Call My Bluff: A Las Vegas Themed Anthology

by Elizabeth Knox

  Devin didn’t once look at Grell, only focused on Jo. “She’s my—”

  Gabiano’s ringing phone interrupted Devin’s explanation. “Yeah, Clem,” he answered, glancing between Grell and Devin.

  Jo snatched the phone away from Gabiano. “Don’t bother coming down, Clemente,” she huffed. “We are having a slight misunderstanding. Nothing I can’t handle. I wouldn’t be worthy of the Pancrizio name if I needed you to take care of this.” Clicking the phone off, she threw the phone at Gabiano, who deftly caught it.

  Hands on hips, Jo paced, then indicated Grell with a sweep of her hand. “Is this what you like?” She considered Grell from her head to her feet. “She looks nothing like me! And she’s old.”

  Devin walked to the redhead and grabbed her hands. “Jo, calm down. She’s just my cousin.”

  Trying to keep her dignity and temper in check Grell dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. In the short span of time she’d been here, she’d endured too many insults to list. But seeing this woman’s claim on Devin, going from his wife to his cousin without a blink of an eye, was too much.

  To be fair, honesty in his line of work was iffy at best. He’d once told her, when the criminals ran hot-tempered and out-of-control, he became mild and meek.

  Devin once told her that an instructor always advised it was best to always be yourself, even while undercover, since plainclothes officers weren’t actors playing a role. Deviating too far from his true self would only lead to complications.

  Grell had never agreed with that sentiment. What else was undercover work but acting and convincing bad guys to buy disreputable identities? If she believed otherwise, especially now, then she’d easily imagine he was cheating on her. There had to be some other explanation. It didn’t matter how important Devin’s job was to him, he wouldn’t betray their marriage vows. Would he?

  Jo faced Grell. “You’re his cousin?” she asked with suspicion.

  Grell nodded without hesitation. She was burning with anger and humiliation. Not that it mattered. At the moment, her acting had to be as good as his or better.

  Gabiano strolled to where she stood with Jo and the other woman who stood at Jo’s side, taking in the entire scene. “Where’d you say Fitz was born?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t.” Grell glared at him. “That normally doesn’t come up in conversations with strangers. I’ve never talked to you a day in my life, so why would I tell you where he was born?”

  “This is ridiculous,” Devin snapped.

  “Is it?” Jo said with feigned nonchalance. “Gabiano asked a legitimate question. As a matter of fact, I seemed to have forgotten, too.”

  “You know damned well I was born—”

  “We’re not asking you, Bradshaw,” Gabiano interrupted with a growl. “We’re asking your cousin.” He pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at Devin’s head, then smiled at Grell. “If you haven’t told me the correct place by the time I reach three, he’s dead. Three.”

  “Okay!” Grell screeched, praying she got this right and fearing for his safety. She might want to kill him, but she didn’t want him dead. His number one rule was stick as close to the truth as possible. “We’re not really cousins. He was in the foster system here in Vegas and was never sure where he’d been born. He’d been abandoned as a baby.”

  A beat. Two. Three.

  Disappointment crossed Gabiano’s face and he lowered the weapon. Grell expelled a sharp breath, wanting to grab Devin’s hand and run away from this place. Instead, she stood her ground.

  “Usually, Fitz introduces me as his sister,” she explained in a rush. “But we look nothing alike.”

  She stopped, cringing at how ridiculous that statement was. However, saying she was his cousin was less creepy than calling herself his sister. She’d never seen him as a brother.

  A gleam in her eye, Jo nodded to Gabiano. Chuckling, he pulled Grell to him and covered her mouth with his. Jerking away so fast, she stumbled back and wiped her mouth off with more drama than necessary. She wondered what Devin thought. Not that it mattered. If Gabiano tried to kiss her again, she’d rip his lips off.

  Jo turned to Devin and placed an arm around his neck. With her other hand, she combed her fingers through his thick, messy locks, the gesture one that Grell enjoyed doing. Devin had the most beautiful black hair. It was bedroom sexy, silky with the unkempt look of a man who’d just left a woman’s bed.

