Big Deck

by Blake Wilder

  Bingo.

  I’d just discovered why I’d brought her here.

  She was unique. And I wanted to be unusual for her too.

  “So how long are you in Vegas?” I asked, taking another bite.

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure exactly. Depends on how long my…business…takes.”

  Oh, I liked that. This wasn’t just a quick weekend trip then. “Your business?”

  She simply nodded.

  Okay, so Olivia didn’t give up details easily. Fine. “What do you do?”

  “I’m in marketing and sales.”

  She said it carefully and then her gaze flickered to mine. Ah, she was being vague on purpose and she realized that I’d realize it and probably call her on it.

  I gave her a half smile.

  She sighed.

  That made me give her a full smile.

  “But I’m here to meet an…old friend.” She winced as she said it, though.

  “You said you didn’t know how long your business would take.”

  She nodded.

  “Unfinished business with an old friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “An ex?”

  “Yes. But not my ex.”

  She was giving me direct answers, but not one iota more than exactly what I’d asked and again I had to smirk. She was slippery. I liked it.

  “Whose ex?”

  “My mother’s.”

  I lifted a brow. “You’re in town for unfinished business with your mother’s ex?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you and your mother close?”

  For just a second, her confident expression wavered. Then she sat a little straighter and said, “We were. She passed away recently.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So this is revenge.”

  She was clearly surprised that I’d guessed. She narrowed her eyes. “Why would you think that?”

  “He’s an ex. That means he wasn’t one of her favorite people. You and your mother were close. Which means he’s probably not one of your favorite people. Now your mother is gone, but you’re in Vegas to meet with him and you don’t know how long your ‘business’ with him will take. Guessing he did something that you’re not happy about and you’re going to get back at him.”

  She studied me for a long moment. Then she looked down at her pancakes, cut off a bite, and chewed. After she’d swallowed and taken a sip of coffee, she said, “Something like that.”

  I shook my head and sat back in the booth, cradling my coffee cup in one hand. “People let you get away with that all the time, don’t they?”

  “Get away with what?”

  She knew exactly what I was talking about. “Actually, I’m guessing that people let you get away with just about everything. Not just that.”

  Olivia also sat back and crossed her arms. She looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I get what I want a lot.”

  I gave her a nod. “And people let you be vague and either don’t notice or don’t care that you’re sneaky and that you’re sizing them up and trying to figure out how far you can play them because you’re charming and gorgeous.”

  She lifted a brow. “Sneaky?”

  “Devious.”

  Olivia didn’t seem offended. She seemed to be thinking about something. Finally she shifted, crossed her legs, and rested her hands, fingers linked, on her lap. “He stole something from me that I intend to get back.”

  Everything in me sat up and took notice at that. I mean I literally sat up fully. “Really?”

  She was telling me a full truth about something. And that something was that she had a streak of thief in her too. Damn, that should not be sexy.

  Olivia nodded. “He dated my mother. Made her fall fully in love with him. Cheated on her. Then kept her most prized possession when she left him.”

  I felt myself scowling. These were exactly the kinds of bastards that I loved to mess with. Maybe I could help.

  Then I scowled harder. I was going to put myself into this situation? I’d known her for a couple of hours and I didn’t really know her at all.

  “What’s the prized possession?” Jewelry. It was almost certainly jewelry. Probably her great-grandmother’s wedding ring or something.

  “A painting.”

  I’d just taken a drink of coffee and it was my turn to choke for a moment. I stared at her. “A painting?”

  “Yep.” She nodded, watching me closely. “My mom was a con artist. She taught me poker and craps and blackjack after teaching me how to scam tourists on the street with magic tricks and card tricks. She loved rich assholes and she dated one after another, using them for everything from rent to pretty, sparkly things that they usually let her keep after they broke up. So she always had a plan B.”

  “Pawn shops.”

  “Exactly.” Olivia took a deep breath. “But there was this one painting. She fell in love with it and for some reason really wanted to buy it herself. She wouldn’t use money that she scammed or got from boyfriends. She saved her own money over the course of a couple of years to buy it. She always told me that it was the second most important thing to her because it was only the second thing she’d ever loved that she got honestly.”

  “What was the first?” I asked.

  Yeah, I was even more intrigued now.

  “Me,” Olivia said softly.

  I smiled. “She got you honestly?”

  “She was actually in love with my dad and they would have been together if he hadn’t been killed in a car accident when she was only six months pregnant.” Olivia shrugged. “She loved me more than anything.”

  “How long has she been gone?”

  A flicker of pain crossed her face. “She died about a month ago.” She took a shaky breath. “Cancer.”

  She looked up at me and my heart squeezed painfully.

  “She was sick for a while, but she didn’t tell me until the end. But she wished for only two things in those last days—to look at me and that painting.” Olivia’s expression went hard and angry. “That fucking bastard took that painting from her because he knew she loved it. It wasn’t worth a lot—not to a guy like him, especially. But he took it anyway, to hurt her. She died missing it. So, I’m going to get it back.”

