Chapter 6
"Jones - it's Randoll," he said as his captain answered.
"Is it safe for you to talk?" Jones asked.
Jake looked out across the miles of open water. "Unless you're worried about the fish overhearing, it's as safe as cell phones get."
Apparently satisfied, his captain launched into his Q&A routine. "Is everything in place? Did you pull Silas's table? Is the b.a.s.t.a.r.d there? Why the h.e.l.l haven't you checked in before now?"
Jake took a deep breath, forming answers to the onslaught of questions, his hope of finis.h.i.+ng this phone call in time to grab some lunch evaporating in an instant. "I got the dealer slot at Silas's table, and yes, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d is most certainly here. Smug as ever. And I haven't checked in before now because I wasn't sure about player placement and there hasn't been a way to call without being overheard since the tournament started."
"Did you get the money scanner past the metal detectors?"
"Yes, sir. Security thought it was a regular laptop, just like I thought they would. I'll keep it in my locker. Testing the money in the dressing area shouldn't be a problem. No one's in that room except for first thing in the morning and right before we leave.
There was a pause on the other end and Jake knew his boss's mind was whirling with every possible scenario this sting could take on-both good and bad.
"Why do I get the idea you're not telling me everything?" his captain finally said. "Your voice is strained."
d.a.m.n it. The man could pick up tension in -a corpse.
"There's nothing here I can't handle, sir," Jake said.
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," his captain shot back. "What's the problem?"
"There is no problem. Merely a small inconvenience, and I'm handling it."
"What inconvenience?" his captain asked, not about to let it go.
Jake gritted his teeth, knowing he was about to have the very discussion he'd been hoping to avoid. "St. Claire's niece is the attendant at my table so I have to be extra careful with my actions. And before you ask, there's no getting rid of her. St. Claire detests Silas and doesn't want him to win a dime. St. Claire put her at my table specifically to shut down Silas. This niece and St. Claire both have some nutbag idea that she can cool cards."
"Can she?"
Jake paused for a moment, not even sure how to reply. "Sir, you're not serious. There is no paranormal ability to cool cards that I've ever heard of in my life."
"I didn't ask if you'd heard of it. I asked if she could do it. How many hands have you won so far?"
"All but one," Jake mumbled. Not counting the three I threw.
"What? I can't hear you. You're cutting out."
"All but one," Jake shouted.
"And you think that's normal?" his captain asked. "I don't care if she's clouding his judgment with perfume or goosing him under the table. Results are everything and sounds to me like she's getting results."
Jake shook his head in disbelief. "Sir, she's not getting anything but rounds of drinks. You can't possibly buy into this bulls.h.i.+t."
"I didn't say I was buying into anything, except the fact that whatever she's doing is apparently working. The key to success here is figuring out how to turn everything to your benefit."
"As far as she's concerned, I'm already benefiting," Jake said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "If Silas doesn't win a hand or two soon, he will guess the fix is on and leave before I can get an exchange. Even if I were going to believe that this woman has some kind of supernatural ability, she's not helping me at all."
"Well, then I suggest you start by getting on this niece's good side. Treat her with that can't-be-bothered att.i.tude you take toward most women and you're likely to create a problem you can't fix. I don't think I have to remind you what's riding on this. Or that this is our last chance."
Jake clenched the balcony railing with one hand and stared out over the glistening water. "No, you don't have to remind me."
"If you were any other single agent, I'd tell you to romance her, but you take avoiding women to new heights. So I suggest you start with being friendly. And don't tell me you can't. I know your mother, and I'm certain she raised you with manners or you wouldn't have seen adulthood."
"Yes, sir," Jake said, trying to figure out how the h.e.l.l he was supposed to be friendly to a woman that frustrated him with her odd beliefs as much as she stirred other feelings in him that he'd shut down long ago. It wasn't possible. Keeping Mallory Devereaux at a distance was the only way this was going to work for him. Just the fleeting thought of having her closer to him had his mind swimming, unorganized, unfocused, and that was something he couldn't afford regardless of his captain's advice.
"One more thing, Jake," his captain said. "That hand you lost - was the niece at the table then?"
The line went dead, and Jake flipped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He leaned over the railing again, letting the cool Gulf air blow across his face. It didn't mean anything that she wasn't at the table.
Not a thing.
It was about ten minutes before play would start again, and Jake stood at his table, removing cards from the shoe and shuffling them, his boss's words still ringing in his ears. He was just trying to make up his mind how to approach the afternoon of play - and Mallory Devereaux-when the object of his thoughts stepped into the casino and headed for his table, her full hips swinging as she walked.
"Hi there," she said as she stepped up to the table.
Was it possible that her top was lower cut now than it had been this morning?
