Gamble (Nightforce Security Book 2)

by Keira Beck

  Noah didn’t blame him. Simon was a tool. He turned his attention back to the screen and watched himself enter the poker room. The video continued in reverse. “There. Back up a few frames. Yeah, there. That’s Jack.”

  Ethan started another scan on his face, then continued the feed.

  “There!” Noah almost missed it, because that particular screen seldom captured an image—its camera focused on a door that saw little traffic. But the flutter of movement on the otherwise still feed caught his attention. “That’s the guy and his escort – they’re still in the building.”

  Ethan worked his magic, adding their faces to the mix. The other monitors were already spitting out results.

  “Wait,” Daphne said. “Is this live? Are Jack and Deuce really still here?”

  “Yeah,” Noah said. “Don’t worry, Daphne. They won’t come up here. Even if they do, the door’s locked. No one’s getting in here.”

  “I’ll call security,” Simon said.

  “And if more of them are involved?” Ethan said. “We already found two inside guys. There might be more.”

  “I’m going,” Noah said. “Where is that?”

  “No!” Daphne said.

  Everyone looked at her.

  “I mean,” her voice was calmer, “it’s dangerous. The police are already here. Let’s tell them.”

  “Go ahead,” Noah said, “but I’m already on my way. It’s a time-suck to get to the cops right now. I’ll go, you notify them, and I’m sure they’ll catch up. Now, how do I get there? Is that one of these back hallways?”

  “Actually,” Simon said, “that’s the new hotel.”

  “Fastest way from here to there?”

  “Through the casino, east exit. There’s a hallway connecting the two.”

  “I’ll walk you through the maze from the phone,” Ethan said.

  “I’ll just show him,” Daphne said. “It’ll be faster.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Just to the casino. Then you can continue on, and I’ll tell the police.”

  “Fine. But only because arguing is a further waste of time.”

  “Just got another hit,” Ethan said. “Also in the hotel.”

  “You stay here, keep working. I’m going after Jack and Deuce.” He looked at Simon. “You have a gun on you?”

  “I’m surveillance, not security.”

  “Great.” Noah headed to the door.

  Daphne ran after him. “Noah, I don’t think you should go after them without a weapon.”

  “I’ve already faced them down a few times. It’ll be fine.” They stepped out into the hall and headed back the way they’d come.

  “But that was three beatings ago,” she said. “Four if you count Ace and Deuce separately.” They were almost back at the casino. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “I’m scared for you.”

  “This will all be over soon, Daphne. I promise.”

  “Yeah, but it’s how it ends that concerns me.” She opened the door.

  Chapter Nine

  Noah left Daphne at the door to the poker room and quickly made his way through the casino to the east exit. From there, he could leave the property or enter the hotel. He chose the latter.

  The hallway between the two areas screamed ‘brand new.’ There wasn’t a single scuff on the walls, and the carpet still had that new textile smell, although it was subtle and would likely soon be gone.

  He walked through the lobby and considered stopping to request help from security. But the guards there could easily have been involved in the crime, too, so he decided against it. Besides, the police were coming, and additional people would only get in his way.

  Noah reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone. He placed a call to Ethan, who answered immediately. “All right. I’m at the elevator bank. Where to now?”

  “Stay on the ground floor. The guys just walked through the kitchen. Well, they were chased out of the kitchen by the staff.”

  “They have guns. Why not just threaten the chefs and go out through the loading dock?”

  “Maybe they didn’t want to draw more attention to themselves. Staying under the radar is their best hope of getting away at this point. Based on where they came from and where they’re headed, I’m guessing they’re looking for the laundry room. It’ll also have a loading bay, and if you can get there before they do, you can block their exit.”

  “And what’s the fastest way from where I am?”

  Ethan walked him through the directions, and he ran down one empty corridor after another until he got to the laundry room. “Did I beat them here?”

  “Yeah. If they continue at their current speed, you have about a minute.”

  “How the hell did I get so far in front of them?”

