Greyson’s eyes narrowed. “When did he say that? Have you seen him recently?”
Uh-oh! I was supposed to be leery of him and his possible motives.
“I may have seen him recently,” I mumbled.
Remy was at Greyson’s heels the moment I finished my sentence.
“Where was he?” Remy asked.
“He’s not the bad guy,” I said, deterring him from taking a chomp out of me.
“And how do you know this?”
“Because he told me. He said there were three parties interested in the item: one good, one bad, and one neutral. He’s on the neutral team.”
Remy groaned and shot a knowing glance at Greyson.
“What?” I asked, expecting they would be happy he wasn’t on the bad-guy team.
Greyson sighed and gave a small shrug. “It’s hard to know for sure. But in this case, we’re figuring the good guys to be some form of government officials, the bad guys to be a part of a terrorist movement, and the neutral party might be hired mercenaries. In most cases, it’s the mercenaries you want to be extra careful around. You don’t know who’s funding them or what their real agenda is. This is all hypothetical, but it fits the scenario a little too neatly not to have some truths.”
“I told him he could have anything in my apartment he wanted.”
“At least that will get him out of your hair for a little while. Did he stay long?”
“I’m not sure. I was in the chapel, and he slept in my apartment. He had to sleep with a gas mask due to all the toxic fumes.”
Greyson and Remy simultaneously groaned and began a very scary re-enactment of my mom and dad scolding me in unison. Their voices began to blend in a harmonious tongue lashing I wasn’t prepared for.
Didn’t I tell you not to talk to him? You let him sleep in your apartment? Why were there toxic fumes in your apartment? I’m trying to keep you safe, and you’re doing the exact opposite of what I told you. And you got a ride with a stranger; that’s not smart. Did David give you any clues as to what he was looking for? Don’t talk to him again!
I swiveled back and forth between the two men towering above me. After they were done pelting me with words, I did what any normal person in my situation would do; I stuck my tongue out at them and stalked to the casino to find my poker table.
“We’ll finish this after my meeting,” Greyson threatened as I retreated into the poker room.
I settled into a chair between a woman who glittered with gold-plated jewelry and smelled like a gallon of eye-watering cheap perfume, and a man who actually seemed like a regular guy. Sometimes finding normal people at the poker table was a rare sighting. It made me wonder about my “normal” ranking. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.
“Hi,” the man said to me as I made myself comfortable and stacked my chips.
“Hi,” I returned his greeting, hoping he wasn’t a player who liked to chitchat nonstop at the table. I could only handle friendly banter for so long. I was more of the shut-up-and-play type.
“I saw you talking to Greyson Miller. Do you know him?”
“Not very well.” Okay, it was a little bit of a lie and a little bit of the truth. I did know him well enough to sleep with him and want to spend every waking minute staring at him. But if you asked me about his personal history, I wouldn’t have a clue.
“I’ve wanted to meet him for a while.”
“Why?” I asked, not really caring and having second thoughts about asking in the first place.
The dealer tossed two cards in front of me. I peeked and was not excited to see a ten and a three. Externally, I was impassive.
“I heard there was an opening for an assistant director. I want it.”
I shivered at the remembrance of Jason Biggs, the previous assistant director, who printed counterfeit bills inside the casino. He was in jail and was awaiting trial for several counts against him, including murder and attempted murder. Thankfully, I missed most of the media frenzy while I was flying to Panama. Greyson had to clean up the mess—and he’s still cleaning up from what I could tell.
I folded my ten-three and surveyed the casino. The crowds of happy tourists didn’t dwindle from the aftermath, and that’s where this casino made a big chunk of their money. The casino might have taken a small hit from regular patrons who were leery, but with tourist dollars to make up for it, it was still profitable.
I smiled at my casino knowledge and chuckled for being smart at something other than poker. Maybe I should apply for the assistant director job . . . I’m all kinds of casino genius.
