Certified Male (17 page)

T
HE ROOM HAD BEEN TOSSED
thoroughly and by someone who didn't much care how much of a mess they made. Del followed Gwen through the haphazardly thrown-around clothing and personal items. “Careful,” he said, catching her before she walked over broken glass. “See if anything's missing.”

Gwen walked through the room in a daze, picking things up and setting them down, her breath hitching unsteadily. Del swept some papers off the sofa and pulled her down to sit on it. “It's okay,” he said softly, catching her hands between his, but they were ice-cold.

“Someone's been in here,” she whispered, shivering. “They've been through everything.”

It was a violation, at least as much as her attack. That they'd searched Jerry's room just days before didn't make it easier. This didn't have the look of a purposeful search, Del realized. It had the look of maliciousness. “Make any enemies at the tournament?”

Gwen turned to him and it was as though they arrived at the same point at the same time. “The stamps.”

“But why would someone break in here looking for the stamps?” she asked.

“Maybe they knew you were at Jerry's. Maybe they've noticed all the time you've spent with him and they figure he handed off something to you. Maybe it's a warning.”

For the first time she registered the torn drapes, the split pillows. “We're going to have to report this, aren't we?”

“Don't see how we can avoid it.”

Her face paled. “I don't want the police in on it.”

“Why the big hush job?”

“I don't want them in on it,” she repeated.

“That'll be up to hotel security.”

“They can't know about the stamps. They can't report it.” She rose and began to walk agitatedly through the mess.

“Is anything missing?” He had to ask her three times before she could answer.

“I can't tell. Everything is such a mess. There wasn't much of anything to take. My computer and jewelry are in the safe. Nothing else…” she spread out her hands.

“You should open it just in case, but the safe doesn't look touched.”

It hadn't been, near as he could tell. Perhaps whoever had tossed the room had been disturbed.

Or perhaps they just wanted to send a message.
We're watching you.

 

O
NE THING WAS CERTAIN—THE
head of hotel security was watching her. Tall and gaunt-cheeked, Howard Ahmanson had disillusioned-cop eyes that surveyed the world with a cynical stare. Currently he'd turned the cynical stare on her. “Know any reason someone would have broken in here? Anyone got a grudge against you? Old boyfriend? Someone you beat at the tables?”

Gwen shook her head. “Nothing like that. Anyway, I'd hope it wouldn't be that easy to break the locks.”

“You trying to say it was an inside job?”

“Not at all. I have no idea what kind of job it is. I just know I haven't made any enemies and I don't have any jilted lovers running around.”

“And nothing's missing, you say.”

“The only valuables I had were in the safe, and that held.”

“Whoever got into your room was a pro. We could call the cops and get them to look for prints, but the perp probably used gloves. Anyway, if nothing's missing, the only thing you could charge them with would be destruction of property.”

Gwen sat on the couch and massaged her temples. “Do I have to file a report to get the property damage waived?”

“Eventually. Not tonight, though. You can change rooms when you're ready. Just go down to the front desk.”

She nodded.

“You know,” he said casually, “seems funny that someone would go to that much trouble to make a mess in the place of someone who doesn't have an enemy in the world. Looks to me like someone's maybe trying to tell you something.” He gave her a long look, then walked to the door. Just before he reached it, he turned. “You think of anyone or change your mind, you let me know, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And put on the dead bolt when you're in here.”

The door closed behind Ahmanson. Del walked back toward Gwen. “He's right, you know, you should file a police report. You should call the cops, period, blow the whistle on things.”

“No,” she said abruptly. She huddled on the couch, the shakes just starting. “I can't.”

“Gwen, we don't know what's going on here. Someone tried to hurt you four days ago—”

“You don't know that that was connected,” she said hotly.

“And you don't know that it wasn't. And now we come back and find your room torn apart. Nothing's gone but everything's a mess and it looks a whole lot like it might be connected to Jerry and to the guy that grabbed you the other night.”

The shakes got stronger. “I can't get the police involved.”

