Chapter 7
He watched as the attendant, Mallory, reached across the table for the empty gla.s.ses and loaded them onto a tray. The dealer shoved the spent cards into a pile, readying them for shuffling before they continued for the afternoon. All the while, he stole glances at the attendant, an aggravated expression on his face.
And that's where Silas got confused.
If the dealer and the attendant were both in on it, they might be able to pull it off. Although he still couldn't figure out how. From her seat at the table, Mallory couldn't see anyone's hand, and the dealer had been careful to avoid placing cards while she was serving. No, everything had been conducted completely aboveboard. Plus, the tension he could sense between those two didn't at all indicate there was any way they were working together.
But he still wasn't winning.
And that just wasn't possible. The dealer was a pretty d.a.m.ned good card player, but not the best Silas had played. And beaten.
The woman stacked the last of the gla.s.ses on the tray and without so much as a glance at the dealer, turned and walked across the casino toward the exit on the other side. The dealer barely lifted his head from the cards as she walked away, but Silas could tell he was watching her, studying her with an intensity he didn't understand.
But he was d.a.m.ned well going to.
He flipped his cell phone open and punched in some numbers. As soon as the man on the other end answered, Silas began to bark out orders. "I need you to run a couple of checks for me. Man by the name of Jake McMillan. Might be the guy you were expecting. About six-two, in good shape, brown hair. Claims he's from Atlantic City. Not sure on that part, but he's definitely a Yankee. Other one's a woman, name of Mallory Devereaux. She's Cajun and most likely lives in the area."
There was a bit of a pause on the other end and Silas could hear the rustle of pen on paper. "The guy sounds right," the other man said finally. "What am I looking for exactly on the woman?"
"Everything you can get," Silas said. "Email what you can, overnight the hard copy to my hotel. Once I have the info, I'll give you a call back and let you know how to proceed."
"Got it. How's the tournament going?"
"Not so good at the moment. I think that dealer and the attendant are making something happen, but I haven't been able to place how."
"This is nothing to play around with, Silas. I know you've got your reasons, but you need to consider the risks."
"I don't need you to tell me the risks. Do you think I got this far being foolish? If I can't straighten things out soon, I'll bow out, but not a moment before." He snapped the phone shut and watched as one of the other dealers opened the door next to him and strolled into the kitchen. The man nodded as he pa.s.sed, and Silas wondered how much he had heard.
No matter. He couldn't have been close enough to overhear more than the last comment and that in itself wouldn't mean much. He glanced once more across the room. Jake McMillan had finished fiddling with the cards and was headed across the casino some distance behind Mallory Devereaux. His expression was a mixture of aggravation and confusion.
Silas didn't know how they were managing it, but somehow that dealer and the woman were up to something, and there was no way he was letting a Yankee and some two-bit floozy get the best of him. He had serious business to settle with Reginald - the last of his business with the St. Claire family. And by G.o.d, he was calling that debt one way or another.
Whatever the dealer and attendant were doing, he was going to find out.
Then he was going to deal with them. His way.
Jake stepped into the lobby, hoping to get away from the rest of the casino crowd, and was relieved to find the area empty. He needed to think and think fast. He'd been dead wrong about Mallory Devereaux. Whatever the h.e.l.l was wrong with her - and he still didn't want to know - it worked. Now if only she would work her magic for him again.
He paced the length of the lobby and stared out the windowed walls at the Gulf. Convincing Mallory to help him was going to be tricky. After all, she was probably just as shady as her uncle. But he would have to trust her - at least a little - or this bust was never going to happen.
"McMillan."
Jake turned. "Brad," he said, and nodded. "How's it going?" He was somewhat surprised he hadn't heard the other dealer enter the lobby.
"Not bad. I'm up about twenty K and looking for a bit more before the end of day. I've got a real amateur at my table. Me and the others are eating him alive."
"Makes it easier. That's for sure."
Brad smiled. "How about you? Based on what I heard, you must be putting it to them good."
Jake stared at Brad. "I'm doing pretty good I guess. Why? What did you hear?"
"One of your players was on his cell when I left the casino, saying as how he might cut out soon."
Jake felt the panic run through him. "Which player?" He struggled to keep his voice steady.
"That Silas dude." Brad laughed. "That's pretty d.a.m.ned good, man. Silas Hebert is sort of a legend in Louisiana when it comes to card playing. If you're whooping him enough to make him consider leaving the first day then I may need to get some pointers from you."
Jake nodded and tried to control his emotions. "Yeah, sure. Maybe we can talk at lunch tomorrow. Listen, I've got to run. Got a couple of things to take care of before break is over."
"No problem, man. I'll catch you at lunch tomorrow. And hey, there's a fis.h.i.+ng rodeo this weekend if you're interested."
