“Because, we couldn’t count on MacLean leaving his estate to gamble and drink in public.” Ren heaved a sigh. “But to please a client like Benrabi he might do both. And if he doesn’t relax his guard enough to drink while gambling, Dawn’s in place to get his DNA by accidentally cutting him with that very special ring she’s wearing. I thought we’d settled this back in Cartagena?”
“Yeah—I didn’t like it then and still don’t.” Sam focused on the screens showing the gaming table and its occupants from the cameras worn by the croupier, Conn, and Dawn and the ones in the ceiling. If a single person made one wrong move—he’d see it.
At least Dawn wasn’t seated near Benrabi, who eyed her as if she were a tasty hors d’oeuvre. The additional intel provided by SSI on the Yemeni’s sexual proclivities made Sam’s skin crawl. “If it were Keely sitting there—”
“She wouldn’t be.” Ren exhaled harshly. “I get where you’re coming from, Sam. You care about Dawn. Is this going to be an issue every time I send her out on an op?”
“Yes… no…” Now it was Sam who let out a raspy breath. “Ahh, fuck it. She’d kick my ass if I stopped her from doing her job. I know she’s competent, but…”
“Yeah, but—” Ren laughed. “Listen to us, are we whipped or what?”
“Not whipped”—Sam leaned closer to the monitor he was watching and peered at an area of the casino adjacent to the Baccarat table—“just in love with strong, independent women who think they’re Amazons. God, I love that woman.”
“Have you told her?” Ren asked.
“Not yet… we’ve only known each other for less a week.”
“Hell, it happened on sight between me and Keely. Enjoy the ride.” Ren moved to look at the screen Sam stared at so intensely. “What are you seeing that I’m not?”
Sam tapped the monitor showing an area adjacent to the elevated Baccarat area. “Could that be Lloyd? In the robes?” His finger stopped on a tall man, encased in the voluminous robes of an Arab. “His face is in the shadows of his headdress, but the angle of his head has him focusing too intently on the Baccarat table.”
“Maybe he’s one of Benrabi’s bodyguards?” Ren turned to one of Theo’s security room techs. “Can you increase the magnification on camera thirty-four in sector K?”
The tech nodded and typed in a command. The image of the suspicious man magnified ten times.
“Look at his fucking hands,” Sam said. “Light-skinned. And if that’s not a signet ring with a British lion crest, I’m a Yankee.”
“Fuck. Odds are it’s Lloyd.” Ren circled the man’s face with his finger and traced a line to the Baccarat players. “He’s looking at Dawn, not Benrabi or even MacLean.”
“We’ve got to get him out of there before he blows Dawn’s cover.” Sam stood and then sat back down. “Shit, I can’t go down there. Both Lloyd and MacLean know who I am.”
Ren looked grim. “When we realized Lloyd was at the resort, Keely contacted Interpol. Lloyd was canned right after Dawn left Belize. Story is Dawn’s report on the Belize operation got him fired. He must’ve found out Dawn was here and followed her.”
“Conn… Lloyd’s wearing Arabic robes and is by the roulette table on the casino floor, to your right.” Sam’s voice was rough from tension. “Get his ass out of there before he blows this whole op or hurts Dawn.”
Conn tapped his finger on the playing surface in front of him, acknowledging he’d heard. Then he traced a circle, signaling that he’d follow through.
A consummate professional, Dawn didn’t even blink at the news, nor did she turn to look at the roulette table as she calmly dealt hers and the next player’s hand.
“I need to sit out the next few deals.” Conn slurred his words a bit, then smiled goofily at the other players as he stood and wavered in place. “Guard my seat and winnings, Dawn?”
“Of course, Conner.” Dawn inclined her head. “Take your time. Eat something or grab a coffee. I’ll just fleece these lovely men of all their money and get yours when you return.”
Conn laughed, picked up his drink which was apple cider and not the whiskey everyone had heard him order, and lurched away from the table as if he weren’t quite steady on his feet.
Theo approached Conn and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need assistance, sir?”
“No, thanks.” Conn waved him off and stumbled down the steps.
“Theo, you’re on Dawn until Conn gets back,” Ren said.
