Driven Snow (23 page)

Next, Gormet and Lib emerged. Told to look like “entourage,” they whispered to each other, waved to imaginary friends in the crowd, and gazed back at the van in expectation. Hacker had given the valet the keys and walked around to join them in the act. By now, the crowd was muttering and people were hurrying from inside the hotel, apparently to see the entrance they were making.

Next came Mr. Pennymaker in a pink suit so elegant and outrageous, people literally stopped talking for a moment. He extended a hand to BB. Quite a beautiful guy in his own right, Ballet Boy raised the stakes on outrageous, wearing a silver jumpsuit just a fraction looser than a leotard on his lean, graceful body. Both of them stepped back to give full focus to the big arrival.

A gasp went up from the crowd as Romeo stepped out of the van. He ignored it and turned as if he couldn’t wait for what was about to happen. Snow’s hands shook so much he could barely adjust his sunglasses. With a deep breath, he emerged from the car, grasping Romeo’s hand for balance. He looked up at the crowd, which had grown to what must be a hundred, removed his sunglasses, and smiled. All practiced, but he hoped it didn’t show.

A little “ooooh” went up from the people. Someone yelled, “Hey, Snow, are you going to win?”

He didn’t have to work hard to look shy. He glanced down at his elegant Italian shoes, then up toward the man who had shouted the question. “You tell me.”

A couple of girls screamed, and Bash and Doc stood straighter, as if he might need protection from attacking teenyboppers.

Holding tight to Romeo’s arm, he started into the hotel.

Romeo leaned down. “You’re doing great, beautiful.”

A woman with a microphone moved toward him as they neared the entrance. “Snow. Hello. I’m Kizzy Applegate from Chess TV. Can I have a moment?”

“Of course.” He let go of Romeo’s arm and stepped over to the reporter.

“My, my. This is kind of a new look for you, isn’t it?”

He laughed, though his stomach flipped. “My friend Randy took me in hand and changed my style. Do you approve?” He did a little twirl.

“Very much. I’ve always thought chess needed some extra fashion sense.”

He laughed at her joke.

“So I’ve heard that you had a bit of trouble back in California. I hope everything’s all right now.”

He frowned. “Yes. Sadly, I was falsely accused. It may be a mere misunderstanding.” He waved a hand. “My lawyers are disproving it as we speak. But the tournament was kind enough to overlook this little dustup and insisted I attend anyway.”

“Of course.” She looked into the camera. “What would a major world chess tournament be without Snowden Reynaldi?”

Snow smiled. “I’m so glad you feel that way.” He took a breath. “Apparently you’re not alone.”

“And now, with your new style and your, I must say, handsome escort, you’ll be even more of an asset to the event.”

“How kind of you to say so, Kizzy. I’ll tell Randy your compliment.”

She fluttered a hand in front of her face. “You’re certainly proving that Grandmasters can be rock stars, Snow.”

He laughed again. “I’m sure rock stars would be offended, but we’ll give it our best.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. All the females in the crowd tittered or screamed while Kizzy blushed. Snow stepped back, waved, then took Romeo’s arm and made it into the cool lobby before he passed out.

Hacker stepped forward with the room keys, Doc and the other guys grabbed the bags, and they headed to their rooms—a suite for Snow, Romeo, and Mr. P., and three additional rooms for the rest of the IPis, on both sides of the suite.

ANITRA WATCHED
the entourage, trailing fans and reporters like pilot fish on a whale, climb onto the elevator. “What the bloody fuck?”

Hunter hissed, “Keep your voice down.”

She wanted to hit him, but dammit, he was right. She whispered, “How could this be Snow Reynaldi? That mewling little pissant never met a pair of khakis he didn’t love and couldn’t hold a conversation with his best friend. What’s happened?”

“I don’t know. What he was wearing would buy a car, and that boyfriend is some world-class beauty. I thought he was in love with the quarterback.”

“Whatever happened doesn’t matter. It’s just one more reason to squash that bug before he does any more damage. Come on.”

She marched herself past Kizzy Applegate three fucking times before the stupid broad finally noticed her. “Oh, hello. Aren’t you the new competitor, Anita—” She glanced at her paper. “—Kingsley?”

“It’s Anitra.
Tra
.” She smiled. “Yes, I am.” She turned her head so it captured the light under her hat.

“Oh yes, well, welcome to the Anderson World Tournament. It’s so nice to have a lovely woman representing world chess.”

