Harlequin Superromance January 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: Everywhere She Goes\A Promise for the Baby\That Summer at the Shore (36 page)

Karl sighed. Since when had everyone in his life become immune to his silent stare? “She'd only mother me in response.”

“One of the new paralegals, then. Anyway, Vivian Milek, née Yap, was dealing roulette when an associate of her father's sat at the table. There were some serious chips on the table when Vivian shifted, blocking the view of the camera.”

“And her father's associate took the casino to the cleaners, as it were.”

For the first time, Malcolm looked unsure of his information. “That's the strange part. The associate didn't win that much. Probably the only reason anyone gave the video a second look was that someone else at the table made a fuss over the bet.”

“So, she didn't cheat.”

“The casino investigated. Her father owed the man thousands of dollars—”

The wheels turning in Karl's head clicked into place. Vivian hadn't gotten fired because her father gambled, but because she'd tried to help him get out of his hole.

“And the video is clear, especially when compared to every other video they have of your wife dealing. Successful or not, the man sat at her table because he expected her to help him cheat, and she knew that was her role.”

“So these crimes are alleged. She'd be in prison otherwise.”

“Alleged is lawyer-speak. As far as a government dick like me is concerned, she's either guilty or she's innocent. Middle Kingdom is pretty certain she's guilty. She's been added to their black book and is banned from walking into any casino in the state. She'd be lucky to find employment in Nevada, period. The casinos take cheating seriously—especially by an employee.”

Karl leaned back in his chair, folded his arms and closed his eyes. Unwittingly, Malcolm had answered more than just the question of why Vivian got fired. Karl now knew why she'd been so desperate to get out of Nevada and why she wasn't looking for a job on a riverboat casino. Vivian was a hot potato no casino would ever touch again.

When he opened his eyes, Malcolm was looking at him with pity. “Are you sure she's pregnant with your kid? She's a fine-lookin' woman, and someone who would accept cheating as payback might accept more physical forms of payment.”

“I'm sure she's pregnant.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

V
IVIAN
DIDN
'
T
REALIZE
someone else was in the apartment until Xìnyùn started to whistle. When she turned around, Karl was standing by the bar, still in his coat and scarf.

“I didn't hear you come in. You must have shut the front door just when I shut the oven on dinner. It won't be ready for another two hours. I didn't expect you home so soon.” She knew she was rambling, but seeing Karl lifted her heart, especially after the past couple of days. Despite their talking about friendship and the night of near sex, Sunday at the museum had been the first day she'd really felt as if they could be friends and actually maintain a relationship through Jelly Bean's birth. Topped off by reconnecting with her aunt Kitty and the email correspondence with her friends, she was ready for whatever relationship she and Karl developed.

Especially relationships that involved hand holding. Or more near sex. Or actual sex.

“I'm not staying. I have to go back to work.”

“Oh.” He wasn't still wearing his coat and scarf because he'd wanted to see her before taking them off. He was still dressed for the outside because he was going back outside. “It's snowing.”

A stupid, nervous thing to say. Of course he knew it was snowing. It had probably been snowing when he came in.

“I've lived in Chicago almost all my life. I don't mind the snow.”

“I finished your hat yesterday.” She rushed past him into the living room and dug the green-and-brown fisherman's cap out of her knitting bag. When she held it out to him, he just stared at it. “The color matches your eyes, and even though you seem impervious to the cold, I think you should hide your superhuman powers from the masses.”

She smiled at him and he continued to stare at the hat. Her throat tightened. They had laughed at a similar joke at the museum. What had changed such that he wouldn't even take the stupid hat?

“If you're worried about the wool, it's really soft. I bought it on a whim a year ago, not sure what I would make with it and I couldn't sell it before coming.”

“Vivian,” he said, still not reaching out to touch the damn hat. “How do you cheat at roulette?”

Her legs buckled and her butt bumped against the edge of the couch on its way to the floor. “How did you find out?”

It's not like it had made the papers or anything. Middle Kingdom had promised her they'd keep the incident a secret, so long as she never tried to work at a casino again. When she'd asked what would happen if they were called for a reference, the men around the table had been silent. She'd been stupid enough to hope their silence had meant they'd at least not mention the cheating.

“I have former FBI agents working in my office. They get curious.”

“I didn't do it. And they could never prove I did it, either.”

“Which is why you're not awaiting trial, I assume. Cheating a casino is a felony.”

Her heartbeat pounding in her ears meant she had to stare at his mouth to know what he was saying. “They couldn't even prove I intended to do anything.”

