by Jenna Kelly
Yet, all that counted for nothing if she wasn't able to get news of Big Jack's plans to Samson. If he hadn't returned her call by the morning, she'd have no option but to visit his club, then his house.
Where the hell was he?
***
Natalie didn't get in to her suite at the Bellagio until close to four. By that time, she'd come back down to earth and her legs and body were killing her. She'd been dancing non-stop since before midnight, loving every moment of it.
"I love spins!" she vaguely remembered shouting into some hot guy's ear. He'd obliged her, sending her through a complex sequence of turns and rotations that left her exhilarated.
Lysandra had "protected" her from the advances of the endless stream of dance partners, although it wasn't until she'd sobered up that she saw it as protection. She'd done what Natalie had done with Marissa just the night before, and when she crashed into bed, she was alone.
*****
"It's me."
"Samson!" Carrie exclaimed. "Where the hell have you been?"
"Steady, girl," he warned her. No one queried where he'd been, or what he was doing. He was Samson Smith, after all. "Missing me?" he asked, "or has my little mole picked up some information?"
"Both," came the reply. Her voice sounded excited and strained at the same time. "I've been trying to talk to you since I found out, Samson."
"Found out what?" the club owner asked, gingerly easing himself from his king sized bed and leaving the young blonde still sleeping. She'd fulfilled everything she'd promised, fucking him like the pocket dervish she was. The things girls would do to get a job these days.
He knew Natalie had thought he was going to spend the night with her, but variety was the spice of life, right? Still, these late, late nights, and one young woman after another, were taking their toll. He needed to get back to the gym again. Healthy body, healthy mind.
"I spoke to Big Jack's number two, this afternoon," Carrie was telling him.
Samson burst out into a loud guffaw. "Kyle?" he sneered, exiting into the adjoining room. No need to disturb the young beauty, he'd be fucking her again before too long. "That idiot? The guys a clown."
"He might be," she excitedly responded, her tone rising, "but he's a dangerous one, Samson."
He sensed her concern and his levity immediately left him. "What is it? What's he up to?"
"Samson," she said, almost shouting now, "he's going to set fire to your club tonight. With people in there!"
"You're… you're sure?" he asked, his voice suddenly catching in his throat. Surely even Big Jack wouldn't go that far?
"I'm certain, Samson! He's going to do it personally."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "They're shitting you. Feeding you information."
"No they're not, Samson!" she shrieked. Her voice was urgent now. He had to understand! "They don't know who I am and this is real. You've got to do something!"
"How did you find out?" he asked, his voice suddenly wary.
"Almost by accident," she told him, trying to calm her voice. "The stupid lump let something slip and I got the rest from him."
Smith's laugh was hollow. "As only you can, Carrie," he mumbled, his mind already thinking things the next steps. In an instant, the uncertainty had gone from his voice. He was all business. "I need you to find out Kyle's movements today—"
"I know them," she blurted. "I told him how turned on that sort of thing got me. He's meeting me tonight, before he turns up at your club. He thinks he's going to fuck me."
"Let him," came the snarled response.
"What? Samson!"
"If he's meeting you beforehand, I need you to get him alone," he told her, his purposeful voice calm. "It's time."
"It's time? What do you mean, it's time?"
"Nothing for you to worry about," he mused. Maybe he hadn't expected to call on his contingency quite this quickly, but the way he was squeezing Big Jack meant the low life gangster would have to respond soon. After all, that's why he'd brought in the hitwoman again. Experience told him how good she was.
"He said he'd pick me up in his car," Carrie went on, her mind whirling as she tried to give Samson what he wanted. "He doesn't want Jack to find out he's with me, so he'll want to go somewhere quiet—"
"Perfect. What time are you meeting him?"
"Ten o'clock."
"Ten? Okay, let's work this out, where can you take him? Somewhere quiet?" He thought for a few seconds. "Take him to the Red Rooster Antique Mall," he suddenly told her. "Can you do that?"
She thought quickly. "Red Rooster? Near Funk House?"
"That's it. There're a few antique places round there but they'll be closed and it'll be dark. Tell him you've always wanted to be fucked in a car. Tell him anything you want. Give him a blowjob on the way if it'll help. Be there by half ten. Understand? Make sure you've got him parked there, in the car, at half ten."
"Samson, I—"
"Just do it," he snarled. If anything gets in your way, call me immediately, understand?
Her voice was quiet, subdued. "Yes, Samson."
"But I don't want anything to get in the way. I want him there. What make of car does he have?"
"Samson," the frightened girl responded, "I don't know."
"Listen, Carrie," he told her, his voice softening. "I know this is tough for you, honey, but it's so important. I'll owe you big time. Okay?"
