Identity--A Tale of Murder, Mystery and Romance

by H. D. Thomson

  Before she said something stupid, she turned back to the table and watched the dealer sweep this plays chips, including her own, off the layout.

  David sank down in the leather, swivel chair beside her, placed his money on the felt outside of the playing area and nodded to the dealer. “I’ll have five stacks, please.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Buying in of course.” He leaned over and placed a stack on a corner bet, his arm brushing against her own.

  Warily, Skye stared at the sharp, masculine lines of his profile. He wore a pristine, white long-sleeved shirt, untucked at the waist, a pair of jeans and brown casual shoes—probably all designer labels.

  “I thought I’d give this table a shot.” He tapped a finger on top of his chips, sat back in his chair and winked. “But if you find me too intimidating, there’s always the craps table. After all, you’ve got a much better chance at winning against the house with craps than roulette.”

  The man acted far too confident and with probable cause. Because of his glamorous career, lethal looks, and large bank account, he probably acquired cars, women, and any number of gadgets with little effort. Well, it was about time someone dismantled that gargantuan confidence and turned it into something more manageable, and she was the perfect person to do it.

  “I’ve already played several games of craps. This table’ll do me just fine. I’ve been far too lucky tonight to even think of moving.”

  Today, she’d come away from playing craps with enough to cover the truck and most of the monthly expenses, but she’d decided to add a nice financial cushion for any unexpected expenses.

  She’d developed a certain skill to appearing “lucky,” but there was always an ever-present chance of flagging the casino if she outplayed the odds repeatedly. Security and all available cameras zeroing in on her were the last things she wanted.

  “Sounds like you expect your luck to continue.”

  She gave him a sideways glance. “Of course.”

  “Overconfidence can play against you.”

  “Really?” Skye couldn’t believe the man had the gall to say that when he dripped with the stuff?

  “Reeeally.”

  At the challenge in his eyes, her jaw tensed. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you. I’ll win against you every single time,” she bluffed.

  He arched a brow. “So competitive. Are you like that in everything?” Curiosity and something distinctly wicked flared in his dark, far too knowing eyes. “What about in bed? Do you always have to be the one in control?”

  For a moment, the bold question robbed her of speech. It didn’t help when sudden images of their naked bodies and entwined limbs flashed in her mind. She straightened her shoulders and flipped a thick lock of hair over her shoulder.

  “And what’s wrong with that?” She sent him a half-smile, deliberately lightening her voice with amusement, not about to reveal how much his interest and words flustered her. The man’s ego didn’t need any help. “That way I know I get what I want.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with letting someone take the initiative, but every now and then I like to be the one on top.”

  “I’m not interested in your sex life.” She lifted her hand over her mouth and faked a yawn. “Any more detail, and I’ll be bored to tears.”

  Dark and sinful, his laughter washed across the distance between them. He placed an elbow against the arm of his chair, leaned toward her and whispered, “You can always try me out for a test run. I might even teach you a few moves if you’re naughty enough.”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  Even when she swiveled in her chair to face the table, she sensed his eyes on her. Skye forced herself not to squirm in her chair or pull up the bodice of her sleeveless dress. She liked the idea of learning a couple new maneuvers far more than she wanted to acknowledge.

  “Maybe another time.”

  Skye opened her mouth to argue and deflate a bit of that ego of his, but she closed it. She wasn’t going to play his little word games, not when she was getting too caught up in the sexual banter between them. She couldn’t afford such distractions.

  Instead, she tried to refocus on the table and the betting. She watched the roulette wheel spin, the ball ricochet off one pocket and then the next. As the wheel slowed, the blurred numbers grew with clarity.

  “There’s something about a roulette wheel I find mesmerizing,” Bishop murmured. “Strange as it sounds, even as a child when I first saw one on television it intrigued me.”

  Skye looked over and found Bishop staring at the wheel with a fascinated expression that must have been similar to her own. “I know. I’ll play poker, craps, and even slots, but I inadvertently always end up at the roulette table. I’m drawn to everything about it, and I don’t know why.”

  “I guess we do have one thing in common.”

  For several seconds they stared at each other. The buzz of conversation, the hum and clatter of slot machines faded. She felt a sudden, inexplicable bond with Bishop, almost as if they’d shared an experience deeper, more profound than this moment...

  Crazy.

  She thrust the thought aside and focused on the table in front of her. She hadn’t come to Vegas for a personal relationship.

  With no winners this spin, the dealer swept up the losing chips, and Skye placed two stacks on the outside six lines. The dealer spun the wheel and let the ball drop. She pushed images and sounds to the background and stared at the ball. As the wheel slowed yet further, she mentally pushed the ball into the ten pocket. The ball landed, quivered and stayed. Then suddenly, it jumped from the pocket, bounced and landed in the number two pocket. By the time she recovered from her surprise, Skye didn’t have time to move it back to ten without it looking odd.

  Slowly she uncrossed her leg, turned to Bishop and warned, “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “I’m not buying that innocent look.”

