The Prince's Gamble

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “I checked him out. He’s a certified psycho, so you need to be careful. You may also want to consider telling the Special Agent about your own experience with the Russian mafia. Not that we have any info that says Stravinski is currently working with them.”

  The slimy feeling in his gut became an ugly knot of remembered pain. “I’d rather that stay in the past where it belongs.”

  Peter released an undignified grunt. “Stubborn as always.”

  “Says the pot to the kettle,” Alexander chided, but he kept his tones amiable. He appreciated his friend’s concern.

  “You haven’t told Tatiana about me, I guess,” Peter said casually.

  It was Alexander’s turn to grunt. “Your past. Your secret to tell.”

  He had seen the sparks fly between Peter and his sister on the few occasions when they had been together. In time, he suspected his friend would have no choice about revealing his secret to her.

  Alexander’s own past, however, was a totally different matter. “I’m sure Special Agent Martinez will fill in my security chief with the same information you just provided, but I appreciate you giving me the personal heads up.”

  “It’s the least I can do for an old friend. But if the day comes that I’m asked to keep something in confidence from—”

  Alexander clasped the other man’s shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. “I won’t ask you to compromise your ethics for our friendship, Peter.”

  “Glad to hear that.” Peter hooked a thumb in the direction of the door to the event room where person after person in fancy dress had been filing in. “I should let you go. You’ve got obligations to attend to.”

  “Don’t be such a stranger. Come join us for dinner some weekend if you’re off duty,” Alexander offered.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  As Peter started back toward the elevators, he stopped, faced him, and repeated again, “Tell her, Alexander. You’ll feel better when you do.”

  Since he wasn’t a man who made promises he didn’t keep, either, he echoed, “I’ll think about it.”

  That seemed to mollify Peter. He knew that the other man, more than most, understood the weight of the responsibilities Alexander bore. Because of that, he took his friend’s opinion to heart and mulled over what he would do about Kathleen, even as he plastered on his game face to greet his guests.

  But as the minutes became an hour and his face almost hurt from the false smile he had maintained for his guests, he still hadn’t decided what course of action to take.

  When the opening ceremonies for the tournament were done and he was dealing with some guests who had chosen to linger, his cell phone chirped. He answered and discovered he was needed in the hotel lobby, where another of their whales was pitching a fit about not getting his favorite room.

  Alexander excused himself to deal with the dilemma, but no sooner had he finished with that issue, another arose in one of the restaurant kitchens. He resigned himself to the fact it was just going to be one of those days, and headed off to deal with his responsibilities.

  This was what he had been raised to do. What he had to do, for the good of his family and their considerable investment.

  But as he did so, a little voice in his head asked, “But what about what’s good for Alexander?”

  Chapter Eight

  Earlier that morning, Kathleen had met with her ADIC and the four agents who would be assisting her with the surveillance of their list of suspects and the Russian Nights casino. The agents had accompanied her to the afternoon briefing at the casino so Jim and Alexander could meet them.

  She shouldn’t have been so pissed off that Alexander had been absent from that briefing. After all, he had hired his security chief to handle issues like this. Prince Alexander was a very busy man.

  That much had been plainly obvious during the course of the day. On more than one occasion she had seen him running from one thing to the next, either being in the limelight or putting out fires. Plus the agent she had assigned to tail Alexander after their briefing—just to be on the safe side—had kept her apprised of the prince’s every move. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at her from those reports. Which was more than she could say about Nicolai Petrov—a self-important, entitled jerk who’d been nothing but trouble since he arrived.

  He hadn’t been on her radar at all until Jim had provided her with the information on the large markers he had deposited. Although Jim had indicated that Petrov was a known whale, often gambling large sums of money at gaming tables all over the world, markers such as the ones Petrov had deposited were sometimes also used for laundering money. Combined with the suspected connection the Petrov family had to organized crime in Russia, it was too much coincidence for her to ignore.

  She had two agents, Mason and Williams, tailing Petrov and his entourage after her discussion with Jim. It had been easy for the bulk of the day since Petrov had spent the afternoon playing cards in one of the high stakes poker rooms. But a few minutes earlier he had been on the move and now she was watching from a discreet distance as he entered the Winter Palace restaurant with a very attractive woman on each arm and a heavily muscled bodyguard following behind them. Petrov had singled out the women to join him just outside the poker room.

  Her fourth agent was down in the surveillance room, watching various cameras and from what both her agent and casino security reported, Petrov had drawn twenty-five thousand dollars in chips from the marker he had placed with the Ivanov casino in Monaco from a cashier on the floor with the high stakes card tables.

  Petrov’s luck at poker had been middling, leaving him just about even after a big last minute score. He had left the gaming room with a handful of large denomination chips, but not before tossing one at the croupier as a tip.

  Kathleen suspected that before dinner was over, the women with him would also receive some of the chips. While she stood there, slowly feeding quarters into one of the slots and vigilant for any new activity, Jim Reynolds approached and crooked a finger.

  She called out instructions into her mike about the surveillance on Petrov and his entourage, and her team ratified her request via the earpiece. Satisfied, she moved to where Jim waited.