Owe her big time? That's what she needed to hear. "Yes," she answered. "Yes, Samson, you know I'll do anything to help you."
"Good girl. I need you alone in the car with him at half ten tonight. Out of sight, use the North end of the car park. And I need the colour and make of car. Registration number if you can get it, too. I need it now! Ring me back. Can you do that for me?"
"Y… yes," she said, flicking her cell phone closed. She knew just how she could do that.
***
His finger drew a small pattern in the spilt coffee on the breakfast table, like a child who was bored stiff. Except he wasn't bored, it was therapeutic. Just like staring at tealeaves in an empty cup, wondering what the future held.
"Want me to clean that for you?" the soft voice asked.
"No," he sighed, without looking up. The waitress could attend to the table when he was finished. Right now he was feeling low, and attempting to reenergize himself in preparation for his Main Event debut. "I could do with a refill, though."
"Yes," the voice responded, "I could do with a coffee, too. Should I ask the waitress?"
His startled eyes jerked upwards to meet the redhead's. Before he could speak, the older server was with them. "Two coffees," Reagan asked, watching her retreat to the counter before swinging her gaze the surprised look on the crinkly haired young man's face. She picked up a paper serviette and smothered the coffee stain. "Want me to clean your finger, too?"
"I'm surprised to see you," David told her, returning the stare. Her eyes were warm, his were wary. "I thought you'd be with your boyfriend -- assuming that was your boyfriend I saw you with? Or maybe just another punter?"
The redhead sat back, as if he'd slapped her across the face. Hard.
"I'm sorry," the Englishman told her, an instant feeling of guilt running through him as he watched her recoil. "That was uncalled for."
"Yes it was," she responded, the warmth still in her green eyes, even if they were tinged with hurt. "You sound like a jealous husband, is that how people behave over the pond?"
David's smile only just touched the corner of his lips, but it was a smile nevertheless. "It's not how I usually behave," he offered, wanting to but unable to explain himself further.
"But I got the jealous bit right, yes?" she asked. "That's nice in a strange kinda way, Englishman."
Don't flatter yourself he thought, but fought back the hurtful comment. Besides, she wouldn't have been flattering herself -- he had been jealous. Despite his new friendship with Jessica, and their sensational sex, there was something about this redhead that'd worked its way i
nside him, got into his heart.
"I'm sorry," he settled for repeating the apology. "There's been a lot going on in the last couple of days. My head's in a bit of a whirl."
"Where's your girlfriend?" she asked, glancing around. "Hope I'm not embarrassing you by sitting here?"
"My ex-girlfriend," his rueful grin shot back. "You were right!"
Her head went back and she gave a long sigh before staring into his eyes. He hadn't seen that look before. "You don't sound too unhappy."
He nodded. "Shit happens, but Natalie was right. Our relationship had reached a natural end. How're things with you?"
Reagan couldn't help the long sigh and fought back the tears that instantly threatened to appear. She hadn't come here to cry.
The pain in her eyes pinched his heart and David reached over to take her hand across the table. "Rough?" he softly asked, sending a sympathetic smile across the short distance between them.
She bit her lip and nodded, waiting until the returning waitress brought their fresh coffees before speaking. The way their gazes locked told them both that this conversation had some way to go.
***
Carrie had returned his call within quarter of an hour, with all the details he needed. She was resourceful, that girl, though her return call was nothing more than he expected. If she successfully carried out the duties in store tonight, she'd have fully earned the bonus he had planned for her.
His subsequent phone call to the hitwoman was everything he'd expected. She was already in Vegas, poised and ready for instructions. Previous experience had told him the details she required. He'd given her them on a plate. "Are we clear?" Samson Smith growled down the line to the assassin.
"Mm-Kaitlyn," she murmured. It made him think, there was something about her sound that was familiar. Her voice, that thick Irish tone? Or maybe he just remembered her from their previous conversations. He was aware the woman kept her words to a minimum, making it almost impossible for him to pick up on any clues. That was okay, he'd have been just as careful in her position.
"Just make sure the money hits my account by noon," she was telling him.
"It's on its way," he instantly responded, as if a quick reply would give her confidence. "I can't afford for this to go wrong," he added. "I've tripled security around the club tonight, but I prefer to dispose of the problem well in advance."
"I understand," she repeated, laying on the usual Irish accent even more thickly. "And you know how thorough I am. If the details you've given me are correct, consider the target eliminated. Is there anything else?" she softly asked. This conversation had lasted long enough.
Samson sighed, he was used to people playing by his rules, not the other way around. "I need a confirmatory call afterwards."
"Of course, that's our usual arrangement."
"And I need you to stay in Vegas for a while in case I need you again."
