Dane held his cards low, so even he couldn’t see them. He didn’t try. Fuck it. What was in his hand was only part of the game. Reading his opponent was key, knowing when to bet, fold, raise, based off Coke-bottle glasses’ confidence in his hand. Were his eyes narrowing a bit, his hand squeezing the cards a little tightly? This guy hid his tells better than most, so upsetting him with the drink had been an unexpected gift. He was rattled, though he hid it well. Dane not looking at his cards annoyed him, too, so he raised on the flop and then raised again before finally giving in and looking. Coke-bottle glasses stared at Dane, interpreting his reaction to the cards. The room was quiet, waiting.
Coke-bottle glasses folded. Boom! Dane’s superpower in play. Some people were good at crosswords—Dane had the luck of the Irish in poker.
On the next hand, Coke-bottle glasses pulled a straight, beating Dane’s three aces. Dane’s chips dwindled. Things were not looking good. The blonde dealt the next hand. Dane figured if he was going to lose, it would be with this hand. There was no way he could string out the play much longer with his remaining chips. The turn round, six cards face up on the table. Marnie didn’t move. Coke-bottle glasses was staring at the cards in play, eyes on the table, deciding what to do. He folded.
Dane felt a jolt of adrenaline. He was back in the game with the majority of chips now.
The next half hour was the longest thirty minutes of his life. He gave in to the lure of another drink, a shot of bourbon, neat. It was either that or twitch. By the time they hit this river round, seven cards face up in the center of the table, they’d been playing for three hours total. Dane placed the bet; Coke-bottle glasses raised enough to make him think he had a great hand. Marnie must have thought so, too, because she studied Coke-bottle glasses like she was reading his mind. Dane saw nothing to indicate a bluff or otherwise—the guy was good—but whatever Marnie saw had her excited, and that could only mean she thought Coke-bottle glasses was bluffing. She knew this man better than he did. But Coke-bottle glasses knew her. It canceled itself out. In the end, Dane’s instincts agreed with her. If there’d been a pin in the vicinity and someone had the bad taste to drop it, it would have been heard. Everyone waited.
All in to win, to bring down a monster, capture a killer, get his family out of limbo, Dane pushed all his chips onto the table and raised, forcing Coke-bottle glasses to call or fold. Bluff or not, the man had a good enough hand to warrant his betting escalation. No one expected a fold.
“Call.” Coke-bottle glasses smiled, and his whole body relaxed, as if indicating the game was over. “Damn, Marnie. He’s good, but poker isn’t a hobby.” He laid down his cards one by one. Three of a kind, queen high. Hard to beat. “How many times have I told you that?” He finished his drink and slammed the glass on the table as if punctuating his bravado.
Dane heard Patrick behind him finishing his drink and putting his coat on. David laughed when he saw Coke-bottle glasses’ hand, and sunglasses was asking for a cab. It was over. Dane had expected to feel…more. He forced himself to snap out of his ennui as he turned his cards over.
“A straight, eight high,” the dealer said. “Mr. MacLain wins.”
The room fell silent. Marnie, her face still clear of expression, wasn’t watching him; she was watching Coke-bottle glasses slap the table and laugh. The room applauded. Marnie stood and winked at Dane.
“David!” Marnie whooped. “I’ll take that lucky vodka tonic with a lime twist now.”
“You don’t believe in luck.” David was ready for her. He gave her the drink.
“True.” She looked proud but acted as if Dane wasn’t in the room. It was weird.
“Congratulations, you two! We should celebrate.” David looked between him and Marnie.
“I wish I could, David, but we have a prior commitment.” Marnie sucked the drink down, smacked her lips, and laughed. She shook all the players’ hands and gave Coke-bottle glasses a kiss on the cheek. “He’s good, Ralph. Isn’t he?”
He nodded, still smiling. “It’s clear you’re preoccupied at the moment, but I expect a visit soon, a call even sooner.”
