Raising the Stakes

by Sandra Marton

  Despite the doctor’s assurances, her depression had continued. She’d learned to cover its signs and live with it. And then, a few weeks ago, she’d awakened one morning and known it was time to come to grips with the realization that Ruarch was gone. The finality of the admission was a wound sharp as one made by a knife, but with it came a kind of bittersweet peace. As she’d settled back against the pillows, she’d felt a weight lift from her soul. Her beloved husband was gone but she was still here, thanks to her children, her doctors, her God and, yes, thanks to her own feisty determination that had apparently not failed her, even in the depths of her despair.

  It was time to move on.

  Mary put down the tissue, gave herself one last look and liked what she saw almost as much as she liked what she felt. She was back, and everyone would have to get used to that.

  A tap sounded at the bedroom door and it eased open. “Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Jenny?” Mary said. “What is it?”

  “Mr. Coyle is here. I’ve shown him into the sitting room.”

  “Ah. Fine. Thank you. Ask if he’s had his breakfast or if he’d like some coffee or tea, would you, and tell him I’ll be right there?”

  Mary took a last look at her reflection. She didn’t look a day over fifty. Well, not a day over sixty, she thought, and smiled, and wondered, out of the clear blue, how old was Dan Coyle? She knew so little about him, only that he’d lived all his life in New York until he’d come to work here, that he was a widower…

  And that he was a very nice-looking man.

  The unexpected thought put a pink bloom in her cheeks. She felt it heat her skin as she made her way through the penthouse apartment.

  Dan was seated in a chair that was too small for him. When she refurnished the room after Ruarch’s passing, she’d chosen French Provincial velvet chairs and sofas. Keir always had to sit down gingerly. Now, she saw that Dan had to do the same thing.

  Perhaps it was time to refurnish again.

  “Duchess.” Dan rose to his feet and took the hand she extended to him. He held it lightly, as he always did, just a quick press of the fingers before letting it go, and smiled. “You look different.”

  “Do I?” Mary gestured him back into the chair and sat down on the sofa. Jenny was hovering in the doorway, a tray in her hands. A pitcher of iced water stood on it. She smiled at Dan. “Iced water? Was that all you wanted? No breakfast?”

  “I had mine. You go ahead, though.”

  “No, I’ve had mine, too, about an hour ago. Still, are you certain all you want is water?”

  “Well, to be honest, I’d have asked for iced coffee but then you’d have had a glass, as well.” He smiled. “And Keir would scold the both of us.”

  Mary laughed. “Bring us some cake, please, Jenny. And a pitcher of that decaffeinated stuff.” She looked at Dan. “It’s not so bad, once you get used to it.”

  “I know it isn’t. I drink it myself, sometimes.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. I have, for years. My wife wasn’t supposed to have caffeine, either, so I drank it for her sake and grew accustomed to it.”

  “Ah. Your wife.” This was a day of firsts. Dan had never mentioned her before. Mary sat back while Jenny put the tray in front of her. “I do recall, from your r;aaesum;aae, that you lost her quite some time ago.”

  “Eight years.” He took the glass she held out to him and nodded his thanks. “You and she would have liked each other, I think.”

  “Would we?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it. You’re very different from my Flo, but—”

  “Different? How?”

  “Well, you’re out in the world, so to speak. My wife never had a paying job. She was a homemaker, one of those women who takes all her pleasure in baking and cooking and cleaning.” He smiled at the memory. “She made this hash, from leftover roast beef—”

  “So did I.”

  Dan’s eyebrows lifted. “You?”

  “Certainly.” Mary cut a piece of pound cake, put it on a delicate Spode plate, added a heavy sterling cake fork and a linen napkin and handed it all to him. He took the things with care, a big man typically overwhelmed by such signs of delicacy, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I never threw out a bit of food that was edible. And I knew ways to stretch the smallest leftover into a filling meal.”

  “You?” he said again, and she chuckled.

  “We were poor as church mice, my Ruarch and I, when we married.” She cut a tiny sliver of cake for herself and spread a napkin in her lap. “My father was a Boston Brahmin. Do you know what that means?”