  “They took a wrong turn by the pool. Or thought they could get out that way. But every door to the outside from there is sealed and locked for the winter.”

  “Whatever. Going in.” Once inside the laundry room, he came across a staff of four, all of whom paused in the middle of their tasks and stared at him.

  “I’m with Nightforce Security. There’s no reason to be alarmed, but I need everyone to clear this room. Right now.”

  No one budged.

  “Two armed men are on their way here.”

  They all bustled out of the room without delay or comment.

  Noah hated scaring them, but at least they were safe. He put the phone to his ear. “They still coming this way?”

  “Yeah. Just rounded the corner. Keep your phone on so I can hear you.”

  Things were so much easier when they used comms. Noah stuck the phone in his pocket and tried to leave the speaker poking out. It was the best he could do. Then he scanned the room.

  Long banks of enormous washers and dryers, half of which were running. Industrial-sized cleaning supplies. A few folding machines. Dozens of rolling carts and bins. Separate section for ‘personal’ laundry requests from the guests, including ironing boards, hangers, plastic bags, and even a computer station.

  The room was huge and well-appointed. And had absolutely nothing in it that Noah could fashion into a weapon. Maybe a wire hanger, in a pinch…

  He’d just finished his assessment when the door opened. Noah dove for cover behind the laundry carts and peered through a gap between two of them.

  In walked Jack and Deuce. It was apparent how Deuce earned his moniker. He was definitely the least valuable card in the deck. Or criminal in the gang.

  Jack took his time, looked around, assessed his surroundings. And strolling behind him like he hadn’t a care in the world came Deuce, munching on a large submarine sandwich he must have pilfered from the kitchen.

  “Where is everybody?” Jack whispered.

  “Dunno.” Deuce’s mouth was full, and crumbs sprayed from his lips as he managed his one-word answer.

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Stay sharp, will you?”

  Deuce shrugged and took another bite.

  “Tell you what.” Jack gestured with his gun toward the carts where Noah hid. “You go that way, I’ll go this way. Whoever finds the exit first, call out to the other. Okay?”

  “Fine.” More explosive crumbs.

  They separated. Noah almost felt bad for Deuce. Jack had clearly sent him in this direction because there was no way out. There was, however, someone lying in wait. If Noah could overpower him—and there really wasn’t an ‘if’ in his mind—then he’d have a weapon he could use in his pursuit of Jack.

  Deuce ambled toward him, still chowing down. His gun was tucked into his waistband, and he grasped the sandwich with both hands.

  Perfect.

  The fool was walking toward a wall. The aisle formed a T. If he went left, he’d be where the cleaning supplies were stored. Right took him back toward the folding machines. Neither direction led to an exit, but that wouldn’t matter. Deuce would never get a chance to choose.

  Just a few more steps…

  Noah gripped the laundry cart
. He peered between them, listened to the sound of Deuce’s footsteps.

  When the moron crossed in front of Noah, he drove the cart into him like a lineman pushing a football sled. It plowed into Deuce and took him down.

  The food went in one direction, the oaf in the other. Deuce crashed to the floor then lay there, sprawled on his back. Noah jumped from behind the rolling bin and launched, twisting in the air to land with his elbow to the gut.

  Air rushed out of Deuce’s lungs with a whoosh, along with a wad of half-chewed sandwich.

  Noah started to roll on top of him, but Deuce capitalized on his momentum and pulled him over his body, rolling with him until Noah was pinned, flat on his back.

  Deuce sneered and pushed up from Noah’s chest.

  Pain lanced through Noah’s side, and he sucked in air, the effort nothing more than wheezing rattle. Then the bastard punched him in the bruised ribs, the force of impact an agonizing explosion through Noah’s entire torso. The searing torment bloomed in his lungs and blazed through his body. Even a feeble breath was excruciating.

  Fuck that shit.