  Finally. Progress. She’d managed to get Bishop to reveal his telekinesis without stabbing him with a pair of shears. Now she needed to see how far he’d take it, and she had an idea a dare might be the perfect bait.

  She shifted in her chair and looked around. Across the table, a young girl with pink-streaked hair and matching lipstick and nails sat with a face flushed with excitement. She didn’t look a day over twenty-one, and Skye suspected this was her first time betting at a roulette table in Vegas.

  When the girl placed a couple of chips on number nine with a tentative hand, a wicked idea formed in her mind. Skye slipped from her chair and stepped back to allow another player to take her place.

  “Cashing out already?”

  “I think my luck just ran out, but do you know what? I think that girl with the pink highlights might be far luckier than I’ve been tonight.”

  Bishop glanced at the girl and back at Skye. Understanding flared in his brown eyes, and he smiled a little half-smile that looked far too cocky. He slipped from his own chair, retrieved his chips and stood beside her to watch the table. “I don’t know about that. The little, bald-headed guy next to her looks far luckier with his chips on six. Retired, probably with a fixed income. I bet he probably needs the cash more than her.”

  “You think so? I beg to differ.” Skye met the challenge in his eyes and straightened her shoulders and grinned back.

  Pleasure bubbled up into her chest. Months, maybe even years, since she experienced such emotion. All because of Bishop.

  Mentally, she shook herself from the thought. No analyzing. Just take the moment.

  One. Two deep, cleansing breaths. Then she peered between the shoulders of the gamblers seated in front of them and mentally zeroed in on the ball after the dealer’s drop. The wheel slowed. The ball clattered across the pockets, hesitated, then plopped into the nine pocket. And it—or should she say Bishop—did exactly what she expected. The ball jumped immediately from the pocket and into six. She forced it out of six and around the wheel until it landed back in
to nine. Once in the pocket, she used her mind to keep it there.

  “You’re working far too hard at keeping that in the hole. It doesn’t want to be forced,” David whispered. His lips brushed her ear lobe as he spoke, while his breath warm and moist whispered against her neck.

  Much to her dismay, Skye lost her concentration, and she knew that’s exactly what Bishop wanted. The ball jumped again and landed on six. By the time she rammed her elbow into his side, heard his soft whoosh of breath, too much time had passed for her to get the number back into the nine pocket.

  “Number six, black,” the dealer called out.

  “Well, by God!” The elderly, bald-headed man slapped his hand on the table with a thump. “Will you get over that?”

  Leaning closer to Bishop, she whispered, “That was just luck.”

  “I’d call it skill.”

  As she shifted and lifted her head to glance up at him, his lips brushed against her temple. He was far too close. So near, she smelled cinnamon on his breath.

  She’d never revealed her telekinesis deliberately with another human being or felt this comfortable or this connected. To be able to share her secret with someone else who understood, lifted her spirits and tugged at her heart.

  She met his gaze, and until now, hadn’t realized his brown eyes held deep rust colored flecks around the irises. She also hadn’t realized just how nicely they fit together height-wise. In heels, she didn’t have far to inch up and touch her lips to his or press up against his hips.

  Hunger washed across her flesh and seeped into her body while getting air into lungs seemed far harder than moments before.

  “We have a winner!”

  Both of them blinked and drew apart, but sexual awareness still throbbed in the air between them. Bishop’s face seemed a bit flushed, his breath a bit quicker, and his eyes a bit more dilated than moments before. It seemed she wasn’t the only one caught up in this crazy attraction.

  On the next spin, Skye concentrated harder. The girl had chosen twenty-one. Not the smartest move when it came to odds and the roulette, but that didn’t matter, because fate—or more like Skye—was helping her.

  When the ball quivered on twenty-one and threatened to slip out because of Bishop’s power, Skye frantically searched for a way to distract him. She jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow...again. Not the most original idea, but it worked. The ball stayed in the pocket, and the girl squealed with delight.

  “Hey!” Frowning, he looked insulted if not for the tell-tale gleam in his eyes. “Cheater.”

  She smirked. “I like to win.”

  “And stay on top.”

  Skye decided to ignore that comment. “I think that makes us even.”

  “Oh, I think we should try one more time for a tie-breaker. My retired guy probably has to struggle to pay his prescription and medical care.”

  “You’re on.” She’d never done something as crazy as this, but she couldn’t resist seeing the excitement and wonder on both the man and girl’s faces.

  The next number was fifteen for the girl and a corner bet by the elderly man. Skye focused, determined not to get distracted by Bishop’s next strategic move on her person. When he draped an arm around her shoulder, she was fully prepared and tried to shrug him off. Then he used a thumb to caress the sensitive skin below her ear, and after a moment, he moved from there to play with her silver earring. The gentle touch sent a shiver racing down her spine.

  From the corner of her vision, she saw his wide smile. So he was enjoying himself, was he? She couldn’t help but do the same and found herself grinning like an idiot.

  The wheel slowed. With her mind, Skye pushed the ball into number fifteen. Then suddenly the ball popped out. Skye tried to sweep it around the wheel again to fifteen, but some invisible force fought back. The white ball skirted across the pockets and dropped into two and held, no matter how hard Skye tried to use her mind to pull it out.

