He pressed the button in his earpiece and whispered into it. After ten minutes, the supervisor came over and locked down the machine for her, and told her she’d need to be back within the hour or they’d release it.
“Thank you.”
“Not a problem, Kyra,” the supervisor said.
He had read her name off her reward card, addressing her like he knew her. Well, screw him.
She pushed off her seat and rushed to the ladies’ room. Kyra didn’t want to stay away too long, giving them a chance to reprogram the machine against her or reset it. She hated the new system with the tickets. Since they’d installed it, she hadn’t won like she used to. Kyra was convinced the new system worked against her. She believed it was the reason she lost all the time.
Winning had been the norm when she first started playing. One night she’d won eight thousand dollars, and the next night twenty-five thousand dollars on one spin. The zing was indescribable when those wheels had rolled into place and the bells went off and the crowd surrounded her. On the night of her big win she’d gone home with twenty thousand dollars—she’d blown five grand trying to win more. Greed always took over. Winning excited her but not as much as the rush, the euphoria, she got while waiting for the wheels to fall onto the pay line.
The casino had treated her like royalty, had even given her a host. He’d gotten her into the popular shows or restaurants anytime she wanted. Nothing was too good for Kyra, as long as she showed up and put her money into the machine. She became a regular at the players’ lounge—eat and drink for free. Yeah, free, her ass. The cost was extreme. Somewhere along the line, she’d lost her self-respect—along with her marriage, her son, and her savings.
As time went by, she’d put more money into the machines, hoping for bigger payouts. How it had gotten out of control she didn’t know, but soon everything she loved would disappear. The bastard doesn’t want custody of Trevor—he wants to bring me to my knees.
She’d rather die than lose Trevor. He needed her. She needed him more. Money the root of all evil—solved problems—her problems—if she just had some of it. Tears rolled down her face as she sat on the toilet. Not caring who heard her cry, she whispered, “Please, God, give me one big win and I promise I’ll never gamble again.”
She listened, but He didn’t answer. She washed up and hurried back to her machine. Three hundred dollars left, her Visa card maxed out. Worse, the payment on her loan was due this week. Tommy—the asshole—had drained their joint bank account rendering her debit card useless.
She tried to stay away, honestly she did. But after a day, she’d get antsy. Her fingers itched. More than anything, she needed to get to the casino. Hell, it was hard to explain even to herself. She’d be pressed to explain it to anyone. No wonder the nuns at school had always preached against the evils of gambling.
Head down, her stomach in turmoil, she sat at her machine as she waited for the supervisor to come back—to unlock the machine. She itched to play. She needed the win. A hand landed on her right shoulder, startling her. Jerking away, Kyra turned. Muddy-brown eyes stared into hers. Joe Dillon’s dark eyes matched his greased-back black hair. Small in stature, he nevertheless lorded over his people. Crap, not the supervisor. Joe Dillon is not the person I want to see right now.
“Kyra.”
“Joe.”
“How’s it going?” Her host sat down next to her.
“Not good,” she whined.
“I’m sorry to hear it. Your payment is due soon?”
Double crapola. “Yes.”
“Why don’t you leave the machine for a while? Come have something to eat with me?”
“Why?” What does he want, besides money?
“Let’s discuss your loan payment over dinner, explore your options.”
What options? There weren’t any. All week she’d racked her brain trying to find a solution. Though a quiet guy, Joe scared her. He wasn’t a person she’d want to cross. He worked for both the casino and the loan company. When she had gotten in trouble and owed the casino mucho bucks, he’d gotten her the loan. Her own bank had turned her down. Deep inside, she understood he’d destroy her.
He just might be the final nail in her coffin.
Chapter 2
“Kyra, no one’s going to touch your machine. A break might change your luck.”
“What the hell,” Kyra said. Something had to change. “I can eat.”
“How about a steak?”
“Fine.”
They got up at the same time and bumped into each other. Joe sat back down. Kyra stood. Joe followed her as she started to head to the Trenton Steak House. Joe grabbed her arm and pointed to the private elevator. The ones that led to the Whale Room. She looked at him. He shrugged and grinned at her as he pressed the call button.
“What’s up?”
“You need a real break, let’s head upstairs.”
Curiosity got the better of her, but she figured she’d find out what he was up to in good time. A second later, her legs went lax, her hands got clammy as fear smothered her. Dizzy, her breath hitched in her lungs. Damn, she shouldn’t leave the floor with him. She owed seventy-five thousand dollars on the loan she had taken out from the private finance company Joe had hooked her up with. She paid off the casino. Stupid—what a fool I am. I should’ve made a partial payment with the three grand instead of gambling tonight. They won’t beat me up, will they? A whirlpool of bile swirled its way up her throat. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to blink them away before they fell.
“Are you all right?” Joe asked.
“I don’t want to leave the public floor.” Her voice cracked. There had to be a way out of this.
“I have a deal for you, but I can’t discuss it in an open area. We’ll discuss it upstairs, over dinner.” He flashed a toothy smile.
His smile was meant to calm her, but it did the opposite. “What kind of deal?”