Dane finally understood the look he’d given Marnie at the beginning of the game. Pride. Marnie Somerville had a family after all. He’d begun to wonder. Hidden in shadows and forgotten crevices across the city, they weren’t blood, but she’d earned their admiration and loyalty. She said good-bye to everyone, bright eyed and excited. He did detect a little relief mixed in but didn’t hold it against her. He was feeling loads of it right now. They were out of there ten minutes after he won the game.
Instead of heading back to their room with the cash, Marnie made a phone call in the elevator, all hush-hush. When they reached the lobby, he stopped her. “I’ll call a cab. Give me the supplier’s address.”
“No need.” She scanned the lobby and saw the man she was looking for. He was wearing a Red Sox cap low on his forehead and a hoodie pulled over that. All Dane could see was his mouth, so he knew he was Caucasian, lean, tall, his black leather jacket expensive, his jeans baggy, and his basketball sneakers new. Dane wouldn’t have been able to pick him out in a lineup. Marnie handed the man their winnings.
Without a word exchanged, they went their separate ways, Marnie tugging Dane to the elevator as the guy hurried out of the lobby. A rush of adrenaline shot through him. It was happening. Finally, after all his searching and pushing against the impossible, Dane was winning. It invigorated him.
The elevator door closed them inside. Marnie was completely exhausted, he suspected because there was never any middle ground with her. She was either all in or not at all. “Saving” him at the cabin. Committing to the break-in. Making love. Poker. She’d been burning the candle at both ends since he met her.
He owed her everything and knew he wasn’t done taking. Before this job was done, he wanted every last bit of her, and he didn’t think for one minute it wouldn’t change them. This need.
Was it wrong the thought excited him?
Chapter Thirteen
By the time they made it back to their hotel room, Marnie was visibly shaking. “Being registered under fake names should keep us safe for the night.” She heard Dane order vodka nips from room service and was surprised.
“Medicinal.” He looked worried about her. Again. He hadn’t shown any nerves while playing with that table of barracudas, and now he was acting like the win was no big deal. Meanwhile, she was wrecked. Flopping onto the bed, she stared at the ceiling, uncaring that her dress rode up and the neckline gaped. It didn’t matter. What mattered was he won the thirty thousand, she kept her shit together, and they could pay Caleb, her supplier, what she’d promised for the order. She took a moment to revel in the win. “Ralph nearly shit his pants when he lost. This is not a small thing. Ralph rarely loses.”
“He’s the better player.”
“Not tonight he wasn’t.” She laughed, eyes closed, and she noticed her laugh sounded a lot like a sob. She pinned him with a stare. “You’re good, MacLain. I have to hand it to you. You surprised us all.”
He was looking at her as if he wanted to lie down next to her. She wanted it but was afraid. It was his expression, maybe. Dane was making her feel like he cared. Marnie curled into a ball and hugged the pillow to her chest. She couldn’t handle that shit now. Not right now, when she felt fragile from the stress and exhaustion.
“You okay?” MacLain sat, resting a hand on her shoulder, drawing it down her arm with a warm caress.
No, she wasn’t okay. This was not okay. Winning the game had been necessary, but it was an appetizer, not the main course. Tonight was about making money. Tomorrow was about their lives. With so much on the line, how could she allow herself to become distracted by Dane? She wasn’t the type to lie to herself. She was falling in love with her crush. Why didn’t she just blow her brains out now and save them all the trouble for later? She was a fool, lying there, frozen, clutching the pillow, helpless to do anything about it.
Dane lay nex
t to her and pulled her into his arms. Turning toward his heat, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, willing to settle for this illusion of safety. They weren’t safe. The wound on her side throbbed, reminding her of what happened the last time she stole the files. But if they didn’t succeed with the break-in, there was a chance they’d never be safe.
He held her until her muscles relaxed and she could think. When he took off her shoes and pulled the comforter around her, her chin quivered. His kindness was making her weak. Vulnerable. And it was getting worse. Loving him was a mistake. He’d find out and use her feelings against her. They always did. It was only a matter of time, and then he’d break her heart.
He rubbed her back, soothing her, and when the knock sounded on the door, she was so sleepy she closed her eyes and just wished everything away. When he left her side, she was okay with it—she was coping. Then he put the vodka nips and shot glasses on the side table. “Let me help you put on the robe. You’ll be warmer.”