  Yep, I definitely wanted to get involved here. Already. Damn. It was crazy but I wanted to steal the fucking thing for her. Was some of it because I just flat-out loved the thrill and this seemed like a great excuse to lift something from a rich dude? Probably. But I also wanted to make this better for her. I wanted to make her smile. I wanted to get justice for her. I didn’t like her looking hurt and angry and lost. Clearly she knew it was too late to actually fix this for her mother. Clearly this was a revenge mission.

  I got that. I totally got that.

  I was going to find out everything about who had the painting, where he had it, and how she planned to get it back. And then I was going to do it instead. Olivia was a hell of a poker player. She was sneaky and intelligent and savvy. But I did this “professionally.” I had done this dozens of times.

  I just had to get her to trust me enough to let me do it. I didn’t want her risking getting caught or hurt. I couldn’t say that though. Not yet. She wouldn’t believe it. Because it was crazy that I cared about this.

  Would I want to come to someone’s aid no matter who they were? If they needed something I could do better? In other words, would I risk breaking in and stealing something for someone else I barely knew?

  No.

  Hey, I don’t think I’m a total bastard, but I wasn’t going to risk jail time or getting shot or mauled by a guard dog for someone else.

  This woman was special for some reason.

  I regarded her carefully. Now I definitely needed to keep her close for as long as possible. I needed to know everything she knew about him. The more I knew about a target, the better my chances of success. But first, I needed to convince Olivia to let me help. Or I had to
gather enough information so that I could go in and get the painting before she tried to get it herself.

  “I really am very sorry about your mom.” I was. It was clearly very painful for her and it seemed like it had just been Olivia and her mom most of her life. There was something about Olivia whatever-her-last-name-was that made me feel something I didn’t feel often about anything or anyone. Protective.

  I really wanted to know her last name. It seemed like a small thing but now I knew that if she gave it to me, that would mean something.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “I totally understand you wanting to get that painting back.”

  She nodded. She didn’t seem surprised by my support. “I don’t see how I can’t at least try.”

  She was right. The guy had stolen something that should have been Olivia’s. Something extremely memorable from her mother. She had to get it back. She’d definitely try if I didn’t come to her rescue.

  I might have been Robin Hood for a few people, but I don’t think I’d ever been a knight in shining armor. Suddenly that was very appealing.

  I needed to stick close, and while I fully intended to see this woman naked, I needed to do more than seduce her. I needed to romance her.

  The pancakes were a good start.

  And I knew what came next.

  I reached into my pocket and withdrew my wallet. I tossed money to cover the bill and the tip onto the table and then slid out of the booth. I headed to the counter to grab to-go boxes. A few minutes later, I had the rest of our pancakes boxed up and I held out my hand to her. “Let’s go.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just gave me a look that was partly amused, partly puzzled. But she took my hand and let me pull her to her feet. I didn’t let go as we headed out to the car. I didn’t think I’d ever driven a Jaguar that smelled like pancakes, I thought as I stored the boxes behind the front seat. I also didn’t think I’d ever be able to smell pancakes again without thinking of her.

  I pulled out of the strip mall parking lot and out onto the street, but instead of turning toward the strip, I headed in the opposite direction toward the desert.

  She sighed.

  “What?” I asked, shooting her a grin.

  “Serial killers do drive Jags?”

  I laughed. “Serial killer? I just bought you pancakes.”

  She shrugged. “You’re heading out to the desert instead of back to the hotel. Hotel means sex. Desert means…”

  “Home.”

  Olivia pivoted on her seat. “Home?”

  “I stay at the hotel on the weekends if I’m playing,” I told her, taking the road to the left. “But I don’t live there.”

  “I guess that makes sense. I didn’t think about that.”

  I pointed into the distance. My house sat up on a cliff and it was damned nice if I did say so myself. When I’d first started working with the FBI, I’d stayed in whatever crap apartment or rent-by-the-week hotel they put me in. But as I’d proved myself and stayed out of trouble, they’d let up on me and I’d just bought the house overlooking the desert and lights of Vegas a year ago. I was lucky that Jordan had given me the chance to prove myself and gain his trust. Some cooperators like me didn’t get that chance. They were always looked at with suspicion. But Jordan had let me close enough to actually become a friend. That meant he gave me a longer leash. Don’t think for a second that there was ever not a leash on me. Jordan took his job seriously. But he was a good guy and I didn’t fuck around so we were okay.

  “That is where you live?” Olivia asked, staring at the huge, lit-up house in the distance.

  “Yep.”

  “Wow.”

  She just watched as we moved closer to the base of the cliff. But as we started up the winding road to the top she asked the question I’d been dreading, but knew I’d have to tell her. “What do you do for a living?”

  I squeezed the steering wheel. The thing was, I wanted her to know. I figured it would help her trust me when I gave her tips about this heist of hers. And when I told her to forget about it.

