Hold ’Em Hostage Page 4

  Uh-oh.

  I jumped at the knock on the door.

  Ben unfolded his legs and rose to let Jack in. “My man.” Ben shook his hand. Jack did a little dance with his orange-lizard-skin-boot-clad feet. “My hero,” he shouted, winking at me, “has finally landed in Vegas! My world is right again.”

  “I love your boots,” I told him as I kissed his cheek.

  “The Lucchese dudes were so c-cool to offer to make me a custom pair,” he said as he plopped down on the couch and admired his toes.

  “Not everybody can wear that color,” Ben observed.

  I introduced him to Shana. He kissed her hand. She blushed. Jack had a way with women he never would recognize.

  “How’s Ingrid?” I asked.

  “She’s s-so totally hot.” He blushed. “But I guess you’d know that from Frank, right?”

  I smiled noncommittally. Ingrid, the potential übermodel who worked with Frank, had hooked up with Jack on our cruise. However, I wouldn’t know anything about the current state of her love life from Frank as he was an antigossip to an extreme. I always thought he didn’t talk about other people’s relationships so as to not open the door for questions about his own. Admirable ethics, if irritating for his girlfriend (i.e., me) who had to ferret out his secrets by nefarious means.

  “So tell me why you warned me on the phone,” I said to Jack.

  “What warning?” Shana asked, instantly tense again.

  “Jack told me to catch the next plane out because I’m in danger.”

  “Huh,” Ben grunted. “Maybe he saw you swimming around the Image lagoon with a guy with two smiles.”

  Jack sat bolt straight. “W-what?”

  I waved off his question. “You go first.”

  Jack threw me a cautioning look but began his story.

  “I’m working on an article on the secrets of poker millionaires for On the Felt magazine. I’m undercover at the Mellagio high-stakes poker room.”

  “Hold on, Jack,” Ben said. “How did you get under a table in the high-stakes room? It’s a raised room behind panels in the middle of the casino’s main poker room that’s completely open sided to passersby. Anyone could see you coming and going down the two ramps that lead to either side.”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Jack said. “I hung out with the railbirds along the ramps and waited until we got a half-million-dollar stake in front of us and dropped a piece of paper, bent to retrieve it and slipped under the table next to the rail. If they noticed me missing, it wasn’t mentioned and I knew it wouldn’t be. In this age of political correctness, nobody wants to pipe up and say, ‘Hey, where did the sweaty guy with the bad stutter and dumbo ears go?’”

  Smiling, Shana and I shook our heads.

  “So, I’d recognized this one dude, called Golden Hammer because he won last month’s circuit bracelet at Rincon by dropping the hammer on the last hand. He’s sitting there, winning with a lot of backdoor hands in a row, ticking off the table with his arrogance.”

  “Whoa, dropping the hammer?” Shana asked.

  “When you win with seven/two in the hole.”

  “Huh, you can expect to win with that pocket?”

  Ben threw her an arch, teasing look. “I thought you just tried that at the Image, you Maniac.”

  Shana stuck her tongue out at him as I marveled he’d noticed. Jack continued, “And Hammer’s heads-up with a guy in high society who’s sat in the luckbox all night.”

  Shana lifted her eyebrows at me.

  “A luckbox is a novice who’s won repeatedly, due more to fortune than skill. High society meaning with at least a hundred grand in front of him in the game.”

  “And I c-can’t see the c-cards, but I can see sweaty palms wiped on thighs under the t-table, knees bouncing ninety miles an hour, so I know who’s got c-cards, and who doesn’t.” Jack paused and I could tell he was moving into his reporter mode, because once he warmed to a story, his stutter stopped. “High Society and the guy sitting next to him, a real ABC player who doesn’t belong at this table, start talking under their breath about the boss planning some moneymaking partnership with another group having a poker agenda. They need a fall guy. The groundwork had already been laid and more was going down tonight.”

  “So why is this dangerous for me?”