Theo tapped his ear bud in acknowledgment, then spoke into his jaw microphone in a monotone. “Security Team B to the roulette table in Sector K for backup.”
Conn moved toward the aisle behind the roulette table and as he passed the man they were sure was Lloyd, he stumbled, dumped his drink all over his target, and then fell onto him, taking them both to the floor.
Theo’s men moved in quickly and helped both men up and hurried them out of the casino.
The play at the Baccarat table paused. Henri joked about Conner not holding his liquor well. Dawn chided him—and play resumed.
Sam let out the breath he held and looked at Ren. “That was close.”
“Ren…” Conn’s voice was calm. “It’s definitely Lloyd. Theo’s men are bringing him up to you. I’ll waste a few minutes, pick up a large coffee, maybe order some food, and head back to the table.”
“Roger that.” Ren turned to Sam. “You stay on the monitors. I’ll handle the peckerheaded British douchebag.”
“Yeah. Probably a good idea.” Sam unfisted his hands. “I really want to hit somebody right about now.”
Ren laughed. “It still might happen. Keep an eye on our girl.”
“My girl.”
Ren shook his head and grinned. “Yeah, I was like that about Keely within seconds of meeting her… still am.” He clapped Sam on the shoulder and moved to greet Theo’s men who escorted the now de-robed Lloyd into the security center. The former Interpol agent wore a furious expression and pulled away from the men holding his arms.
Lloyd froze when he saw Sam and tried to back away as Ren approached.
Sam smiled. Yeah, if he were a cowardly pussy like Lloyd, he’d also want to back away from the promise of pain on Ren’s face.
Turning back to the monitors, he noted Dawn’s body posture was stiffer than it had been a few moments ago. Benrabi was talking at her as the croupier pulled in the losing bets placed by the last player and the punters and shoved them toward Dawn. Whatever the fucker was saying upset her, although no one else looking at her would know that. Her face was a pleasant blank, a social mask.
Sam turned up the volume on the directional microphone in the ceiling camera aimed at the table. Dawn’s mike was too far from Benrabi to pick up his words clearly.
“Lady Wilson…” Benrabi’s words were purred in a tone Sam was sure the Yemeni thought was sexy, but only sounded menacing. “Surely you recall the time you spent in my lovely country. Your esteemed father was posted there for two years.”
“I remember it was hot and dusty and that my father and mother never let me off the embassy grounds much.” Dawn’s tone was stiffly polite, dismissive. “It was rather boring, if you must know.”
A flash of fury swept over Benrabi’s face. He wasn’t as good at keeping his social mask in place as Dawn.
Sam also watched MacLean’s expression as Benrabi attempted to engage Dawn. Old Syd looked very much the wealthy Brazilian in his tropical weight tux and his darkly tanned skin. His eyes were dark now; contact lenses were an easy change. But his facial bone structure had changed a lot, and if Sam hadn’t been sure the fucker was Syd MacLean, his gaze would’ve passed over the man on the street.
Then MacLean lifted his drink to his lips and took a healthy swallow.
“He’s drinking. We’ve got him. Play a few more hands, sweetheart.” Yeah, he was ordering her again, but he didn’t care. He wanted her safely away from Benrabi, who even now devoured her with his slimy gaze. “Then get your sweet ass out of there. Conn’s o
n his way back now.”
Sam glanced at Ren, who gave him a thumbs up and then turned back to face the angry Lloyd. The Brit ignored Ren and glared at Sam and then at the monitors. He could’ve politely pointed out to the ex-Interpol agent that ignoring Ren Maddox wasn’t a smart idea, but Sam wasn’t feeling generous. Lloyd had endangered Dawn and Conn, jeopardized a joint U.S.-Dutch intelligence operation. The fucker could go to jail for that.
“Back,” Conn said as he sat carefully in his seat as if the world were spinning. The waitress set a cup of coffee at Conn’s place and a plate with finger sandwiches on it. “Thank you, my dear,” he said. The waitress inclined her head and began tidying up the table, working her way toward MacLean.
“Are you okay?” Dawn turned away from her stilted conversation with Benrabi and looked at Conn.