  “Kiss me now, Fitz,” Jo demanded.

  Devin laughed, his sole focus on Jo. He didn’t hesitate to crash his lips against hers. Nor did he once look in Grell’s direction. A moment later, he ended the kiss, and brushed Jo’s mouth with his thumb, staying in her arms.

  Bitter betrayal cut through Grell. Jo leaned in for another kiss, but this time, Devin shook his head and gently pushed her away. For Grell, it wasn’t enough. He shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. This exchange wasn’t for any undercover work. Emotions were real and deep, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

  Stealing another quick kiss, Jo turned to Grell and smirked, her self-satisfied expression that of a woman who’d just trumped her rival.

  Sharp pain went through Grell at Devin’s blatant disregard of her. So what if he claimed the invitation she thought he’d sent was fake? His display wasn’t. She definitely couldn’t let it slide.

  Jo sashayed closer to Grell. “Stay away from Fitz,” she ordered in a hard voice. “He’s mine. I don’t know how you got in here. Maybe, it was Fitz. Maybe, it wasn’t. I’ll let that slide, though.” She gave Grell a look of expectation.

  Stick as close to the truth as possible. Grell swallowed. “I heard, through mutual friends, that he was in town and decided to see him.”

  Jo glared at her, a deep scowl marring her pretty face. “He’s been in town for months.”

  “I just got back from Berlin. I travel a lot. I can show you photos if you like.”

  Devin flinched at the reminder of their honeymoon destination. Fortunately, her hairstyle hadn’t changed. She’d been too busy being a wife and mother.

  Jo turned to Grell, her exasperation toward her still remaining. “How did you even get up here?”

  “I just talked to the bouncer for a little bit.”

  She left off the bit about how the guy stared at her cleavage during their conversation.

  “I meant where did you get the invitation?” Jo screeched.

  Grell shrugged. “It was mailed to me.”

  Everyone gave her considering looks, leaving her to feel like a bug under the microscope.

  Grell couldn’t take anymore. Her roiling emotions drained her. Fear for Devin’s safety passed all bounds. He was known around here as Fitz, which meant he did have a job to do. One that was dangerous and put his life on the line every day. She should understand that. She did understand that.

  Yet, she’d never come face-to-face with this side of him. A gun had never been placed to his head in her presence. She’d never seen him interact with another woman as if he were a single man.

  She gave Devin a tight smile, needing air. Space. “Well, Fitz, we can catch up later. Happy New Year.”

  Devin glanced at the clock on the wall across the room.

  Jo squealed. “It’ll be a new decade in fifteen minutes! Clemente will let us up now so we can go out on the balcony. Come on, Fitz. Let’s hurry.”

  “Let me walk my cousin outside.”

  “Been wondering about that,” Gabiano said as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I never met anyone without a name, especially a broad. Yet, neither you nor her has given it to us yet.”

  “I have one better,” Jo said, her eyes bright. “Let’s see her driver’s license.”

  “I Ubered here and forgot my ID,” Grell said coolly, offering Devin her brightest smile. “Take care.”

  He walked around their little group and came to Grell, kissing her cheek, lingering longer than necessary. She breathed in the familiar smell of him. “It�
��s not what you think,” he whispered. “Please, believe me.”

  He straightened and stepped back, his face a blank slate again.

  Confused and still so hurt and angry, Grell didn’t respond. The last hour hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. Infiltrating criminal organizations had cost many an agent their lives. But did undercover work include extramarital affairs?

  She didn’t think so. Not in her world, anyway. Cheating was a hard no. And wasn’t there a code of conduct that must be followed at all time so as not to jeopardize investigations? “Have a good evening,” she said to no one in particular, facing some very tough decisions.

  “You too, Iloria,” Devin responded.

  Iloria. Her mother’s name, and the name of the daughter they’d lost. She didn’t know why he’d chosen to give up a name now, and Grell didn’t care. She just wanted to go.

  “Hey!”