  “You’ve got news?”

  Jim shook his head. “My gut tells me those two ladies are escorts, but they don’t match the pictures of the women we identified earlier.”

  “We’ll just have to keep on with the surveillance. You said Petrov planned for a week’s stay?”

  Jim nodded. “That could explain the larger marker he deposited.”

  Or maybe he needed the money for something else like buying women for a slavery business. Or acquiring drugs if the allegations about his family were true. Or maybe even paying a goon with tattoos for God knew what else.

  “I’m hoping his presence isn’t just a coincidence. Otherwise we’re back to square one.”

  She peered back toward the restaurant. Although the bodyguard had selected an inconspicuous spot toward the rear, Petrov had established residence not far from the entrance to the restaurant. He actually seemed to be lapping up the attention he was receiving not just from his two beautiful dinner companions, but from the other patrons in the Winter Palace and those walking by. Unfortunately, not the kind of behavior she would expect from someone engaged in clandestine activities.

  She hoped they didn’t have it all completely wrong. Petrov’s sexily tousled golden-haired looks would appeal to many a woman, although he was showing signs of wear. His face was a bit sallow and starting to reveal lines, and a nascent paunch was barely visible above the waistband of his pants. Maybe from too much partying and gambling.

  She narrowed her eyes. “My people and yours both have Petrov in their sights. I think I’ll take a stroll through the casino and see if anything else is happening.”

  “I will, too. Why don’t I start on the top floor and work my way down.”

  “And I’ll start at the bottom and head upstairs,” she finished.


  With a nod, Jim peeled away, his keen gaze traveling over the floor and lingering for a long moment on Petrov and his companions.

  Kathleen strolled slowly across the floor to the escalators. She rode down to the first public level where the food courts, shops, and parking elevators were located. It was quieter here, away from the hubbub of the floors with the gambling areas. At a leisurely pace, she paused now and again to glance at the merchandise in the shop windows, read a menu or two, then settled on a latte to sip while she finished her rounds of that floor and headed to the next level.

  A line of a dozen or so people waited in the check-in area of the lobby, but they were being quickly serviced by the hotel personnel. There were more shops on this level, definitely high-end judging from the merchandise in the windows and the patrons within.

  Nothing set off her radar. She did another slow circuit around the casino floor and struggled to listen to the chatter in her ear piece over the noise of the machines and patrons in the gaming areas. Her colleagues communicated their locations and updated her on Petrov’s activities. Apparently he was busy ordering enough food for the entire restaurant and insisting on his own personal waiter. If she hadn’t already disliked him, that would have pushed her over the edge.

  She detested elitists. Which, she supposed, had been partly responsible for her initial disdain for Alexander. His actions over the past two days, however, had mollified that impression of him. Somewhat. Although she believed his explanation of the Lower East Side warehouse incident, her recollection of those captive women still haunted her enough to cause a niggle of doubt at the back of her mind about him—mainly because of her certainty that he was keeping secrets from her. Why keep secrets if he wasn’t guilty of anything?

  With nothing happening on that floor, she moved to another, and then to the fourth, catching sight of Jim as he, too, patrolled that area. The high stakes tables were on this level, along with some gaming areas reserved for the hotel’s most important guests. The atmosphere was different, definitely not as boisterous as on the lower levels. Most of the people gambling here were either too sophisticated to show their excitement or professional gamblers who maintained a neutral façade as part of their business. But because this area was the kind of place where escorts might visit in the hopes of pairing with a well-off mark, she lingered, staying in the background as she walked from one area to the next.

  After an hour of little progress, she went up yet another floor to where the restaurant and a nightclub were located. As she passed the restaurant, she noted the table in front of Petrov was piled high with dishes and a half-empty bottle of vodka. Gold flakes in the liquor shimmered under the restaurant lights as Petrov raised the bottle and refilled the glasses on the table. With the bottle now nearly empty, he hoisted it in the air and called out to the waiter for another.

  “That’s their third bottle,” one of her agents advised as Kathleen walked away, trying not to be noticed.

  “If he keeps on sucking down those raw oysters with the vodka, he’s going to be sick as a dog,” another agent chimed in.

  Raw oysters and alcohol were never a good mix, she thought, working her way into the nightclub where the noise level made it impossible to hear a thing. She shut off the transmitter to avoid compromising communications between the others, and perused the jam-packed space, excited when she caught sight of a familiar face.

  She was certain it was one of the escorts in the photos. She whipped out her cell phone and sent Jim a text message, giving her location and asking for his people to get the suspect on camera while she hung back.

  The woman was alone, but did not appear to be trolling the area for a possible client.

  Interesting. Kathleen sat at the bar, ordered a soda, and kept an eye on the woman, who was at the other end of a long crystal bar that had been sculpted to look like a huge block of ice. Her target merely sat there, sipping some kind of umbrella drink and ignoring several attractive men who made passes.

  To Kathleen’s surprise, at least two of them then turned around and approached her, but she likewise spurned their attentions.