“You've got hundreds of dollars in damage to the furnishings here. Unless you win the poker tournament, you're going to damned well have to.”

“It's my problem, Del.” Nina wouldn't be shaking. Nina wouldn't be on the edge of tears. She'd take it in the gut, hold up her head and go on. Gwen took a breath.

“God, you're doing it again,” he said disgustedly.

“What?”

“Channeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“You think I don't see it? You think I don't know when it's going on? One minute you're you and then the screens go down and someone else is looking out of your eyes. All of a sudden you're being Nina.”

He saw a whole lot more than she'd given him credit for. A whole lot more than she wanted him to. “What's wrong with Nina?”

“She's not real. She's not a person, she's just a construct, someone you use to give yourself guts. Well you've got guts already, so why don't you have the guts to be yourself?”

“Maybe I don't want to be just Gwen. Maybe I like being Nina.”

“Well, being Nina has you taking stupid chances, thinking you're some sort of superwoman who can go up against the bad guys. Maybe you can't, and being Nina is just going to get you into a dangerous situation you can't get out of. You've got this thing about being Nina and it's going to get you into some very bad trouble if you don't watch out.”

“What about you? Who were you talking with that first night at the blackjack table, anyway? If I'd been Gwen, I'd never have come up to you and you'd never have given me the time of day. You probably still wouldn't. I might be
Gwen inside, but I'm Nina on the outside and Nina's your golden-girl fantasy. So don't go lecturing me, Del,” she snapped and turned to the windows. She pressed her forehead to the glass, feeling the warmth left over from the Las Vegas day.

Outside the sun had set in the time between their discovery of the room and meeting with security. Lights glittered and flashed in the dusk. People flocked down the Strip to the casinos. Life went on as usual.

Del walked over to her, watching her shoulders, knowing the strength that was in them, seeing the fragility. “Look, I don't always say the right thing. You'd think I would. I work with words for a living. Sometimes, though, when I'm angry or scared, it comes out wrong. And I'm scared for you right now and angry that someone's doing this to you. So I screwed up and I'm sorry.”

Gwen raised her head and turned to look at him.

“The thing is, I don't think I'm wrong,” he continued. “I think you're taking some risks with an unknown quantity. I think you think you can carry it off, and it worries me that something might happen to you.” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “I don't think Jerry tossed your room. This is bigger than him. You've got to bring in the cops.”

Gwen was silent for a long time. Finally she spoke. “I told you my grandfather's in the process of retiring. I didn't tell you everything. You figured out my grandfather owns the stamp store, the one Jerry stole from. Jerry didn't just take stamps from the store inventory, though. He stole the best of the stamps that my grandfather is depending on for his retirement.”

“Your grandfather doesn't know?”

Gwen shook her head, walking over to sink down on the bed. “If I'd told him, he'd come back home the next day and he's in less of a position to get them back than I am.”

“Insurance?”

She shook her head and laid back, staring at the ceiling. “He was planning to start selling them over the next two years. Four and a half million out the door and into Jerry's pocket.”

It was still hard to accept that little chips of paper could be worth so much. A testament to human acquisitiveness, Del supposed, or to obsession. He sank down on the bed beside her and gathered her against him, kissing her hair and saying nothing.

“There's more to it than just the money, though. It would still leave him with a million or so in holdings, but he's an investment philatelist.”

“Meaning?”

“He advises people on investment stamps. And because of the way his contracts with them are written, word getting out about the stamp theft could take everything that's left.” She turned to face him. “I can't bail on this, even if someone's trying to intimidate me. Even if they're watching me. I don't care who they are, I've got to find a way to get those stamps back from Jerry without word getting out.”

Del brushed a hand over her hair and pressed a gentle kiss on her lips. “You will. We'll do it together.”

But long after her eyes had closed, he lay staring at the ceiling.

D
EL STOOD AT HIS WINDOW
,
looking out at the Strip, wishing he could do anything but make the call he was about to make. Then again, unpleasant things were best done quickly, he thought and punched the numbers on his cell phone.