  “Because when ABC asked High Society who was the duck, he laughed and said someone who will have a hard time showing off toe cleavage in paper shoes and an orange jumpsuit.”

  “It could be Clonie Gowen,” Ben offered with a knowing grin.

  I swallowed hard, unable to speak. My signature was my preference for dressing up instead of down for the game, especially in what I put on my feet. Clonie was beautiful and often dressed up but I wore beautiful shoes. Always. The phone rang. I assumed it was Frank. Shana assumed it was Aphrodite. We both reached for it but I withdrew my hand and let her answer. Shana’s olive complexion whitewashed as she listened, handing the phone to me without a word, obviously stricken.

  “Hello?” I said tentatively as I kept my gaze glued onto Shana.

  “Bee Cool, welcome to Vegas. We have your goddaughter. We also have you framed for murder. You are going to do some things for us if you want to keep her alive and yourself out of jail.”

  Four

  At first I couldn’t speak. Honestly, at first I couldn’t breathe. Closing my eyes against the panic creeping into Shana’s big dark eyes, I broke things down into parts. Suck in some air. Let it out. Swallow. Suck in more air. Ignore Ben’s hand gripping my left elbow. Listen to the background sounds on the phone for identification. Frank would ask me for details. Swallow again.

  The line was still open, but the caller was cool enough not to check to see if I was still there. A bad sign. I vowed to be as cool as he was. He had someone who was as close as family to me. A good girl who was scared. This was war.

  I waited a moment more. A torturously long moment. Then, I spoke: “What do you want me to do?”

  “We find that if we intimidate before asking a question, we always get the right answer. Saves time and drama. You know how brutal we can be. We’ve already proven it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re sure, Bee Cool, you do not routinely encounter bloody knives and slashed corpses every day. We understand you have witnessed more than a normal WASP woman’s share of murders but still, these should be strong selling points.”

  I willed myself to think. This was not Dragsnashark who had the hint of a European accent. This guy sounded as educated and as much a WASP as I was. What could they want from me that would make them kidnap my goddaughter? I opened my eyes and felt the pain Shana was carrying in her body, on her face. “Just tell me how much money you want.”

  He laughed then, honestly humored. It sent chills down my spine more than a cold chuckle would. “We want money, but not what you have in your money market, Bee Cool. We have bigger plans and that’s what you will help us with.”

  “Where is Aphrodite?” Shana grabbed my free hand in hers and crushed it with her grip.

  “That is the beauty of this. I don’t have to answer you. You have to do what we say or she will die. If you don’t care if she dies, then we have access to your parents. If you don’t care about them, we have already framed you for Keith Tasser’s murder. You are missing some shoes from your suitcase that will be found in his apartment once they identify him, and then there is a video professionally doctored to show you two were having an affair. We own you. Best to accept it.”

  I wondered if Trankosky already had the shoes. I felt like I was suffocating. “Why would you get me in trouble with the cops if you want to use me? Won’t that be hard to do behind bars?”

  “They won’t arrest you. We can arrange to stop what we start as well.”

  The looks on the faces of my brother and friends did not help me concentrate. I closed my eyes again and broke things down into parts, realizing I had to focus on Affie—first and only. For now. “What is it I a
m expected to do?”

  Exhaustion had claimed me. After I confirmed that a pair of black patten Manolo pumps were missing from my luggage, we’d woken my parents’ next-door neighbor. He’d promised to check on Elva and Howard, and after a few minutes, they called. The ringer had been turned off their phone, certainly the act of the kidnapper, a supposition I kept to myself. We stayed on the line while they discovered Aphrodite was gone. Because we were prevented from involving the police, Shana had come up with the excuse that Affie had run off to Galveston with friends in a bout of teenage rebellion and our parents ought not to worry. Mom was incensed, although this fairy tale was nothing compared to what Ben had put her through in his teen years. I ached for Shana that she had to withstand an undeserved parenting lecture from Elva in the midst of worrying about the safety of her child.

