But in the last year, he’d needed … something. It was hard to define. He still loved Jess just as much as he always had. But he’d felt lonely. Lying here next to Jess, he suddenly felt ashamed.
“I’m sorry, Jess,” he said quietly. “I feel so lonely without you. Felt so lonely. I don’t know what to do.”
Cabe sat up, rested his elbows on his knees, and buried his head in his hands. He suddenly felt disloyal to Amy. He wasn’t with her because he was lonely. He was with her because she was becoming as vital as the air he breathed.
His heart thumped in his chest.
“I’m scared, Jess. Scared I’m getting feelings for someone else,” he admitted. Silence surrounded him. A brilliant blue and white butterfly fluttered around him and landed on her headstone. “If that’s supposed to be some kind of sign, Jess,” he said, “you’re going to need to be a little more specific.”
The butterfly fluttered its wings and pulled them together, sitting still as a statue—something Jess would do when she had a problem that needed solving, when she was listening. Fuck. Was he really going to talk to a goddamn butterfly?
He shook his head. And then …
“Her name is Amy,” he began.
* * *
“Amy,” Ortega said as she stepped onto the casino floor on Friday. “I need to talk to you. Just give me a second,” he said before turning back to Siv, a grad student from Norway who had successfully landed a part-time dealer position.
Ortega is going to fire me.
She knew it might happen, of course. There was no way that Woods would let what happened on Tuesday go unanswered. Wednesday had been her night off. On Thursday Woods had been out of town. But now he was back.
Ortega finished talking with Siv and turned to her. “Mr. Woods asked to see you as soon as you got in today. He’s in his office.”
“Okay, I’ll head straight there,” she said, her heart racing. How could she dissuade him? Promise to meet him for dinner? Drinks? The idea turned her stomach, but not as much as the idea of being fired. She turned and pressed her pass to get off the employee floor, but before she could take a step, Ortega reached for her elbow.
“Amy, wait,” he said, following her into the hallway and letting the door click shut behind them, deadening the incessant noise from the slot machines. The corridors were empty, but that didn’t stop Ortega from looking up and down to make sure they were alone. “Listen. I heard a rumor. From the guys in security. I know Mr. Woods was … well, I heard he was inappropriate toward you.”
She hadn’t been expecting Ortega to lead with that and wasn’t entirely certain what to say. “Thank you,” was all she could think of. “I guess I’m going to get fired.”
“I doubt it,” Ortega said with a grim smile. “Listen, it isn’t my place to say this, but Mr. Woods … well, he isn’t going to do anything without Mr. Sokolov’s say so.”
It took her a moment to process what Ortega was saying. “But Sokolov was there. He saw everything.” There was a line between revealing too much to Ortega and playing the role of Amy Reynard, a young woman who needed her job as a dealer.
Ortega sighed, pursing his lips for a moment. “Amy,” he said, “listen to me carefully. There are things … that happen.… Hell, I’m just supposing, projecting even, but I think the two of them have an agreement. About the casino. I’m not entirely sure. But my guess is that they want to know if you reported this to the police, and if not, if there is a way to avoid you doing that.”
Maybe Ortega was one of the good guys. He could be lying, setting her up, but her radar for those things was usually pretty accurate. “You think they’re worried about what might happen if I did?” she asked, her voice deliberately going up at the end in what she hoped sounded like surprise.
“Listen. I don’t know. I started working here when Hemingway Woods ran it. I love my job. I keep my head down. But you remind me of my niece, and I’d hope someone would look out for her. So, I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Mr. Sokolov is there. Upstairs with Mr. Woods.” Ortega tipped his head in the direction of the management offices.
Amy nodded. “Thank you for looking out for me.”
Ortega nodded and walked back out onto the floor.
She watched him disappear before heading in the direction Ortega had been looking, in slow motion and with a sick feeling.
The office door was closed when she reached it. She knocked and waited for a response.
“Come in,” came a voice from inside the room.
She reached for the cold silver knob and turned it, slowly pushing the door open. The office was plush to the point of gauche. Too much red and gold in the drapes and carpet. A huge wooden desk stood in the middle of the room, and even to her untrained eye, it was a complete reproduction, along with the Tiffany-style lamp on the corner that was as fake as the gel nails she’d had applied to look the part.
Two doors on the left wall led to who knew where. They were closed tight.
Faulkner Woods was behind the desk working on his laptop, and the room was otherwise empty. Odd, since Ortega had been adamant about Sokolov being here.
“Mr. Ortega said you were looking for me.”
Woods looked up. “Close the door, would you?”
Amy paused. Should she play along—close the door and walk up to the desk? There was some logic to that. She knew there was a bug in the lamp on the table. But a smart young woman in that situation wouldn’t in real life. “I’d rather not,” she said, remaining in her spot by the door.
Woods sighed and closed his laptop. “I suppose I deserve that.” Slowly, he made his way around to the front of his desk and popped his hip on the edge.
She looked around the room as if taking in the decor, making sure nobody else was in the large room with them.