“Just fine.” Conn arranged his chips into even stacks. “Ready to take your money, milady.”
“Will never happen.” Dawn looked at the next player who turned out to be MacLean. “Ready, sir?”
MacLean nodded and then swallowed the rest of his drink and shoved the glass to the side. The waitress collected the empty glass and the cocktail napkin he’d blotted his mouth on; she was careful to pick up the items so as not to contaminate his DNA. She took drink orders and hurried away.
Sam smiled. Yeah, they had the bastard.
“Your bet, Lady Wilson?” the croupier asked.
Dawn looked at her chips. “I’ll bet it all.”
“Senor Lazaro, do you wish to go bank?” the croupier asked MacLean.
“How much is the Bank worth at the moment?” MacLean responded.
The croupier assessed Dawn’s chips. “One million U.S. dollars.”
MacLean looked at his tally sheet on which a player kept track of the wins and losses. He smiled and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll go bank.”
The rest of the players, now effectively blocked from betting, buzzed with excitement.
At Dawn’s bet, Ren had come over and looked over Sam’s shoulder. “Is she fucking nuts?”
“She’s always like that,” Lloyd said from behind them. Theo’s men stood on each side of him, boxing him in. “Bloody crazy cunt.”
Sam growled. “Can I kill him, Ren? I don’t work for you—”
“Yet,” Ren said.
“—so it won’t reflect on SSI at all. The CIA can bury him deep,” Sam finished.
“You blokes are barmy,” sputtered Lloyd, his expression a mixture of anger and incredulity.
“And you tried to kill Dawn.” Sam turned and glared at Lloyd, who didn’t have the sense to know he should be worried about his immediate future. “You’re fucking lucky to be fucking breathing.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill her,” Lloyd yelled. “Just scare her. She hates snakes.”
Sam surged to his feet and advanced upon Lloyd. The security men stepped away as Sam punched the man who’d threatened his woman.
Lloyd stayed on the ground and rubbed his jaw. “Are you bleeding nuts? It was just a little snake. She’d have screamed and had a right good scare, that’s all.”
Sam stood over him and yelled, “It was poisonous, you fucker. She could’ve been killed. You’re fucking lucky we figured out something was wrong.”
The look of surprise on the asshole’s face proved the moronic peckerhead hadn’t known the snake was dangerous. Then Lloyd paled as he probably realized he was lucky not to have been bitten, either.
“Jesus H. Christ, what a dumb ass. Pick him up and get him out of here,” Ren instructed Theo’s men. “The intelligence officer from the Dutch marine base will hold him until the local authorities decide whether they want to charge him locally with attempted murder or turn him over to the United States for attempted murder of an intelligence contractor and interference with a mission of national security.”
“National security?” Lloyd blustered as he tried to shrug off the guards’ hands. “What bloody national security? I thought this was all about catching Oraio and he’s a bloody drug trafficker.”
“Nope, this is about Oraio being Syd MacLean, U.S. traitor and trafficker of arms, drugs, humans, and intelligence secrets,” Ren said.
“Oh, bloody hell. I’m fucked.” Lloyd turned a sickly green and would’ve collapsed if the men hadn’t been holding him by the elbows.
“Yeah, and be glad you are,” Sam added. “Or you’d have to deal with me. Now, shut the fuck up. Dawn’s dealing.”
The drama unfolding in the casino now held everyone in the security center in thrall as they focused on the high stakes card game. It was like a train wreck—no one could look away.
“Deal, please, Lady Wilson,” the croupier directed.
Dawn dealt one card to herself, then one to MacLean, both face down. Then dealt another to her and to MacLean, also face down. They looked at their cards.
Dawn flipped hers over. “Natural nine.”
The men at the table and everyone who watched the play from the sidelines seemed to inhale at the same time. It was as if they’d all been frozen in place.
“Senor Lazaro, do you wish another card?” the croupier asked. If he had a natural nine he would’ve turned it over by now.
Grim-faced, he nodded. Dawn dealt another card face down. MacLean looked at it and his face grew dark. He turned his cards up. He had a total of six.