“Jessup.”

“Greg, it's Del Redmond here.”

“How's that story going, Redmond?”

“That's why I'm calling.” He was calling because it was, quite simply, the right thing to do. “The story's evaporated.”

“Evaporated?”

“It's not as big a story as I anticipated.”

“Four and a half million in rare stamps isn't a story? What, did they show up? Did the owners miss seeing them the first time around?” The sarcasm was ripe in Jessup's voice.

“No,” Del said evenly. “The more I investigated, the more it became clear that it's not a straightforward, clean story.”

“Those are usually the best kind.”

“Not this one. It's not going to come together and it's not going to be timely.” That was always the card to play with a newshound. Late was as good as never as far as a good editor was concerned.

“Doesn't help us much, does it?”

“Would you rather I turned in twenty column inches of useless crap?” Del countered.

Jessup gave a bark of laughter. “Balls, Redmond. I like
that in a reporter. All these kids that I'm interviewing are afraid to stand up for themselves. Don't want to take a chance on irritating me.”

“I've already got a job, Jessup. I was thinking I'd like a chance to work news for you, but I might be revising that opinion.”

Jessup snorted. “I might be revising my opinion, too. That story would have helped you, you know that?”

“Only if it were solid. If I'd sent you twenty column inches that stank to high heaven, I don't think it would have done a whole hell of a lot for my case.”

“I suppose not.”

“And by the way, you can tell your little terrier Kellar to back off.”

“Kellar?”

“Yeah. Calls himself your stringer? He hunted me down the other day.”

“Oh, right. I thought he might be able to help you with some local contacts.”

“Well, be sure to tell him the story's been spiked. I don't want him nosing around anymore.”

“Uh-huh.” There was a short silence. “You seem awfully anxious to have this story killed, Redmond.”

“That's because it's the right thing to do.” Del's fingers clenched the phone just a bit tighter.

“Well, I suppose I have to trust the instincts of my reporters.”

“I'm not your reporter,” Del reminded him.

“Well, you're still in the pool, anyway. I'm interviewing through the end of next week. You come up with anything I can use out there, send it along. If not, well, we'll be in touch.”

 

T
HERE WAS SOMETHING ABSOLUTELY
intoxicating about winning, Gwen thought as she grinned into the mirror over the
sink in the ladies' room halfway through the day's play. Every two hours the tournament ran, they got fifteen minutes to stand up, move around and take a break. She dried her hands and looked over to where Roxy was slicking on a new layer of lipstick.

“You doing all right?” Gwen asked.

“Sweetie, I am doing fabulously. They're all like soft little bunnies and I'm the saber-toothed tiger.”

“Now there's an image.”

“I caught the guy in the number seven seat at my table staring at my knockers.”

“Nice,” Gwen said with a grimace.

“Hell, I don't care. If he's busy looking at my chest, he's not thinking about poker.”

“On the other hand, it's going to be harder to pick out a bluff if the vein beating on the side of his head is throbbing for another reason.”

“Nope, the vein that's throbbing because of that is a whole lot lower.” She winked. “So, where are you at?”

“In a really weird spot. I feel like I can see what they've got and I know which way to push them. The cards just keep falling my way.”

“Sounds like you're in the zone.”

“I hope so.” Gwen walked toward the door.

“So, are we going to go out and celebrate after?” Roxy followed her out into the lobby area where drinks and snacks were laid out. “What about going over to the vodka bar at Mandalay Bay?”

“Forget that. I'm having a party for all the winners up at my suite.” It was Jerry coming up behind them to hang his arms over their shoulders.

Roxy made a face and did a little sidestep to get out from under him. “Watch out,” she suggested, “or you might be missing a hand for the last go-round.”

Gwen moved aside.

“Oh, come on, guys, it's going to be party time.”

“We have to make the cut first,” Gwen reminded him.

He snorted. “We all know it's just a matter of time.”

“For someone,” Roxy said.

“Hey, you gonna come or not?”

“We all win, sure, we'll stop by for a drink,” Gwen said. “Won't we, Roxy?”