  His ruddy face split in a grin. “I was born in the Bronx, Duchess. We were lace-curtain Irish, though my mother would have been mortified if she heard me say so. We knew all about the upper-class gentry who lived in Massachusetts.”

  “Well, then you’ll understand when I tell you I grew up rich.” Mary chuckled. “And my mother would have sent me to my room for saying `rich’ rather than `wealthy.’ Would you like more coffee?”

  Dan nodded. “Thank you, I would.”

  The ice clinked in the pitcher as she filled his glass. “We had a place on Cape Cod where we spent weekends and summers. When I was seventeen, my father hired a new groom to care for the horses we kept there.” Mary put aside the pitcher and folded her hands in her lap. “His name was Ruarch O’Connell, and he was fresh off the boat from the old country. One summer day, I decided to go riding. My horse threw a shoe and Ruarch came to my rescue.” She smiled a little. “That was all it took. I fell crazy in love with him, and he with me. My father found out and threatened to put me in a convent, but I knew he’d never do that. Instead he had Ruarch thrown off the estate, but it was too late. He got a note smuggled to me, I met him by the gate…” She sighed. “It was all so very long ago.”

  “Yes,” Dan said gently, “but the memories are as real as yesterday. It’s that way for me, too. Sometimes, when I look at my girls—and they’d kill me for calling them that, when they’re both grown women—sometimes, when I look at them, I wonder where the years have gone.”

  They were both silent a moment. Then Dan cleared his throat. “So,” he said briskly, “how did a groom and his runaway bride end up owning one of the biggest hotels and casinos in Las Vegas?”

  Mary smiled. “It was a long, circuitous route, I assure you. Ruarch had a love for cards. It was his one weakness.”

  “Come on, lass, there’s no need to be modest. I’ll bet his true weakness was for you.”

  Dan could feel the color spread up over his collar and into his face. Had he really said that? But surely it was the truth. Mary Elizabeth was a beautiful woman still; he could imagine that she’d have stolen a man’s breath away when she was a girl. He thought of apologizing and decided against it. What could she do to him, for saying such a thing? Fire him? Let her, if she wished; he was glad he’d spoken the truth.

  But she wasn’t going to fire him, he saw with some surprise, or even chastise him. Her lovely face had turned as pink as he knew his must be and there was a glint of pleasure in her china-blue eyes.

  “That’s a very nice thing to say,” she murmured.

  “It’s nothing but the truth.”

  They looked at each other and smiled. “So,” he said, “you were telling me how you came to own the Song…”

  “Oh. Yes, yes, I was.” She lifted her glass, took a long drink. “Well, we had a difficult few years. The children came along quickly. Ruarch worked at whatever jobs he could while I did all those things women do. Washed, cleaned, cooked, changed diapers…” She sighed. “They were hard years but good ones. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I do, yes, though we never had as rough a time,” he said, a touch of surprise in his voice. “A man doesn’t earn a fortune when he’s on the job—”

  “On the job?”

  “Cop talk for being a policeman. It didn’t pay a lot but it was enough to support Flo, my girls and me.”

  Mary nodded.
“We talked about Ruarch getting a real job. He tried it, but he had an itchy foot so we drifted from place to place, always heading west. He gambled, too. I used to tell him he’d lose everything someday but the truth is, he never did. He won at cards, at the track, at odd bets with strangers and with some people whose famous names would surprise you.” She took the last bite of her cake, placed the fork across the plate and put it on the tray. “And then we came to Vegas and, one night, he came home and told me he’d won us a hotel.”

  Dan blinked. “He won the Desert Song?”

  “No. Oh, no.” Mary laughed softly. “He won a little place. A motel, I suppose you’d call it today. But he saw the possibilities in this town, and he had friends who agreed with his vision. He worked hard—with me alongside him, I might add—and we woke up one morning and found ourselves the proud owners of a classy hotel and casino.” She winked. “That’s the story our publicity people gave out, anyway. They thought it wouldn’t do if we talked about the years we sweated.”