“Thank you. We women must stick up for our right to excel at chess, mustn’t we?”

“Yes, so nice that this tournament mixes men and women competitors so you can come up against the best of the best.”

“I agree. Having women’s tournaments, as if we were somehow intellectually inferior and must be grouped like chickens or something, is an archaic practice.”

“Bravo, Anitra. And speaking of lovely, have you met Snowden Reynaldi? Have you seen his new look?”

Anitra dug her nails into her palms and tried to find an answer.

MORE THAN
twenty-four hours later, Snow dragged himself off the elevator at the other end of the massive hotel floor from his room—again. He kept getting confused, the building was so huge. He looked at the room numbers on the wall and turned left. Almost home. Not home, just back to his room. But then, considering how little home he actually had, maybe this room was as good as any.

Long day. First round of the tourney. He’d played five games, won them all in under an hour each without so much as a draw, and then gone out for a nice dinner with Mr. P. and the boys. After that he’d had to spend a few minutes with the tournament organizers going over a fund-raising campaign for charity they wanted to sponsor. Now back to Mr. P. and the IPis. He trudged down the long hall with matching doors on both sides, the sameness marred only by an occasional room service tray.

God knew why they were all so kind to him, but if it took all his life, he wanted to repay that kindness—somehow. Of course, the guys would likely not have believed in him if Mr. Pennymaker hadn’t—but he had. In a life short on family and friends, Mr. P.’s trust and confidence were a gift and a revelation.

The hall turned, and he turned with it.

Maybe he could—

He came up to another elevator lobby. Some movement made him look to his right. Hunter stood pressed against one of the walls.

Snow leaped back.
When facing a larger opponent, your first option is to run.
His feet started moving before Bash’s words even cleared his mind.

“Snow, wait!”

Like bloody hell.
He ran as fast as he could down the long hall. No idea where. A stairwell sign flashed ahead of him. Was that worse or better?
Shit!
Though the carpets absorbed sound, he could hear Hunter pounding behind him. If Hunter had only wanted to talk, why was he chasing?
Run fast!

A door ahead opened. Yes, good. A man took a step out, saw Snow running, and retreated instantly, slamming the door. If Snow stopped to knock, Hunter would be on him—and the guy probably wouldn’t open anyway.

His breath came in gasps as he turned another corner in the hall. He grabbed the new cell from his pocket and tried to dial. Fucking lock codes. Ahead, the hall ended. The bright stairwell sign shone over it. Decision. If he got in that stairwell, Hunter could kill him with no problem, and people wouldn’t find his body for days. Wasn’t a rational choice.

He whirled and dropped into a fighting stance.

Hunter’s eyes widened, and he stopped a few yards away. Probably surprised by seeing Snow look like a fighter. Then he smiled. “You don’t want to fight me, pretty baby. I’m bigger, stronger, and a hell of a lot meaner.”

“So you think I should just let you kill me?”

Hunter looked a little startled but took a step forward. “Why would I want to kill you?”

“Because you failed the last time.”

“No. That was someone else.”

“Bullshit.”

He cracked a little smile. “Shame you feel that way. I really do like you. If you just agreed to go away and forget the tournament and forget chess, I might even be able to find a way to keep you alive.” He shrugged. “Of course, watching you would be a pain in the ass, so I better not consider that.” Another step forward.

“However much she’s paying you, I’ll pay more.”

Hunter frowned. “How could you do that?”

“Haven’t you noticed my clothes and entourage? I have a benefactor who’ll do anything for me.”

“Hooked another one, huh?”

“No, it’s not like that. He’d love to pay you to protect me.”

Snow’s back pressed against the window that looked out over Las Vegas. Hunter cocked a hip and crossed his arms. “Seriously?”

“Yes, he’d be quite generous.” Snow took slow breaths to stop his heart pounding in his ears, and his fingers played with the phone in his hand.

It happened in one move. Hunter snorted. “Shit, she’d see me dead.” He lunged forward to grab Snow. Snow’s instinct, honed by six grueling lessons with Bash, struck. His knee came up and connected with Hunter’s balls so hard they probably pushed into his stomach. Hunter screamed and grabbed his groin. Snow smashed at his nose with the phone in his hand, connected, and felt searing pain up his arm and heard the sickening crunch of bone crushing. Hunter howled again and fell against the wall. Doors down the hall started opening.