G.o.d help him. Jake managed to exit the lobby at a normal pace, but as soon as he was out of Brad's viewing range, he quickened his step and hurried toward the kitchen where he'd seen Mallory go when the break started.
He had a plan. It was going to be called into action a little sooner than he had expected. He just hoped like h.e.l.l it worked.
Mallory hurried to the kitchen as soon as the break started, hoping Scooter knew where her uncle was hiding. She hadn't seen Reginald since lunch. Unfortunately, Scooter wasn't available either, and a dishwasher informed her that Scooter had been in the engine room since right after lunch, a.s.suring the return trip to sh.o.r.e would take place as scheduled.
She considered briefly which worried her more - Jake's ulterior motive for playing the tournament or Scooter working on the engine, but they were running too close to call.
She glanced at the clock on the wall and wondered if she had enough time left on break to accomplish anything. There were too many inconsistencies in Jake McMillan's behavior to ignore. And even though at the moment, she might not trust Reginald any further than she could throw him, she knew her uncle would crawl up Jake's b.u.t.t with a microscope if he thought for even a second that the dealer wasn't doing his best to win.
At least Father Thomas hadn't said a word about her cooling ability. Mallory had inwardly cringed every time he'd opened his mouth. But for whatever reason, and Mallory was seriously considering divine intervention, the priest had stuck only to mangled Bible verses and hadn't imparted any personal secrets.
Deciding that some fresh air might help her think more clearly, she left the kitchen and stepped outside a set of sliding doors onto a small balcony. She'd barely closed the door behind her and turned to look out over the Gulf when the door slid open and Jake McMillan stepped through.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice hard, his expression serious.
Mallory studied him for a moment, then glanced inside. They were in full view of the kitchen staff, so surely he wasn't going to attempt anything stupid-like pitching her overboard.
"You're right about that," she said, and immediately made the decision to take this matter into her own hands. She could always fill in Reginald later. "What the h.e.l.l is wrong with you?"
Apparently, the question was not one Jake had expected because he was taken aback for a moment. Then a hint of anger crossed his face and Mallory knew they were back on common ground. "Don't you think that's what I should be asking you?"
Mallory shook her head. "Don't give me that s.h.i.+t. What I really want to know is how long you've been working for Silas Hebert."
Jake stared at her, the stunned expression on his face so sincere there was no way he was faking
Mallory narrowed her eyes at him. "Nothing special, except the fact that you're throwing hands, and you were all excited when you started losing to Silas, then angry when I reversed the luck."
She studied him for a moment more, then blew out a breath. "Whether you're working for him or not - and the jury is still out on that one - if you lose Reginald's money to Silas Hebert, there's the possibility you won't be around to tell about it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Jake stared at her in surprise. "I knew your uncle was kind of shady, but what you're suggesting is a lot more dangerous."
"I'm not saying I know for sure. But there's always been rumors... I just don't know what's true and what's bluff."
"But you aren't willing to run the risk."
"h.e.l.l, no."
Jake looked out over the open water and ran one hand through his hair. Finally, he turned back to her. "Look, I'm not interested in losing anything, especially to Silas Hebert. I hate the man for a list of reasons I don't have time to explain. But I don't want him to leave this tournament without losing more money. And if he doesn't ever win a hand, that's exactly what he's going to do."
"You see, that's part of my problem. You're not even from here, so how in the world do you even know who Silas Hebert is? It doesn't add up, Jake."
"There's not enough time to explain everything now. I promise, I'll tell you what you need to know as soon as we finish playing today. But you've got to trust me on this. I need Silas to stay in this tournament - at least for a little while longer."
Mallory studied Jake's face, but she couldn't get a read on him. She thought he was telling the truth, at least in part, but a big hunk of important material was missing from his story. Trust him. How in the world did he think she was going to manage that? The list of people Mallory trusted could be counted by a three-year-old.
And now a veritable stranger, who had given her every indication that he was up to no good, had asked her without any explanation to place her future in his hands.
"I'm sorry, Jake," Mallory said finally. "I can't afford to let Silas win, not even short-term. My job here is to shut down the table. Otherwise, Reginald pays me nothing. And I have to have the money. This week. I don't have any other options. I can't trust you."
"Then don't," Jake said, frustrated. "But I'm telling you, I can explain everything. All I ask is that you don't get me removed from the tournament before we have a chance to talk."
Mallory studied him again. "Fine," she finally said, knowing that in the end, she had ultimate control of the table. "I won't talk to Reginald until after I've talked to you. But you better have a pretty compelling reason for wanting Silas Hebert to win money, even if only for a moment."