As I pondered my new career and speculated if Greyson spanked naughty assistant directors, I realized the man was still talking. I nodded as he told me his job was cut by a company merger. It sounded rather tedious with numbers, spreadsheets, and meetings. I yawned before I could stop myself. I suspected it would be a life of endless yawning if I had to work in corporate America. Good thing there were others who kept America running, because I wouldn’t last two days.
“So, you’ll give him my resume?”
I blinked and looked at the man. His eyes set intently on my face.
“I think you’re better off giving him your résumé yourself. I don’t have any sway in who he hires.”
“Aren’t you engaged to him? I saw you on the news, and they announced your upcoming marriage.”
A flash of heat rose to the surface as I remembered the event leading to that rumor. Greyson and I were searching for the counterfeit printing room. To appear as though we were blending in, Greyson gave me a personal tour. Our acting skills were dubious, and employees became suspicious of the nature of our tour. We perked their ears with words of marriage and terms of endearment that made me gag from their sappiness. Next thing we knew, Greyson made the news when the counterfeiting ring was exposed, along with our upcoming marriage.
“That was a false report. We aren’t getting married nor are we engaged.”
“But you’re his girlfriend, right?”
I wish. “Nope, not even a girlfriend.”
The man mumbled something that sounded like a string of swears, picked up his chips, and abruptly left the table.
I watched as he marched out of the poker area and disappeared through the crowd.
“I thought he would never leave,” a grumbling voice said.
I peeked up to see Roy. I smiled as he settled into the vacant seat.
“He looked like he was going on about something,” Roy said.
“He wanted me to give Greyson his résumé. How are you?”
“I’m good now. I had a whole morning of cleaning. I still have more to do when I go home, but I needed a break.”
Roy appeared a little soft and weary from the exertion. His typical daily exercise was stacking chips and lifting cocktails.
“Why so much cleaning?” I asked.
“We were broken into last night while Gloria and I were out.”
My eyes widened. “Was anything taken?”
“No, but they made a huge mess.” He shook his head with a sigh. “I think I’d rather have them steal the stuff instead of dumping it all over the floor. It doesn’t make sense to go to all the trouble of ripping apart a man’s home and then not steal anything. Gloria is in an uproar. I’ve never seen her so mad. Not even the time I used her lipstick to write a note.”
We both peeked at our cards and threw a few chips into the pot.
“It seems a lot of people are getting broken into,” I said, puzzling if his break-in was for the same reason as mine.
Almost everyone I knew in Vegas had been broken into. I didn’t think Greyson had to worry since his main residence was in the penthouse on the casino’s top floor with cameras monitoring every inch of the casino and hallways.
“Do you need help cleaning up?” I asked Roy, throwing my hand away after he raised the pot.
“Not really. The majority is done; just reorganizing some of the drawers and closets.”
We played sev
eral hands together. I barely spoke two words and remained as silent as possible during the hands. Roy was acquainted with my playing style and could easily wipe me out if I wasn’t careful. I studied his face to see if there were any signs I could go by, but he wasn’t giving away anything: his hands were steady, his eyes didn’t twitch, his laugh lines didn’t crinkle; the man was solid.
I threw in my last hand in disgust. I’d sat at the table for hours and came up forty dollars ahead, while Roy was up nearly three hundred. He winked at me as I scowled at the stack piled neatly in front of him.
“I’ve been playing poker since before you were born,” Roy said with a smirk. “I tell you time and time again, you have to play the player, not the cards.”
My eye twitched. He was both my friend and my teacher, but I’m taking every last chip he has the next time we play.
I threw a chip to the dealer for a tip and stood. Collecting my belongings, I narrowed my eyes at Roy. “Prepare yourself, old man. Next time, your chips are mine,” I said.
He laughed. “That’ll be the day. Should I give you a trophy if you manage to win a few chips off me?”