Roxy looked at her as if she'd lost her mind but gave a grudging nod. “Sure, for starters.” The bell rang to summon them back to the tables. “Right now, though, we'd better go in and finish the job.”

 

F
ORGET ABOUT LIQUOR—THE PURE
, hard rush of making the cut beat it all. The field had been narrowed. Only a total of thirty-six players had survived round two, each of whom would walk away with at least eighteen thousand dollars. Those who stayed in longer, well, the sky was the limit—or as much of it as you could buy with two million.

Roxy came up and hooked an arm over her shoulders. “We're in the money,” she singsonged. “Let's go get your main squeeze and a man for me and celebrate.” She whooped and gave a little shimmy.

“The party, remember?”

Roxy made a face. “And we have to do that why?”

“You don't have to do it, but I do.”

“He's an idiot,” she said with a frown. “He was at my table the last part of the night and I had to put up with his poker-brat routine. What do you want to hang around with him for?”

“Hang around with who?” Del came up behind them.

“Jerry's having a party,” Gwen explained. “I figured we could stop by and have a drink.”

“Oh, if Jerry's buying, I think the least we can do is stop
by,” he said. “But first I need to do some congratulating. To you.” He leaned over to give Roxy a hug. “And to you.” He gathered Gwen against him and pressed his mouth on hers, hard.

“And to you,” Gwen said back to him. The heat from the brief contact surprised her. The promise made her want. Jerry's party didn't matter, she thought dizzily. The only thing that mattered was getting Del alone. Now.

“Hey, how do I get me some of that,” Jerry said behind them.

Del shot him a frown. “I think the supply is all out, buddy. You're going to have to settle for a poker groupie.”

“Don't listen to him.” Gwen forced flirtatiousness into her voice. “Congratulations. We'll see you upstairs at the party,” she told him, making herself lean in to peck him on the cheek before turning back to Del and Roxy.

“So,” Del said, “party first, then I need to take you two poker superstars out to celebrate a little.”

“Man after my own heart,” Roxy said, ruffling his hair affectionately. “You don't happen to have a brother, do you?”

“Yep, but he's married with three kids.”

“Rats. You'll tell me if anything changes?”

“You'll be the first,” he promised.

 

T
HE PARTY MIGHT HAVE BEEN IN
Jerry's suite, but it had spilled out into the concierge bar and lounge area. Guests milled about, only a fraction of whom he probably knew, Gwen was betting. Behind the bar a hotel staffer mixed drinks. Appetizers tempted the hungry from tables covered in snowy-white linen.

“Quite the host, our Jerry is,” Del murmured in her ear.

“Just as long as he's not planning to pay for it in cash,” she responded. “You might want to skip the me-Tarzan-you-Jane routine, by the way,” she added in a low voice.
“As long as Jerry thinks he has a chance, he might tell me something.”

“He'll tell you more if he's trying to impress you into dumping me and taking up with him.”

She slanted a look at him. “Which would be the only reason you did it, of course.”

“Of course,” he said blandly. “And now I'll wander over and talk with Roxy, leaving you wide open for Jerry.”

“You are devious.” She gave him an admiring look.

“That's why you love me.” He walked off, leaving her staring after him.

Just a joke, Gwen decided, blinking away her shock. Definitely nothing she should take seriously. It wasn't as though she could possibly be foolish enough to let herself have feelings for Del, anyway. It was just a fling while they were working together. What happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, she reminded herself.

“Hey, you made it!” Jerry came up to her. “How you doing, babe? Ready to mow 'em down in the next round?”

“Careful. You might just wind up at my table.”

“Hey, the other night showed us who was hot.”

She tilted her head. “You mean the night I took you to the cleaners?”

He frowned, the memory coming clearer. “Yeah, but I'm on a roll now. I'm hot and the cards are loving me.”

“We're all hot.”

“I've got a license to print money,” he told her.

