High Stakes

by Pierce, Nicolette

  “Tell her to buy her own groceries.”

  “You tell her to buy her own groceries. Right now she’s eying Gus as breakfast. I don’t want to become lunch.”

  “You’re being dramatic.”

  “Frankie, you better help me out or she’s coming to live with you today.”

  “Don’t get your cotton granny panties in a bind. I’ll drive you there. But you have to do the shopping.”

  “Deal.”

  He swiped his keys from the side table and locked the door behind us.

  “Don’t you want to change?”

  “No, I’m going back to bed after this.”

  “It’s already noon.”

  “Girl, you need to remember you’re in Vegas, not Idaho or wherever the hell you’re from. Noon is like six in the morning Vegas time.”

  I hauled grocery bags to my apartment. It was only the first trip, and there were several more to go. I opened the door to the apartment and stumbled in from the weight.

  “Nadia!”

  I heard my name, but it was in more of a high-pitched squeal than a loud yell. I directed my attention to the location of the squeal.

  “Let him go,” I groaned.

  Muffin released Sergio from an optimal noogie hold. He rubbed his throat and scurried to me for cover.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I caught this little pipsqueak spying,” Muffin said.

  “I wasn’t spying! I was coming to visit my poker goddess. I didn’t want to wake her so I peeked in the window.”

  “I’m three floors up. That’s creepy,” I said.

  “You have a ladder around back, which made it easy. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Disturb me next time . . . please.”

  I heard a knock on the door. It was still open from when I came in with the groceries. My heart tap-danced a few beats while I took in the handsome form standing in the door frame.

  “Am I interrupting?” Greyson asked.

  “Nothing important,” I said with a cool, even tone, covering the fact I wanted to pounce on him and give him a million kisses.

  “Hey, my breakfast is important,” Muffin said.

  “Go ahead and make yourself breakfast. I have to haul up the rest of the groceries.”

  “Do you need help?” Greyson asked.

  “I have two more trips’ worth of groceries in Frankie’s car. Why are you here?”

  “Are you unhappy to see me?” Greyson feigned a wounded expression. I couldn’t help but smile.

  “No, just curious since you said you were going to be busy.”

  “I’ve been very busy, and I’m not even close to finishing. Didn’t you get your phone? I tried calling. I have to talk to you about something . . . but alone.”

  “Is that code for boom-chickawawa?” Muffin asked. “ ‘Cause you’re not doing the nasty here!”

  “It’s not code for sex!” I barked at Muffin. “Is it?” I turned to Greyson.

  Greyson raised his eyebrow. “No.”

  Bummer.

  “I didn’t receive a phone, and I’m not alone right now.” But I wanted to be . . . desperately.

  “I can see that. Why don’t I give you a hand and then we can talk.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “I don’t care who is helping who. I want my damn breakfast.”

  I glared at Muffin, who was surly enough to roast me for breakfast.

  Sergio raced to the door. “I shall return to you, my goddess!” he called as he made his escape.

  “Who was that?” Greyson asked.

  “I seemed to have picked up a stray in Panama.”

  “You have a knack for attracting interesting people.”

  “Yes, I do,” I said as I watched Muffin forage through the grocery bags, sniffing questionable items.

  Greyson called Remy to bring up the remaining bags from Frankie’s car. He then dug out a pan and pried the eggs out of Muffin’s hands. By the time Greyson was beating the eggs, Remy was upstairs with the remaining grocery bags. What would have taken me two or three trips up and down the stairs only took him one.

  “Where do you want these?” he asked.

  “Can you set them on the counter? I’ll put them away.”

  Remy deposited the bags and was about to leave when Muffin saddled up next to him.

  “You’re a fine piece of meat,” she said with a detectable bat of her eyelashes and a gleam in her eyes that said steak dinner.

  He stared at her with a blank expression. I considered Remy to be a tall, beefy guy, but standing next to Muffin he seemed small and docile . . . like Sergio.

  Remy eyed her, knowing she was the one person who could pin him down and take him like a fair maiden. “I’ll be in the limo,” Remy said.

  “You can’t go anywhere without Greyson. You may as well stay and keep Muffin company while Greyson cooks her omelet,” I said.

  Remy’s jaw muscle twitched. “I thought I liked you.”

  “You’ll like me again tomorrow. Go sit in the living room and play nice.”

  Muffin curled her hand around Remy’s arm and dragged him to the living room. I didn’t think it was possible to drag Remy anywhere. I returned to the kitchen to put away the groceries.

  “Who’s that?” Greyson asked.

  “She calls herself Muffin.”

  “I was leaning toward the fact that it was a female. I wasn’t sure. Is she a relative?”

  I punched him on the arm. “No, she’s not a relative! Are you saying we have any resemblance?”

  “Maybe not physically, but you do have some of her hostilities,” he said with a grin. “I’m sure you’d fight her for the last piece of chocolate cake.”

  I smiled at his playful jab. “Why are you here?”

  “Someone is back in town. I have a hunch he’s going to cause problems. I may need your help.”

  “Who? Dagor?” I asked, praying it wasn’t him.