  Noah grabbed the back of Deuce’s neck and pulled his upper body down, trapping the dickhead’s arm between them, pinned under his chin. Noah rocked back and thrust his hips up, wrapped his legs around the SOB, then grabbed his own leg and pulled tight, the grip putting pressure on Deuce’s carotid artery.

  The fool patted his arm, like tapping out was an option.

  A few seconds later, Deuce passed out from the chokehold. Noah flung his body to the side then scrambled to his feet. He took the gun from Deuce’s waistband. Next he grabbed a sheet from one of the laundry bins and trussed him, securing the knots a little tighter than necessary.

  Cops should have been there by then. Maybe they’d gone after Jack.

  But if not, the dickhead would get away.

  Noah wasn’t having that. Holding his ribs, he started down the aisle, heading in the direction Jack had fled. With a little luck, the cops had found him.

  With a lot of luck, Noah would find him first. He was thirsting for some payback.

  He crept past the door he’d entered, looking through the window as he walked by. No cops in the hallway. Where the fuck were they?

  He hadn’t heard a door close nor had he seen daylight creep across the ceiling from the bay opening. Chances were good that Jack was still in the laundry room.

  Noah adjusted his grip on the handgun and proceeded to clear aisle after aisle, but he still didn’t see the bastard.

  He switched the gun out of his dominant hand then reached for his phone. Holding it to his ear, he spoke as quietly as he could. “E? You still there?”

  “Yeah, man. Fuck, what happened?”

  “Didn’t you watch?”

  “No cameras in there. Only heard the tussle.”

  “So you can’t tell me where Jack is hiding?”

  “No. All I know is he hasn’t left yet. If he does, well, shit. I guess I can’t call you.”

  “Yeah, you can. I’m hanging up.” He ended the call to the sounds of Ethan bitching at him to stay on the line. Too bad. E might want to keep tabs on him, but keeping tabs on Jack was more important. If the bastard snuck out, Noah needed to know immediately. That meant keeping the line free for Ethan to call him back. It wasn’t like they were using radios. Fuck, he missed having comms.

  He stuffed the phone in his pocket and switched the gun to his other hand. Once more, he walked the length of the room, looking down each aisle for Jack. When his search went bust—again—he decided to check all the bins. Hiding under sheets until the coast was clear was probably the guy’s best bet.

  It would have been, anyway, if no one knew he’d fled to the laundry room.

  After grabbing a mop from the cleaning supply area, Noah made his way to the bins. Once there, he trained his gun on each laundry cart while poking the piles of linens with the mop handle. Each one gave no resistance.

  Where the fuck was Jack hiding?

  Noah caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A shadow stretched across the floor, lengthening inch by slow inch.

  Target acquired.

  He left the mop in one of the carts then crept toward the end of the aisle, keeping tight against the bank of washers. Every door on the top row was ajar, and he had to make certain not to bump any as he skimmed past them. They were stacked two-high, so the whole wall of appliances only stood about six feet tall. Noah had to crouch to keep his head from being visible.

  When he got to the last set of washers, he switched the gun to his other hand and grabbed the top door. The shadow was still creeping across the floor, and already the knees were visible. Jack would be there in another step. And as soon as he was visible, Noah would swing the door at him, hopefully stunning him. Why shoot the guy if he could take him alive and ask him questions?

  Something hard pressed against the back of his head. He started to turn.

  “Ah, ah, ah. Slowly.”

  Jack stood there, gun eye-level with Noah.

  “Then who…?”

  A tap on his shoulder drew his attention around. Deuce stood there, glowering. “Me, motherfucker.” He punched Noah in his already abused ribs.

  He doubled over, breathless, seeing stars. Deuce followed the assault with a combination uppercut to chin, jab to gut, hook to face. Noah hit the floor.

  Deuce stepped on his hand, crushing his fingers between shoe sole and gun. “That’s mine, asshole.” He kicked it clear of Noah’s hand then retrieved it.

  Jack bent down and met his gaze. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t help my partner? You of all people should know, frogman. Leave no man behind.”

