Certified Male (7 page)

And maybe she was out of her depth.

Not his problem, he reminded himself.
Get over it.

But it was hard to get over it when he looked up to see her walking by, leggy and curvy in all the right places, with a loose-limbed stride that made his mouth go dry. Her bright hair swished around her shoulders. Those legs, those legs were nothing short of stupendous. But it was her eyes that got to him, those eyes that couldn't disguise the hardheaded intelligence within.

And then she saw him and stopped. Her gaze flicked in his direction, then out at the casino, then back at him, as if she were debating something. Then like a kid sent to do an unpleasant errand, her feet all but dragging, she approached.

“Hello,” she said, not sounding at all happy about it.

“Hey, there.” He admired her. “So, were your errands a success?”

She blinked and flapped her hand vaguely. “Sort of.”

“Sort of,” he repeated and crossed his arms, watching her with interest. He wasn't about to push. If she had something to say, the play was all hers.

Gwen squared her shoulders with a hint of defiance. “Don't get any ideas because I stopped.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

“I came over here…” She hesitated and suddenly looked very young. “I came over here to apologize for this morning. I shouldn't have called you an—”

“Asshole?” he supplied helpfully. “I believe that's what you said.”

Her face flamed. “Yes. I'm sorry. I'm not usually a name caller. I'm just a little stressed out right now.”

“Those must be some errands.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Caution? Fear? Whatever it was, it shut her down. “It'll be fine.”

“And how's Rennie?” He couldn't resist poking a little.

“Get off the whole Rennie thing, already, will you?” she snapped. “It's nothing.”

“I guess you are kind of stressed.”

Her eyes flashed with temper.

“Look,” she began. And stopped abruptly, staring at something or someone behind him. He turned to see. The door to the casino offices had just closed behind a guy with dark blond hair and a casino staffer. Del couldn't hear much of what they were saying above the chatter of the slot machines, but the blond guy was sounding persuasive.

Then again, he looked like the kind of guy who spent most of his time trying to talk someone into something. The whole package was just a little too slick, a little too pretty. His hair was disarranged and gleamed just a bit with gel, his shirt and jacket were tailored just a little too sharply.
He put his hand on the staffer's shoulder as if he was his best buddy.

Operator
was the word that sprang to mind.

Nina was riveted.

S
HE COULDN'T SEE WHERE HE'D
come from. One moment she'd been standing there, fumbling her way through an apology and avoiding Del's eyes. The next Jerry had been there talking with someone who wore the dark blue jacket of the casino management.

Her heart jumped into her throat. This was the telling moment. Would her disguise hold? Jerry glanced across at her, looked away and glanced more deliberately this time, even as he continued his conversation. Had he recognized her? No, the look wasn't one of identification, she realized. It was the same look a glutton might give to a plate of gooey cream puffs set in front of him.

Only she wasn't a cream puff, and Jerry was going to find that out the hard way.

The shock of locating him was fading as her mind started racing through the possibilities. She'd found him, sure, but at this point keeping contact with him was like trying to grasp water. He could walk any minute, and she'd be in the same spot she'd been in five minutes before.

Establishing some kind of connection with him, even for a moment, was imperative. Right now she didn't even know his room number, and the hotel desk clerks resolutely refused to budge on that matter. Cultivating a staffer might help, but who knew how quickly that would pay off? She needed to get to Jerry now.

The two men moved toward the archway that led to the bank of elevators. Gwen's decision was instantaneous.

“I have to run for a minute,” she said to Del without taking her eyes off Jerry.

“But we were having such a good time.” He followed her gaze. “Ah. I see. Find your man?”

She glanced back at Del quickly. His look told her she wasn't fooling him even a little. It was something she couldn't afford to think about, though. She hurried toward the bank of elevators, turning the corner just as Jerry disappeared inside a car.

“Hold the elevator,” she called out desperately.

She saw him move toward the control panel of the empty car, but the door was already closing. Gwen could only stand and watch in helpless defeat as it went. And then she looked at the sign above the car. Express elevator to concierge level. Penthouse suites. Either he was visiting someone or that was where he was staying.

