Читать книгу Her High-Stakes Playboy - Kristin Hardy - Страница 9

3

LIGHT, COLOR, NOISE. SLOT machines chattered and jingled in the background as Gwen walked through the extravagance that was the Versailles Resort and Casino.

“You want to tell me what I’m doing here again?” she asked Joss over her cell phone as she walked across the plush carpet patterned with mauve, teal and golden medallions. Ornate marble pillars soared to the ceiling overhead, where enormous crystal chandeliers glittered. Waitresses dressed in low-cut bodices and not much else hustled by carrying drinks trays. The casino had the sense of opulence, a decadent playground for the wealthy, though it was open to all comers.

Under the luxury, though, was the reality of gambling. The air freshener pumped into the cavernous main room of the casino didn’t quite dispel the lingering staleness of cigarette smoke. The faces of the gamblers held a fixed intensity as they hoped for the big score. Or hoped just to break even. She couldn’t have found anyplace more unlike herself if she’d tried.

Then again, she couldn’t have looked more unlike herself if she’d tried.

“You know why you’re there,” Joss said. “You’ve got to find Jerry.”

A balding man in his thirties glanced up from his computer poker machine as Gwen walked by. “Hey, baby,” he said, toasting her with a plastic glass that held one of the free drinks handed out by casino waitresses. After a lifetime of wanting to be unremarkable, Gwen had gone the other way completely. Exit Gwen and enter Nina, the bombshell.

“I look like a tart,” she hissed, tugging at her tight, low slung jeans and her scrap of a red top.

“You don’t look like a tart. You just look like a woman who’s not afraid to flaunt what she’s got.”

“Yeah, well, the flaunting part’s working.” A bellhop walking by tripped over his own feet and stumbled up with a grin. “Joss, this is not my style. This should be your job.”

“It had to be you,” Joss told her. “Jerry knows me too well. He’d recognize me in a second.”

“Like he’s not going to recognize me?”

“All Jerry’s going to register is blond, tight and built. I doubt he’s going to think much beyond his gonads. Anyway, you were always in the back room. He hardly saw you. And no way would he expect you to look like this. You’re different head to toe.”

“Tell me about it,” Gwen muttered, resisting the urge to pull up her neckline. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you took my regular clothes out of my suitcase.”

“I didn’t want you to be tempted to backslide,” Joss said smoothly. “You’ve got to be Nina through and through.”

Joss had effected quite a transformation, Gwen thought, catching sight of herself in one of the enormous gold-framed mirrors that hung on the wall. Gwen—tidy, understated Gwen—was gone. In her place was Nina, whose Wonderbra-induced cleavage alone was likely to distract Jerry from recognizing the person underneath. How Joss had managed to get her into a good salon without notice, Gwen had no idea, but her brownish hair was a thing of the past. Now it had the same streaky, sun-bleached blond look it had had in Africa, only better. The makeup artist had made her eyes more vivid, her smile more bright, somehow without making her look as if she’d troweled on the makeup. She was undercover and, she had to grudgingly admit, she looked good.

Just not like herself. Still, the sooner she got the job done, the sooner she could turn back into Gwen. “All right, well, I’m in the casino, so it’s time to get to work,” she said briskly.

“What’s the plan?”

“Haven’t a clue. Wander around and get the lay of the land. Watch for our friend. I’ll figure something out and call you tomorrow.”

“Have fun,” Joss said a little enviously. “Put a five spot on red for me. I’ve always liked red.”

“Right.”

Gwen switched off the phone and tucked it into her pocket. She was here. She was incognito. Now she just had to find Jerry, cozy up to him, figure out where the stamps were and spirit them away from him, all without being recognized.

Piece of cake.

Gwen drifted steadily through the ranks of slot machines and computer poker games, scanning the players. No Jerry in sight, but then he didn’t strike her as the type for a sucker’s game. He’d want cards, where he could influence the outcome.

She resisted the urge to yawn. Between the shopping, the styling, the packing and the flight to Vegas, it was nearly eleven—about the time she usually clocked out for the night. Since it was a weeknight, the ranks of the players had thinned out some. Maybe Jerry had gone to bed, too.

Yeah, right. She snorted at herself as she passed the croupiers at the craps tables. Jerry was more likely to stay up all night, sure in the knowledge he was going to hit it big, throwing away her grandfather’s money all the while.