  With little to do, she glanced around the nightclub. Like everything else in the facility, it had a Russian theme. What was visible of the upper parts of the walls had been painted with scenes from a Russian city, with the brightly colored buildings with their unique architecture. Beneath the paintings, the lower portions of the wall were made to look like a combination of stone, snow, and ice. Here and there, fake fog leaked from the walls to cascade down in thin ribbons onto the stone floors. The fog reached all the way to the dance floor. There the light from the illuminated floor colored the mist as the movements of the dancers made it twirl and jump before dissipating in the air.

  The club was rocking, filled with twenty and thirty-somethings sucking down one expensive drink after another. As another hour passed, it started to get even more crowded, especially by the bar. For a moment, Kathleen lost sight of the escort as people pushed forward to get drinks. A man shoved her from behind, jostling her and causing her to spill a goodly portion of a new glass of soda.

  She glared over her shoulder at him and he offered a sheepish apology. “Can I buy you another?” he asked, but with the kind of look in his eye which warned that he would want more than a drink eventually.

  “No, thanks, I’m meeting someone.” she said and glanced across the bar.

  The woman was gone.

  With a rough push against the man who was still almost pinning her to the bar with his weight, she broke free and stood on tiptoe. Luckily, she caught sight of her target as the woman hurried toward the exit for the club.

  Kathleen snaked her way through the throng of people moving toward the bar and dance area. When she finally broke free of the press of bodies near the doors of the club, she turned on her transmitter again and focused on the chatter.

  The woman she had been trailing had just entered the restaurant and asked for a table for one, but apparently Petrov had other ideas.

  “The other two chicks don’t look too thrilled,” one of her agents said.

  “They figure they’re going to lose a piece of the action,” another agent replied.

  Kathleen strolled past the restaurant and caught a quick glimpse of the group. The two women who had been with Petrov earlier were visibly displeased by his attention to the new arrival. Petrov’s bodyguard didn’t seem too pleased either, maybe because he sensed the growing tension between the women and didn’t relish having to wade into a catfight.

  As Kathleen stepped into a nearby gaming area, Petrov hugged and kissed his current companions before rewarding each of them with a handful of large denomination chips. Apparently that was enough to satisfy the women, and they resumed their meal while Petrov turned all his attention to the woman Kathleen had been following.

  With his arm around the escort’s waist, he leaned close and nuzzled her neck, and brought his hand to rest just below her breast as he whispered something in her ear.

  The woman laughed brightly and covered his hand with hers, drawing it down to a less risqué position. Despite that, there was no doubt that as the two left the restaurant together, with Petrov’s bodyguard following at a discreet distance, Petrov would soon have his hands all over the attractive woman.

  “Mason and Williams,” she said softly, calling attention to the two agents she had assigned to Petrov. “Keep them in sight and report back to me on what’s happening.”

  “I’ll make sure we’ve got video of the hallway by Petrov’s room,” Jim said as he stepped beside her unexpectedly, causing her to jump in surprise.

  “You could give me a little warning,” she muttered, and shook her head. “Good grief, I must be tired.”

  Jim cocked his head to the side and examined her. “Why do you say that?”

  “’Cause if I weren’t, you’d never have been able to sneak up on me like that.” She dragged her fingers through her hair in exasperation.

  “It’s nearly ten. Have yo
u taken any kind of break today? Dinner?” His tone was distinctly paternal.

  “No, Dad,” she kidded.

  He didn’t even crack a smile. “Get some grub and grab a nap,” he ordered. “If we’re lucky, she won’t spend much time with him.”

  “And if he’s lucky, she will.” Reaching to her side, she shut off her transmitter, pulled out her earpiece and slipped it into her pocket. “You’ll call me if something happens?”

  “I will.”

  With a nod, Kathleen headed off to the elevator bank. Although Alexander was still a bit on shaky ground, the information she had collected on Jim Reynolds indicated he was as by the book as they came. Everyone with whom he’d ever served or worked had the highest regard for him and spoke well of his honor. For that reason, she trusted him and his judgment.

  The ride in the elevator was blissfully short and quiet, a welcome contrast to all the noise in the casino areas. Her ears still rang with the assorted dings and pings from the slot machines, and the screams signaling that good luck had paid a visit.

  As the elevator reached the penthouse level, she once again caught sight of the open doors to Alexander’s office. Much like the night before, he was at his desk, but this time in darkness. All she could make out was the increasingly familiar silhouette of his head and shoulders against the backdrop of the city.

  Her stomach grumbled. Her feet were sore and a dull throb at the base of her skull warned of an impending headache if she didn’t grab an hour or so of rest.

  But somehow she found herself walking toward his office again, and wondering what had him sitting there alone in the dark.

  …

  Alexander heard the step at his office door, smelled the fresh citrusy scent she wore, and knew who stood by his desk before he even opened his eyes.

  He rose and faced Kathleen. “We need to stop meeting like this.”

  Her warm chuckle made his body stir, and he jammed his hands in his pockets to keep them out of trouble. It was she who reached over and snapped on his desk lamp, bathing them in a circle of intimate light.