“Why don't you tell me what actually happened, rather than what they could or couldn't prove.”

Why wouldn't he sit down? This conversation would be easier if he wasn't looming over her.

“I agreed to the scheme. I wouldn't have, but I didn't have enough money to cover everything my father lost, and, well, Frank liked the idea of having a dealer in his pocket so he was cutting my dad a deal. Everything was going according to plan. Frank and his stooge sat at the table and we played some normal rounds. When the appointed time came, I moved to block the camera, like I was supposed to. Only when I moved back, I didn't let the extra chips stay.”

“How does the cheat work?”

She sighed. “It's called past posting. You place your bets and, when the marker lands, you place a late bet. The dealer calls you on the late bet, but if you're good, what the dealer doesn't see is that you slipped extra chips under a winning bet at the same time you pull the late one. If you have a team, the person trying to place the late bet puts the extra chips under his partner's bet. It's less suspicious that way.”

“And your role?”

“With the 360-degree cameras, past posting is pretty hard to pull off. All I had to do was move my body such that I blocked the camera. I did, and then I changed my mind. When I moved my body again, I removed the extra chips. Frank saw and would've kept his mouth shut, but his stooge balked and we got caught.”

“That's why you were at the bar the night we met.”

“Yes. I didn't lie on Saturday. I just let you assume the wrong order.”

“You lied by omission.”

She wanted to reach out and strike something. Karl was the obvious target, but she'd break her hand before she cracked his granite facade. “I hoped you wouldn't find out.”

“The classic hope of every criminal.”

“Why are you coming after me?” She gripped the edge of the coffee table, desperate for something to keep her stable when the floor was crumbling beneath her. “Why don't you go after Frank and his stooge criminals? They threatened me when I got off work that night, so that I was afraid to go home.”

“Why don't you call your father a thief for stealing all your money?”

“Because he's my father.” The rug she sat on absorbed her voice; she could barely even hear herself. “But, yes, he's also a thief. When I came home from the hotel the next morning, after I'd spent the night with you, everything of value I owned was gone. Even when I missed my period, I thought I would be okay. I had a job, an apartment and benefits. And I figured you would probably provide some money for the child.”

She looked up, because she wasn't, and would never be, a coward. “But then they fired me and told me never to look for employment in Nevada again. They offered me a severance package if I could tell them where my father and Frank were, but I didn't know.”

“Do you not want to be found because you're afraid of what Frank will do to you?”

“No. He threatened me, but I asked around. Frank's been cheating casinos for years and has never gotten caught, but he's also never done anything violent.”

“So, why are you hiding?”

“I'm afraid my father will ask me for money.” It was the story of her adult life—and would have been the story of her childhood, had she had money as a kid.

“You don't have any.”

“But you do.”

He raised an eyebrow, the first sign of movement in his face since he'd confronted her. “You would steal from me for your father?”

“I'd like to say no, but...after Aunt Kitty left, it was just my dad and me. His schemes and plans always sounded like a game. ‘Vivian,' he'd say, ‘this week's winnings are going into your college fund.' He knew I wanted to settle down somewhere, get a real job and live a real life.”

“And you believed him about the college fund?” He sounded so skeptical that Vivian wondered if he'd ever believed a family member's lies because he
wanted
to, even if his heart knew the truth.

“I had the money I'd earned working. It was enough for four years at UNLV, plus a little extra. I did well on my SATs. I had good grades, even if they were from four different high schools. I was going to make it. And then one day he came home and told me my college fund—the fund that I'd saved—was gone. He'd invested it all in a no-fail scheme. My future was gone before I had one.”

“And still you let your father talk you into cheating at roulette.” His voice was cold. Not distant, but as icy as the wind cascading down the Chicago streets and freezing her to the bone.

“I changed my mind,” she pleaded. She'd changed her mind because cheating meant submitting to the life her father lived. She wanted to stay in Las Vegas, where she had a job, apartment and security. She didn't want to wander again, living off schemes.
This one's gonna hit it big, Vivy, and then we'll be living!
“Frank gave me this look, and I knew if I gave in this once, he'd use it against me again and again until he owned me.” She dropped her head between her knees. Being punished for something she hadn't done wasn't fair.

“Is the baby really mine?”

“What?” Anger burned in her stomach at his question, melting the ice of his tone.

“I know you're pregnant. You couldn't fake the doctor appointment, but is the baby mine? Or are we married because you knew you would need someone, and I looked like a chump with money?”