  In fact, as we wound up the private road to my house, I was formulating a plan. Did I want her to trust me to get this painting back for her? Yes. But did I want to be sure that she understood she should not go after it. Even more yes. I needed to prove to her that this was a risk she shouldn’t be taking.

  I let her question hang between us for a few more seconds. Then I said, “That’s something we should talk about.” But I didn’t want to tell her while I was driving. In case she decided to punch me in the face or something.

  “We should talk about it?” she repeated. “You can’t just answer?”

  I pulled up in front of my garage door but didn’t open it. Inside she was going to see my boat. And my Porsche.

  Did the FBI pay me this well? Um, no. But I’d amassed a small fortune before being put away. They’d, of course, taken back any money and art they could prove I’d stolen but…well, that wasn’t a lot of it. What can I say? I’m really good at what I do. They’d frozen my assets while I was in prison and they were investigating, but once they’d realized that the rest of my money seemed to have been earned—it had been, in a way—and I was out and working for them, they’d allowed me access to my accounts again.

  And I liked nice things. Beautiful things. Expensive things.

  I killed the engine and turned in my seat to face Olivia.

  “I’m…in security,” I told her. I was, for this job anyway.

  But I was thinking this might not be a bad way to make a living after I was done with my stint for the feds. I could do private security for rich assholes. Why not? Who better to know how guys who steal from rich assholes think than a guy who steals from rich assholes? How will I feel about helping those rich assholes take more than their share of the money and privilege in the world? Well, I’m going to charge them an exorbitant amount for my services and then give a bunch of that away, watch them like a hawk, and turn anything sketchy over to Jordan, and maybe once in a while go on vacation and let one of my buddies swipe something, just to prove to the rich guys that they’re not untouchable and that they need me.

  It would be a fun game if nothing else.

  Then, when I really couldn’t stand them any longer, I’d quit. With a bunch of their loot in my pockets.

  “Security?” Olivia asked. Then her eyes got round and her face went a little pale. “You’re a cop?”

  “No,” I said quickly, noticing that she was reaching for the door. Where she thought she was going to go and how she was going to get back to Vegas I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t let her bail out. “Not a cop. Definitely not a cop.”

  Okay, so I left out the working-for-the-FBI bit. That didn’t make me a cop. It was temporary anyway. Yeah, I had to do it for the next five years, but five years was temporary.

  “So what does ‘in security’ mean?” she asked, looking at me suspiciously.

  “People hire me to do private security. Sometimes on a long-term basis and sometimes for certain events, trips, that kind of thing.” So far the deal with Maxwell was for his private card game, but he’d wanted to meet the men who would be there and we’d been spending some time in his offices too. He’d told Jordan that he was looking for some permanent security guys and if we impressed him, it could be an ongoing gig. We were keeping that in mind. If we didn’t get the information or weren’t able to take anyone down at the card party, we’d definitely want to hang around longer.

  Olivia took a deep breath. “So not a cop.”

  “Nope.” I debated sharing more private information for only about three seconds. She’d told me about her mom and the painting. I could tell her more about me. “I know a lot about security because of what I did before I got into…this line of work.”

  She frowned. “What did you do before?”

  “I procured rare and valuable things for…people who wanted them enough to pay me to…obtain them.”

  She lifted a brow. “You
stole things for people.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “So, you’re a criminal.”

  Ouch. But not untrue. “I was a criminal,” I corrected. I couldn’t use the term reformed, but I was minding my manners, and the rule of law, for the time being anyway.

  “Well, thank God,” she said, with relief.

  I gave a surprised laugh. “Yeah?”

  “Yes. You’re not going to tell anyone about my plans for this painting.” She narrowed her eyes. “Right?”

  “No. In fact…” I glanced toward my house, my plan fully formed now. “I’m going to help you.”

  “Help me? Help me steal it?”

  No. I was going to help her see that she shouldn’t be the one doing it. “I’m going to show you some tricks. Walk you through a few scenarios. Help you prepare.”

  She glanced at the house too, then back to me. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve done this before,” I told her. “I’ve made some mistakes. I’ve figured some things out. I’m going to train you.”

  Did that sound dirty? I hadn’t meant it that way, but I also didn’t regret it.

  “Train me. In how to steal things.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  “Yes.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “There is a painting on the wall in my study. You’re going to try to steal it. I’m going to try to keep you from stealing it.”

  Her eyes sparkled and I felt my cock get hard. Dammit, she loved this idea.

  “You have a definite advantage here, though,” she pointed out.

  “As will any target. You’ll be taking something they care about from a place they know better than you.”

  She acknowledged that with a little tip of her head.

  “Where is the painting that you want to steal from your mom’s ex?” It occurred to me that I could use this exercise to learn more about the man she was targeting as well.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I need to do some research.”

  I nodded. “Where do you think it is?” I watched her for a second as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. God, I wanted to suck on that bottom lip. “Use your gut,” I told her. “You must know something about this man. This is personal to you. That makes it both easier and more dangerous than a random target. Because it’s personal, you know more than you would about a stranger. But because it’s personal, your emotions play in here too.”