As she crossed the broad carpeted avenue that separated the slots floor from the green tables of the real games, the suffocating crowd and noise lessened, replaced by a steadily rising sense of purpose. The people playing at these tables still relied on chance, but they knew their games, and the knowledge gave them a sense of confidence.

Gwen ambled casually down the aisles between tables, as though she couldn’t quite decide where to stop. No point in telegraphing to everyone that she was on the hunt. A tall, ebony-skinned dealer smiled at her. “Baccarat, lovely lady?”

Gwen shook her head, a faint flush tinting her cheekbones.

A burst of giggles rose from the blackjack tables behind her. “Oh, come on, Rennie, you know you’re a winner,” said a woman’s voice.

Gwen whipped her head around to see two female dealers laughing with the player sitting at their table. A single male player.

Rennie.

What were the chances that two guys named Rennie would be at the same hotel as Jerry? Coincidence? Maybe, but Gwen didn’t much like coincidence. She was a bigger fan of probabilities. Odds were that Rennie might very well know Jerry, and if he did, he could just lead her to him. And that was enough to make him her new best friend, she decided as the dealer going off shift walked away.

Gwen sat down next to Rennie and slid some twenties across to the dealer.

“Change a hundred,” announced the current dealer, an ample redhead with laugh lines liberally marking her middle-aged face. She slid a stack of chips across the table and used the paddle to push Gwen’s money into the bill slot.

Gwen studied Rennie out of the corner of her eye. His brown hair was a bit long on top, disordered, she imagined, by a long night at the tables. Even as she watched him, he ran a hand through it again, pushing it out of his eyes. He didn’t hunch tensely like the gamblers she’d seen at other tables or sprawl with exaggerated confidence. He just sat loose and relaxed, a glass of what looked like whiskey at his elbow, next to the stacks of chips that attested to a combination of luck and skill. He wore jeans and a pine-green shirt patterned in faded burgundy and gold. Clearly he’d chosen more for comfort than style.

Then he turned toward her, and she understood why the dealers had been giggling with him.

He looked as though his habitual expression was one of wry amusement. A startling green, his eyes held a glint of devilry that invited her to join in. His sideburns were just a bit long, making him look a bit like some nineteenth-century rake. A day’s worth of beard darkened his jaw.

And his mouth…

Adrenaline skittered through her veins.

“Welcome to the fun house,” he said.

The dealer shuffled the decks and refilled the shoe.

Flirt, Gwen thought feverishly. Keep him talking. Nina wouldn’t be struck dumb by his looks. Nina would be enjoying herself. “You looked like you could use a little company.”

“What I could use is luck. Did you bring any with you?” He looked her over.

Gwen glanced at his stacks of chips. “You don’t look like you’re having any problems with Lady Luck to me.” Lady Luck probably fell for that killer grin just like every other woman he met. She couldn’t be thinking about that now, though. She had to strike up a relationship with Rennie—and fast. If she let him walk away, she gave up her link to Jerry.

“Can I get you something to drink?” A waitress stood at Gwen’s elbow, tray in hand.

What to choose, Gwen wondered. She’d prefer white wine, but that didn’t really fit with her profile. A martini, maybe? Or… “A cosmopolitan, please.” At the expectant look of the dealer, Gwen pushed out two five-dollar chips. Her natural leaning was to bet a dollar at a time. Nina, though, wouldn’t do anything by halves. Nina would take chances.

With brisk efficiency the dealer laid the cards out. Gwen worked to concentrate. It wouldn’t do her any good to have found Rennie if she wound up broke and leaving the table in fifteen minutes. And she wasn’t about to put up another hundred. She’d already dipped into her savings account to finance the trip; she was going to make it last.

Her hand held an ace and a two, for a soft thirteen. The dealer had a seven showing and Rennie had a four. He took a sip of his whiskey and tapped his cards to indicate a hit. Gwen couldn’t tell if the three he got satisfied him or not, but he didn’t bust. He took a sip of whiskey and glanced over at her with interest. “Waitin’ on you, darlin’.”

Gwen tapped her cards, embarrassed to have been caught watching him. The seven she drew made her forget all about it, though. The dealer drew a nine and flipped over her hole card to show eighteen. Gwen’s surge of triumph was probably completely out of proportion to the fifteen dollars she’d won, but it was a good way to start.