Jake held back a frown and managed an unenthusiastic "h.e.l.lo." Being friendly to Mallory Devereaux just wasn't going to be possible-not without his train of thought wandering to things best left alone.
Her smile faltered a little at his weak greeting, but she pointed at the stack of chips in front of him, by far the largest stack on the table, and tried again. "It was a great morning, huh?"
"Oh, yeah," Jake muttered. "It was a fantastic morning." If you consider that Silas Hebert thinks I'm cheating and is probably planning to cash in his chips and leave.
Mallory frowned at his sarcasm. "Surely you weren't expecting to take them all the first day? That would take a miracle. I'm good, but I don't do
Jake stared at her a moment, an idea forming in the back of his mind. Sure, the whole card cooling thing was bulls.h.i.+t, but what would it hurt to test it out? "Then maybe you should talk to your friend, the drunken priest. Anything he could work up would make as much difference as you do."
Mallory's face flushed with anger. "You still don't believe, do you? Even after almost every hand this morning went your way. Even though some of the hands you pulled on the draw go against the laws of nature."
Jake shrugged, knowing it would only goad her more. "Whatever you say."
Mallory threw her hands up in exasperation. "You don't honestly think you're that good of a player, do you?"
Jake stared at her for a moment, then held out one arm. "Prove it."
"What?" Mallory looked down at his bare arm. "Are you insane?"
Jake laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, my sanity is not the issue here. Your touch is supposed to bring doom and gloom, so prove it."
Mallory shook her head. "No way. My job is to shut down this table. I can't do that with you losing."
"You say I will lose. I say it won't make a bit of difference." He looked her straight in the eyes, challenging her. "So a.s.suming you're right, what's the worst that can happen? I lose a few hands before you switch things back the other way? What's the big deal? Unless of course, you're lying."
Mallory bit her lower lip, the indecision on her face clear as day. He knew she wanted to prove him wrong and by G.o.d, for the first time since the tournament started, he hoped she could. If only she'd touch him. Just one tiny touch. Enough to keep Silas around for another day.
"Okay," she finally agreed. "But only with one finger and just for a second. Less. Less than a second."
Jake nodded. "Whatever you say."
She stepped toward him, studying his bare arm like he might be an incendiary device. Hesitantly, she reached over with her index finger and barely brushed it over the top of his wrist.
Jake felt a tingle where her finger grazed his skin and his heart began to beat a bit faster, making him wonder if this had been such a good idea after all.
No sooner had she made contact with his skin, she yanked her hand back, almost as if burned, and looked over at him, a frightened expression on her face. She really believed. The thought struck him hard even though she'd maintained her position from the beginning.
He held his arm up in front of her. "See. It's fine. No sprain, no rash. It's not going to make a difference. You're worrying for nothing."
Apparently tired of being ridiculed, Mallory shook her head. "We'll just see about that."
CHAPTER SIX.
Before Jake could formulate a comeback to her cryptic response, the players began to arrive, and Mallory pulled out her pad to start the afternoon drink orders. When they were all seated, Mallory scanned the room and sighed. Where the h.e.l.l was Father Thomas?
"I'll find him," she a.s.sured Jake.
"He's got twenty minutes to get back to the table or he forfeits half his chips to the house - your uncle's rules." Jake gave her a brief nod and turned back to the other players. "What do you say we go ahead and start? Maybe we can get in at least one hand without the Old Testament involved."
Mallory shoved the pad into her pocket and headed across the casino, hoping Father Thomas wasn't far from the liquor cabinet.
She'd been searching for the wayward priest for almost ten minutes when she finally got a lead from one of the dishwashers. "I saw him walk out the back doors onto the deck," the man said.
Good G.o.d. She hurried to the double doors at the rear of the restaurant, hoping Father Thomas hadn't pitched off into the Gulf. Pus.h.i.+ng the doors open, she stepped outside and scanned the deck for the priest.
He was hard to miss.
Father Thomas stood on top of a lawn chair, both arms fully extended above him, one hand clutching a Bible. "Seek first a gla.s.s of Jack Daniel's and its righteousness, and if you can't find one then seek a bottle of beer."
Mallory looked around, but there was no one to be found. Either Father Thomas was hallucinating or he thought the fish needed praying over or a drink. "Father Thomas," she said. "The game is starting. You need to get inside."
Father Thomas turned to face her and pitched backward off the lawn chair, his robes floating around him like a warped version of Batman. He hit the deck with a thud and Mallory hoped to h.e.l.l he hadn't broken something or killed himself. She hurried over to the priest and bent down to see if he was alive.
Father Thomas groaned and managed to sit up. He rubbed the back of his head then gave Mallory a grin. "Must have been a heck of a homily for Satan to toss me off the altar like that."