Snow ran far enough to feel safe, then turned. “He attacked me. Call security.”

Someone said, “Oh my God, it’s Snow Reynaldi. Someone call the cops.”

Two young guys ran out of a room and grabbed Hunter, who was clearly not in much shape to struggle. Thank God for Bash’s second lesson. When cornered, fight dirty.

Speak of the angels, Bash ran around the corner at that moment with Romeo, Doc, and BB behind him. “What the hell is going on?”

Snow sagged against the wall, and Romeo grabbed him into a hug. Snow snaked an arm toward Hunter. “He attacked me. He’s the same guy who accused me.”

Hunter held an arm over his nose but managed to gurgle out, “Lie. Is lie. He attacked me.”

One of the young guys shook his head. “Oh no, he didn’t. I saw the whole thing. I was just about to run out and help the little guy, but man, he sure took care of himself. He did some damage.”

Snow smiled at Bash against Romeo’s chest. “I learned my lessons.”

“What’s going on here?” Two hotel security guards trotted up the hall, beginning what was sure to be a long damned night.

TWO HOURS
later he sat in his suite with Mr. P., Bash, Romeo, and Doc. The other guys had gone to bed. Mr. Policeman One—Snow was so tired, he’d forgotten his name—sat beside him, and Detective Ehrhardt, a tough-looking, broken-nosed kind of bruiser, sat opposite him. The two guys who’d helped him in the hall had just left.

“So the reason this guy Hunter attacked you is—” Ehrhardt made a circular motion with his fingers.

Snow didn’t even try to suppress his sigh. The whole story was so unbelievable, and he couldn’t prove most of it. “I told you, he doesn’t want me to play chess, for one thing. He wants his cousin to win. Plus, he tried to drown me in a car back home in California, and he’s afraid I’m going to figure out a way to prove it.”

Ehrhardt looked at him like he was nuts but nodded. “I guess people get pretty worked up over this chess crap. A hundred K is a good-sized prize.”

Suddenly the door to the suite opened, and Snow’s whole body froze.

Anitra Popescu
—
he couldn’t bring himself to say Kingsley
—
stood in the doorway, her red hair flying out of its clasp at her neck, the tight black dress, one of three he’d seen her in, looking a little rumpled. A policeman in uniform held the door for her. “Oh my God, Snowden. How horrible. I can’t believe this has happened. How could Hunter have become so disturbed he’d go to these lengths?”

If he screamed “bullshit” at the top of his voice, would anyone mind? Slowly he rose to standing, staring at her like she was Medusa.

Mr. Pennymaker stood beside him. “Mrs. Kingsley, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Carstairs Pennymaker, Mr. Reynaldi’s mentor. Your cousin”—he said it like it tasted bad—“has caused great pain and suffering to Snowden and will be going to prison for a long time if I have any say about it.” He smiled. “And believe me, I usually do.”

For a second genuine fear flashed across Anitra’s face—but maybe Snow imagined it. “I’m so horrified by my cousin’s actions. He came to give me support in my tribulation and must have somehow felt so strongly that I have to win this tournament to restore my faith in life that he became unbalanced.” She dropped her head in her hand. “It’s just one more crushing disappointment.”

Mr. P. raised an eyebrow. “So you’ll be leaving the tournament?”

Her head popped up. “Oh no. I’ve given my word to the tournament organizers.” She sighed noisily. “And like Snowden, I must do what I feel my husband would want.”

Mr. Pennymaker spoke softly. “You believe your husband would want you to defeat his protégé, a boy who is like a son to him?”

Snow felt heat behind his eyes, but he clenched his jaw.

She smiled softly. “Of course not. I mean, how lovely it would be for the NorCal Chess Club to take first and second prize. I’m sure no one can beat Snow.”

Snow grasped Mr. P.’s hand and squeezed.

RILEY STOOD
on the front porch, staring down at Mrs. Wishus. Her hands planted firmly on her hips, she gazed up at him with her bright eyes. “Being a prince doesn’t make you a hero, Riley. That’s all about your values, your choices, and ultimately, your actions.”

Riley nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

CHAPTER 21

SNOW STOOD
in front of the mirror and felt his jacket pockets for all his needed stuff—key to the suite, phone, epinephrine, handkerchief. The gray suit looked amazing. Funny how Mr. P.’s fashion outrageousness only extended to himself. With Snow, his taste was impeccable. Such amazing kindness.