I scowled at him, but it made me speculate about the significance of the mangled trophy sitting in my apartment. Could Caleb’s trophy have anything to do with the break-in? How could a trophy stir up so much trouble? And now that it doesn’t look like a trophy but a twisted piece of lumpy plastic-y metal, no one would think to take it. Maybe that’s why these men were still lingering around. I needed to go home and inspect the trophy. Also, I had to change for the party. I groaned.
I headed to the casino lobby. A taxi should be waiting at this time of day. And with my measly forty-dollar win, it should just cover the cost of the fare home and to the party.
Maybe I should ask to borrow one of Greyson’s cars. I shook my head. Even though he had a garage filled with cars, they weren’t mine and I wouldn’t want him in the awkward position of saying no. Or, worse yet, Greyson might start up a new relationship with a woman and then send Remy to collect his car. My stomach dropped. I should stop thinking all together. It’s not a healthy habit.
When stomach gurgled from missing lunch, I realized that Greyson didn’t show up to have lunch with me like he had said. I hadn’t thought about it at the time because I was busy losing to Roy. With Greyson’s hectic schedule, I’m sure he was derailed by a project somewhere along the way. He’s probably equally as hungry wherever he is.
I breezed through the automatic doors and out to the taxis. There was no one around and no taxis. I waited a few minutes before deciding to try the casino down the street.
As I made my way down the sidewalk, I heard a zipping motor behind me. I recognized the sound of Sergio’s moped as it closed the distance between us.
“My goddess!” Sergio called.
I peeked around to see if anyone might have heard, but there wasn’t a crowd on the sidewalk; still too early and hot.
Sergio rolled to a stop and beamed. “Your chariot awaits, my goddess.”
“I’m not riding with you until you stop calling me names.”
“But they are names of love.”
“We are not in love!” My patience with his gushing love sentiments was running out like tequila shots at a bachelorette party.
Sergio’s lips turned into a coy smile. “You cannot deny your feelings for long; I will win your heart.”
“No, you won’t. And I’m sweating out here,” I complained as a bead of sweat rolled its way down my back.
“Hop on my love-moped, and I will take you home.”
“Stop creeping me out with your love nonsense,” I said as I swung my leg over the seat and settled in behind him. I made sure to keep as far away from him as possible. But it was a tiny moped with a tiny seat. Some body parts had to touch. I wasn’t going to think about it. I shuddered.
Sergio zipped along the streets at an alarming rate. I pursed my lips so I couldn’t scold him for driving too fast. He seemed to be a good driver despite the speed. I just wanted to get home and far away from him.
I watched people as they lumbered down the street with red, sweaty foreheads. The insufferable heat could melt a person to their spot on this typical Las Vegas day. After a few minutes, the buildings weren’t familiar and there were no longer any people on the street. We were past the tourist areas, and locals had too much sense to be wandering around in the heat.
“Sergio, where are you going? You missed my street by a mile.”
“You are right. Not to worry, my pop-tart. I will turn around and get you home.”
Sergio slowed the moped and turned to sneak through an alley. Even though it was still light out, the narrow alley was covered in shadows from the surrounding buildings. Large dumpsters took up most of the alley space, making Sergio slow and squeeze the moped between the dumpsters and building walls.
“Why are you going through the alley? Just turn around.”
“We are almost out,” Sergio said. “Wrap your arms around your Sergio, and you will be safe.”
I wasn’t about to wrap my arms around him. I didn’t sense that I was safe either. Maybe it was all those movies with bad guys who darkened alleys as they waited to mug unsuspecting wanderers.
The moped rolled to a stop.
“What’s going on?” I asked, but I realized instantly we were at a dead end. Leave it to Sergio to turn us into a blind alley. “Turn around, and get us out of here.”
The narrow alley was dark and littered with waste. Graffiti layered the dirty brick walls. If Sergio didn’t turn around in two seconds, I was jumping off and making a run for it.
“Sit still, my little poker chip, and I will turn around,” Sergio said as he used his legs to help turn the moped around in the confined space.