  “No, not him,” Greyson said. His eyes expressed concern. “You haven’t seen him, have you?”

  “He was on the airplane to Panama. He saw me and said, ‘You’re dead.’ I think I might have heard him outside of my hotel. I know he’s around.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No, too much was going on. Then I lost the tournament and spent four days flying home.”

  “You should have called me.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me who you think is back.”

  “The omelet is done, and I think Remy needs a break. Let’s feed Muffin and Gus and go somewhere.”

  “Yeah, sure. But I have to work, and I have a gig tonight.”

  “I’ll make sure I don’t keep you too long,” he said, swooping down for a small kiss. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for weeks, but you looked scary the other night.”

  My fingers touched my lips to stop the erupting tingles.

  “Is my omelet done yet?” Muffin shouted from the living room. “I can’t entertain a man on an empty stomach.”

  “Let’s go,” Greyson said.

  He slid the omelet on a plate and deposited it onto the kitchen table. I tossed a hot dog in Gus’s bowl with some low-cal nibbles. Remy scrambled from the couch and flew out the door.

  “I’ll see you later, my tasty love pastry,” Muffin called after him.

  Greyson and I followed Remy.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  Remy drove to Greyson’s sprawling three-story house. Greyson didn’t use the house as his regular residence. Instead he lived in the casino penthouse so he could work around the clock.

  “Why didn’t we go to a café or somewhere closer?” I asked.

  The last time I was here we spent an amazing night together. I still heat uncontrollably remembering it.

  “You’re not thinking of coercing me to have sex with you, are you?” I asked. “You can’t say you’re rid of me for six months and then pick me up for a quickie before you head back
to work.”

  “I’m not here for a quickie. But I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to,” he said. The corners of his steel-gray eyes mischievously crinkled. “We’re here to talk briefly. Then we can ride back to the casino together.”

  “Why not just talk on the way to the casino?”

  “Last time there was a bug in the limo. I’d rather go somewhere I think is safe from ears and bugs.”

  Remy opened the door. I slid out, and Greyson followed. We trekked into the house and into the great room, where I plopped down on an overstuffed chair.

  “You could have sat by me,” Greyson said, taking a seat on the empty couch.

  Remy shook his head and sat in a chair opposite of me.

  “I feel like we’ve done this before but we’re missing David.” When I said David’s name it dawned on me who Greyson might think reappeared. “It’s David, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.”

  “What’s the big deal? Why do you care if he returns? Wasn’t that the hope . . . for him to return to Mya?”

  David and Mya married shortly before David mysteriously disappeared two years ago. No one knew if he was dead or alive. It’s only been recently that David reappeared to help Greyson catch the culprit behind the counterfeiting scheme.

  David continued to keep a low profile since he wasn’t finished with his original assignment, which was unknown to us. Mya thinks David is still missing since we weren’t allowed to include her on the details for her own protection.

  “I think something happened at the Panama tournament,” Greyson said. “Phone calls have been streaming in, asking where David is. They’re all foreign phone numbers, and no one gives their names.”

  “Nothing happened as far as I know. Caleb may know more since he won the tournament.”

  “I’d rather not involve Caleb. I don’t know what the problem is. I just know there’s something going on.”

  “How can I help?” I asked.

  “Keep an eye out for David. He might try to see you since you’re the easiest to contact.”

  “That’s easy enough. He has no problem finding me.”

  “Nadia, I have to warn you, though I don’t know how.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  Greyson looked at Remy for help. Remy used to work with David before he disappeared. After the disappearance, Remy decided to work for Greyson in case he needed protection from whatever influenced David’s departure.

  Remy shrugged. “His mission comes first. We don’t know what assignment he has or whether it’s legal. We hope it is. But David has his own ideas about where the line falls. Be cautious if he contacts you. Don’t give him information and don’t help him. In fact, you should probably call the police.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  Greyson nodded his head.

  “I can’t believe you’re telling me your brother’s involved with something illegal when he came out of hiding to help you.”

  “People change,” Greyson said. “David’s changed before; he can change again. I’m very thankful he helped me when I needed it, but until I know what he’s working on and why foreign people are searching for him, I don’t want you or anyone else to trust him . . . at least for now.”

  I took my seat at a poker table, struggling to grasp what I’d heard. I didn’t want to worry about whether to trust David. When he was around, he treated me like a little sister. He was protective and kind, yet he teased me too. I couldn’t imagine him working on something that would place his family or me in harm’s way.

  However, David is skilled at disappearing and climbing out of windows. He even blew up Dagor’s properties in a fiery explosion. I guess having those types of skills isn’t something the average person has. I’m sure they came with years of training and assignments. Greyson said David changed before. I didn’t know what that meant. I should have asked him for more information. I mean, does he go through crazy changes like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Because then I wouldn’t want to know. That type of information could give me nightmares for a month.

  “Welcome back, kid.”

  I peeked up to see Roy and smiled. I’d adopted Roy as my Las Vegas father. He’s about thirty years older than I am and is old-school Vegas, complete with a gold-plated pinky ring and a hubcap-sized belt buckle. I met him when I first moved to Las Vegas. He showed me the ropes and helped me out of a few scrapes. He quickly became my friend and poker ally. Most of the time I liked to play against him in a round. He points out my flaws and teaches me how to improve. But sometimes he takes me to the cleaners and I limp away from his beating.