  Dan nodded. “Well, I’m impressed.”

  “So was my father. He sent me a note—the first I’d had from him in twenty years—and told me he’d known, all along, that Ruarch was a man who’d make something of himself.”

  “And did that heal the rift between you?” He saw her face change and cursed himself for a fool. “Duchess. Mrs. O’Connell. I’m sorry for asking such a personal question.”

  “Don’t be silly. And don’t call me that, either.”

  “Duchess? I apologize. I think it, and it just tumbles out of my mouth.”

  “No, not that.” Mary smiled. “Perhaps I’m still Brahmin enough to like the sound of the word. Just, please, don’t address me as Mrs. O’Connell. I think we know each other well enough to dispense with such formalities, don’t you?”

  What he knew was that the day was opening up like a doorway leading into heaven. Dan smiled back at this lovely woman he’d admired for so long. “Yes, I believe we do…Mary.”

  They smiled at each other and then she cleared her throat. “Well,” she said briskly, “it’s a pleasure seeing you, but I have the feeling you came here for more than iced coffee and the story of my life.”

  Iced coffee and more of listening to her soft voice would have kept him happy forever, Dan thought, so unexpectedly that he felt the breath catch in his lungs, but a man didn’t survive almost thirty years as a cop working the mean streets of New York City by doing or saying things precipitously. He patted his mouth with the napkin, placed the plate, fork and napkin on the coffee table and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.

  “I’ve done the background check Keir requested on Graham Baron.”

  “Ah. I thought that might be it.” Mary leaned forward, too. “Is Keir joining us?”

  “No. I’ve already spoken with him. I hope you don’t mind. I intended to report to you both at the same time but Keir called my office a while ago on a different matter and—”

  “No, no, I don’t mind. Well? What did you find out?”

  Dan rose to his feet. He undid the button on his suit jacket, tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers, walked to the sliding doors that led to the terrace. She recognized the signs. He was a man delaying his response, and knowing it sent a chill along her spine.

  “Dan? Is it bad?”

  “Is it…? No. No, it isn’t bad.” He shook his head as he turned around. “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t mean to imply that it was. It’s just that, well, knowing more about the man only makes the matter more complicated.”

  “I don’t understand. What did you find out?”

  “Nothing. Nothing that would explain things, anyway.” Dan sat beside her on the little sofa and stretched out his long legs. “Baron’s an attorney. He has an impressive r;aaesum;aae—Yale Law Review, clerked for a Federal judge—and now he’s a partner in a high-powered New York law firm that specializes in criminal law.”

  Mary’s mouth twisted. “You mean he represents criminals?”

  The way she said it made Dan grin. “A woman after my own heart,” he said. “You say those words as if they burned your tongue but, in truth, I can’t fault the man for what he does. It’s part of the system, and I faced enough hotshot lawyers in my time to hold a grudging respect for some.”

  “Would he be one you’d respect?”

  It was an incisive question and went swiftly to the heart of the matter. “He would be, yes. I spoke with old friends who’re still on the force. Baron’s tough. He’ll use everything at his disposal to defend a client but he plays by the rules…and, after all is said and done, getting his people off is what he’s supposed to do.”

  “I suppose.” Mary sighed. “But why does that make things more complicated?”

  Dan thinned his lips, rolled them in over his teeth. “They had a date a couple of nights back, he and our lady.”

  “And?”

  “And, it seems it didn’t go too well.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it? I mean, that’ll be the end of his interest.”

  “I don’t know about that, Mary. And I keep wondering… Baron is interested in Dawn. Dawn’s husband has a record. Could there be some connection between a man who is a criminal and one who defends them?”

  “Oh God.” Mary clenched her fists. “Do you think—”

  “No, I do not.” Dan lay his hand over hers. “I can’t for the life of me think why a New York lawyer with his thousand-dollar suits and a fancy degree would even be in the same room as Dawn Carter’s husband. Baron doesn’t handle penny-ante apes like that. Just going on gut instinct,” he said, patting her hand, “I’d say the odds of the two being connected is zero.”