Mallory nodded. "The absolute best, Father Thomas. In fact, it was so good that G.o.d is rewarding you with an afternoon of poker. How does that sound?"
Father Thomas gave her a huge grin. "The Lord giveth and he giveth my way." He struggled to rise from the deck and Mallory grabbed one arm to steady him, figuring she might as well give him the afternoon dose of bad luck while helping him upright. Once he was standing she guided the priest back into the restaurant and into the casino.
"It's the table in the far corner," she said, and pointed to their spot. "Do you remember? You played with them this morning."
A look of confusion momentarily crossed Father Thomas's face, but it quickly cleared and he smiled. "Oh yes, I remember," he said, and stumbled off in the direction of the table. "Praise G.o.d and pa.s.s the chips!"
Mallory watched for a second or two, just to make sure he wasn't going to fall over or stop at the wrong table; then she spun around and hurried into the restaurant for drinks, not wanting to be away from the table any longer than absolutely necessary. She knew she shouldn't have touched Jake but he was the one who'd asked for it.
The desire to prove that she wasn't the nutbag he thought she was had won out over good common sense. The only thing that made her feel a little bit better was that the touch was slight and shouldn't cause a lot of damage. Plus, Jake's argument was correct - as soon as she returned to the table and made her pa.s.s with the drinks, it would far outweigh the miniscule touch she'd given Jake.
She hadn't been gone long, but still she felt the overwhelming need to hurry back to the table to turn the luck the other way.
And to gloat.
The gloating was definitely going to be the highlight of her day. Because if Jake McMillan was agitated before when he was winning, he was going to be downright homicidal now.
She located an available server and directed him to the tray of beverages on the counter. He followed her into the casino and placed the tray on a serving stand just to the side of the poker table. Mallory struggled to hold back the grin she knew was going to break loose when she saw the look of defeat on the disgruntled dealer's face.
But Jake McMillan was smiling.
She blinked for a moment, certain she'd misunderstood. He should be losing. But there it was, a huge grin on his normally blank face.
It wasn't possible. Had her touch failed to make him unlucky? Was Jake McMillan somehow immune to her?
A quick glance at the stack of chips in front of him didn't do anything to alleviate her concerns. Not only was Jake losing, almost a forth of his chips were gone. A check of the rest of the players confirmed the worst - Silas Hebert was the big beneficiary.
What the h.e.l.l was going on?
Jake had put up his own cash for this tournament just like every other dealer. Did he really want to throw away money that badly? Because at the rate he was going, he would be reduced to nothing by mid-afternoon. Mallory didn't even want to think of the consequences if Jake lost to Silas on the first day of the tournament. Reginald wouldn't only kill him-he'd follow him to h.e.l.l and torment him personally for all of eternity.
Not that her own fate was any better. If she didn't gain back control of the table, Reginald would undoubtedly find a place even worse than h.e.l.l and make sure she was a permanent resident.
Realizing there wasn't a second to spare, she grabbed the drinks and hustled them around the table, careful to make deliberate contact with every player and more than one with Silas. She totally disrupted the game with her ungraceful maneuvering, but that was just too bad. When she was satisfied that she'd done everything she could to reverse the situation, she slid back onto her stool and looked straight at the frowning face of Jake McMillan.
"If you're done with your serving, Ms. Devereaux," he said, "we'd like to continue with our play."
Before she could respond, he focused his attention on the deck and began to deal, his jaw locked tight with obvious aggravation.
It almost seemed like he'd wanted to lose.
The thought ripped across her mind in a flash, but she dismissed it as quickly as it had come. That wouldn't make any sense. Jake may not care anything about Reginald, and she was certain he didn't give two wits about her, but why would he throw away his own money?
She looked once more at the reduced pile of chips in front of Jake and across the table to Silas's larger, more impressive stack. It was her fault. That much she would take responsibility for, but it still didn't explain why Jake had seemed so happy with the situation.
Then in a flash, still shots of the day washed over her - Jake discarding a full house, Jake smiling at Silas Hebert when she returned to the table, Jake's obvious anger at her when she turned the table back the other way.
She stared across the table at him and wondered if Jake McMillan was playing for Reginald or for someone else entirely.
When the afternoon break rolled around, Silas Hebert slid off his stool and headed across the casino toward the lobby. He stepped to the side just in front of the exit doors and let the remainder of the players file past him. He reached into his pocket for a cell phone and turned back toward the tables, studying the dealer and the attendant with watchful eyes.
Something wasn't right about this tournament, of that he was sure.
The fix was on somehow, but so far, he hadn't been able to determine how they were making it happen. He'd played with the best of cheaters and if the dealer was palming cards or cutting the deck somehow, he was better than Siegfried and Roy.