Jake gave her a grim nod. "The reasons are compelling enough, and you'll get your explanation, but not before I get what I came out here for."
Before she could respond to his cryptic words, Jake grabbed her shoulders and lowered his head to hers. His lips pressed against hers with an energy she'd never felt before-an energy that raced through every square inch of her body.
Her mouth responded as if completely separate from her mind, because certainly this wasn't a good idea, but d.a.m.ned if she could remember a reason why not. His lips parted and hers went right along with him, their tongues mingling in a sensual dance that made her moan. Her silk blouse brushed against her hardened nipples and the heat began to rise, first in her center, then spreading throughout her body.
Jake pulled her closer and she felt his erection brush against her. The contact was slight, but enough to make him tense up and pause.
Suddenly, he dropped his hands and stepped away from her. The desire on his face was plain as day, and Mallory could tell his self-control was as precarious as her own, body warring with mind in the endless battle of whether this was a good idea or a really bad one that felt like a really good one at the moment.
He stared at her for a moment, indecisive, then shoved the sliding door open and slipped inside, never even looking back.
She watched him, the heat from her body still radiating out every pore. Well, that definitely honked up the afternoon play. Nothing short of molesting the other players was going to level the playing field after that kiss. She ought to be angry, but instead she smiled. Jake McMillan had thought he'd grab a quick kiss to ensure a run of bad luck this afternoon. He'd thought he was being sneaky, but he'd gotten far more than he bargained for.
Apparently, Mallory had just come in contact with the only human being in the world who ignored basic attraction as much as she did. That kiss had been an eye-opening experience and the pa.s.sion of it, while it had shaken her a bit, had obviously confused the h.e.l.l out of Jake. Which not only gave her the upper hand, it made the rest of the week look far more interesting.
Jake barely managed to hold it together for the remainder of the day. Oh, the play went all right. He was smart enough to know not to jump into any high-stakes pots, and quite frankly, he didn't have a hand all afternoon to even warrant the ante. Whatever Mallory Devereaux served with a mere touch, it was strong medicine.
He'd witnessed that whole spaghetti incident at lunch with Walter Royal, but hadn't recalled that shaking hands with Mallory had immediately preceded the entire event until now. Good Lord. A mere handshake had completely destroyed four dinner servings, a metal dining table, and a really bad imitation Italian suit.
And he'd kissed her.
A scary thought when he had no idea how long the effect would last and he still needed to drive safely to the motel after the play ended for the day. G.o.d help him, now he was worried about driving a car - something he'd been doing for over eighteen years.
What else was there to consider? The stairs with the loose handrail at the motel, using his laptop, walking and chewing gum? The list could go on forever. Heck, even a trip to the men's room could turn into a disaster if he wasn't careful.
What in the world had he gotten himself into?
As the players filed out of the room, Jake placed the chips in the racks and slid them on the shelf under the table. He'd hoped to catch Mallory as soon as the players had left, but she'd gone into her table-cleaning routine and had followed the tray carrier into the restaurant. It figured. Just when he needed the woman to stick around, she'd gone off to take care of something as stupid as dirty dishes.
Not even bothering to hold in a sigh, he reached for the spent cards and the shoe. As he lifted the shoe from the table, a piece of paper appeared from beneath. Jake stared at the paper and frowned. Where had that come from?
He lifted the paper from the table, unfolded it and was surprised to find a message from Mallory.
We can't talk at the casino. Too many eyes and ears. I'll meet you at your motel room at 8:00 P.M.
Jake glanced around the room, relieved to find it empty. No one had seen him read the note. Obviously Mallory Devereaux was smarter than he'd given her credit for and her sleight-of-hand wasn't bad either.
So eight o'clock it was. But this time, no more kisses. h.e.l.l, he wasn't even going to stand close to her. It wasn't worth the risk - especially not with a room on the second floor of a sixty-year-old motel.
Jake finished clearing the table and grabbed his car keys. He'd just walked off the boarding ramp and into the parking lot when he saw Mallory get into her truck and back up. The big lettering on the side read: HARRY BREAUX DEMOLITION FOREMAN-MALLORY DEVEREAUX.
Jake did a double take and read the lettering again as she turned to exit the parking lot. Demolition? Okay, so given her propensity for disaster, maybe it made sense, but foreman? A t.i.tle like that meant Mallory Devereaux wasn't some full-time two-bit floozy, shaking her b.o.o.bs and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g men out of money at her uncle's poker table. She had a legitimate job and probably a pretty good one, based on his limited knowledge of his uncle's construction business.
So why was she moonlighting as a card bimbo?