  I’d fallen asleep in the bed opposite Shana, but only after I’d warded off Ben four times. He claimed he was only checking on Shana, but that was so out of character for him I knew he was just covering up what he was really after. Nothing else made sense.

  “Honey Bee.” I heard Frank’s voice but knew I had to be dreaming. I’d been imagining what Ben had on his mind and now it was on mine. “Get up.”

  His voice was quiet and urgent, but not quite the tone I wanted to hear from my lover in action. “Get up or I’ll drag you out of bed.”

  “Urgh, isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?” I croaked, eyes still closed, half hoping this was the beginning of a nightmare I could turn around.

  “Later,” Frank whispered, pulling the covers off my head and easing me to a sitting position. “Maybe. If you’re a good girl and do as I say.”

  “I’m not very good at that.” I pointed out with a yawn.

  Frank bit back a grin that would’ve softened the worry lines around his eyes. Uh-oh. Sparing a glance at Shana, who seemed asleep, with her back to us, I threw the covers off and tiptoed to the door. Frank followed me, lifting my short nightie for a peek. I slapped his hand away lightly, and he pushed me through the door and closed it with a quiet click.

  “What time is it?” I asked as I blinked against the bright sky out the picture windows. I stifled another yawn.

  “Nine,” Frank said, reaching for one of two coffee shop cups on the foyer table and bringing it to me as I plopped onto the couch.

  Folding my fingers around it, I savored the aroma of the rich Columbian for a moment. “I think I love you,” I breathed.

  “Me or the coffee?”

  “The coffee, but you by extension,” I murmured into the cup.

  “Remind me to never come empty-handed.”

  “Good advice.”

  I took two luxurious sips and, though I was tempted to, couldn’t delay any longer. I’d have liked to, especially since Frank hadn’t spoken yet, and that meant it was bad. Frank was frank by nature, and, when he wasn’t, it was a sign of trouble.

  “Okay, what did you find out from Abel and how much do I owe you for his grandmother’s next gallbladder operation?”

  Frank had to smile. Abel, his friend with the Clark County cops, liked to think of himself as an honest guy, trying to provide for his family’s emergencies through sharing bits of gossip.

  “Word on the street, according to Abel, is that there is a major crime planned for this year’s Main Event. Vice has been tracking down leads for a month.”

  I shrugged, sipping my coffee, looking out the window at the group of hookers soliciting in a way that most people walking by on the street wouldn’t catch. Illegalities occurred in the most holy events and Texas Hold ’Em was far from holy. In fact, gambling on the game was against the law in most states so the fact that someone was polluting it with a shady deal or two didn’t surprise me. I hadn’t knowingly seen anything underhanded going on besides a murder here and there, but I was no Pollyanna and the fact it existed didn’t scare me.

  “And,” Frank continued, “your name keeps cropping up in the tips.”

  “What!?” I sloshed coffee on my robe as I spun to face him.

  He was wearing his cop face, which softened for a moment as his gaze drifted to where the coffee and cream had landed in my décolletage. “Would you like me to clean that up?”

  Raising my eyebrows, I shook my head and reached for a napkin on the bar. “Considering you’re going to use something other than a towel to do it and we are sharing a suite with others, you might be starting something you can’t finish right now.”

  “Oh, I promise I can finish it.” He flashed a grin. “Remember, we have a suite to ourselves just floors away. We can be there in minutes.”

  “Frank…” I sobered. “I can’t. I have to stay with Shana right now. She’s an emotional basket case.”

  Frank frowned. “Ben’s here with her.”

  I blew out a breath. “And you think my brother is going to help her emotionally?”

  His frown deepened. “Dammit, Bee, can’t you put us first for once?”

  I cocked my head at him and let his question hang in the silence. All the times he’d had to cancel weekends together because of his mystery missions that I couldn’t know about or he chose not to elaborate on popped up like silent sentries. Over the last year and a half, we might have evolved into an “us” but definitely not one with a capital U. “Come on, Frank. You can’t be serious. It’s not ‘us first’ once in a while. The ‘us’ needs to be first always. Your life is so severely compartmentalized that you wake up each day and prioritize your compartments and sometimes the ‘us’ is first and sometimes it’s last. Sometimes it’s not even on the list.”