“We’ll discuss it upstairs,” he repeated.
“You’re not going to break my legs or anything, are you?” she joked halfheartedly.
“No such thing, Kyra. Relax.”
Now’s the time to worry.
* * * *
The worst thing about a promotion—the paperwork. Call him crazy, or sick, but he’d rather work a juicy murder then process paper. Too bad Louie had taken lead on last night’s case, and Burke had the old lady. Now he was sitting in the chief’s office, with Shamus throwing numbers around for his departmental budget and his head was spinning. A necessary evil, but wasn’t that what accountants were for?
His cell phone rang as he reviewed a column of numbers. It was Louie. God, he’d have kissed him if he’d been in the room.
“Excuse me,” he said to Shamus. He pressed the talk button. “What’s up?”
“We caught one,” Louie said.
“I’ll be there in a few.” Jake ended the call as he turned toward his captain. “Commissioner, Captain, there’s a new one.”
“Somehow, I knew you’d find a way to get out of this,” Shamus said. “Why don’t you let Louie run it?”
“He’s running the one we picked up last night.”
“Louie’s quite capable of handling both, Jake.” Shamus leaned over to him, whispered in his ear, “I’m stuck, you’re stuck.” McGuire grinned as he leaned back in his chair.
Trapped.
He hit redial. “Take one of the junior detectives with you.”
Jake grunted as Louie’s laughter poured over the line. He cut him off mid-choke.
“Jake, evaluate both your department and Missing Persons. The mayor wants to cut our budget again. We’re going to fight it, but I need proof and stats as to why cutting the force is a bad idea. I understand there’s some deadwood in Missing Persons. You might want to start there. Don’t give the mayor cause to zero in on your department.�
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He’d heed the warning. Velky had put a bullseye on his back when Jake had gotten the mayor’s man, Captain Miller, kicked off the force for corruption. Politics—it didn’t belong on the force.
He scribbled on his note pad. Two detectives from Missing Persons stood out. He’d be a happy camper if they transferred out or got laid off. The ones he had in mind had belligerently voiced their displeasure over the Miller incident. Did he, without cause, want to put them on the block? Their mediocre evaluations told Jake their former lieutenant hadn’t held them in high regard either. It was his decision.
“You have something to add?” Commissioner Blake asked.
“No, sir.”
He wasn’t going to voice his opinion. This temporary assignment to combine both departments might be a permanent thing. He wouldn’t put it past the mayor to meld them together for a laugh to overwhelm him. He’d have to wait and see. Budget cuts, his ass. This was the mayor’s game to show who pulled the strings.
And Mayor John Velky was an expert at the game.
* * * *
Kyra needed to remember that the hosts were sharks. Their job was simple—they had to get you to put your money into the machines. They didn’t care where it came from, or if it destroyed your life, as long as you put it into the machines. They got paid by their successes. Kyra guessed she was one of Joe’s successes because her life was in shambles.
“Okay.” It can’t be all bad. Kyra gave Joe a sideward glance as he pressed the button for the thirty-sixth floor.
The elevator stopped. The doors glided open. She’d heard the rumors about this floor. Had always been curious to see it. The other gamblers in the private rooms had talked about it, but you only got to go up here if you were invited. A Whale. To the casino a Whale was defined as a person who spent big bucks. Not thousands, but hundreds of thousands, even millions—the casinos catered to them. What they asked for, they got: wine, song, and women. The Whales mingled with the casino owners and the big-name entertainers. The owners were their hosts.
Kyra stepped off the elevator and took in her surroundings with a keen eye. The Monet on the wall, the oriental carpets, and the fine bone china and lead-crystal wine goblets that graced the tables. Big money. All she needed was a tiny bit of it, she’d be able to survive—straighten out her life.
“Right this way.”
Joe held out her chair. She sat and released the breath she had been holding since she encountered Joe.
“What do you want to drink? Dom Pérignon?”
Do they wine and dine you before they kill you? At least I’ll have good champagne before I die. “Yes please.” He smiled as he put his hand on hers. He’s good. I bet with his other hand, he’ll shoot me. “Why the special treatment?”
“As I said, Kyra, I want to discuss your payment options.” He stopped talking as the waitress stepped up to their table.
From her peripheral vision, Kyra was aware that the waitress had placed cocktail napkins in front of each of them before putting down the champagne bottle, though she never broke eye contact with Joe.
“Can I take your order?” the server asked.
He ordered for both of them. She sipped her champagne and savored the cool bubbly sensation as it rolled over her tongue.
“How do you like your steak?” Joe asked.
“Medium.”
“Two filet mignon, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus. Sound good, Kyra?”
“Yes.”
“Irene, have the chef put on a chocolate soufflé for dessert.”
“Yes, Mr. Dillon.”
Kyra watched the waitress walk away to process their order.
I’m in deep shit. Nobody pampers you for nothing.
Rubbing her sweaty palms on her napkin, she wished for a towel to wipe the well of water away that had accumulated between her breasts. Kyra turned her attention back to Joe and waited for the bomb to explode.