“I’m sorry, Amy. Contrary to current evidence, I’m not an asshole. I spoke to Mr. Moss and Mr. Sokolov, who witnessed my lack of grace. But you are the first real talent I’ve seen come through here in a long time. I want to build the reputation of this casino to be as great as any you could find in Las Vegas. If I was over-exuberant in my articulation of that, I apologize. If you would like to leave, for reasons that are completely understandable, I would be willing to give you a severance pay by way of apology.” He looked suitably contrite with slightly rounded shoulders and sad eyes.
Amy had to bite her tongue. Hush money. A payoff. A way to get a broke girl out of his hair without any real impact to himself. She didn’t believe the words he was saying any more than the fake smile.
“Or?” she asked.
“You can continue to work here, of course. Mr. Ortega agrees with me that you are an asset to the casino. I’m hoping you’ll consider staying.”
If only he knew that she had no real choice in the matter. In real life, there was no way she could consider his offer. In fact, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to make it because she would have quit that night in the parking lot. But for the op, she needed to at least make a show of considering it. “I’m not certain … Could I have some time to think—”
“What would make it better for you to stay?” Woods asked, cutting her off, something that inherently annoyed her.
Amy considered it for a moment and then it hit her, a suggestion that would solve two of her problems. “I hear the women who work the private gaming areas make significantly more money in tips. Could you wave the probationary period and let me work in that area of the casino?” She raised her voice at the end, determined to make herself sound insecure. Like she could be bought, or convinced.
Woods grimaced. “That may be tricky because a couple of the other girls who joined before you are also in their probationary period.”
He was such a weasel.
A creaking sound came from the other side of one of the two doors and it was difficult to not be distracted by it. Obviously someone was there. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was Sokolov. “Oh, I thought you said I had potential,” she said, doing he
r best to sound disappointed. She didn’t add anything more. One of the things she learned early in life was if you left a gap of silence, invariably somebody felt the urge to fill it.
Woods picked an imaginary bit of lint off his houndstooth suit trousers. He looked up at her. “Fine. I will clear it with Ortega. But I would still very much like to have that conversation with you about your career. If you are amenable.”
Internally, Amy grinned like a Cheshire cat, but she simply nodded her head. “Of course, Mr. Woods.”
Woods nodded and then glanced in the direction of one of the closed doors. A shadow moved in the light that escaped underneath it. “That will be all, Ms. Murray,” he said.
Amy left, wishing she could run to Cabe and tell him immediately what had happened. It meant progress in her accessibility to the suspects, it meant progress in the op.
And for now, she’d avoid answering the question as to why she felt the need to run and share her news with Cabe.
* * *
Cabe knew his mic was secure. He’d taped those damn wires himself, after all, and gotten Six to double-check them. The last thing he needed was for the thing to come loose. Everything would be lost. This time he was armed, and the thought warmed him like an aluminized thermal blanket on a freezing night. It might only be a small pistol in an ankle holster, but now that he knew how lax security was, it was a risk well worth taking.
He’d traveled by taxi, which he’d picked up outside the Marriott, but carried keys belonging to a car the FBI had provided that was parked at the side of the casino should he need to make a quick exit for any reason.
An unsettled feeling drifted over him. Amy was giving him the cold shoulder. Well, not at work, where she acted like the consummate professional. There, she was fully in control and fully present … but when she looked at him, it was as if a glacier stood between them. And he should know what that felt like, because he’d scaled a couple of those in his time.
The jury was still out on how Sokolov was going to respond to his intervention, but he was going to force the issue by seeking Amy out where Sokolov could see. He wasn’t sure of the nature of the relationship between Woods and Sokolov, but it was definitely beyond casino owner and customer. They still didn’t know whether Woods was complicit or even receiving a cut of the laundered money. And if he did know about what was going on, was he somehow being threatened into complying?
Walking the line of treating a target as suspect or a victim was something he was used to. When they’d go on raids, they’d often pass men and women with their hands in the air and have to make a split decision about whether they were a threat or not, and make decisions about whether to apprehend or move on. For now, he was treating Woods as hostile.
Amy was out on the floor talking to Ortega. Perfect for the interaction he had in mind and for what was going to follow.
“Hey, we didn’t get introduced the other night. I’m Cabe,” he said, offering her his hand. “Are you okay?” he asked. It took effort to push aside how good her hand felt in his, and he had to force himself to let go.
Amy looked to Ortega, who stepped away, though not far enough that he couldn’t hear. “I’m Amy. And thank you, but I’m good. It’s all been taken care of. I just met with my boss a couple of minutes ago.”
She had?
What the hell had happened? What had he said? He guessed by the way she was still on the floor wearing her badge that she hadn’t been fired. “Well, I’m glad. If you ever need someone to walk you out…”
Amy smiled, and it was a genuine one. He loved the way the corners of her eyes crinkled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, but you’ll be the first person I ask if I’m ever uncertain. You’ll have to excuse me, Cabe. I’m working over in the private rooms this evening,” she said as she walked away. His gaze followed her. The private rooms. The guy had basically promoted her to keep her quiet.
Fucking asshole.
Luckily, he was an asshole who’d just played into their hands by allowing her to deal in the area of the casino where Sokolov played.
Good work, Ames.