  Mary sat back. “Then, why are you still worried?”

  “Because nothing I’ve learned explains why Baron’s focusing on Dawn, or the reason he reacted as Keir says he did when he learned her name.”

  “Do we know anything else about him?”

  “His uncle is Jonas Baron. He’s a big-time Texas rancher with a finger in half a dozen other pies. Real estate, mining, oil… The old man’s right up there on that annual Fortune 500 list of the richest people in America.”

  “Are they close? Graham Baron and his uncle?”

  Dan shrugged. “Not so you’d notice it and besides, I don’t see how his being Jonas Baron’s nephew has any meaning here.” He looked into Mary’s eyes and his hand tightened on hers. “Don’t look so worried, Duchess,” he said softly. “We’ll keep an eye on Dawn. And on Baron, as long as he’s in town”

  Mary nodded. “Good.”

  “Besides, Keir might have misinterpreted the way Baron looked when he introduced him to Dawn. It’s entirely possible the man’s sole interest in her is…biological.”

  “Biological?” Mary watched the color stripe Dan’s cheeks and she struggled to keep from laughing. “Do you mean `sexual,’ Mr. Coyle?”

  He nodded. That was all he could manage because, all at once, he felt as tongue-tied as a boy. Was that the gentle sound of laughter in her voice? Was she flirting with him? And—he looked down at their hands, joined now that she’d gently laced her fingers through his—and, God in heaven, was he actually clasping this woman’s hand? He’d admired her for a long time. More than admired her but though she’d always been polite, she’d never looked at him as if he were anything but her chief of security.

  She was looking at him differently now. As if he were a man, and she were a woman, and she might enjoy spending some time in his company.

  “That’s what I meant,” he finally said, “exactly.”

  She laughed. “Well, I think you’re probably right. And I think your plan is excellent. To keep an eye on things, I mean.”

  “Well, it’s all we can do without alerting Dawn to our concerns.”

  “And we must not do that,” Mary said emphatically. “I have the feeling she’d flee if she thought we knew her secrets.”

  “I agree.”

  A moment passed. Then Mary eased her hand
from Dan’s and rose to her feet. “Forgive me, but I have an appointment with my doctor. Oh, goodness, don’t look like that! I want to take off a little weight. I’m just going in to discuss diets.”

  “You don’t need a diet,” he said, rising also. “You look fine, just the way you are.”

  Mary felt her heart trip. It had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the way he was looking at her. The sensation was one she’d never imagined experiencing again.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dan cleared his throat. “You’ll be happy to hear that Keir agrees we should be watchful. Without being obvious, of course. Keir’s promised to keep a low profile and not be confrontational toward Baron.”

  Mary nodded. “Fine,” she said, but knowing her son, she wondered exactly how long his promise would last.

  * * *

  Gray was furious with himself. Talk about your mouth getting ahead of your brain…

  He’d spent the past two days trying to figure out what had possessed him to say something so stupid to Dawn. Mentioning kids, asking if she liked them, Jesus, asking why she didn’t like them…

  He shoved aside the toasted bagel with cream cheese that he hadn’t touched, the congealing bacon and cold eggs, wrapped his hand around his coffee mug and lifted it to his lips. From the start, she’d been as wary of him as a canary in a cage full of cats. He’d had to do everything but turn handstands to get her to agree to have dinner and a drink with him. She’d come close to not showing up. And then, after she had, after things were going well, he’d said something so dumb he still couldn’t believe it.

  It wasn’t like him to do something stupid like that. Lawyers measured their words, if they wanted to keep their clients out of jail. If somebody had been around to hear him, he could have pretended he’d said it to smoke her out, get a reaction…

  Except, nobody had been there to watch his miserable performance, nobody but him, and what was the point in lying to himself? The simple truth was he’d spoken without thinking. He’d behaved like a man trying to figure out a woman for his own reasons, not like one who had a job to do.

  And she wouldn’t come near him, now.