Seething with suppressed fury, she walked back into the casino. The little creep had cashed in her grandfather's stamps so that he could roll around in a five-hundred-dollar-a-night suite. She gritted her teeth. She'd get the rest of the stamps back somehow, some way.

And she'd get Jerry while she was at it.

“You run well in heels,” someone said. She turned to see Del.

She flushed—she could feel it. A more accommodating guy would have taken the hint, but no, he just hung around. Until she could convince him that nothing was going on, she'd have him keeping an eye on her—surveillance she could ill afford. “I thought I left my phone in my room,” she lied.

He gave her a skeptical look. Embarrassed, Gwen moved her gaze to the wall behind him. And then she
saw it, the sign that stood by the door to the casino office. Circle of Champions Poker Tournament, it read. Enter Now. “There's a poker tournament?” she asked blankly.

“Yeah.” Del watched her. “Texas Hold 'em. It starts Saturday. What do you think I'm doing here?”

“You told me you were writing a story on poker,” she said, resisting the urge to shout. The casino suddenly felt stifling, as though there wasn't enough air.

“Exactly. I'm playing in the tournament and writing a first-person series on what it's like.”

Gwen stared at the sign. Oh, it fit. It was exactly the way a slick little operator like Jerry would think—use the stolen money as a stake to win even more. Or lose it, but guys like Jerry never thought of that. They always looked for the easy way. And if she wanted to keep an eye on him… “Are they still taking entries? Do you think I could get into it?”

“Got ambitions of winning a bundle?”

“You have no idea,” she said grimly and opened the glass door.

 

G
WEN STOOD IN LINE BEHIND
half a dozen people, waiting her turn at the registration counter. A slender auburn-haired woman in low-cut white pants and a lace-up leather vest walked into the office and stared at the tableau. “You have got to be kidding,” she said in disgust as the men all stared at her. “I so do not have time for this.” She got in line behind Gwen and tapped her foot impatiently.

“You could come back later,” Gwen pointed out.

The woman shook her head, what looked like real diamonds glittering in her ears. “Too close to the limit as it is.”

“There's a limit?”

“Uh-huh. Seven hundred and twenty players, period. World Series of Poker lets in anyone who can pay the fee.
Unlike some casinos that don't want to let us make any money.” She raised her voice.

“You talk foul, Roxy, you're not gonna get in,” called the gray-haired clerk at the counter.

“Do my registration for me, Tommy, and I'll make it worth your while when I win,” she tossed back.

Tommy just snorted.

Roxy jiggled on the balls of her feet, then turned her attention to Gwen. “So, I haven't seen you at one of these before.” She looked at her assessingly.

Gwen shook her head. “I just happened to be in town and figured I'd give it a try.”

“Gotta get your kicks while you can, right? You play a lot?”

“I've got a weekly home game.”

“Watch out, honey bunch, 'cause this is a whole different ballgame. You might think twice about that ten K you're about to cough up.”

Gwen glanced at her with pursed lips. “This wouldn't by any chance be a move to get me to drop out of line, would it?”

“Shoot, that obvious?” Roxy asked in disgust. “I'd better brush up before the playing starts.” She grinned, sticking out her hand. “Roxanne Steele, last year's champion.”

“Nina Chatham.” Gwen shook. “So, you won last year, huh?”

Roxy nodded. “Finished just out of the money in the World Series main event, too. That's right, boys,” she said more loudly, “the chicks are moving in.”

“I got a place you can move into, Roxy,” said the man at the front of the line as he walked away from the counter.

“In your dreams, Buchanan.” She slapped hands with him as he walked by and turned back to Gwen. “So, a weekly home game, that's it?”

“Well, one of the players who used to be in the game was a high-stakes regular in Reno, so we got it secondhand.” Roxy's pitying look got Gwen's back up. “Another guy competed in last year's World Series. He pushed us all into studying up so we'd be better to practice against.”

“How'd he do?”

“Not great. Fifty-fourth.”

Roxy whistled. “Fifty-fourth out of twenty-seven hundred some-odd players is pretty damned good. You ever beat him?”