Within a matter of seconds, he had the moped in position and we were heading toward the street. As we squeezed by the dumpster, I noticed a black SUV looming at the alley entrance, blocking our path. Sergio slowed as we neared the SUV. Even though the moped was small, there was no way we could squeeze past it.
I was twitching like a lab rat. The black SUV and blocked alley had horror movie written all over them. Movie victims never see it coming. They advance blindly forward only to die in a violent bloodbath while movie viewers scream at them to run . . . and that was what I was going to do. Run!
I scrambled off the moped. If I sucked in my stomach, I might be able to squish past the SUV. If not, I’d jump the hood.
“Where are you going?” Sergio called.
I was already running for it and was on my way to squeezing past the SUV. I had more room than I estimated and made a dash for it. As I was shimmying past the alley wall and the passenger door, it suddenly opened. The door slammed into me, pinning me against the wall. The edge of the door caught me. I felt an extra push against the door, making the edge cut into my sternum. I cried out as air was pushed from me. I couldn’t escape from the door, and the person on the other side wasn’t letting up.
“Close the door,” I wheezed.
“I don’t think so, bitch,” a deep, gravelly voice said.
The darkened window didn’t reveal the man who trapped me, but the voice was familiar. It was a voice that chilled my blood. He had tried to kill me a couple of times before, and now he was back.
“Seems like you want to keep meddling in my work, and now you’ve done it again.”
His voice was angry. In the past, every time his voice shook with anger, I was about to die. The car door pressed farther into me. What little air I had left was forced out of me in one last gust of breath.
My oxygen-deprived lungs burned. I clawed frantically at the door to free myself. My hands became slower and slower as my lungs screamed for air. I couldn’t fight anymore, and my lungs gave up. As I blinked my last blurry sight, the window rolled down. Dagor glared at me with a twisted grin spread upon his face. My eyes closed. My body, still caught on the door, hung limply.
Chapter 9
My lungs
felt scorched like red, glowing coals. It was the first realization I was alive. My breath was shallow from the searing pain. I groaned, but even my voice was hoarse and brittle.
“Finally.” Dagor said. “I hate waiting, especially if it’s for you. You don’t know how many times I could have snapped your neck; how many times I stood over you thinking how wonderful it’d be to smash your skull in.”
My eyes fluttered open. The subdued lighting made it easier to keep them open. My heart quickened at Dagor’s voice. I could hear the hatred in every word he uttered. I quickly recalled the events that seemed to have been only minutes ago, but I had no idea how long I had been unconscious.
I was lying on a sofa in a small room. I couldn’t tell if it was a living room or perhaps a studio. My hands and feet were bound with rope. I gave them a small tug that went unnoticed by Dagor; he was reading his watch.
The knots were tight. If they were anything like my knots, they would come loose easily. I hoped Dagor hadn’t been a boy scout. But if he was, they would have kicked him out for killing small woodland creatures. Hopefully they kicked him out before he learned to tie knots.
He was no longer violently angry like he had been in the alley, but I could sense his impatience.
“I’m sick of you,” Dagor said as he swirled amber liquid in an oversized goblet. “I had to leave Vegas because of you. I left the country to make sure I didn’t get busted.” He glared down at me. “I lost everything because of you.”
I wanted to tell him it was stolen property, but Dagor liked to dole out black eyes, and my eyes had finally returned to normal from our last round. I kept quiet and let him do the talking. He liked to hear himself talk. And the more he talked, the more I might understand what the heck was going on and why fate dragged me into it.
“We were on the same plane together. I thought for sure that was a gift from God, placing you back in my path so I could finish you. Why else would we be on the same flight?
“I followed you,” he said as if he was retelling a story. “You weren’t hard to track, but you were always with Caleb or in public. I had to find a way to get you alone, so I hired a private detective. He tracked and reported your movements. But he took it one step further and acted like a buffoon to make you trust him and make you think he was harmless. Little did I know he was part of the family. I’d never have hired him had I known.”
High Stakes Page 9