The men at the table and the people watching cheered and shouted.
“The Bank wins,” the croupier intoned.
Sam laughed. “Fuck me. My ballsy little cat did it. She beat the bastard.”
Ren blew out a breath and muttered, “Thank fuck. I didn’t know how I was going to explain a gambling loss to the DIA.”
“Fuck. The bleeding bitch has all the luck. Always has.” Lloyd sounded like a whiny teenager, blaming everyone but himself for the mess he was in. “And when she doesn’t rely on luck, she uses her father’s position to screw people over. She got me fired.”
Sam turned toward the security guards. “Why isn’t he gone yet?”
The men saluted and dragged Lloyd away.
“Dawn, play another hand or two to pacify the rest of the table and then surrender the Bank,” Ren ordered.
Dawn tapped the table once in acknowledgment.
Sam looked at Ren. “Do we know yet if we got enough of a sample on MacLean?”
Ren checked his smart phone. “The forensic tech the DIA sent down said there was enough saliva on the glass to do the DNA test. The waitress who’s a tech for the Aruban police was smart to bag the napkin since they also managed to get skin cells and sweat. So we can run three tests—and if they match MacLean’s DNA on file, the Dutch will extradite him immediately to the United States.”
“Now, all we have to do is catch him and Benrabi in the act of slave trafficking, so we can hold MacLean long enough to get the DNA results back,” Sam said.
A push notification sounded loudly in the room and Ren checked his phone once again then grinned. “Good news. We can take immediate custody of MacLean. My creative wife recorded MacLean’s voice during the card game and then hit up some of her NSA buddies and obtained some recordings of MacLean when he was at the DIA. She just finished running a match against the audio from the card game. It’s an exact match.”
“Hoo-rah,” Sam said.
Ren tapped a message on his phone and hit send. “I just gave the Dutch military the go-ahead to take control of Benrabi and MacLean’s yachts and the container ship as part of our pursuit of a U.S. traitor and his associates. They’ll also take over MacLean’s estate,” Ren said. “Discovery of the kidnapped girls on the ship can only add nails to both asshats’ coffins.”
“When do we take MacLean and Benrabi into custody?” Sam’s gaze never left Dawn as she dazzled her fellow players and continued to win.
“After they leave the casino,” Ren said. “We don’t want any innocents hurt in the takedown. Damn, Dawn’s either the luckiest card player in the world or the croupier stacked the shoe some
how.”
“Bet you’re glad MacLean will finally be contained,” said Sam.
“The fucking bastard tried to kill Keely and others in the SSI family.” Ren smiled, an ugly smile. “Worst fucking mistake he ever made.”
Sam was glad he and Ren were on the same side. The man was scary in his retribution, and not much scared Sam.
Chapter 12
Dawn smiled brightly as the croupier pulled in MacLean’s bet and pushed the chips toward her position. “Well, that was lucky. What’s say we see how long my winning streak will last?”
“Conn. Dawn…” Ren’s deep voice came over her ear bud. “We have what we need. Wrap this up and get the fuck out of there. We’ll be taking MacLean and Benrabi into custody right after they leave the hotel.”
Thank God. A couple more hands was about all she could handle. Being this close to Benrabi made her skin crawl more than she’d imagined.
A bright smile on her face, she continued stacking her winnings while wondering what the fuck was going on. The original plan had been to catch MacLean and Benrabi in the act of transferring the girls from the container ship to Benrabi’s yacht. Whatever had changed had not altered her or Conn’s next moves.
Initiating their exit plan, Conn moved closer to her. He placed an arm along the back of her chair and played with her hair. “Have dinner with me?”
Dawn turned toward him and gave him a dazzling smile. “Yes, thank you. Let me play a few more hands?”
“Sure. Give ‘em hell, babe.” His wink and the smile he gave her would probably have melted the knickers off a more susceptible female.
But she was immune. Her knickers and the removal thereof were solely in the keeping of Sam.
Dawn finished stacking her chips and consulted her tally sheet. “My calculations have me winning at slightly over sixty-two percent. Odds are that won’t last. Anyone feeling lucky?”
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