She didn’t want to move. Dane insisted, making her sit, wrapping the robe around her shoulders. He stood her up, unsnapped the dress, allowing it to fall to the ground, and then he was belting the cotton robe at her waist. She crawled back in bed, wanting nothing more than to sleep and fearing it was impossible. Her thoughts ricocheted from one worry to the next as he poured shots and insisted she drink hers. It burned, distracting her.
The second shot goosed her into getting real. She wasn’t a victim. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and live in the real world. They’d had sex. She should enjoy him while this lasted and stop acting like she was Cinderella at the ball. When the proverbial midnight arrived and WE was destroyed and his family safe, Dane would have no use for her glass slipper. He’d move on, and so should she.
He’d shed his suit jacket and shoes but still wore the sexy shirt, his tie askew, his pants rumpled now. He wasn’t looking at her with desire, but with care. He was a good man. If anyone had to break her heart, she supposed it was best he be the one to do it. Whatever happened between them, she’d handle it. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “Just need sleep.” The alcohol did its work, settled her mind, if not her heart.
His desire was blatant, pushing against his pants as his gaze traveled up her naked legs, over the curve of her breast, and then finally to her face. He leaned over her, tugged the comforter over her shoulders, then dropped a kiss on her lips before turning out the light. His behavior confused her, but she was too tired to prod an answer out of him. She was asleep before he closed the bathroom door behind him.
…
She woke the next morning with a raging headache. Dane was spooning her. The sunlight, though obscured by drapes, targeted her eyes enough to make her curl away from it. It brought her bottom up close and personal against Dane’s arousal. She inhaled sharply, surprised at her body’s reciprocating response. And curious. She blinked against the light and met his gaze. He gave the impression he’d been watching her for a while.
“Hey,” she said.
Dane propped himself on his elbow, leaning over her, clearly enjoying himself. He was in his underwear and had found time for a shower. His hair was soaking wet, dripping on her arm as he kissed her temple and caressed her arm. When she turned her face to receive his kiss, he tugged her closer to make it easier, urging her body to conform to his. The kiss didn’t suffer for its brevity. “You okay?” he said.
Headachy, irritable, hungry. About normal. “Coffee and Tylenol.”
Dane gave her a squeeze and then kissed her again before picking up the phone. He was pretty amazing, she thought. He had the ability to dominate whatever room he was in simply by being in it. She wondered if it was his strength, charisma, or maybe his résumé, but he made her feel…safe.
He ordered a full breakfast with mimosas. Ever the lightweight when it came to alcohol, last night’s three drinks under a half an hour had been a mistake, so the idea of more made her cringe. Medicinal, he’d said. Well, now she needed pharmaceuticals to recover.
“Sure you’re okay?” Dane said. “You’ve having a rough week.” She hadn’t washed her face before bed and knew from experience she must look like a raccoon. Before she did anything else, she needed to brush her teeth and take a shower.
His hand caressed her ass under the robe as she slipped from bed. The intimacy startled her, making her squeal and take a few hurried steps before turning and giving him a mock scowl. He smiled, unrepentant.
She was going to miss him. When she was gone, Marnie was determined he remember her tight ass, not her woebegone coif and smeared eye makeup, so she shucked the robe halfway to the bathroom.
“Hey! Get back here,” he said.
Marnie closed the door on him, feeling mission accomplished.
The shower didn’t rid her of her headache, but it made her feel human again. A half hour later, wrapped in a towel, she stepped out of the bathroom and smelled bacon. Room service had come and gone, and MacLain hadn’t waited. He was halfway through his meal. The smell of orange juice changed her mind about the alcohol. She ripped open a Tylenol packet and downed the pills with half the mimosa. It perked her right up.
“Feel better?” MacLain polished off his plate and took a healthy bite of wheat toast.
“I can’t wear a dress where we need to go tonight, and even Harper’s castoffs won’t do. I can’t go to my apartment, so that means we need to shop.”