  He spun on his heel and turned away from me to stand at the window, looking down at The Strip. “That’s not true.”

  “And,” I continued, “it’s okay if the ‘us’ is last if you let me into the other compartments every now and then. Because then what you have to do is what we have to do.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” Frank told the window.

  “Yes, I’m clear on the fact that you can’t. I just don’t know why.”

  I could see Frank wrestling with himself. Nothing about him was easy, except maybe the sexuality he exuded. Whether it was the secrets he kept, the life he led or the hurt he’d endured, he found it difficult to trust. The muscles along his jaw rippled. The knuckles whitened on his coffee cup. He sighed, still looking down at Las Vegas Boulevard. “You know I love you.”

  “I do.” And I did. But it might not be enough.

  Finally Frank turned away from the window. “Right now, I just want to find a way to keep you safe.”

  He was prioritizing those life compartments again, but I let it go. A part of me realized I might never know Frank, not completely. I’d pushed as hard as I could right now.

  “I might remind you that I asked you to quit playing Hold ’Em. As much as you love your independence, taking my advice might be for the best, at least for right now. Forgo the Main Event and just hang out in Vegas until the Clark County boys clear you to return to Houston. Have a real vacation for once.”

  “I have to play,” I murmured, closing my eyes.

  “Yeah.” Frank kissed the top of my head. “With me.”

  “No, Frank, I really have to go through with the tournament,” I said softly, still avoiding opening my eyes to the intensity I knew was coming.

  “Honey Bee, you’re not losing anything if—”

  “Except maybe Affie.”

  “What?” He put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him.

  Opening my eyes, I took a deep breath, trying to ignore Frank’s deepening frown and the strength of his fingers as they unconsciously squeezed my shoulders tighter. “I don’t know if it was the Dragsnashark guy or his boss but one of them called after you left. He told me he’d kidnapped Affie, and that if I wanted to save her, I would have to take my seat at the Main Event.”

  “And do what?”

  I shrugged. “I think they want me to make them money. He said to make sure I was still i
n at the end of the day, which I suppose I can do by just posting my blinds and playing only the nuts. Of course, this kind of exaggerated conservative play will compromise my stack and what I can accomplish later on, but maybe that won’t matter. Maybe this is all they want from me. Maybe tomorrow they will set Affie free.” Saying it out loud seemed like a good idea, but instead made the option sound ludicrous. I sighed and sat back down on the couch.

  “What are they after? Why blackmail you into doing something you were planning to do anyway?” Frank mused, sliding his hands down my arms before dropping them to his sides as he strode to the window, looking out, his eyes obviously seeing nothing in the scene before him.

  “I asked, but he wouldn’t say. He just reminded me he knows where my parents live, that he knows Shana and Ben are here with me, that Affie is scared.” I paused, trying to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. “He was cold, matter of fact, which was actually more frightening than an overt threat. His voice didn’t sound like the guy who’d tried to run off with me at the Image.”

  Frank had paced over to the bar, and now with his forearms braced against it, he closed his hands into fists, opening them again, studying them with an intensity. “Ingrid should be flying in about now, to keep an eye on Shana. I considered having Shana go home, but our routines at home are much easier for a kidnapper or stalker to predict and follow. Here, they can lose a tail. Joe is already here, searching out a couple of leads for me. I have a man on your parents. We can keep him as a silent shadow, or tell Elva and Howard about him.”

  I shook my head. “No, I think if she knew, Mom would manage to dilute his protective capabilities.”

  Frank allowed a quick smile as we both imagined Elva chatting with a Joe look-alike, aka the Marlboro Man, nonstop, trying to set him up with all the single daughters of friends within two decades of his age and telling half of coastal Texas she had a bodyguard. “You’re right.”