"Your retainer bought you two weeks," she told him in the matter of fact tone she always used in such circumstances. "That's what you'll get."
"And if I need more?"
"If I'm available, another retainer will be necessary," she answered, ending the call. It was unlikely he'd try and trace her, but you never knew—
***
"So, what happened with Natalie?" Reagan asked David as their server departed.
The Englishman sat forward to speak, then changed his mind. "You first, Reagan. It looks like there's a story in there."
The redhead smiled, her eyes heavy with… something. David couldn't quite work out what that was.
"Okay," she said, almost reluctantly. "You've got your poker soon, so I'll give you the précised version." His eyes flickered. This girl had a good memory. "By the way, how did you finish the other day?" she added.
"Third," he told her, unable to stop the proud grin.
"Very good, Englishman," she responded, sipping at her coffee. Maybe this one was an exception to the deadbeats she was usually involved with, starting with Charles.
"Clearly I inspired you," she half-joked. "Maybe our meeting this morning will be good luck for today?"
Maybe. David wasn't feeling inspired as yet, but this young woman had already lifted the gloomy mood he'd got himself into. Still, that depended on what she had to say. He wanted to hear more about her, about the club she worked at, and especially about the man she was with yesterday.
"What time do you need to register?" she asked.
His face changed as he glanced at his watch. Shit, was that the time? "I—"
"Don't have long," she said, completing his sentence as she saw the concern on his face. "Maybe we should keep this conversation for later?"
A shake of his head dismissed the idea. "No, I want to know, Reagan. It'll… it'll help me to know—"
She leant forward, hesitating at first and then blurting it out. "My boyfriend left me a couple of days ago, the same night you and I met, as it happens. Got himself out of Vegas altogether."
David nodded. "So it's your row with him that's upset you? You're still in love with him?"
Her eyes widened at the same time as he nostrils flared. "I hate the bastard," she said. "He didn't speak to me before he left."
"Then how—"
"My boss told me. He's the guy you saw me with yesterday."
"Can't keep his hands to himself," David grunted, instantly regretting the remark. There was that jealousy again.
If you only knew, the redhead thought, feeling the blush work its way up from her neck. "He's like that with all the girls," she simply explained. Better not confess any more about Jack, not yet anyway. She didn't want to scare the Englishman off altogether. "I can't afford to upset him."
"Don't want to upset him? He looked like he owned you," David spat, unable to keep the resentment inside. "Are jobs that difficult to come by in Vegas?"
Reagan's head jerked back again. An invisible hand squeezed the insides of her stomach. Damn, there were those tears again. She wasn't going to cry, not in front of the Englishman. "You don't understand—"
"Don't understand," he snapped, unable to stop himself. "Reagan, there must be lots of openings in Vegas for someone as attractive as you. You don't need to let yourself be pawed by someone like that bastard."
The redhead stared at him. Could anyone really be that innocent? It was a quality she loved in him, but right now she wanted to give him a good shake and let in the realities of Vegas life. "David, Charles left Vegas owing a lot of money. And somehow he transferred that debt to me. I still don't really understand how. That bastard, as you call him, stopped the loan sharks coming after me, but I owe him the money now. Understand?"
He was beginning to. "How much?"
Reagan shook her head. "That doesn't matter, David, not for now anyway. I loved the fact that you came to see me at the club yesterday, thank you. You left so quickly, before I could stop you, and I didn't want you to go away with the wrong idea. I wanted to see you, too."
He glanced at his watch. "Reagan," he softly said, his eyes smiling at her as he gripped her hands across the table. "I'm so sorry… but I have to go."
"I know," she nodded, beginning to pull away. His grip on her hands stopped her.
"Reagan," he said, his tone emphasising the point, She stared into his eyes in a way he'd never seen before. I want to see you again, continue this conversation."
"Me too," she told him, her green eyes sparkling again. "When?"
He hesitated, "Well, that depends on how the poker goes—"
"I understand," she told him, unable to hide the sadness in her eyes. She'd hoped to have a longer conversation. "I'm working late at the club tonight—"
"How late?" he interrupted.
"The early hours, two or three dependant on how busy we are," she told him.
"The chances are I'll be knocked out of the tourney well before that," he ruefully grinned. "If I do, I'll call you—let's exchange phone numbers. But if I somehow get through the day, don't leave until I get there. Understand?"
It wasn't the most sensible thing to promise, not with another full day of poker ahead of him tomorrow. Rest and sleep were essential ingredients of success in the Main Event. But he wasn't going to let this girl go again before they'd had a long conversation. He needed that, and she did too from the look in her eyes.
"You won't get knocked out, Englishman," she smiled, pulling her phone out. "I'm your good luck charm, remember? I'll be there tonight—"