  He bought me a standup punching bag as a Christmas present so I could work out my poker-table aggression. I never use it except to hang my laundry. It wasn’t until David reappeared and gave me a quick lesson that I came to enjoy it. However, I still think it functions better as a clothes rack.

  “Are you joining me today?” I asked.

  “For a little while. I figured I could harass you a bit, but then I have to go to the store for Gloria.” He bought in and was dealt into a hand. “Why do women run so many errands? What’s so important that there are so many errands?” he grumbled. “Men have one errand. Buy beer. Women have fifty, and it’s a continuous cycle. Every time I see the light at the end of the tunnel, it starts all over again.” His thick eyebrows pinched together.

  Gloria was Roy’s fifth and current wife. She was only in her mid-thirties but married Roy despite the age gap.

  “That’s because women have to take care of men like they’re toddlers. All they ask for is a little help.”

  “We don’t ask them to take care of us. We’re happy with beer and TV.”

  “Did you tell that to Gloria?”

  “If I told Gloria she’d make my life miserable out of spite. Let’s play so I can cheer up.”

  “Feel free to give me your poker psychobabble today. I know how much you enjoy it. I’m not doing too well right now.”

  “It’s not psychobabble; it’s mastering the art of poker psychology. There are books and studies written on it.”

  “Theories are all fine and dandy. But how do I know if someone’s trying to mess with my head and plays erratically to screw me up?” I asked as I threw a couple of chips into the pot.

  “That’s why you have to master the art.” Roy threw a couple of chips into the pot as well.

  “Have you mastered it yet?”

  “No, I still have a long way to go. Knowing that keeps me focused.”

  “I already know I haven’t mastered it. That means I’m on track, right?”

  “It means you know you’re an average poker player.”

  “I’m better than average.”

  “Depends on who you’re playing against. Your style is too tight, and you’re sloppy when you play too long.”

  I gritted my teeth and rubbed the back of my neck. Irritation forced my neck rigid and tight. I toyed with my chips to keep from strangling Roy. His psychobabble always dug its way under my skin. I thought I was in a good enough mood to let it roll off my shoulders. I was wrong.

  “See? Now I have you mad and on tilt. I bet you don’t know how many chips you threw into the pot—or the mathematical odds of your chances of winning.”

  I opened my mouth, but I couldn’t argue. He had wound me up and was watching me spin. I wasn’t focused on the hand in front of me.

  Roy turned over his cards to reveal a winning hand. The dealer pushed the chips over to him.

  “And that is why you lose, young grasshopper. By the way, what’s a Nadia revival party?”

  Chapter 7

  The taxi pulled to the curb in front of a mini mansion. It had all the beauty and pomp of a regular mansion but on a smaller scale. I paid the taxi driver and followed a winding pathway to the front door. Rock music blasted through high-end speakers, and laughter cascaded from the house. In the distance I heard someone shout “cannonball,” which was followed by a splash of water.

  I rang the door
bell.

  The door swung open to reveal a house filled with men. The man at the door was in a swimsuit and armed with a beer in his hand. Only then did it dawn on me that Frankie had sent me to a gig at a bachelor party. A bachelor party filled with drunk men. My palms clammed up with sweat.

  “Hey, are you the entertainment?” the guy asked.

  “I was hired to be a card dealer.”

  “Oh, yeah. Come on in,” he said, letting me step past him into the tiled entrance. “Hey, the entertainment is here!” he shouted. A cheer erupted, followed by a few whistles.

  “Take it off!” someone yelled.

  “I’m not the entertainment; I’m the card dealer.”

  “Cards are entertaining, right?” He winked.

  “Just show me where to go.”

  He led me to a bar area where a scantily clad woman with sparkly blue pasties and a matching thong was bartending. She smiled at me as she poured a drink. My nerves were rattling by the time he steered me to a table located near the bar.

  “Here’s the table. You’ll need to strip into your uniform before you deal.”

  “Frankie said there wasn’t a uniform.”

  “Exactly, there’s no uniform. Would you rather strip for the guys or come out naked?”

  Electrons cross-circuited in my brain. I could hear the zapping and electrical storm crackling through the neurons.

  “Are you insane?” I asked him. If he’d had a shirt on, I would’ve seized it and dragged him to eye level.

  “Would you rather work your way into it? Oh, like strip poker! That’s an awesome idea.” He turned around to the room to yell, “Strip poker!”

  Forget the damn shirt. I grabbed on to his chest hairs and yanked him to me. He yelped, sloshing his beer onto my shoes.

  “There’ll be no strip poker or naked poker! I’ll be your card dealer but with all my clothes on.”

  “What’s going on?” someone asked from behind me. I let go of the guy’s chest hair to turn around to find Caleb strolling toward us with a beer in his hand.

  I groaned. “Tell me this isn’t your party.”

  He smiled. “No. But if it was, I’d hire you too. You didn’t know this was a bachelor party, did you?”