Tate Cordell, touting him as one of the best when it came to parting stores from their priceless gems. So far, the man wasn’t living up to Wyatt’s idea of an elusive criminal mastermind.

  Several replies dashed through Wyatt’s mind, none of which he entered into the phone. Tate didn’t want advice or opinions. He expected full cooperation from everyone, including Wyatt who was only here to guide them north to the rendezvous point in a ghost town where another driver would be waiting to help them escape.

  Except Wyatt’s job was to make sure the FBI was in place well ahead of the rendezvous time so they could gather up Tate, Baker, and Karl along with the driver waiting in the ghost town. And the FBI was definitely not going out in the teeth of the storm. Still, he sent the required text update to Pickering.

  The rendezvous point, less than ten miles away, was an intermediate level cross-country hike in good weather. The drive could take over an hour on the twisting two-lane road on a clear day. In these treacherous conditions there was no way to give an accurate estimate on drive time. If the road was even passable.

  They’d find out for sure soon enough. He should probably be happy this entire mess would be over sooner rather than later. Wyatt couldn’t muster enough relief to smother the trepidation.

  With precisely forty-five minutes to the robbery, he moved into position, following the plan Cordell had assigned him. He entered the casual dining restaurant, grateful it was still open, and sat down at a table closest to the gaming floor. He ordered a cup of coffee and waited.

  Baker and Karl would be cl
ose, though Wyatt hadn’t spotted them yet.

  His coffee arrived and he thanked the waitress. The only bright spot was that Evie was out of sight, working in that ballroom and nowhere near the retail area. She wouldn’t see him commit a crime. He couldn’t help wondering if she’d believe it when the casino security linked him to the robbery. She’d have to when they showed her the camera feed. Despite Cordell’s plans, it would be impossible to avoid every camera.

  He could already imagine Sheriff Russell interrogating her about Wyatt and their recent conversations in and around the casino. If he wasn’t already double-crossing Cordell, knowing Evie would suffer would be enough to turn him against the thief.

  She would hate him for the rest of her life. What he was about to do would not only make the FBI take a harder look at her finances and her recent ties to Cordell, it would likely cost her the job here at the Silver Aces. He pinched the bridge of his nose. She’d take some heat from the community too, not unlike some of the griping aimed at her because she spent so much time with him, the only son of the woman who owed money to everyone in town.

  Somehow, if he got Cordell’s crew into FBI custody, Wyatt would find a way to make it up to her.

  Playing his assigned role, he sipped his coffee and kept his gaze on his phone. Bringing up the weather app, he nearly swore out loud. The radar showed the entire area covered by thick bands of snow and icy precipitation. Cordell must be trying to get the diamonds out ahead of the road closures. If he’d bothered to ask before throwing all of this into motion, Wyatt could’ve explained why that wouldn’t work.

  He used the app to zoom out, looking for a better way from Deadwood to the rendezvous. Heading south first might be the best hope of making it within a day. The only good news was that the law enforcement, sure to follow them, would have an equal challenge. His stomach knotted. Law enforcement who gave chase would also run the risk of driving right off the road.