“Took a couple of pots from him in our last game,” Gwen said with enjoyment. “One of them was a bluff on a pair of treys.”

“Nice,” Roxy said admiringly. “You might just have the chops for it. Maybe I'll see you around. After all, we chicks got to stick together.”

“Don't we just,” Gwen murmured.

 

D
EL STOOD
,
MIND BUZZING
. H
E
knew what she'd be doing inside—filling out paperwork, handing over the ten-thousand-dollar stake money, getting her number. What he couldn't figure out was why. Nina didn't strike him as the tournament type. Then again, he didn't know quite how to categorize her. One minute she was giving him an awkward apology, all but scraping her toe on the pavement. The next she was practically vibrating with excitement at the sight of the little hustler. Not like a woman who was intrigued or turned on, though. She'd had more of the quivering intensity of a hunting dog pointing at its quarry.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was so hung up on investigating stories that he
was
imagining things. Maybe it was all in his head.

Then again, maybe it wasn't.

He waited for her to come out and fell in alongside her
as she walked, her hands full of rule sheets and tournament information.

“So, I guess you made it in.” He gestured at her paperwork.

“I don't have time to talk with you right now.”

“Do you know anything about how the tournament works? You don't have a lot of time to find out.” She stopped impatiently and turned to face him, mouth open to say something. Del held up his hands. “I'm not trying to bug you,” he promised. “Have lunch with me, I can help you out.”

She gave him an indecisive glance.

“I'll keep it to poker, I swear.”

“All right,” she said reluctantly.

He steered her into a café and held up two fingers to the hostess. “You're in the second half?”

Gwen nodded. “It starts Sunday night.”

“Saving the best for last.”

The hostess led them to a table and seated them. Del opened his menu. “So, you know what you're doing?”

“Why does everybody keep asking me?” she snapped. “I'm going to do just fine in this tournament. I might just surprise you.”

“She said with steely determination in her eyes.”

Gwen glowered at him. “Don't mock me.”

“Sorry. Bad habit. I've seen you play blackjack. Granted, it's not Texas Hold 'em, but you look like you can handle yourself okay.”

The waitress stopped for their drink order.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Gwen said when they were done. “I'm just glad I got in.”

“I'm impressed. You make a decision and you go for it. Gotta love a woman who walks around with a spare ten grand in her purse for emergencies.”

“That's what cash advances are for,” Gwen said breez
ily, though the reminder of the stake money required for tournament play made her stomach clench. She dearly hoped all those years of playing poker with her grandfather were going to pay off, because otherwise she'd just tossed away a huge chunk of her future. “Sign and smile.”

“And think about the bills later?”

“I'm too busy worrying about how I'm going to spend the other nine hundred and ninety thousand of the prize money.”

“An optimist, I see.”

“Remind me to gloat at you when I accept my check.”

A mural of the Strip covered one wall, showing casino after casino, from the Venetian down to the glossy black pyramid of the Luxor. “God, what a weird town this is,” Gwen said, shaking her head.

“How so?” Del took his beer from the waitress.

“Well, look at it.” Gwen gestured, waving at the Eiffel Tower of Paris, the pyramid of the Luxor, the pumped-up Manhattan skyline of New York, New York. “It's like Disneyland on steroids. You've got all this kid-friendly stuff, you've got the roller coasters and the wave pool at Mandalay Bay and Circus Circus and then you've got taxicabs advertising strip clubs, complete with photos and call girls in the hotel lobbies.”

“Call girls? Here?” He looked around hopefully. “No one told me.”

She fought a grin. “I just think it's a strange mix.”

“So if you feel that way, why are you here?” The look, she saw, was back. “I mean, you came for a getaway, not the tournament. Why here? Why not San Diego or Mexico?”

Gwen busied herself taking the wrapper off her straw. Her and her big mouth. That had been Gwen talking, not Nina, who probably loved the luxe decadence of Vegas. Then again, Nina never apologized or explained about any
thing.
Brazen it out,
she reminded herself. “Anyplace that's going to let me turn fifty bucks into two hundred is okay with me. Anyway, the tournament's worth it all.”

“That's right, you're planning on winning the million.”

“Just watch me.”