A weedy-looking blonde with a deep tan and the carved lines of a longtime smoker walked up to them carrying a highball glass of what looked like whiskey. “Well, if it isn't the hotshot kid himself,” she said and took a swallow of her drink. “I guess you're the host of this little do.”

“Hey,” Jerry crowed and gave her a sloppy kiss. “Ren
nie, I want you to meet Nina. Nina, this is Adrienne—or Rennie, as we call her.”

Every atom of Gwen's being went on alert. It was Rennie—the Rennie listed in the matchbook, the Rennie who'd begun the whole chase.

The Rennie who might know something about where the stamps were.

Staying relaxed took work, but Gwen managed to put out her hand. “Nice to meet you. So, what do you think of our boy making it into the money round?”

“Oh, Jerry's always done well for himself,” Rennie said in a not-entirely-pleasant tone. “I should know it. I've watched him for a long time.”

“Rennie and I go way back,” Jerry put in. “We met up in Reno. Used to joke about starting a radio show. ‘And now,'” he announced, “‘it's Jerry and Rennie from Reno.'”

“The way I remember it, it was Rennie and Jerry from Reno.” She took another gulp of her drink. “It's that memory of yours, Jerry, always gets you in trouble.”

There was definitely something simmering here, Gwen thought. If she could coax it to the boil, who knew what might bubble up? “Jerry, sweetie, can you go get us drinks?” Gwen asked, channeling a bit of Nina, a bit of Roxy.

“Drinks?”

She nodded. “A martini for me and what, whiskey?” She looked at Rennie inquiringly.

“Jack Daniel's,” Rennie supplied and took a last swallow of what was in her glass.

“Okay, a martini and a Jack Daniel's.” He went off a bit unwillingly, but he went, allowing her to concentrate on Rennie. “So, nice party, huh? Has to be costing a bundle. Of course, I'm just a guest, so I guess I shouldn't worry about it.”
Poke the sore spot, see what happens,
Gwen thought.

“He always was a dipshit when it came to money.” Rennie looked after Jerry with a scowl.

“So, you from here in Vegas or still living in Reno?”

“I'm a dealer here at the hotel. He wouldn't even have known about the tournament if it weren't for me.”

And another puzzle piece clicked into place. “Wow. He's lucky he's got a friend like you. I just found out by accident. So, what did you guys do up in Reno?”

“Who, me?” Rennie took another look at Jerry. “I was dealing blackjack and passing odd jobs to the hotshot kid. 'Course, it don't look like he needs the work anymore,” she added, turning to survey the concierge area. “Fancy place, his own bartender—looks like he's got all the money he needs.” She bit off the words and stood staring moodily until Jerry returned.

“Here we go, a martini for you and a J.D. for you. Let's toast to the big payoff at the final table,” he said, holding up his glass.

“Let's toast to payoffs, period,” Rennie returned in a hard voice. “And promises. Remember promises, Jerry? You ain't too good on them.” The bourbon was hitting her bloodstream; it showed in her eyes and the increased volume of her voice.

Jerry's eyes narrowed. “Maybe you ought to quiet down,” he suggested.

“Don't tell me what I oughta do.” Her voice rose.

“We're gonna talk about this in private,” he hissed and half led, half pulled her into the hallway that led to the bedroom.

Del drifted over to Gwen. “That looked interesting.”

“That was Rennie,” she said.

“So maybe we need to go lean against the wall over there and canoodle a bit?”

“You read my mind.”

The bedroom door closed, but Gwen and Del were able to get close enough to hear faint voices behind it.

“What's your problem?” Jerry demanded.

“What's my problem? You gotta ask? You owe me money, you asshole. You're here having a great old time with big bucks from a job that
I
threw your way. Meanwhile I'm spending eight hours a day on my feet dealing cards, waiting on that big lump of cash I was supposed to get from you. ‘It'll pay off big, Rennie,'” she mocked savagely. “‘Take a couple months off.' Pissed off? Damned right I'm pissed off.”

“You'll get your money.” Her response must have been a rude look because Jerry's voice roughened. “I'm working the deal as fast as I can.”