  “Yes!” A woman with sleek, black hair and a scarlet top, clapped wildly and glanced around the table with wide-eyed amazement.

  Skye stiffened. The woman wasn’t supposed to win. A bet on number two had nothing to do with either the girl or the man. “Did you?”

  Confusion flashed across Bishop’s face as he slid his arm from around her shoulders, exposing her skin to the casino’s cool air. “No. I haven’t a clue what happened.”

  Skye shivered and crossed an arm around her stomach while unease crept along the back of her neck. “You don’t have some inside joke going on here I’m not aware of?”

  “No. I was battling the ball from your mental hold when something seemed to grab it.”

  Searching his face, Skye saw genuine puzzlement in his dark eyes and believed him. “That’s odd.”

  He frowned as he glanced around the table. “Unless someone with the same ability is playing with the two of us.”

  Skye followed his narrowed gaze. The pink haired girl had two friends on either side of her. The elderly man sat alone. A man, possibly a husband, stood to the right of the raven-haired woman. Several people, all looking like innocent tourists, watched or walked by the table. The back of a man disappeared into a crowded aisle.

  There was no way to identify the person behind the stunt.

  Fear pressed against Skye’s chest with such force that it momentarily cut off the breath from her lungs. Skye backed away from the table. She wasn’t being paranoid. Not this time. Someone else had moved the ball on the roulette wheel.

  That someone was a threat and knew all about her. She sensed it deep in the pit of her stomach. That person had stood within hearing, even touching distance.

  Panic lashed at her mind. Her hands fisted.

  Too much emotion. Too much pressure. She glanced over at a glass of what looked like a Bloody Mary on the edge of the table. Her control disintegrated. The glass exploded, spraying liquid and ice on the table, across Bishop’s chest and a man to the right of him.

  “What the hell!” someone cried out.

  Several others gasped.

  A hot wave of mortification swept into Skye’s face as Bishop’s once pristine white shirt turned into an ugly tie-dyed red. She prized her composure, worked hard and long to keep her feelings under the radar. For months she hadn’t broken anything—until now.

  But someone had followed her here. If they knew her location, that would mean...

  Ty. My God. She’d thought he’d be fine with Jamie, but he wasn’t safe. Neither one of them were.

  Chapter 9

  “So what’s the situation?” Ferguson asked from the other end of Peter’s cell phone.

  Seated behind the wheel of his parked rental, Peter squinted against the fading sun and pulled the car’s visor lower. If it wasn’t for the vent blowing cold air, he’d be sweating like a stuffed sausage on a grill. “I found her at the Pharaoh.”

  It had taken Peter a week longer than he’d expected. The woman had been far harder to find than most.

  “Anything else?”

  “She went over to a David Bishop’s house.”

  Silence. Peter stilled, sensing the shock on the other side of the line. Strange. Why did the name Bishop bother this prick so much?

  From across the parking lot, Peter stared at the Pharaoh, a garish, pyramid-type building. The casino squatted in front of him, while the Vegas sun reflected off its windows and gold paint. Ugly just like the rest of the city. How the hell anyone lived here was beyond him.

  Peter cleared his throat. “After she left, a few minutes later a man came out of the same residence.”

  “Go on.”

  “I think the guy was Bishop’s father. I’m guessing. He had gray hair, the same type of facial features but a skinnier build. I was too far away for a positive ID.”

  “Damn it!”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Gordon’s the problem.”

  Peter frowned and glided a hand across the steering wheel. “Who’s this Gordon?”

  “None of
your damn business! I’d tell you if it was. I would have thought you’d have figured that one out by now!”

  Peter’s nostrils flared, and he fisted a hand around the wheel. Bastard. He was almost tempted to keep his mouth shut on his other news. “There’s something you should know.”

  “Yeah, what?”

  “Do you know of anyone else interested in Skye and her son?”

  “No.” Anger seeped from his voice. “Why?”

  Peter paused and let Ferguson wait for a moment. The prick wasn’t as powerful as he liked to think. “Someone else is following them.”

  “Well, find out who the hell they are. That’s what I pay you for!”

  The line disconnected.

  “Asshole,” Peter muttered and tossed his cell on the passenger seat.

  He started the car and pulled out of his parking space. When he turned the steering wheel and guided the car out onto the street, pain cut across his left shoulder and down his arm. He scowled. Two years now, and neither bone nor muscle had healed correctly from where the bullet had torn through both. The pain always reminded him of his past life.

  A life ruined because of Skye Hunter.

  Oh, but soon, real soon, he’d more than ruin Skye’s life.

  ~~*~~

  Someone rapped sharply on the hotel door.

  Skye tensed, digging her fingers into the t-shirt she held in her hands. She twisted the material, while fear bit into her back and shoulder muscles.

  My God they’d found her. After all the months, all the running, it came to this moment.

  She looked over at Tyler flung across the width of the bed with his head propped up on a hand and his gaze attached to a television program. The show’s volume, moments ago sounding normal, blared into the confined room.