  Noah pushed himself up to his hands and knees and glared at him. “That’s a code for people with honor.”

  “I don’t think I like what you’re implying.” He hit Noah in the head with the butt of his gun.

  And all went black.

  Chapter Ten

  Noah came to gagged, blindfolded, and in a similar truss to the one he’d used on Deuce. He could barely move, and breathing was difficult—probably from the gag in his mouth, a swollen and likely broken nose, screaming pain in the ribs, and whatever was covering his whole body, weighing down on him and covering his face.

  He managed to wiggle just enough to get some clearance for his nose and mouth, some breathing room. If he could actually inhale…

  The first fingers of panic skittered up his spine, but he tamped that shit down. Hard. He wasn’t going to get out of here if he gave in to his fears.

  Time to take stock. He’d been in the laundry room. His bindings were thick, so it was probably a sheet tying him. Maybe a pillowcase around his eyes and another for the gag. He tried sniffing, but his sense of smell was hampered by the injury to his nose. The gun was long gone, but even if he had it, he couldn’t use it to shoot his way out.

  And out of where? His coverings weren’t rough like tarp, so he wasn’t in a car trunk on the way to some nondescript body-dumping site. He did seem to move every time he wriggled, though. That meant he was probably still in the laundry room—in a cart—so he was most likely covered with sheets, towels, or comforters.

  How ironic would it be to suffocate in a blanket named for bringing comfort?

  Okay. He couldn’t afford to think like that. There was nothing he could do at the moment for his physical issues, so he turned his attention outward. If he listened hard enough, he might get an idea of where Jack and Deuce were or what they were up to. As he strained to hear, he picked up some muffled sounds. Voices. Too many to be Jack and Deuce. Their accomplices could have joined them.

  Or maybe the cops had finally come to check out the room.

  Noah struggled, wiggled, thrusted. He barely moved an inch. He tried calling for help, but between the gag and the laundry—and possibly one or more industrial motors running, he couldn’t hear well enough to tell—he knew no one would hear him.

  Rescue was so fucking close, and he was going to
miss it.

  Unless the laundry staff found him, he really might suffocate in there.

  The phone in his pocket vibrated, and then the ringtone played. He tried to shift his body so his pocket was closest to the cart wall, but moving was like walking through shifting sand. He sank further into the linens, then the ringing stopped.

  He waited for a moment, hoping it would play again. But it didn’t. Noah thrashed and bucked. Prayed the movement of the cart—if he was in fact in a cart—would attract someone’s attention.

  The exertion cost him, and he took a deep breath. Only this time, instead of hot, stale air, he got nothing. His lungs burned, his pulse raced. He writhed, jerked. Tried again to inhale.

  But he got nothing but a face full of fluffy whites.

  Every part of his body suffered excruciating pain. The strain on his joints. The injuries from the fights. The lack of oxygen. He couldn’t take it anymore.

  He closed his eyes.

  Then he stopped fighting.

  Was he flying? He was moving awfully fast somewhere.

  The weight on his body was easing, like layer upon layer of earthly troubles lifted off his ethereal shoulders. His vision went from black to dark to grey to light. Then white.

  The afterlife was peaceful. He could breathe again. He could almost see. The people were a little loud, a little distracting, but—

  Wait. He could breathe again?

  The tension in his joints was gone. His lungs inflated and deflated with ease. With pain, but with ease. He stretched his arms and legs. Coughed, wheezed. The sound of his pulse pounding in his ears started to fade as his heart rate began to slow. The gag and blindfold fell off.

  Noah blinked and squinted into the light, made out hazy silhouettes backlit by the harsh fluorescents of the laundry room. He rubbed his eyes. “Holy Mother of—”

  “Nope,” Ethan said. “Not even close.”

  Relief flooded through him, and he flung his arms around his buddy, nearly pulling him into the laundry cart. “You don’t know how fucking glad I am to see you.”

  “Ditto.” Ethan patted him on the back.