“All you do is shop.” He took a bite of bacon.
“Do you see an alternative?”
He chewed and then sipped coffee. “So tonight’s the night.”
“I’m afraid to wait longer.” She took another sip of the mimosa.
“Afraid Whitman might move the servers?”
“I know he will.” She sat on the bed’s edge. “But they haven’t yet.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve people monitoring the facility. They’ll call me if trucks drive up, any weird activity.”
“People? Care to tell me who?” His curiosity was presented as mild, but the keen interest she saw in his eyes belied that impression.
“You’re better off not—”
“Knowing. Copy that.” He shrugged off his disappointment and indicated her plate. “Eat.”
She arranged a pillow behind her and got comfortable on the bed, then accepted the covered plate MacLain nudged toward her. Her energy was returning with the sugar fix. One bite of toast made her stomach growl. She saw pieces of spinach and tomato mixed in with the scrambled eggs and detected the saltiness of cheese. Her stomach didn’t rebel after a nibble, so she ate half of her portion before moving on to the bacon.
Pleasure morphed into a long moan before she thought better of it. One look at Dane’s face told her he was remembering the last time she made that noise. Her naked but for a towel, him in his underwear, they looked like lovers sharing breakfast. And they were. Lovers. She felt her face flush and wanted to kick herself for the weakness. Dane sipped his coffee, grinning. She grinned back, flummoxed. How did he do that? They were breaking into Whitman’s building tonight. Happy wasn’t on the menu. Their lives, the happiness of his family were on the line. Yet she didn’t want to tell him to worry, either.
Desperate to kill the silence, she said, “A quick trip to Walmart and we should be good.”
“What does Walmart have?”
“Black pants, shirts.” She shrugged. “I can’t be scaling a building in that neon-yellow jacket you loaned me.”
“You intend to scale the building?”
“You never know.” She shrugged. “It saved my ass last time.” She wiggled her fingers at him, wondering if he’d understand the reference.
“You’re a rock climber?”
She shook her head, amused. “I used to dabble in cat burglary.”
“Hence the swank black wardrobe.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his ankles. “I never realized how much fashion played a role in being a criminal.”
Criminal. Hmm. Marnie
preferred grifter. It was more specific and denoted skill and finesse. Criminal made her think of junkies breaking into houses to steal for their next fix, but it seemed petty to argue semantics. “Dress for the job you want, right?”
He lifted a brow, smiling at the damp towel wrapped around her chest. She’d tucked it between her legs, so she was covered more than if she’d worn a bathing suit, but they weren’t on a beach, and her towel was so easily removed. She got his implication; she just couldn’t figure out what job entailed wearing a damp towel.
“Time to settle on a plan.” He gave the impression he was expecting her to be difficult.
“Agreed.” She sipped her coffee, tapping her forehead. “I have the schematics of the building in here, luckily, because we don’t have time to steal them again.”
“Go time?”
“Nine tonight.”
“We’ll have the building to ourselves.” He lifted his brows comically, trying to get a laugh and lighten the mood.
She shook her head. “This isn’t funny. Their security is the best money can buy. They have boots on the ground as well as video monitoring. Twenty-four-seven.” And not to be forgotten, ya know, hired killers… She shivered at the thought. Marnie wasn’t a big fan of jumping into the fray. She liked stealth. In and out without anyone knowing the wiser. Whitman’s crew expected them. And if they didn’t, they should be fired for incompetence.
His expression softened. “We can do this,” he said. He made her believe him. How did he do that?
“I have all the tech we’ll need tonight.” She bit her lip, hoping she was right. “We’ll break the codes on the door locks rather than blow them—”
“Because of the manned security booths.”
“Yeah. Once inside his office, we’ll use Whitman’s signature code so security will think it’s him logging in, the devil incarnate himself. It will give us admin rights to everything.”
“How’d you find the code?”
She smiled. “He has an app on his phone, which I cloned a few weeks ago. It generates a code every thirty seconds, giving us access to everything, and we’ll read as him.” Dane seemed impressed.
Betrayed by a Kiss Page 15