  Reaching the ground of the deserted, private alleyway, Grell ignored the call, her goal to reach the small door that had led outside. She realized now she’d been directed to a secret entryway.

  Her head spun with all that had happened in the last hour. Yet, instinct screamed danger.

  “You!”

  She placed her hand on the doorknob. As she turned it, she was grabbed by her wrist and jerked around. The heavy, sound-proof door opened a sliver, allowing the sounds of music and chatter to escape on the night air. Light slivered through the crack.

  Gabiano stood inches from her, glaring, his bulldog face wearing a ferocious scowl. He dragged her away from the door and pinned her against the wall, still gripping her wrist.

  “Let go of me!” Grell demanded, refusing to struggle.

  Laughing, he twisted a little more and using his other arm leaned against her chest. She breathed in deep, afraid he’d snap her bone. Not that it mattered, when her life was at stake.

  “Not until I get the fucking truth from you.”

  “You heard it all,” she insisted. “Upstairs. I have nothing more to add.”

  “I don’t fucking believe you. Who the fuck sent you? Are you a narc?”

  Grell almost laughed at the irony of that statement. No, fuckhead. The narc is in your midst, cheating on me. She wished she could sneer that.

  “I’m not undercover,” she said with a calm she didn’t really feel. “I received an invitation to visit Fitz.” Shocking how easy Devin’s made-up name slid off her tongue. “I don’t know where it came from. Now, let me go before this turns ugly.”

  He lifted a brow at her, then howled with laughter. “I could squeeze the fucking life out of you with just my forearm.”

  “I have nothing more to say to you,” she responded, not commenting on his words. “Let me—”

  “Why are you wearing the shoes?”

  Grell blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “The fucking red stilettos! Who’s using them to send a message to Clemente?”

  A message in her shoes? “Are you insane? These are a basic pair of shoes. Not worth more than a hundred bucks. These were—” A present. For some reason, she hesitated to admit that. She hadn’t gotten around to thanking Devin for sending her the shoes, but they’d arrived a day after the invitation.

  “Ten!” a roar blasted through the door.

  Grell’s heart rate accelerated. What better time to act than under the noise of fireworks?

  “Five!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Three!”

  She licked her lips. Lowered her lashes. Maneuvered her free hand up and rested against his chest.

  “One! Happy New Year!”

  Cheers and shouts competed with the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Auld Lang Syne. As fireworks exploded above them, lighting up the sky, the crackle and pop drowned out the noise pouring through the ajarred door.

  This had gone on long enough. Talking wasn’t necessary. Gabiano with his bull-doggy face and piggly-wiggly eyes was using words as an intimidation method to exert control over her.

  Well, fuck him.

  She shoved with all her might, earning her freedom long enough to knee his cock, then position her arm as if she would recite the Pledge of Allegiance before slamming her elbow against his nose. He screamed as blood spurted from his nose and hit her face in a warm, nauseating spray.

  “Bitch!”

  She grabbed the edge of the door to open it wider.

  He reached for her. Thankful for the short hem in the front of her dress, Grell delivered a back kick. Her red stiletto flew off, but she didn’t care. She hurried into the room, where New Year’s celebrations were in full swing, and weaved her way through the throng of people. Adrenaline raced through her.

  She paused to remove the other stiletto, then started forward again.

  If anyone touched her, she’d defend herself first, ask questions later. In Krav Maga, it was important to use an opponent’s weak points, speed and technique over strength, and minimal fighting. Once the threat was contained, force was no longer necessary. Most importantly, it was imperative to stay on your feet. Ground combat increased chances of injury and created a disadvantage.

  Here, however, she wasn’t sure who was a threat and who wasn’t, so she kept moving, barreling through groups and, a time or two, into partygoers. She didn’t stop. She understood damn near running through a crowd created more attention.

  Danger hung in the air. If she didn’t get out of there fast and lose herself in a public crowd— not private attendees— she’d be in so much trouble. She had no idea where Devin might be, nor did she know if he’d come to her rescue if he did see her dragged away.

  Finally, she made it to the door and stumbled outside.