Cabe wanted a drink, a real one, to take the edge off the need to march to wherever Woods was hiding his ass and beat him into a pulp. But he wasn’t going to do that.
Someone bumped into him.
“Shit. Sorry,” Harley exclaimed. Cabe stumbled until he was pressed up against an empty poker table. Harley reached out his hand to stabilize himself on the rail of the table.
“Watch where you are going,” Cabe said gruffly as he pushed Harley away.
Harley raised his hands. “Sorry again. Didn’t see you there.”
The two of them separated, Harley heading toward the bathrooms, Cabe toward the bar, neither of them looking back to confirm the location of the pinhole camera Harley had stuck on the table leg, facing the cashier’s cage from an angle the casino cameras didn’t cover.
“Wait, sir,” Ortega shouted. “You dropped something.”
Cabe could barely breathe. Had the adhesive not secured the camera into the crease of the poker table leg? He turned as if he had nothing better to do, as if he had all the time in the world. Perhaps he could slow Ortega enough that Harley could get out of the casino before security arrived.
“Here,” Ortega said, handing him his receipt for the taxi that he’d thought he’d shoved in his pocket.
Relieved, he smiled. “Thank you. Those damn expense receipts get everywhere. My accountant hates me,” he said, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket.
Ortega grinned. “You need every deductible possible.”
At the bar, Cabe grabbed an ivory cream leather seat and looked out over the gaming floor. When the waitress arrived, he ordered a tonic water with lime. He wasn’t particularly a fan, but he wanted to drink something that could pass for alcohol. The way Sokolov and his friends had thrown back vodka, he knew they’d be unimpressed if he wasn’t drinking.
When his drink arrived, he sipped and waited.
Which was par for the course on this assignment. Hurry up and wait. Hurry up and wait. Six and Ryder were currently trailing the man they’d followed from the casino on Monday, but he’d done nothing more exciting than pick up a case of beer then drop it on the asphalt by the trunk of his car. Six had sent Cabe a photo of it with ten laughing emojis.
It should have been funny, but Cabe struggled to laugh. Dissatisfaction with their progress sat like rocks in his gut. This kind of internal dissatisfaction was disconcerting. It was unfamiliar. It reeked of failure.
Their night foray to place a GPS had been simple enough. A budget rental unit in a less than stellar neighborhood was never going to have CCTV coverage. It was simply a matter of biding their time until the coast was clear and placing the GPS inside the wheel arch of the car. It was simple, but after the emotional wringer of explaining to Jess about Amy, he’d needed some night air, a hit of adrenaline, and a couple of hours with Six.
But it hadn’t led anywhere … yet.
A group of men stood at the bar, laughing loudly. Chinos and pressed shirts, early thirties just like him. Three women walked in, and while he was focused on the relationship between him and Amy, he would have had to be blind to not take note of their great figures. If he’d been pushed to guess, he’d have said fitness models. One of the men made a joke, obviously at the women’s expense, as they walked by. A second slid his wedding ring off his finger.
Maybe he was just in a foul mood, but it seemed the world was full of assholes today. A part of Cabe wanted to get up from his seat, march over there, and explain to the dick just how much he would have loved to be wearing Jess’s wedding ring. But then the wash of disloyalty toward Jess because of his growing feelings for Amy flowed through him. It suddenly didn’t feel right to compare the world around him and where he was at in his life to Jess any more.
That thought unsettled him.
In the reflection of the mirror behind the bar, he saw Sokolov arrive, but he didn’t move or turn around to ackno
wledge him. Instead, he waited for Sokolov to take a seat and get his first drink in his system. Once he’d done so, Cabe stood and wandered over to his table. The two meatheads were new. Leaner, stronger. They stepped forward. One of them placed a baseball-mitt-sized hand onto Cabe’s chest to stop him from progressing farther.
Strike three for assholes today.
He looked the meathead in the eye. “Take your hand off me.”
It was a good old-fashioned game of chicken to see who’d move first, and it sure as shit wouldn’t be Cabe.
“Let him through,” Sokolov growled.
The meathead scowled as he removed his hand, a vein pulsing in the side of his head. Given the guy was already silently fuming, it was wrong to goad him, but Cabe couldn’t help himself and winked.
“Mr. Moss,” Sokolov said, gesturing to the leather seat opposite his own. “What can I do for you?”
“I trust you haven’t gotten yourself into any more trouble since I saw you last,” Cabe said.
“You have a funny way with words,” Sokolov said in a tone that said he found Cabe decidedly unfunny.
“Did the casino help you out on Monday? Were the men who tried to rob you arrested?” Cabe asked, knowing full well already that they hadn’t been. His brother had already notified him that there had been no report filed.
Sokolov held his gaze. “Yes, they were taken care of.”
The unspoken implication was clear. Yes, they’d been taken care of, but not by the American legal system. “Sometimes it’s necessary to take care of business on your own,” Cabe said.
Sokolov scoffed. “And what do you know about that?”
“Three tours and a whole bunch of shit that isn’t covered by the Geneva Convention.” By not offering more, he made certain that Sokolov would ask.
Deep Cover--A Love Over Duty Novel Page 18