“Kyra, you understand I not only work here at the casino, I’m employed by the people who hold the paper.”
“The paper?” She understood him, but wanted him to make it crystal clear.
“Your loan, along with other people’s loans.”
“What kind of paper do they hold?”
“All kinds of paper. Whatever a person needs at the moment. My boss is a generous man. At times he offers an individual a deal to make the paper go away. That lucky person also walks away with some cash in his—or her—pockets.”
Kyra stared, her champagne forgotten. Joe didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, he looked as if this was business as usual. Her mind raced. What kind of deal? Was it legal? Was this the answer to her prayers? The dread in the pit of her stomach surged. Run, run for your life. A bit dramatic? Uh-uh! At a loss for words, she nodded for him to continue.
“Do you want to make the seventy-five thousand dollars go away, and get some cash to fight your divorce and custody battles?”
Lord, he knows way too much about me. This can’t be good. Whatever they wanted from her had to be illegal. But what?
“Do you want me to continue?”
“Yes.” Desperation drenched her voice. She hated the sound of it.
“What we speak about today can’t be discussed with anyone else, or there’ll be serious consequences. Understood?”
She never broke eye contact with him—his look sent a cold, thorny pain into her spine. I’ve been stabbed with an icicle. God, his eyes are creepy. Why didn’t I ever notice that before? Once in, there’s no getting out. What were her choices? She had no money and her parents refused to bail her out. They had the money too. What kind of parents didn’t care if she lost her son? What kind of grandparents were they?
Nobody but me will help me. Decision made. With some cash, she’d take Trevor and start a new life elsewhere.
“I understand. What do I have that your bosses want?”
“Ah, here’s dinner. Let’s eat first.”
She didn’t want the freaking food. “What exactly are you talking about here?”
“After dinner, Kyra.” He cut into his steak and placed a piece in his mouth.
She ate, though she never tasted the food. When the waitress brought out the chocolate soufflé, she stared at it. A favorite of hers, but she had no appetite.
“Can we get this over with?”
“No, we haven’t had dessert,” he said, eyebrows raised.
She wanted to wipe the smug look right off his face but reined in her temper. Bit back her comment.
“Are you in a hurry to sign your life away? Eat the soufflé first,” he said in a low voice. She had to lean in to hear him.
She picked up her spoon, only to slam it down. “Sign my life away?” Dinner purged its way up her throat.
“It’s an expression.” He shrugged.
A tear ran down her face. He reached over and thumbed it way. The gesture skeeved her out.
“After dinner we’re going to take a ride. I’ll explain everything. This offer comes from my boss at the loan company, not me—”
“I have to talk to them?” she yelled.
“Quiet. No, I’ll be doing the talking. I wanted you to understand the terms. This offer comes from them, not the casino. Understood?”
Washing his hands of the act, clever him. “Yes.” She resigned herself to her fate. There wasn’t any way she’d be able to pay off the seventy-five thousand dollars.
“I want you right now, with discretion, to look at the guy in the corner. Take in every detail you see and retain it.”
“Why?”
“No questions, do what I ask.”
She turned, looked over her left shoulder toward the bar. Her gaze lingered on the man Joe wanted her to study. The guy filled the whole corner—he had to weigh three hundred fifty pounds if he weighed an ounce—gross. Greasy hair held in place b
y his comb-over. Revolting table manners. She kept her gaze moving until it landed on the bar. She signaled the waitress. I’m stalling—how can I get out of this? The guy must be a Whale. Joe better not be offering me to him. I’ll throw up on the spot or, worse, kill myself. Which will solve everything.
“Can I get you something, miss?” the waitress asked.
“Yes, a glass of water, please.”
The server walked away from the table. “Did you see the man I was speaking about?”
“Yes, and he’s gross.” Kyra didn’t bother to lower her voice.
“I’m not going to tell you again to keep your voice down.” She didn’t like the hard edge his voice held. “We’ll talk about him on our ride. You done?”
Joe got up without waiting for her answer, or her water. Running after him, she noticed each step he took slammed to the floor as he marched away.
Well screw him.
Chapter 3
Kyra caught up to him and tugged on his arm. “Why are you angry? I’m the one being put on the spot here.”
“I’m angry because you show no discretion. You’re rude.” He turned back to the elevator.
“Rude?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re the one who asked me to check out that gross excuse for a human being and for what? I’m not stupid and I’m not doing him.” Her face burned. Her throat went dry. At her side, her fists curled. She held her temper on a tether.
“I didn’t ask you to, did I?” He stepped into the elevator, adjusted his tie.
She stomped in after him. “What was the purpose of the look-and-see?”
“I already told you we’d talk in the car. Please don’t cause a scene, Kyra. Like you, I need my job.”
They rode down in silence. Dear God, what have I gotten myself into? Focus failed her. The trek to the car struck her as the final walk of a condemned woman. Dead Kyra walking. They reached his car. No surprise he drove a Mercedes-Benz SLK 55 convertible, silver. It was a beautiful, sleek car. My dream car, in the exact model and color. Why him? “Does it have a V8?”
“You like cars?”
All the Hidden Sins Page 2