She ignored her own anger and pleaded, rather than yelled. “I know what you must think of me....”

“No,” he drew the word out and it echoed through the apartment. “I don't think you have any idea how I feel about you right now.”

“But I haven't lied to you. I didn't tell you the full truth, but when I told you something, I didn't lie.”

“Mother of my child or not, I have no sympathy for cheaters or liars.”

“But I didn't...” She stopped begging when she realized Karl's face hadn't softened. “Are you going to kick me out?”
God, what a position to be in. To not be able to fight back for fear of being homeless while pregnant.

Karl closed his eyes briefly. “I have to go back to work and figure out how to nail someone who thought they could use city money to enrich a friend's pocketbook. I'll think about what to do with you while I'm working.”

She'd rather he decide what to do with her while he was looking at kittens and puppies frolicking in a meadow. “It's not the same, Karl,” she murmured. “I changed my mind.”

“Pack. By the time I get home, I'll have someplace else for you to go. Mine or not, you're still pregnant, and I'm not going to kick you to the street without a roof over your head. It just can't be my roof anymore.”

He turned toward the front door, then seemed to think better of it. “As soon as that baby is born, we're getting a divorce. I'll provide you with money for the baby, but you had better be able to provide me with a detailed accounting of every penny you spend so I know it was all put toward the baby.”

Without sitting down, without even unbuttoning his coat, Karl left her sitting on the floor holding tight to the hat she'd knit him.

* * *

S
HE
DIDN
'
T
KNOW
how long she stayed on the floor. By the time she unfolded herself, every muscle in her body was stiff. The apartment smelled like pot roast. Like a home with people who sat around a table together and talked about their days. The pot roast was a liar. She turned the oven off, but left the pot roast in so it could continue to cook in the cooling oven until Karl got home. Then she went into her room to pack.

Resourceful.
She shoved her clothes into her suitcase, leaving one of her winter coats in the closet. Practicality beat out pride, so she took the cheaper of the coats Karl had bought for her.

You'll manage, Vivian, you always do.
She yanked the bags filled with her personal items out of the closet. She'd planned on unpacking them tomorrow—good thing she hadn't grown too comfortable. Her father had gotten her ejected from the only permanent home she'd ever known, and now his specter managed to get her kicked out of her temporary home, as well, just as she'd begun to feel settled.

You always land on your feet. Just like your mother.
Except her mother was dead.

She hadn't seen Aunt Kitty in two decades, but her aunt was still family and family looked out for one another. Even if neither of them had any Irish blood in them, St. Patrick's Day counted as a holiday, right? By the time Vivian drove from Chicago to Reno, it would nearly be time to don the green shamrocks. When Aunt Kitty expressed surprise at seeing her, Vivian could just make vague references to the upcoming holiday.

Or she could throw herself into her aunt's arms and cry.

The fact that Reno was still Nevada and jobs would be hard to find in casino-land was a problem she would have the entire drive to think up a solution to. Anything was better than seeing Karl and his expressionless face again.

Vivian didn't think she could stand Karl's cold gaze, not after she knew what he looked like when warmth filled his eyes.

She left Xìnyùn in his cage on the kitchen counter. If Aunt Kitty wouldn't take her in, Vivian wanted to limit the number of dependents she had.

The odious doorman must have had a sixth sense about her, because he was waiting in the garage for an elevator when she stepped off with her bags.

He raised an eyebrow. “May I help you with your bags, Mrs. Milek? It is Mrs. Milek, right?”

Humiliation flooded her face, but she blinked it away. She didn't owe this man an explanation. She didn't owe him anything. “I can get it, thanks.”

And she would carry her own bags, even if her back was killing her. Feeling his smirk on her shoulders for the walk from the elevators to her car would hurt worse than her back, anyway.

She realized she had forgotten to leave Karl a note—and that she'd embarked on a foolish mission—at the same moment she was able to see through the snow long enough to realize she'd gotten on the wrong highway.

Despite their long and comfortable phone conversation, she'd still not seen her aunt since she was a child. Showing up on Aunt Kitty's doorstep with an unborn child for which her aunt bore no responsibility was hardly the way to further a pleasant family relationship. Jelly Bean was a responsibility she and Karl shared; they would share the bond even if neither of them wanted anything to do with each other. Not to mention that her aunt lived in Reno. Vivian might be able to say, “I'll think about how I'll get a job in Nevada later,” while in an apartment in Chicago. But that laissez-faire attitude would desert her the moment she crossed the Nevada–Utah border.