  Chapter Five

  Devin

  “Scotch. Neat.”

  The bartender was familiar to Devin, but he couldn’t remember the man’s name. Gabiano had disappeared soon after Grell departed. Camille had dragged Jo away, while Devin’s only thought had been to go after Grell. Make sure she was safe. Explain to her that Jo had lied her fucking ass off about her sexual relationship with Devin. He wanted to reassure Grell that the kiss he’d participated in with Jo had been one of necessity.

  He hadn’t even enjoyed it because he’d been too concerned about Grell’s feelings.

  Clemente had ended Devin’s intentions by demanding Dev watch the fireworks display with him. By the time Devin had been able to break away, over an hour had gone by. More than a little shocked, he was able to walk away without a scratch on him, Devin decided to come downstairs and have a drink.

  Rushing away, especially without saying goodbye to Jo, wouldn’t be in his best interest.

  By now, the party had thinned out a lot. Grell had been gone for two hours, and the only thing Devin wanted to do was leave this place and get to her. He wanted to make sure she followed his directions and got herself and their daughters to safety.

  He was so fucking proud of her. She could’ve easily blown his cover, but one of the reasons he admired her so much was because she was so quick on her feet.

  “Here, Fitz.”

  “Thanks,” Devin responded, accepting his drink and sitting on a barstool, trying to appear calm. Inside, his emotions were fucked. If his cover had been blown, how had he been allowed to get into the building?

  One of Clemente’s henchmen— or the man himself— would’ve met Devin outside and taken him somewhere to get rid of him. A narc was dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.

  Ten months of his life had gone into this case. One hiccup would undo all the work he’d done and get him murdered to boot. He couldn’t protect Grell and the girls if he had a bullet put in his brain.

  At a slap on the back and a friendly, “Fitz,” Devin turned.

  Jo’s brother smiled. Clemente was several inches taller than Devin but was leaner than him. He was almost identical to Josephine, but he had jet black hair instead of bright copper, and the brown in his eyes outshone the green instead of vice versa.

  “Clem,” Devin greeted,
forcing a smile and upbeat tone. “How are you?”

  If Josephine was the best part of his current job, Clemente was the worst. He was obnoxious and behaved like a stereotypical mobster— he even sounded like one. He had the patience and temperament of a chihuahua, and unlike the tiny dog, when he got angry, he did damage. It didn’t take much to get him violent, and he seemed to relish in it. It was by the grace of God that Devin hadn’t gotten on Clemente’s bad side; else he might be buried in some secluded part of Nevada’s desert. If Devin had been born a mobster, he would be offended that Clemente seemingly worked to prove every stereotype right. And unfortunately, Clemente was a high-ranking member, and the brother of the woman he was ‘dating,’ so he was unavoidable and important to Devin’s job.

  “I’m good. I’m good,” Clem answered, pressing his lips together and placing his hands in his pockets.

  Devin’s heart dropped. In every fight he’d witnessed Jo’s brother get in, that was a giveaway that disaster was imminent for Clem’s victim.

  He nodded, ignoring his fear. “Great.” He wasn’t even strapped. Why would a malware coder have need for a weapon? “Is Angie here tonight?” he asked, referring to the youngest Pancrizio sibling.

  “No, she couldn’t make it.” Clemente stared at him. “I have a question, Fitz.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you gay?”

  “What?” Devin asked around a strangled gasp. He prided himself on never breaking out in a sweat. That was one thing that made him so fucking good at his job. But Clemente’s question, like the entire fucking evening, shocked him. It came out of the blue.

  Of all the things he’d expected to hear, Clemente questioning his sexuality wasn’t one of them.

  “Did I stutter? Are. You. Gay? If you are, I have no issue with that,” Clemente added quickly, while Devin continued to blink like an owl glimpsed in the moonlight. “What the fuck I do have an issue with is you stringing my sister along. You two have been dating for what— eight, nine months?— but you haven’t even tried to fuck her?”

  “I refuse to discuss what I do with my cock in regard to your sister, Clemente,” Devin snapped.