Rennie turned over his cards to show a four and a nine and gave her that devilish smile again. This time it sent a pulse of adrenaline through her system that had nothing to do with nerves. “Looks like you brought me that luck.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around,” she said carelessly, picking up the chips the dealer slid her way.

“Maybe you should.” He had a way of looking at her as though she were the only thing in his field of view that interested him, as though the game were irrelevant now that she’d arrived.

Her cosmopolitan appeared at her elbow.

He raised an eyebrow. “Girlie drinks?”

“A woman’s got to do what a woman’s got to do.”

“And I’m sure you do it well.” He lifted his whiskey and touched it to her glass.

Cool and sweet, the drink slid down her throat easily.

The dealer coughed. “Bets, please.”

Gwen studied her bet circle. Aggressive but not foolish. She slid six five-dollar chips into the circle.

Rennie gave her that look again, the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking and it amused him. “Living large?”

“Feeling lucky.”

And her feeling was borne out when the dealer busted, leaving them both ahead.

“So, you out here for business or pleasure?” she asked casually.

“Business, but no reason it has to be all work. How about you?”

“Pleasure. I was supposed to meet a friend named Jerry, but he had to bail.” This, of course, was his lead-in to talk about his own friend named Jerry, but he didn’t bite.

Instead he just raised an eyebrow and pushed out a couple of chips. “A friend friend or just a friend?”

Gwen flushed. “Just a buddy.”

“His loss is my gain.” Rennie shifted in the chair. He had broad shoulders on what looked like a rangy build. That was all right—she liked leanly built men. He gave her a slow smile that had her stomach turning cartwheels.

Gwen blinked. Wait a minute. Back up. This was not part of the program. It was one thing to flirt and convince him she was interested. It was another thing to do it so well she convinced herself. He was the enemy. She needed to remember that. Get close, sure, but keep her distance.

The dealer flipped them a new hand with quick, economical motions. Gwen checked her hole card and tapped for another. Rennie did, too, but he took it too far and busted.

“Bummer,” Gwen said, stacking her chips.

“I thought I had enough breathing room.”

“You know what Penn and Teller say—Las Vegas is powered by the Hoover Dam and bad mathematics.”

He studied her and took a swallow of whiskey. “That’s a pretty cynical opinion for a player.”

“I look at it as a challenge.” She tipped her glass to take a drink and found to her surprise that it was nearly empty.

“And you like challenges?”

“I think they make life a little more interesting.”

“You don’t look much like the type who likes to be bored.” He pushed a short stack of chips into his betting circle.

“How about you?”

He gave her that smile again and her pulse bumped a bit. “I’m all for excitement.” He considered. “Then again, there’s something to be said for just hanging.”

Gwen checked her cards. “Just you and your buddies. You know, whoever you’re here with?”

“Not necessarily,” he answered, tapping the table for another hit. “My buddies can fend for themselves.”

“Are they around?”

He gave her an amused look as she moved to hold. “You seem awfully interested in my friends. A guy could take it kind of personally.”

“I don’t think you should do that,” she said quickly, pleased to see she’d won another round. “I was just curious.”

“I’m much more interesting than my friends.”

The look he gave her this time sent a shiver right down to her toes. The cocktail waitress set another cosmopolitan by her elbow, and Gwen fell on it as though it were salvation.

CHIPS SAT STACKED IN COLORED towers in front of her. She had no idea what the hour was—in a Vegas casino there were no clocks, no windows. High noon looked like midnight when you were at the tables. Time was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the flip of the cards, the spin of the wheel, the roll of the dice.

She felt no fatigue—far from it. She was wired, playing on house money. Her luck had been solid so far, but it was beginning to flag. Gwen drew a queen to a hand that was already twelve and busted.

Rennie looked at her. “We got a bad trend going here,” he observed, gesturing at his own busted hand. “I’m thinking it’s time to knock off while I’m ahead.” He pushed his chips to the dealer, asking for a consolidation.

Panic seized Gwen. He couldn’t leave—how would she find him again? She knew almost nothing about him, aside from the fact that he had a sexy smile and a weakness for banter.

And maybe a weakness for her.

Nina, of course, wouldn’t be shy about putting her looks to work for her. No way would she just let the guy walk away. If Nina were trying to follow the trail of millions of dollars, she’d do whatever was necessary to persuade him to stick around. Gwen sent him a look from under her lashes as she collected her consolidated chips from the dealer. “So, how about a drink?”