A good question and one he wanted an answer to before he met with her tonight. Out on the balcony, she'd said she had to have the money this week. But why? Leverage was always a useful thing. It might be considered playing dirty, but at this point Jake really didn't care. If Mallory Devereaux had any reason for playing in this tournament, other than picking up some quick cash to replace dishes or whatever other mishaps she managed on a regular basis, he was going to find out what it was.
And he knew just the place to hear all about it.
J.T's Bar wasn't exactly the type of place Jake usually frequented. But then when it came right down to it, the only place Jake frequented that didn't have anything to do with his job was his condo in Jersey. Bars were loud and filled with smoke and women looking for you to pick them up. Shopping centers were full of harried moms and screaming kids. Neither was his cup of tea. Too much noise, too much activity.
Too much neediness.
And ultimately, it was the neediness that kept Jake from mixing with so-called normal society. His job was far from the norm and the last thing he wanted was someone waiting up late for the phone to ring, or staring at the front door waiting on him to walk through it.
He was only a kid when his mom had put him to bed that night, so many years ago. She'd done her best to pretend that everything was normal, but he knew it even then. Something was terribly wrong. He remembered sitting in his bed, covers wrapped around him, waiting for his father to walk through the front door, for his mom to kiss him when he walked into the house, waiting for his father to sneak into Jake's bedroom and ruffle his hair.
He was still waiting.
No way in h.e.l.l was he going to put someone he loved in that position. So right now, that meant not loving at all. Even friends had gotten more difficult as the years pa.s.sed. His schedule was never regular - he could be gone months at a time, and since he took discretion about his cases as serious as death, he found he didn't really have much to contribute to general conversation. Maybe if the conversation was about the latest in firearms or high-tech surveillance equipment, he'd have something to say, but how many "regular" guys sat around talking about guns and listening devices?
Although, now that he thought about it, that whole gun conversation would probably go over big in Royal Flush.
He pulled into the parking lot of the bar and stared at the gray metal building with the bright red lettering. His partner Mark had been the only person he'd call more than an acquaintance, and that was because they understood each other-knew intimately what the other did every day for a living. The pressure of the job wasn't just about catching the bad guys but learning how to deal with ones who got away.
And the victims.
The live ones were the worst, he'd decided. It was hard to deal with murder-hard to face the families. But living victims were a walking, talking testimony to the failure of mankind to take care of its own. The failure of law enforcement to protect those weaker and unable to protect themselves.
Granted, there was no way to catch all perpetrators, but sometimes he wondered if what he did made a difference at all. Did his putting those ten or twenty criminals behind bars save lives, or did it just open a job position for the next criminal to step into? It sometimes seemed to Jake that he made a bigger impact with the youth program he volunteered for. He may only be able to measure the difference he made one child at a time, but at least it was there for him to see.
They were questions he'd been asking himself a lot lately, and somehow that bothered him more than anything else. He'd always thought he needed to follow in his father's footsteps-protect the innocent, like his mother, from all the bad that was out there. He'd never considered the preventive maintenance that could be done on the front end. But chasing the likes of Silas Hebert for so many years had made him question the amount of time spent and people used to pursue one man. Granted Silas Hebert was a big gun and ran a huge organization, but the reality was, putting him in jail wouldn't alleviate the problem-it would only alleviate the problem from that one man.
He turned off the ignition and took one final look at the bar. Mallory Devereaux was probably the type of woman who had friends. And if she worked construction, there was little doubt in his mind that he would find some of those friends in this bar. The question was, would they talk to him?
There was only one way to get an answer.
At first, he was surprised to find so many people in a bar on a Monday night, but then Royal Flush wasn't exactly a cultural mecca, so he supposed the locals took what they could get. What they could get was a metal building with a cement floor, country music playing a little too loud and enough cigarette smoke to get a contact high in a neighboring state. He'd barely stepped inside the door before he was jostled around by a group of men headed for the pool tables.
Realizing he needed to find a seat or be steamrolled by local linebackers, he scanned the bar and spotted an empty stool at the far end. Squinting a bit in the dim light, he studied the guy on the stool next to the empty one. He looked familiar, but it took a minute for Jake to place him. Then he remembered, this guy was on the boat all day, but wasn't a player. In fact, the only thing Jake had noticed he did was drink beer. Granted he'd consumed an admirable amount if the stack of spent bottles in the lobby was any indication-sort of a leaning tower of beer arrangement on a coffee table. Obviously he'd needed more.
Which was fine by Jake. Drunks were usually easier to get information from, and since he'd seen Mallory sitting with the marathon beer drinker and another dealer at lunch, he had to a.s.sume this guy knew her. Maybe well enough to cough up some information. Mind made up, he began to thread his way through the cl.u.s.ters of bodies, the mingling of smoke and cheap perfume almost knocking him out.